SONG OF THE LARK

By Willa Cather

(1915 edition)

CONTENTS:

 PART I. FRIENDS OF CHILDHOOD II. THE SONG OF THE LARK III. STUPID FACES IV. THE ANCIENT PEOPLE V. DOCTOR ARCHIE'S VENTURE VI. KRONBORG EPILOGUE

PART I. FRIENDS OF CHILDHOOD

I

Dr. Howard Archie had just come up from a game of pool with the Jewishclothier and two traveling men who happened to be staying overnight inMoonstone. His offices were in the Duke Block, over the drug store. Larry, the doctor's man, had lit the overhead light in the waiting-roomand the double student's lamp on the desk in the study. The isinglasssides of the hard-coal burner were aglow, and the air in the study wasso hot that as he came in the doctor opened the door into his littleoperating-room, where there was no stove. The waiting room was carpetedand stiffly furnished, something like a country parlor. The study hadworn, unpainted floors, but there was a look of winter comfort about it. The doctor's flat-top desk was large and well made; the papers were inorderly piles, under glass weights. Behind the stove a wide bookcase, with double glass doors, reached from the floor to the ceiling. It wasfilled with medical books of every thickness and color. On the top shelfstood a long row of thirty or forty volumes, bound all alike in darkmottled board covers, with imitation leather backs. 

As the doctor in New England villages is proverbially old, so the doctorin small Colorado towns twenty-five years ago was generally young. Dr. Archie was barely thirty. He was tall, with massive shoulderswhich he held stiffly, and a large, well-shaped head. He was adistinguished-looking man, for that part of the world, at least. 

There was something individual in the way in which his reddish-brownhair, parted cleanly at the side, bushed over his high forehead. Hisnose was straight and thick, and his eyes were intelligent. He wore acurly, reddish mustache and an imperial, cut trimly, which made him looka little like the pictures of Napoleon III. His hands were large andwell kept, but ruggedly formed, and the backs were shaded with crinklyreddish hair. He wore a blue suit of woolly, wide-waled serge; thetraveling men had known at a glance that it was made by a Denver tailor. The doctor was always well dressed. 

Dr. Archie turned up the student's lamp and sat down in the swivel chairbefore his desk. He sat uneasily, beating a tattoo on his knees with hisfingers, and looked about him as if he were bored. He glanced at hiswatch, then absently took from his pocket a bunch of small keys, selected one and looked at it. A contemptuous smile, barely perceptible, played on his lips, but his eyes remained meditative. Behind the doorthat led into the hall, under his buffalo-skin driving-coat, was a lockedcupboard. This the doctor opened mechanically, kicking aside a pile ofmuddy overshoes. Inside, on the shelves, were whiskey glasses anddecanters, lemons, sugar, and bitters. Hearing a step in the empty, echoing hall without, the doctor closed the cupboard again, snapping theYale lock. The door of the waiting-room opened, a man entered and cameon into the consulting-room. 

"Good-evening, Mr. Kronborg, " said the doctor carelessly. "Sit down. "

His visitor was a tall, loosely built man, with a thin brown beard, streaked with gray. He wore a frock coat, a broad-brimmed black hat, awhite lawn necktie, and steel rimmed spectacles. Altogether there was apretentious and important air about him, as he lifted the skirts of hiscoat and sat down. 

"Good-evening, doctor. Can you step around to the house with me? I thinkMrs. Kronborg will need you this evening. " This was said with profoundgravity and, curiously enough, with a slight embarrassment. 

"Any hurry?" the doctor asked over his shoulder as he went into hisoperating-room. 

Mr. Kronborg coughed behind his hand, and contracted his brows. His facethreatened at every moment to break into a smile of foolish excitement. He controlled it only by calling upon his habitual pulpit manner. "Well, I think it would be as well to go immediately. Mrs. Kronborg will bemore comfortable if you are there. She has been suffering for sometime. "

The doctor came back and threw a black bag upon his desk. He wrote someinstructions for his man on a prescription pad and then drew on hisovercoat. "All ready, " he announced, putting out his lamp. Mr. Kronborgrose and they tramped through the empty hall and down the stairway tothe street. The drug store below was dark, and the saloon next door wasjust closing. Every other light on Main Street was out. 

On either side of the road and at the outer edge of the board sidewalk, the snow had been shoveled into breastworks. The town looked small andblack, flattened down in the snow, muffled and all but extinguished. Overhead the stars shone gloriously. It was impossible not to noticethem. The air was so clear that the white sand hills to the east ofMoonstone gleamed softly. Following the Reverend Mr. Kronborg along thenarrow walk, past the little dark, sleeping houses, the doctor looked upat the flashing night and whistled softly. It did seem that people werestupider than they need be; as if on a night like this there ought to besomething better to do than to sleep nine hours, or to assist Mrs. Kronborg in functions which she could have performed so admirablyunaided. He wished he had gone down to Denver to hear Fay Templeton sing"See-Saw. " Then he remembered that he had a personal interest in thisfamily, after all. They turned into another street and saw before themlighted windows; a low story-and-a-half house, with a wing built on atthe right and a kitchen addition at the back, everything a little on theslant--roofs, windows, and doors. As they approached the gate, PeterKronborg's pace grew brisker. His nervous, ministerial cough annoyed thedoctor. "Exactly as if he were going to give out a text, " he thought. Hedrew off his glove and felt in his vest pocket. "Have a troche, Kronborg, " he said, producing some. "Sent me for samples. Very good fora rough throat. "

"Ah, thank you, thank you. I was in something of a hurry. I neglected toput on my overshoes. Here we are, doctor. " Kronborg opened his frontdoor--seemed delighted to be at home again. 

The front hall was dark and cold; the hatrack was hung with anastonishing number of children's hats and caps and cloaks. They wereeven piled on the table beneath the hatrack. Under the table was a heapof rubbers and overshoes. While the doctor hung up his coat and hat, Peter Kronborg opened the door into the living-room. A glare of lightgreeted them, and a rush of hot, stale air, smelling of warmingflannels. 

At three o'clock in the morning Dr. Archie was in the parlor putting onhis cuffs and coat--there was no spare bedroom in that house. PeterKronborg's seventh child, a boy, was being soothed and cosseted by hisaunt, Mrs. Kronborg was asleep, and the doctor was going home. But hewanted first to speak to Kronborg, who, coatless and fluttery, waspouring coal into the kitchen stove. As the doctor crossed thedining-room he paused and listened. From one of the wing rooms, off tothe left, he heard rapid, distressed breathing. He went to the kitchendoor. 

"One of the children sick in there?" he asked, nodding toward thepartition. 

Kronborg hung up the stove-lifter and dusted his fingers. "It must beThea. I meant to ask you to look at her. She has a croupy cold. But inmy excitement--Mrs. Kronborg is doing finely, eh, doctor? Not many ofyour patients with such a constitution, I expect. "

"Oh, yes. She's a fine mother. " The doctor took up the lamp from thekitchen table and unceremoniously went into the wing room. Two chubbylittle boys were asleep in a double bed, with the coverlids over theirnoses and their feet drawn up. In a single bed, next to theirs, lay alittle girl of eleven, wide awake, two yellow braids sticking up on thepillow behind her. Her face was scarlet and her eyes were blazing. 

The doctor shut the door behind him. "Feel pretty sick, Thea?" he askedas he took out his thermometer. "Why didn't you call somebody?"

She looked at him with greedy affection. "I thought you were here, " shespoke between quick breaths. "There is a new baby, isn't there? Which?"

"Which?" repeated the doctor. 

"Brother or sister?"

He smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Brother, " he said, taking her hand. "Open. "

"Good. Brothers are better, " she murmured as he put the glass tube underher tongue. 

"Now, be still, I want to count. " Dr. Archie reached for her hand andtook out his watch. When he put her hand back under the quilt he wentover to one of the windows--they were both tight shut--and lifted it alittle way. He reached up and ran his hand along the cold, unpaperedwall. "Keep under the covers; I'll come back to you in a moment, " hesaid, bending over the glass lamp with his thermometer. He winked at herfrom the door before he shut it. 

Peter Kronborg was sitting in his wife's room, holding the bundle whichcontained his son. His air of cheerful importance, his beard andglasses, even his shirt-sleeves, annoyed the doctor. He beckonedKronborg into the living-room and said sternly:--

"You've got a very sick child in there. Why didn't you call me before?It's pneumonia, and she must have been sick for several days. Put thebaby down somewhere, please, and help me make up the bed-lounge here inthe parlor. She's got to be in a warm room, and she's got to be quiet. You must keep the other children out. Here, this thing opens up, I see, "swinging back the top of the carpet lounge. "We can lift her mattressand carry her in just as she is. I don't want to disturb her more thanis necessary. "

Kronborg was all concern immediately. The two men took up the mattressand carried the sick child into the parlor. "I'll have to go down to myoffice to get some medicine, Kronborg. The drug store won't be open. Keep the covers on her. I won't be gone long. Shake down the stove andput on a little coal, but not too much; so it'll catch quickly, I mean. Find an old sheet for me, and put it there to warm. "

The doctor caught his coat and hurried out into the dark street. Nobodywas stirring yet, and the cold was bitter. He was tired and hungry andin no mild humor. "The idea!" he muttered; "to be such an ass at hisage, about the seventh! And to feel no responsibility about the littlegirl. Silly old goat! The baby would have got into the world somehow;they always do. But a nice little girl like that--she's worth the wholelitter. Where she ever got it from--" He turned into the Duke Block andran up the stairs to his office. 

Thea Kronborg, meanwhile, was wondering why she happened to be in theparlor, where nobody but company--usually visiting preachers--everslept. She had moments of stupor when she did not see anything, andmoments of excitement when she felt that something unusual and pleasantwas about to happen, when she saw everything clearly in the red lightfrom the isinglass sides of the hard-coal burner--the nickel trimmingson the stove itself, the pictures on the wall, which she thought verybeautiful, the flowers on the Brussels carpet, Czerny's "Daily Studies"which stood open on the upright piano. She forgot, for the time being, all about the new baby. 

When she heard the front door open, it occurred to her that the pleasantthing which was going to happen was Dr. Archie himself. He came in andwarmed his hands at the stove. As he turned to her, she threw herselfwearily toward him, half out of her bed. She would have tumbled to thefloor had he not caught her. He gave her some medicine and went to thekitchen for something he needed. She drowsed and lost the sense of hisbeing there. When she opened her eyes again, he was kneeling before thestove, spreading something dark and sticky on a white cloth, with a bigspoon; batter, perhaps. Presently she felt him taking off her nightgown. He wrapped the hot plaster about her chest. There seemed to be strapswhich he pinned over her shoulders. Then he took out a thread and needleand began to sew her up in it. That, she felt, was too strange; she mustbe dreaming anyhow, so she succumbed to her drowsiness. 

Thea had been moaning with every breath since the doctor came back, butshe did not know it. She did not realize that she was suffering pain. When she was conscious at all, she seemed to be separated from her body;to be perched on top of the piano, or on the hanging lamp, watching thedoctor sew her up. It was perplexing and unsatisfactory, like dreaming. She wished she could waken up and see what was going on. 

The doctor thanked God that he had persuaded Peter Kronborg to keep outof the way. He could do better by the child if he had her to himself. Hehad no children of his own. His marriage was a very unhappy one. As helifted and undressed Thea, he thought to himself what a beautiful thinga little girl's body was, --like a flower. It was so neatly anddelicately fashioned, so soft, and so milky white. Thea must have gother hair and her silky skin from her mother. She was a little Swede, through and through. Dr. Archie could not help thinking how he wouldcherish a little creature like this if she were his. Her hands, solittle and hot, so clever, too, --he glanced at the open exercise book onthe piano. When he had stitched up the flaxseed jacket, he wiped itneatly about the edges, where the paste had worked out on the skin. Heput on her the clean nightgown he had warmed before the fire, and tuckedthe blankets about her. As he pushed back the hair that had fuzzed downover her eyebrows, he felt her head thoughtfully with the tips of hisfingers. No, he couldn't say that it was different from any otherchild's head, though he believed that there was something very differentabout her. He looked intently at her wide, flushed face, freckled nose, fierce little mouth, and her delicate, tender chin--the one soft touchin her hard little Scandinavian face, as if some fairy godmother hadcaressed her there and left a cryptic promise. Her brows were usuallydrawn together defiantly, but never when she was with Dr. Archie. Heraffection for him was prettier than most of the things that went to makeup the doctor's life in Moonstone. 

The windows grew gray. He heard a tramping on the attic floor, on theback stairs, then cries: "Give me my shirt!" "Where's my otherstocking?"

"I'll have to stay till they get off to school, " he reflected, "orthey'll be in here tormenting her, the whole lot of them. "

II

For the next four days it seemed to Dr. Archie that his patient mightslip through his hands, do what he might. But she did not. On thecontrary, after that she recovered very rapidly. As her father remarked, she must have inherited the "constitution" which he was never tired ofadmiring in her mother. 

One afternoon, when her new brother was a week old, the doctor foundThea very comfortable and happy in her bed in the parlor. The sunlightwas pouring in over her shoulders, the baby was asleep on a pillow in abig rocking-chair beside her. Whenever he stirred, she put out her handand rocked him. Nothing of him was visible but a flushed, puffy foreheadand an uncompromisingly big, bald cranium. The door into her mother'sroom stood open, and Mrs. Kronborg was sitting up in bed darningstockings. She was a short, stalwart woman, with a short neck and adetermined-looking head. Her skin was very fair, her face calm andunwrinkled, and her yellow hair, braided down her back as she lay inbed, still looked like a girl's. She was a woman whom Dr. Archierespected; active, practical, unruffled; goodhumored, but determined. Exactly the sort of woman to take care of a flighty preacher. She hadbrought her husband some property, too, --one fourth of her father'sbroad acres in Nebraska, --but this she kept in her own name. She hadprofound respect for her husband's erudition and eloquence. She satunder his preaching with deep humility, and was as much taken in by hisstiff shirt and white neckties as if she had not ironed them herself bylamplight the night before they appeared correct and spotless in thepulpit. But for all this, she had no confidence in his administration ofworldly affairs. She looked to him for morning prayers and grace attable; she expected him to name the babies and to supply whateverparental sentiment there was in the house, to remember birthdays andanniversaries, to point the children to moral and patriotic ideals. Itwas her work to keep their bodies, their clothes, and their conduct insome sort of order, and this she accomplished with a success that was asource of wonder to her neighbors. As she used to remark, and herhusband admiringly to echo, she "had never lost one. " With all hisflightiness, Peter Kronborg appreciated the matter-of-fact, punctual wayin which his wife got her children into the world and along in it. Hebelieved, and he was right in believing, that the sovereign State ofColorado was much indebted to Mrs. Kronborg and women like her. 

Mrs. Kronborg believed that the size of every family was decided inheaven. More modern views would not have startled her; they would simplyhave seemed foolish--thin chatter, like the boasts of the men who builtthe tower of Babel, or like Axel's plan to breed ostriches in thechicken yard. From what evidence Mrs. Kronborg formed her opinions onthis and other matters, it would have been difficult to say, but onceformed, they were unchangeable. She would no more have questioned herconvictions than she would have questioned revelation. Calm and eventempered, naturally kind, she was capable of strong prejudices, and shenever forgave. 

When the doctor came in to see Thea, Mrs. Kronborg was reflecting thatthe washing was a week behind, and deciding what she had better do aboutit. The arrival of a new baby meant a revision of her entire domesticschedule, and as she drove her needle along she had been working out newsleeping arrangements and cleaning days. The doctor had entered thehouse without knocking, after making noise enough in the hall to preparehis patients. Thea was reading, her book propped up before her in thesunlight. 

"Mustn't do that; bad for your eyes, " he said, as Thea shut the bookquickly and slipped it under the covers. 

Mrs. Kronborg called from her bed: "Bring the baby here, doctor, andhave that chair. She wanted him in there for company. "

Before the doctor picked up the baby, he put a yellow paper bag down onThea's coverlid and winked at her. They had a code of winks andgrimaces. When he went in to chat with her mother, Thea opened the bagcautiously, trying to keep it from crackling. She drew out a long bunchof white grapes, with a little of the sawdust in which they had beenpacked still clinging to them. They were called Malaga grapes inMoonstone, and once or twice during the winter the leading grocer got akeg of them. They were used mainly for table decoration, aboutChristmas-time. Thea had never had more than one grape at a time before. When the doctor came back she was holding the almost transparent fruitup in the sunlight, feeling the pale-green skins softly with the tips ofher fingers. She did not thank him; she only snapped her eyes at him ina special way which he understood, and, when he gave her his hand, putit quickly and shyly under her cheek, as if she were trying to do sowithout knowing it--and without his knowing it. 

Dr. Archie sat down in the rocking-chair. "And how's Thea feelingto-day?"

He was quite as shy as his patient, especially when a third personoverheard his conversation. Big and handsome and superior to his fellowtownsmen as Dr. Archie was, he was seldom at his ease, and like PeterKronborg he often dodged behind a professional manner. There wassometimes a contraction of embarrassment and self consciousness all overhis big body, which made him awkward--likely to stumble, to kick uprugs, or to knock over chairs. If any one was very sick, he forgothimself, but he had a clumsy touch in convalescent gossip. 

Thea curled up on her side and looked at him with pleasure. "All right. I like to be sick. I have more fun then than other times. "

"How's that?"

"I don't have to go to school, and I don't have to practice. I can readall I want to, and have good things, "--she patted the grapes. "I hadlots of fun that time I mashed my finger and you wouldn't let ProfessorWunsch make me practice. Only I had to do left hand, even then. I thinkthat was mean. "

The doctor took her hand and examined the forefinger, where the nail hadgrown back a little crooked. "You mustn't trim it down close at thecorner there, and then it will grow straight. You won't want it crookedwhen you're a big girl and wear rings and have sweethearts. "

She made a mocking little face at him and looked at his new scarf-pin. "That's the prettiest one you ev-ER had. I wish you'd stay a long whileand let me look at it. What is it?"

Dr. Archie laughed. "It's an opal. Spanish Johnny brought it up for mefrom Chihuahua in his shoe. I had it set in Denver, and I wore it to-dayfor your benefit. "

Thea had a curious passion for jewelry. She wanted every shining stoneshe saw, and in summer she was always going off into the sand hills tohunt for crystals and agates and bits of pink chalcedony. She had twocigar boxes full of stones that she had found or traded for, and sheimagined that they were of enormous value. She was always planning howshe would have them set. 

"What are you reading?" The doctor reached under the covers and pulledout a book of Byron's poems. "Do you like this?"

She looked confused, turned over a few pages rapidly, and pointed to "Mynative land, good-night. " "That, " she said sheepishly. 

"How about 'Maid of Athens'?"

She blushed and looked at him suspiciously. "I like 'There was a soundof revelry, '" she muttered. 

The doctor laughed and closed the book. It was clumsily bound in paddedleather and had been presented to the Reverend Peter Kronborg by hisSunday-School class as an ornament for his parlor table. 

"Come into the office some day, and I'll lend you a nice book. You canskip the parts you don't understand. You can read it in vacation. Perhaps you'll be able to understand all of it by then. "

Thea frowned and looked fretfully toward the piano. "In vacation I haveto practice four hours every day, and then there'll be Thor to take careof. " She pronounced it "Tor. "

"Thor? Oh, you've named the baby Thor?" exclaimed the doctor. 

Thea frowned again, still more fiercely, and said quickly, "That's anice name, only maybe it's a little--old fashioned. " She was verysensitive about being thought a foreigner, and was proud of the factthat, in town, her father always preached in English; very bookishEnglish, at that, one might add. 

Born in an old Scandinavian colony in Minnesota, Peter Kronborg had beensent to a small divinity school in Indiana by the women of a Swedishevangelical mission, who were convinced of his gifts and who skimped andbegged and gave church suppers to get the long, lazy youth through theseminary. He could still speak enough Swedish to exhort and to bury themembers of his country church out at Copper Hole, and he wielded in hisMoonstone pulpit a somewhat pompous English vocabulary he had learnedout of books at college. He always spoke of "the infant Saviour, " "ourHeavenly Father, " etc. The poor man had no natural, spontaneous humanspeech. If he had his sincere moments, they were perforce inarticulate. Probably a good deal of his pretentiousness was due to the fact that hehabitually expressed himself in a book learned language, wholly remotefrom anything personal, native, or homely. Mrs. Kronborg spoke Swedishto her own sisters and to her sister-in-law Tillie, and colloquialEnglish to her neighbors. Thea, who had a rather sensitive ear, untilshe went to school never spoke at all, except in monosyllables, and hermother was convinced that she was tongue-tied. She was still inept inspeech for a child so intelligent. Her ideas were usually clear, but sheseldom attempted to explain them, even at school, where she excelled in"written work" and never did more than mutter a reply. 

"Your music professor stopped me on the street to-day and asked me howyou were, " said the doctor, rising. "He'll be sick himself, trottingaround in this slush with no overcoat or overshoes. "

"He's poor, " said Thea simply. 

The doctor sighed. "I'm afraid he's worse than that. Is he always allright when you take your lessons? Never acts as if he'd been drinking?"

Thea looked angry and spoke excitedly. "He knows a lot. More thananybody. I don't care if he does drink; he's old and poor. " Her voiceshook a little. 

Mrs. Kronborg spoke up from the next room. "He's a good teacher, doctor. It's good for us he does drink. He'd never be in a little place likethis if he didn't have some weakness. These women that teach musicaround here don't know nothing. I wouldn't have my child wasting timewith them. If Professor Wunsch goes away, Thea'll have nobody to takefrom. He's careful with his scholars; he don't use bad language. Mrs. Kohler is always present when Thea takes her lesson. It's all right. "Mrs. Kronborg spoke calmly and judicially. One could see that she hadthought the matter out before. 

"I'm glad to hear that, Mrs. Kronborg. I wish we could get the old manoff his bottle and keep him tidy. Do you suppose if I gave you an oldovercoat you could get him to wear it?" The doctor went to the bedroomdoor and Mrs. Kronborg looked up from her darning. 

"Why, yes, I guess he'd be glad of it. He'll take most anything from me. He won't buy clothes, but I guess he'd wear 'em if he had 'em. I'venever had any clothes to give him, having so many to make over for. "

"I'll have Larry bring the coat around to-night. You aren't cross withme, Thea?" taking her hand. 

Thea grinned warmly. "Not if you give Professor Wunsch a coat--andthings, " she tapped the grapes significantly. The doctor bent over andkissed her. 

III

Being sick was all very well, but Thea knew from experience thatstarting back to school again was attended by depressing difficulties. One Monday morning she got up early with Axel and Gunner, who shared herwing room, and hurried into the back living-room, between thedining-room and the kitchen. There, beside a soft-coal stove, theyounger children of the family undressed at night and dressed in themorning. The older daughter, Anna, and the two big boys slept upstairs, where the rooms were theoretically warmed by stovepipes from below. Thefirst (and the worst!) thing that confronted Thea was a suit of clean, prickly red flannel, fresh from the wash. Usually the torment ofbreaking in a clean suit of flannel came on Sunday, but yesterday, asshe was staying in the house, she had begged off. Their winter underwearwas a trial to all the children, but it was bitterest to Thea becauseshe happened to have the most sensitive skin. While she was tugging iton, her Aunt Tillie brought in warm water from the boiler and filled thetin pitcher. Thea washed her face, brushed and braided her hair, and gotinto her blue cashmere dress. Over this she buttoned a long apron, withsleeves, which would not be removed until she put on her cloak to go toschool. Gunner and Axel, on the soap box behind the stove, had theirusual quarrel about which should wear the tightest stockings, but theyexchanged reproaches in low tones, for they were wholesomely afraid ofMrs. Kronborg's rawhide whip. She did not chastise her children often, but she did it thoroughly. Only a somewhat stern system of disciplinecould have kept any degree of order and quiet in that overcrowded house. 

Mrs. Kronborg's children were all trained to dress themselves at theearliest possible age, to make their own beds, --the boys as well as thegirls, --to take care of their clothes, to eat what was given them, andto keep out of the way. Mrs. Kronborg would have made a good chessplayer; she had a head for moves and positions. 

Anna, the elder daughter, was her mother's lieutenant. All the childrenknew that they must obey Anna, who was an obstinate contender forproprieties and not always fair minded. To see the young Kronborgsheaded for Sunday School was like watching a military drill. Mrs. Kronborg let her children's minds alone. She did not pry into theirthoughts or nag them. She respected them as individuals, and outside ofthe house they had a great deal of liberty. But their communal life wasdefinitely ordered. 

In the winter the children breakfasted in the kitchen; Gus and Charleyand Anna first, while the younger children were dressing. Gus wasnineteen and was a clerk in a dry-goods store. Charley, eighteen monthsyounger, worked in a feed store. They left the house by the kitchen doorat seven o'clock, and then Anna helped her Aunt Tillie get the breakfastfor the younger ones. Without the help of this sister-in-law, TillieKronborg, Mrs. Kronborg's life would have been a hard one. Mrs. Kronborgoften reminded Anna that "no hired help would ever have taken the sameinterest. "

Mr. Kronborg came of a poorer stock than his wife; from a lowly, ignorant family that had lived in a poor part of Sweden. Hisgreat-grandfather had gone to Norway to work as a farm laborer and hadmarried a Norwegian girl. This strain of Norwegian blood came outsomewhere in each generation of the Kronborgs. The intemperance of oneof Peter Kronborg's uncles, and the religious mania of another, had beenalike charged to the Norwegian grandmother. Both Peter Kronborg and hissister Tillie were more like the Norwegian root of the family than likethe Swedish, and this same Norwegian strain was strong in Thea, thoughin her it took a very different character. 

Tillie was a queer, addle-pated thing, as flighty as a girl atthirty-five, and overweeningly fond of gay clothes--which taste, as Mrs. Kronborg philosophically said, did nobody any harm. Tillie was alwayscheerful, and her tongue was still for scarcely a minute during the day. She had been cruelly overworked on her father's Minnesota farm when shewas a young girl, and she had never been so happy as she was now; hadnever before, as she said, had such social advantages. She thought herbrother the most important man in Moonstone. She never missed a churchservice, and, much to the embarrassment of the children, she always"spoke a piece" at the Sunday-School concerts. She had a complete set of"Standard Recitations, " which she conned on Sundays. This morning, whenThea and her two younger brothers sat down to breakfast, Tillie wasremonstrating with Gunner because he had not learned a recitationassigned to him for George Washington Day at school. The unmemorizedtext lay heavily on Gunner's conscience as he attacked his buckwheatcakes and sausage. He knew that Tillie was in the right, and that "whenthe day came he would be ashamed of himself. "

"I don't care, " he muttered, stirring his coffee; "they oughtn't to makeboys speak. It's all right for girls. They like to show off. "

"No showing off about it. Boys ought to like to speak up for theircountry. And what was the use of your father buying you a new suit, ifyou're not going to take part in anything?"

"That was for Sunday-School. I'd rather wear my old one, anyhow. Whydidn't they give the piece to Thea?" Gunner grumbled. 

Tillie was turning buckwheat cakes at the griddle. "Thea can play andsing, she don't need to speak. But you've got to know how to dosomething, Gunner, that you have. What are you going to do when you gitbig and want to git into society, if you can't do nothing? Everybody'llsay, 'Can you sing? Can you play? Can you speak? Then git right out ofsociety. ' An' that's what they'll say to you, Mr. Gunner. "

Gunner and Alex grinned at Anna, who was preparing her mother'sbreakfast. They never made fun of Tillie, but they understood wellenough that there were subjects upon which her ideas were ratherfoolish. When Tillie struck the shallows, Thea was usually prompt inturning the conversation. 

"Will you and Axel let me have your sled at recess?" she asked. 

"All the time?" asked Gunner dubiously. 

"I'll work your examples for you to-night, if you do. "

"Oh, all right. There'll be a lot of 'em. "

"I don't mind, I can work 'em fast. How about yours, Axel?"

Axel was a fat little boy of seven, with pretty, lazy blue eyes. "Idon't care, " he murmured, buttering his last buckwheat cake withoutambition; "too much trouble to copy 'em down. Jenny Smiley'll let mehave hers. "

The boys were to pull Thea to school on their sled, as the snow wasdeep. The three set off together. Anna was now in the high school, andshe no longer went with the family party, but walked to school with someof the older girls who were her friends, and wore a hat, not a hood likeThea. 

IV

"And it was Summer, beautiful Summer!" Those were the closing words ofThea's favorite fairy tale, and she thought of them as she ran out intothe world one Saturday morning in May, her music book under her arm. Shewas going to the Kohlers' to take her lesson, but she was in no hurry. 

It was in the summer that one really lived. Then all the littleovercrowded houses were opened wide, and the wind blew through them withsweet, earthy smells of garden-planting. The town looked as if it hadjust been washed. People were out painting their fences. The cottonwoodtrees were a-flicker with sticky, yellow little leaves, and the featherytamarisks were in pink bud. With the warm weather came freedom foreverybody. People were dug up, as it were. The very old people, whom onehad not seen all winter, came out and sunned themselves in the yard. Thedouble windows were taken off the houses, the tormenting flannels inwhich children had been encased all winter were put away in boxes, andthe youngsters felt a pleasure in the cool cotton things next theirskin. 

Thea had to walk more than a mile to reach the Kohlers' house, a verypleasant mile out of town toward the glittering sand hills, --yellow thismorning, with lines of deep violet where the clefts and valleys were. She followed the sidewalk to the depot at the south end of the town;then took the road east to the little group of adobe houses where theMexicans lived, then dropped into a deep ravine; a dry sand creek, across which the railroad track ran on a trestle. Beyond that gulch, ona little rise of ground that faced the open sandy plain, was theKohlers' house, where Professor Wunsch lived. Fritz Kohler was the towntailor, one of the first settlers. He had moved there, built a littlehouse and made a garden, when Moonstone was first marked down on themap. He had three sons, but they now worked on the railroad and werestationed in distant cities. One of them had gone to work for the SantaFe, and lived in New Mexico. 

Mrs. Kohler seldom crossed the ravine and went into the town except atChristmas-time, when she had to buy presents and Christmas cards to sendto her old friends in Freeport, Illinois. As she did not go to church, she did not possess such a thing as a hat. Year after year she wore thesame red hood in winter and a black sunbonnet in summer. She made herown dresses; the skirts came barely to her shoe-tops, and were gatheredas full as they could possibly be to the waistband. She preferred men'sshoes, and usually wore the cast-offs of one of her sons. She had neverlearned much English, and her plants and shrubs were her companions. Shelived for her men and her garden. Beside that sand gulch, she had triedto reproduce a bit of her own village in the Rhine Valley. She hidherself behind the growth she had fostered, lived under the shade ofwhat she had planted and watered and pruned. In the blaze of the openplain she was stupid and blind like an owl. Shade, shade; that was whatshe was always planning and making. Behind the high tamarisk hedge, hergarden was a jungle of verdure in summer. Above the cherry trees andpeach trees and golden plums stood the windmill, with its tank onstilts, which kept all this verdure alive. Outside, the sage-brush grewup to the very edge of the garden, and the sand was always drifting upto the tamarisks. 

Every one in Moonstone was astonished when the Kohlers took thewandering music-teacher to live with them. In seventeen years old Fritzhad never had a crony, except the harness-maker and Spanish Johnny. ThisWunsch came from God knew where, --followed Spanish Johnny into town whenthat wanderer came back from one of his tramps. Wunsch played in thedance orchestra, tuned pianos, and gave lessons. When Mrs. Kohlerrescued him, he was sleeping in a dirty, unfurnished room over one ofthe saloons, and he had only two shirts in the world. Once he was underher roof, the old woman went at him as she did at her garden. She sewedand washed and mended for him, and made him so clean and respectablethat he was able to get a large class of pupils and to rent a piano. Assoon as he had money ahead, he sent to the Narrow Gauge lodging-house, in Denver, for a trunkful of music which had been held there for unpaidboard. With tears in his eyes the old man--he was not over fifty, butsadly battered--told Mrs. Kohler that he asked nothing better of Godthan to end his days with her, and to be buried in the garden, under herlinden trees. They were not American basswood, but the European linden, which has honey-colored blooms in summer, with a fragrance thatsurpasses all trees and flowers and drives young people wild with joy. 

Thea was reflecting as she walked along that had it not been forProfessor Wunsch she might have lived on for years in Moonstone withoutever knowing the Kohlers, without ever seeing their garden or the insideof their house. Besides the cuckoo clock, --which was wonderful enough, and which Mrs. Kohler said she kept for "company when she waslonesome, "--the Kohlers had in their house the most wonderful thing Theahad ever seen--but of that later. 

Professor Wunsch went to the houses of his other pupils to give themtheir lessons, but one morning he told Mrs. Kronborg that Thea hadtalent, and that if she came to him he could teach her in his slippers, and that would be better. Mrs. Kronborg was a strange woman. That word"talent, " which no one else in Moonstone, not even Dr. Archie, wouldhave understood, she comprehended perfectly. To any other woman there, it would have meant that a child must have her hair curled every day andmust play in public. Mrs. Kronborg knew it meant that Thea must practicefour hours a day. A child with talent must be kept at the piano, just asa child with measles must be kept under the blankets. Mrs. Kronborg andher three sisters had all studied piano, and all sang well, but none ofthem had talent. Their father had played the oboe in an orchestra inSweden, before he came to America to better his fortunes. He had evenknown Jenny Lind. A child with talent had to be kept at the piano; sotwice a week in summer and once a week in winter Thea went over thegulch to the Kohlers', though the Ladies' Aid Society thought it was notproper for their preacher's daughter to go "where there was so muchdrinking. " Not that the Kohler sons ever so much as looked at a glass ofbeer. They were ashamed of their old folks and got out into the world asfast as possible; had their clothes made by a Denver tailor and theirnecks shaved up under their hair and forgot the past. Old Fritz andWunsch, however, indulged in a friendly bottle pretty often. The two menwere like comrades; perhaps the bond between them was the glass whereinlost hopes are found; perhaps it was common memories of another country;perhaps it was the grapevine in the garden--knotty, fibrous shrub, fullof homesickness and sentiment, which the Germans have carried around theworld with them. 

As Thea approached the house she peeped between the pink sprays of thetamarisk hedge and saw the Professor and Mrs. Kohler in the garden, spading and raking. The garden looked like a relief-map now, and gave noindication of what it would be in August; such a jungle! Pole beans andpotatoes and corn and leeks and kale and red cabbage--there would evenbe vegetables for which there is no American name. Mrs. Kohler wasalways getting by mail packages of seeds from Freeport and from the oldcountry. Then the flowers! There were big sunflowers for the canarybird, tiger lilies and phlox and zinnias and lady's-slippers andportulaca and hollyhocks, --giant hollyhocks. Beside the fruit treesthere was a great umbrella-shaped catalpa, and a balm-of-Gilead, twolindens, and even a ginka, --a rigid, pointed tree with leaves shapedlike butterflies, which shivered, but never bent to the wind. 

This morning Thea saw to her delight that the two oleander trees, onewhite and one red, had been brought up from their winter quarters in thecellar. There is hardly a German family in the most arid parts of Utah, New Mexico, Arizona, but has its oleander trees. However loutish theAmerican-born sons of the family may be, there was never one who refusedto give his muscle to the back-breaking task of getting those tubbedtrees down into the cellar in the fall and up into the sunlight in thespring. They may strive to avert the day, but they grapple with the tubat last. 

When Thea entered the gate, her professor leaned his spade against thewhite post that supported the turreted dove-house, and wiped his facewith his shirt-sleeve; someway he never managed to have a handkerchiefabout him. Wunsch was short and stocky, with something rough andbear-like about his shoulders. His face was a dark, bricky red, deeplycreased rather than wrinkled, and the skin was like loose leather overhis neck band--he wore a brass collar button but no collar. His hair wascropped close; iron-gray bristles on a bullet-like head. His eyes werealways suffused and bloodshot. He had a coarse, scornful mouth, andirregular, yellow teeth, much worn at the edges. His hands were squareand red, seldom clean, but always alive, impatient, even sympathetic. 

"MORGEN, " he greeted his pupil in a businesslike way, put on a blackalpaca coat, and conducted her at once to the piano in Mrs. Kohler'ssitting-room. He twirled the stool to the proper height, pointed to it, and sat down in a wooden chair beside Thea. 

"The scale of B flat major, " he directed, and then fell into an attitudeof deep attention. Without a word his pupil set to work. 

To Mrs. Kohler, in the garden, came the cheerful sound of effort, ofvigorous striving. Unconsciously she wielded her rake more lightly. Occasionally she heard the teacher's voice. "Scale of E minor. . . WEITER, WEITER!. . . IMMER I hear the thumb, like a lame foot. WEITER. . . WEITER, once. . . SCHON! The chords, quick!"

The pupil did not open her mouth until they began the second movement ofthe Clementi sonata, when she remonstrated in low tones about the way hehad marked the fingering of a passage. 

"It makes no matter what you think, " replied her teacher coldly. "Thereis only one right way. The thumb there. EIN, ZWEI, DREI, VIER, " etc. Then for an hour there was no further interruption. 

At the end of the lesson Thea turned on her stool and leaned her arm onthe keyboard. They usually had a little talk after the lesson. 

Herr Wunsch grinned. "How soon is it you are free from school? Then wemake ahead faster, eh?"

"First week in June. Then will you give me the 'Invitation to theDance'?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "It makes no matter. If you want him, youplay him out of lesson hours. "

"All right. " Thea fumbled in her pocket and brought out a crumpled slipof paper. "What does this mean, please? I guess it's Latin. "

Wunsch blinked at the line penciled on the paper. "Wherefrom you getthis?" he asked gruffly. 

"Out of a book Dr. Archie gave me to read. It's all English but that. Did you ever see it before?" she asked, watching his face. 

"Yes. A long time ago, " he muttered, scowling. "Ovidius!" He took a stubof lead pencil from his vest pocket, steadied his hand by a visibleeffort, and under the words:

"LENTE CURRITE, LENTE CURRITE, NOCTIS EQUI, " he wrote in a clear, elegant Gothic hand, --

"GO SLOWLY, GO SLOWLY, YE STEEDS OF THE NIGHT. "

He put the pencil back in his pocket and continued to stare at theLatin. It recalled the poem, which he had read as a student, and thoughtvery fine. There were treasures of memory which no lodging-house keepercould attach. One carried things about in one's head, long after one'slinen could be smuggled out in a tuning-bag. He handed the paper backto Thea. "There is the English, quite elegant, " he said, rising. 

Mrs. Kohler stuck her head in at the door, and Thea slid off the stool. "Come in, Mrs. Kohler, " she called, "and show me the piece-picture. "

The old woman laughed, pulled off her big gardening gloves, and pushedThea to the lounge before the object of her delight. The"piece-picture, " which hung on the wall and nearly covered one whole endof the room, was the handiwork of Fritz Kohler. He had learned his tradeunder an old-fashioned tailor in Magdeburg who required from each of hisapprentices a thesis: that is, before they left his shop, eachapprentice had to copy in cloth some well known German painting, stitching bits of colored stuff together on a linen background; a kindof mosaic. The pupil was allowed to select his subject, and Fritz Kohlerhad chosen a popular painting of Napoleon's retreat from Moscow. Thegloomy Emperor and his staff were represented as crossing a stonebridge, and behind them was the blazing city, the walls and fortressesdone in gray cloth with orange tongues of flame darting about the domesand minarets. Napoleon rode his white horse; Murat, in Oriental dress, abay charger. Thea was never tired of examining this work, of hearing howlong it had taken Fritz to make it, how much it had been admired, andwhat narrow escapes it had had from moths and fire. Silk, Mrs. Kohlerexplained, would have been much easier to manage than woolen cloth, inwhich it was often hard to get the right shades. The reins of thehorses, the wheels of the spurs, the brooding eyebrows of the Emperor, Murat's fierce mustaches, the great shakos of the Guard, were all workedout with the minutest fidelity. Thea's admiration for this picture hadendeared her to Mrs. Kohler. It was now many years since she used topoint out its wonders to her own little boys. As Mrs. Kohler did not goto church, she never heard any singing, except the songs that floatedover from Mexican Town, and Thea often sang for her after the lesson wasover. This morning Wunsch pointed to the piano. 

"On Sunday, when I go by the church, I hear you sing something. "

Thea obediently sat down on the stool again and began, "COME, YEDISCONSOLATE. " Wunsch listened thoughtfully, his hands on his knees. Such a beautiful child's voice! Old Mrs. Kohler's face relaxed in asmile of happiness; she half closed her eyes. A big fly was darting inand out of the window; the sunlight made a golden pool on the rag carpetand bathed the faded cretonne pillows on the lounge, under thepiece-picture. "EARTH HAS NO SORROW THAT HEAVEN CANNOT HEAL, " the songdied away. 

"That is a good thing to remember, " Wunsch shook himself. "You believethat?" looking quizzically at Thea. 

She became confused and pecked nervously at a black key with her middlefinger. "I don't know. I guess so, " she murmured. 

Her teacher rose abruptly. "Remember, for next time, thirds. You oughtto get up earlier. "

That night the air was so warm that Fritz and Herr Wunsch had theirafter-supper pipe in the grape arbor, smoking in silence while the soundof fiddles and guitars came across the ravine from Mexican Town. Longafter Fritz and his old Paulina had gone to bed, Wunsch sat motionlessin the arbor, looking up through the woolly vine leaves at theglittering machinery of heaven. 

"LENTE CURRITE, NOCTIS EQUI. "

That line awoke many memories. He was thinking of youth; of his own, solong gone by, and of his pupil's, just beginning. He would even havecherished hopes for her, except that he had become superstitious. Hebelieved that whatever he hoped for was destined not to be; that hisaffection brought ill-fortune, especially to the young; that if he heldanything in his thoughts, he harmed it. He had taught in music schoolsin St. Louis and Kansas City, where the shallowness and complacency ofthe young misses had maddened him. He had encountered bad manners andbad faith, had been the victim of sharpers of all kinds, was dogged bybad luck. He had played in orchestras that were never paid and wanderingopera troupes which disbanded penniless. And there was always the oldenemy, more relentless than the others. It was long since he had wishedanything or desired anything beyond the necessities of the body. Nowthat he was tempted to hope for another, he felt alarmed and shook hishead. 

It was his pupil's power of application, her rugged will, thatinterested him. He had lived for so long among people whose soleambition was to get something for nothing that he had learned not tolook for seriousness in anything. Now that he by chance encountered it, it recalled standards, ambitions, a society long forgot. What was it shereminded him of? A yellow flower, full of sunlight, perhaps. No; a thinglass full of sweet-smelling, sparkling Moselle wine. He seemed to seesuch a glass before him in the arbor, to watch the bubbles rising andbreaking, like the silent discharge of energy in the nerves and brain, the rapid florescence in young blood--Wunsch felt ashamed and draggedhis slippers along the path to the kitchen, his eyes on the ground. 

V

The children in the primary grades were sometimes required to makerelief maps of Moonstone in sand. Had they used colored sands, as theNavajo medicine men do in their sand mosaics, they could easily haveindicated the social classifications of Moonstone, since these conformedto certain topographical boundaries, and every child understood themperfectly. 

The main business street ran, of course, through the center of the town. To the west of this street lived all the people who were, as TillieKronborg said, "in society. " Sylvester Street, the third parallel withMain Street on the west, was the longest in town, and the best dwellingswere built along it. Far out at the north end, nearly a mile from thecourt-house and its cottonwood grove, was Dr. Archie's house, its bigyard and garden surrounded by a white paling fence. The Methodist Churchwas in the center of the town, facing the court-house square. TheKronborgs lived half a mile south of the church, on the long street thatstretched out like an arm to the depot settlement. This was the firststreet west of Main, and was built up only on one side. The preacher'shouse faced the backs of the brick and frame store buildings and a drawfull of sunflowers and scraps of old iron. The sidewalk which ran infront of the Kronborgs' house was the one continuous sidewalk to thedepot, and all the train men and roundhouse employees passed the frontgate every time they came uptown. Thea and Mrs. Kronborg had manyfriends among the railroad men, who often paused to chat across thefence, and of one of these we shall have more to say. 

In the part of Moonstone that lay east of Main Street, toward the deepravine which, farther south, wound by Mexican Town, lived all thehumbler citizens, the people who voted but did not run for office. Thehouses were little story-and-a-half cottages, with none of the fussyarchitectural efforts that marked those on Sylvester Street. Theynestled modestly behind their cottonwoods and Virginia creeper; theiroccupants had no social pretensions to keep up. There were no half-glassfront doors with doorbells, or formidable parlors behind closedshutters. Here the old women washed in the back yard, and the men sat inthe front doorway and smoked their pipes. The people on Sylvester Streetscarcely knew that this part of the town existed. Thea liked to takeThor and her express wagon and explore these quiet, shady streets, wherethe people never tried to have lawns or to grow elms and pine trees, butlet the native timber have its way and spread in luxuriance. She hadmany friends there, old women who gave her a yellow rose or a spray oftrumpet vine and appeased Thor with a cooky or a doughnut. They calledThea "that preacher's girl, " but the demonstrative was misplaced, forwhen they spoke of Mr. Kronborg they called him "the Methodistpreacher. "

Dr. Archie was very proud of his yard and garden, which he workedhimself. He was the only man in Moonstone who was successful at growingrambler roses, and his strawberries were famous. One morning when Theawas downtown on an errand, the doctor stopped her, took her hand andwent over her with a quizzical eye, as he nearly always did when theymet. 

"You haven't been up to my place to get any strawberries yet, Thea. They're at their best just now. Mrs. Archie doesn't know what to do withthem all. Come up this afternoon. Just tell Mrs. Archie I sent you. Bring a big basket and pick till you are tired. "

When she got home Thea told her mother that she didn't want to go, because she didn't like Mrs. Archie. 

"She is certainly one queer woman, " Mrs. Kronborg assented, "but he'sasked you so often, I guess you'll have to go this time. She won't biteyou. "

After dinner Thea took a basket, put Thor in his baby buggy, and set outfor Dr. Archie's house at the other end of town. As soon as she camewithin sight of the house, she slackened her pace. She approached itvery slowly, stopping often to pick dandelions and sand-peas for Thor tocrush up in his fist. 

It was his wife's custom, as soon as Dr. Archie left the house in themorning, to shut all the doors and windows to keep the dust out, and topull down the shades to keep the sun from fading the carpets. Shethought, too, that neighbors were less likely to drop in if the housewas closed up. She was one of those people who are stingy without motiveor reason, even when they can gain nothing by it. She must have knownthat skimping the doctor in heat and food made him more extravagant thanhe would have been had she made him comfortable. He never came home forlunch, because she gave him such miserable scraps and shreds of food. Nomatter how much milk he bought, he could never get thick cream for hisstrawberries. Even when he watched his wife lift it from the milk insmooth, ivory-colored blankets, she managed, by some sleight-of-hand, todilute it before it got to the breakfast table. The butcher's favoritejoke was about the kind of meat he sold Mrs. Archie. She felt nointerest in food herself, and she hated to prepare it. She liked nothingbetter than to have Dr. Archie go to Denver for a few days--he oftenwent chiefly because he was hungry--and to be left alone to eat cannedsalmon and to keep the house shut up from morning until night. 

Mrs. Archie would not have a servant because, she said, "they ate toomuch and broke too much"; she even said they knew too much. She usedwhat mind she had in devising shifts to minimize her housework. She usedto tell her neighbors that if there were no men, there would be nohousework. When Mrs. Archie was first married, she had been always in apanic for fear she would have children. Now that her apprehensions onthat score had grown paler, she was almost as much afraid of having dustin the house as she had once been of having children in it. If dust didnot get in, it did not have to be got out, she said. She would take anyamount of trouble to avoid trouble. Why, nobody knew. Certainly herhusband had never been able to make her out. Such little, mean naturesare among the darkest and most baffling of created things. There is nolaw by which they can be explained. The ordinary incentives of pain andpleasure do not account for their behavior. They live like insects, absorbed in petty activities that seem to have nothing to do with anygenial aspect of human life. 

Mrs. Archie, as Mrs. Kronborg said, "liked to gad. " She liked to haveher house clean, empty, dark, locked, and to be out of it--anywhere. Achurch social, a prayer meeting, a ten-cent show; she seemed to have nopreference. When there was nowhere else to go, she used to sit for hoursin Mrs. Smiley's millinery and notion store, listening to the talk ofthe women who came in, watching them while they tried on hats, blinkingat them from her corner with her sharp, restless little eyes. She nevertalked much herself, but she knew all the gossip of the town and she hada sharp ear for racy anecdotes--"traveling men's stories, " they used tobe called in Moonstone. Her clicking laugh sounded like a typewritingmachine in action, and, for very pointed stories, she had a littlescreech. 

Mrs. Archie had been Mrs. Archie for only six years, and when she wasBelle White she was one of the "pretty" girls in Lansing, Michigan. Shehad then a train of suitors. She could truly remind Archie that "theboys hung around her. " They did. They thought her very spirited and werealways saying, "Oh, that Belle White, she's a case!" She used to playheavy practical jokes which the young men thought very clever. Archiewas considered the most promising young man in "the young crowd, " soBelle selected him. She let him see, made him fully aware, that she hadselected him, and Archie was the sort of boy who could not withstandsuch enlightenment. Belle's family were sorry for him. On his weddingday her sisters looked at the big, handsome boy--he was twenty-four--ashe walked down the aisle with his bride, and then they looked at eachother. His besotted confidence, his sober, radiant face, his gentle, protecting arm, made them uncomfortable. Well, they were glad that hewas going West at once, to fulfill his doom where they would not beonlookers. Anyhow, they consoled themselves, they had got Belle offtheir hands. 

More than that, Belle seemed to have got herself off her hands. Herreputed prettiness must have been entirely the result of determination, of a fierce little ambition. Once she had married, fastened herself onsome one, come to port, --it vanished like the ornamental plumage whichdrops away from some birds after the mating season. The one aggressiveaction of her life was over. She began to shrink in face and stature. Ofher harum-scarum spirit there was nothing left but the little screech. Within a few years she looked as small and mean as she was. 

Thor's chariot crept along. Thea approached the house unwillingly. Shedidn't care about the strawberries, anyhow. She had come only becauseshe did not want to hurt Dr. Archie's feelings. She not only dislikedMrs. Archie, she was a little afraid of her. While Thea was getting theheavy baby-buggy through the iron gate she heard some one call, "Wait aminute!" and Mrs. Archie came running around the house from the backdoor, her apron over her head. She came to help with the buggy, becauseshe was afraid the wheels might scratch the paint off the gateposts. Shewas a skinny little woman with a great pile of frizzy light hair on asmall head. 

"Dr. Archie told me to come up and pick some strawberries, " Theamuttered, wishing she had stayed at home. 

Mrs. Archie led the way to the back door, squinting and shading her eyeswith her hand. "Wait a minute, " she said again, when Thea explained whyshe had come. 

She went into her kitchen and Thea sat down on the porch step. When Mrs. Archie reappeared she carried in her hand a little wooden butter-baskettrimmed with fringed tissue paper, which she must have brought home fromsome church supper. "You'll have to have something to put them in, " shesaid, ignoring the yawning willow basket which stood empty on Thor'sfeet. "You can have this, and you needn't mind about returning it. Youknow about not trampling the vines, don't you?"

Mrs. Archie went back into the house and Thea leaned over in the sandand picked a few strawberries. As soon as she was sure that she was notgoing to cry, she tossed the little basket into the big one and ranThor's buggy along the gravel walk and out of the gate as fast as shecould push it. She was angry, and she was ashamed for Dr. Archie. Shecould not help thinking how uncomfortable he would be if he ever foundout about it. Little things like that were the ones that cut him most. She slunk home by the back way, and again almost cried when she told hermother about it. 

Mrs. Kronborg was frying doughnuts for her husband's supper. She laughedas she dropped a new lot into the hot grease. "It's wonderful, the waysome people are made, " she declared. "But I wouldn't let that upset meif I was you. Think what it would be to live with it all the time. Youlook in the black pocketbook inside my handbag and take a dime and godowntown and get an ice-cream soda. That'll make you feel better. Thorcan have a little of the ice-cream if you feed it to him with a spoon. He likes it, don't you, son?" She stooped to wipe his chin. Thor wasonly six months old and inarticulate, but it was quite true that heliked ice-cream. 

VI

Seen from a balloon, Moonstone would have looked like a Noah's ark townset out in the sand and lightly shaded by gray-green tamarisks andcottonwoods. A few people were trying to make soft maples grow in theirturfed lawns, but the fashion of planting incongruous trees from theNorth Atlantic States had not become general then, and the frail, brightly painted desert town was shaded by the light-reflecting, wind-loving trees of the desert, whose roots are always seeking waterand whose leaves are always talking about it, making the sound of rain. The long porous roots of the cottonwood are irrepressible. They breakinto the wells as rats do into granaries, and thieve the water. 

The long street which connected Moonstone with the depot settlementtraversed in its course a considerable stretch of rough open country, staked out in lots but not built up at all, a weedy hiatus between thetown and the railroad. When you set out along this street to go to thestation, you noticed that the houses became smaller and farther apart, until they ceased altogether, and the board sidewalk continued itsuneven course through sunflower patches, until you reached the solitary, new brick Catholic Church. The church stood there because the land wasgiven to the parish by the man who owned the adjoining waste lots, inthe hope of making them more salable--"Farrier's Addition, " this patchof prairie was called in the clerk's office. An eighth of a mile beyondthe church was a washout, a deep sand-gully, where the board sidewalkbecame a bridge for perhaps fifty feet. Just beyond the gully was oldUncle Billy Beemer's grove, --twelve town lots set out in fine, well-grown cottonwood trees, delightful to look upon, or to listen to, as they swayed and rippled in the wind. Uncle Billy had been one of themost worthless old drunkards who ever sat on a store box and told filthystories. One night he played hide-and-seek with a switch engine and gothis sodden brains knocked out. But his grove, the one creditable thinghe had ever done in his life, rustled on. Beyond this grove the housesof the depot settlement began, and the naked board walk, that had run inout of the sunflowers, again became a link between human dwellings. 

One afternoon, late in the summer, Dr. Howard Archie was fighting hisway back to town along this walk through a blinding sandstorm, a silkhandkerchief tied over his mouth. He had been to see a sick woman downin the depot settlement, and he was walking because his ponies had beenout for a hard drive that morning. 

As he passed the Catholic Church he came upon Thea and Thor. Thea wassitting in a child's express wagon, her feet out behind, kicking thewagon along and steering by the tongue. Thor was on her lap and she heldhim with one arm. He had grown to be a big cub of a baby, with aconstitutional grievance, and he had to be continually amused. Thea tookhim philosophically, and tugged and pulled him about, getting as muchfun as she could under her encumbrance. Her hair was blowing about herface, and her eyes were squinting so intently at the uneven boardsidewalk in front of her that she did not see the doctor until he spoketo her. 

"Look out, Thea. You'll steer that youngster into the ditch. "

The wagon stopped. Thea released the tongue, wiped her hot, sandy face, and pushed back her hair. "Oh, no, I won't! I never ran off but once, and then he didn't get anything but a bump. He likes this better than ababy buggy, and so do I. "

"Are you going to kick that cart all the way home?"

"Of course. We take long trips; wherever there is a sidewalk. It's nogood on the road. "

"Looks to me like working pretty hard for your fun. Are you going to bebusy to-night? Want to make a call with me? Spanish Johnny's come homeagain, all used up. His wife sent me word this morning, and I said I'dgo over to see him to-night. He's an old chum of yours, isn't he?"

"Oh, I'm glad. She's been crying her eyes out. When did he come?"

"Last night, on Number Six. Paid his fare, they tell me. Too sick tobeat it. There'll come a time when that boy won't get back, I'm afraid. Come around to my office about eight o'clock, --and you needn't bringthat!"

Thor seemed to understand that he had been insulted, for he scowled andbegan to kick the side of the wagon, shouting, "Go-go, go-go!" Thealeaned forward and grabbed the wagon tongue. Dr. Archie stepped in frontof her and blocked the way. "Why don't you make him wait? What do youlet him boss you like that for?"

"If he gets mad he throws himself, and then I can't do anything withhim. When he's mad he's lots stronger than me, aren't you, Thor?" Theaspoke with pride, and the idol was appeased. He grunted approvingly ashis sister began to kick rapidly behind her, and the wagon rattled offand soon disappeared in the flying currents of sand. 

That evening Dr. Archie was seated in his office, his desk chair tiltedback, reading by the light of a hot coal-oil lamp. All the windows wereopen, but the night was breathless after the sandstorm, and his hair wasmoist where it hung over his forehead. He was deeply engrossed in hisbook and sometimes smiled thoughtfully as he read. When Thea Kronborgentered quietly and slipped into a seat, he nodded, finished hisparagraph, inserted a bookmark, and rose to put the book back into thecase. It was one out of the long row of uniform volumes on the topshelf. 

"Nearly every time I come in, when you're alone, you're reading one ofthose books, " Thea remarked thoughtfully. "They must be very nice. "

The doctor dropped back into his swivel chair, the mottled volume stillin his hand. "They aren't exactly books, Thea, " he said seriously. "They're a city. "

"A history, you mean?"

"Yes, and no. They're a history of a live city, not a dead one. AFrenchman undertook to write about a whole cityful of people, all thekinds he knew. And he got them nearly all in, I guess. Yes, it's veryinteresting. You'll like to read it some day, when you're grown up. "

Thea leaned forward and made out the title on the back, "A DistinguishedProvincial in Paris. "

"It doesn't sound very interesting. "

"Perhaps not, but it is. " The doctor scrutinized her broad face, lowenough to be in the direct light from under the green lamp shade. "Yes, "he went on with some satisfaction, "I think you'll like them some day. You're always curious about people, and I expect this man knew moreabout people than anybody that ever lived. "

"City people or country people?"

"Both. People are pretty much the same everywhere. "

"Oh, no, they're not. The people who go through in the dining-car aren'tlike us. "

"What makes you think they aren't, my girl? Their clothes?"

Thea shook her head. "No, it's something else. I don't know. " Her eyesshifted under the doctor's searching gaze and she glanced up at the rowof books. "How soon will I be old enough to read them?"

"Soon enough, soon enough, little girl. " The doctor patted her hand andlooked at her index finger. "The nail's coming all right, isn't it? ButI think that man makes you practice too much. You have it on your mindall the time. " He had noticed that when she talked to him she was alwaysopening and shutting her hands. "It makes you nervous. "

"No, he don't, " Thea replied stubbornly, watching Dr. Archie return thebook to its niche. 

He took up a black leather case, put on his hat, and they went down thedark stairs into the street. The summer moon hung full in the sky. Forthe time being, it was the great fact in the world. Beyond the edge ofthe town the plain was so white that every clump of sage stood outdistinct from the sand, and the dunes looked like a shining lake. Thedoctor took off his straw hat and carried it in his hand as they walkedtoward Mexican Town, across the sand. 

North of Pueblo, Mexican settlements were rare in Colorado then. Thisone had come about accidentally. Spanish Johnny was the first Mexicanwho came to Moonstone. He was a painter and decorator, and had beenworking in Trinidad, when Ray Kennedy told him there was a "boom" on inMoonstone, and a good many new buildings were going up. A year afterJohnny settled in Moonstone, his cousin, Famos Serrenos, came to work inthe brickyard; then Serrenos' cousins came to help him. During thestrike, the master mechanic put a gang of Mexicans to work in theroundhouse. The Mexicans had arrived so quietly, with their blankets andmusical instruments, that before Moonstone was awake to the fact, therewas a Mexican quarter; a dozen families or more. 

As Thea and the doctor approached the 'dobe houses, they heard a guitar, and a rich barytone voice--that of Famos Serrenos--singing "LaGolandrina. " All the Mexican houses had neat little yards, with tamariskhedges and flowers, and walks bordered with shells or whitewashedstones. Johnny's house was dark. His wife, Mrs. Tellamantez, was sittingon the doorstep, combing her long, blue-black hair. (Mexican women arelike the Spartans; when they are in trouble, in love, under stress ofany kind, they comb and comb their hair. ) She rose without embarrassmentor apology, comb in hand, and greeted the doctor. 

"Good-evening; will you go in?" she asked in a low, musical voice. "Heis in the back room. I will make a light. " She followed them indoors, lit a candle and handed it to the doctor, pointing toward the bedroom. Then she went back and sat down on her doorstep. 

Dr. Archie and Thea went into the bedroom, which was dark and quiet. There was a bed in the corner, and a man was lying on the clean sheets. On the table beside him was a glass pitcher, half-full of water. SpanishJohnny looked younger than his wife, and when he was in health he wasvery handsome: slender, gold-colored, with wavy black hair, a round, smooth throat, white teeth, and burning black eyes. His profile wasstrong and severe, like an Indian's. What was termed his "wildness"showed itself only in his feverish eyes and in the color that burned onhis tawny cheeks. That night he was a coppery green, and his eyes werelike black holes. He opened them when the doctor held the candle beforehis face. 

"MI TESTA!" he muttered, "MI TESTA, " doctor. "LA FIEBRE!" Seeing thedoctor's companion at the foot of the bed, he attempted a smile. "MUCHACHA!" he exclaimed deprecatingly. 

Dr. Archie stuck a thermometer into his mouth. "Now, Thea, you can runoutside and wait for me. "

Thea slipped noiselessly through the dark house and joined Mrs. Tellamantez. The somber Mexican woman did not seem inclined to talk, buther nod was friendly. Thea sat down on the warm sand, her back to themoon, facing Mrs. Tellamantez on her doorstep, and began to count themoon flowers on the vine that ran over the house. Mrs. Tellamantez wasalways considered a very homely woman. Her face was of a strongly markedtype not sympathetic to Americans. Such long, oval faces, with a fullchin, a large, mobile mouth, a high nose, are not uncommon in Spain. Mrs. Tellamantez could not write her name, and could read but little. Her strong nature lived upon itself. She was chiefly known in Moonstonefor her forbearance with her incorrigible husband. 

Nobody knew exactly what was the matter with Johnny, and everybody likedhim. His popularity would have been unusual for a white man, for aMexican it was unprecedented. His talents were his undoing. He had ahigh, uncertain tenor voice, and he played the mandolin with exceptionalskill. Periodically he went crazy. There was no other way to explain hisbehavior. He was a clever workman, and, when he worked, as regular andfaithful as a burro. Then some night he would fall in with a crowd atthe saloon and begin to sing. He would go on until he had no voice left, until he wheezed and rasped. Then he would play his mandolin furiously, and drink until his eyes sank back into his head. At last, when he wasput out of the saloon at closing time, and could get nobody to listen tohim, he would run away--along the railroad track, straight across thedesert. He always managed to get aboard a freight somewhere. Once beyondDenver, he played his way southward from saloon to saloon until he gotacross the border. He never wrote to his wife; but she would soon beginto get newspapers from La Junta, Albuquerque, Chihuahua, with markedparagraphs announcing that Juan Tellamantez and his wonderful mandolincould be heard at the Jack Rabbit Grill, or the Pearl of Cadiz Saloon. Mrs. Tellamantez waited and wept and combed her hair. When he wascompletely wrung out and burned up, --all but destroyed, --her Juan alwayscame back to her to be taken care of, --once with an ugly knife wound inthe neck, once with a finger missing from his right hand, --but he playedjust as well with three fingers as he had with four. 

Public sentiment was lenient toward Johnny, but everybody was disgustedwith Mrs. Tellamantez for putting up with him. She ought to disciplinehim, people said; she ought to leave him; she had no self-respect. Inshort, Mrs. Tellamantez got all the blame. Even Thea thought she wasmuch too humble. To-night, as she sat with her back to the moon, lookingat the moon flowers and Mrs. Tellamantez's somber face, she was thinkingthat there is nothing so sad in the world as that kind of patience andresignation. It was much worse than Johnny's craziness. She evenwondered whether it did not help to make Johnny crazy. People had noright to be so passive and resigned. She would like to roll over andover in the sand and screech at Mrs. Tellamantez. She was glad when thedoctor came out. 

The Mexican woman rose and stood respectful and expectant. The doctorheld his hat in his hand and looked kindly at her. 

"Same old thing, Mrs. Tellamantez. He's no worse than he's been before. I've left some medicine. Don't give him anything but toast water until Isee him again. You're a good nurse; you'll get him out. " Dr. Archiesmiled encouragingly. He glanced about the little garden and wrinkledhis brows. "I can't see what makes him behave so. He's killing himself, and he's not a rowdy sort of fellow. Can't you tie him up someway? Can'tyou tell when these fits are coming on?"

Mrs. Tellamantez put her hand to her forehead. "The saloon, doctor, theexcitement; that is what makes him. People listen to him, and it exciteshim. "

The doctor shook his head. "Maybe. He's too much for my calculations. Idon't see what he gets out of it. "

"He is always fooled, "--the Mexican woman spoke rapidly and tremulously, her long under lip quivering. 

"He is good at heart, but he has no head. He fools himself. You do notunderstand in this country, you are progressive. But he has no judgment, and he is fooled. " She stooped quickly, took up one of the whiteconch-shells that bordered the walk, and, with an apologetic inclinationof her head, held it to Dr. Archie's ear. "Listen, doctor. You hearsomething in there? You hear the sea; and yet the sea is very far fromhere. You have judgment, and you know that. But he is fooled. To him, itis the sea itself. A little thing is big to him. " She bent and placedthe shell in the white row, with its fellows. Thea took it up softly andpressed it to her own ear. The sound in it startled her; it was likesomething calling one. So that was why Johnny ran away. There wassomething awe-inspiring about Mrs. Tellamantez and her shell. 

Thea caught Dr. Archie's hand and squeezed it hard as she skipped alongbeside him back toward Moonstone. She went home, and the doctor wentback to his lamp and his book. He never left his office until aftermidnight. If he did not play whist or pool in the evening, he read. Ithad become a habit with him to lose himself. 

VII

Thea's twelfth birthday had passed a few weeks before her memorable callupon Mrs. Tellamantez. There was a worthy man in Moonstone who wasalready planning to marry Thea as soon as she should be old enough. Hisname was Ray Kennedy, his age was thirty, and he was conductor on afreight train, his run being from Moonstone to Denver. Ray was a bigfellow, with a square, open American face, a rock chin, and featuresthat one would never happen to remember. He was an aggressive idealist, a freethinker, and, like most railroad men, deeply sentimental. Thealiked him for reasons that had to do with the adventurous life he hadled in Mexico and the Southwest, rather than for anything very personal. She liked him, too, because he was the only one of her friends who evertook her to the sand hills. The sand hills were a constanttantalization; she loved them better than anything near Moonstone, andyet she could so seldom get to them. The first dunes were accessibleenough; they were only a few miles beyond the Kohlers', and she couldrun out there any day when she could do her practicing in the morningand get Thor off her hands for an afternoon. But the real hills--theTurquoise Hills, the Mexicans called them--were ten good miles away, andone reached them by a heavy, sandy road. Dr. Archie sometimes took Theaon his long drives, but as nobody lived in the sand hills, he never hadcalls to make in that direction. Ray Kennedy was her only hope ofgetting there. 

This summer Thea had not been to the hills once, though Ray had plannedseveral Sunday expeditions. Once Thor was sick, and once the organist inher father's church was away and Thea had to play the organ for thethree Sunday services. But on the first Sunday in September, Ray droveup to the Kronborgs' front gate at nine o'clock in the morning and theparty actually set off. Gunner and Axel went with Thea, and Ray hadasked Spanish Johnny to come and to bring Mrs. Tellamantez and hismandolin. Ray was artlessly fond of music, especially of Mexican music. He and Mrs. Tellamantez had got up the lunch between them, and they wereto make coffee in the desert. 

When they left Mexican Town, Thea was on the front seat with Ray andJohnny, and Gunner and Axel sat behind with Mrs. Tellamantez. Theyobjected to this, of course, but there were some things about which Theawould have her own way. "As stubborn as a Finn, " Mrs. Kronborg sometimessaid of her, quoting an old Swedish saying. When they passed theKohlers', old Fritz and Wunsch were cutting grapes at the arbor. Theagave them a businesslike nod. Wunsch came to the gate and looked afterthem. He divined Ray Kennedy's hopes, and he distrusted every expeditionthat led away from the piano. Unconsciously he made Thea pay forfrivolousness of this sort. 

As Ray Kennedy's party followed the faint road across the sagebrush, they heard behind them the sound of church bells, which gave them asense of escape and boundless freedom. Every rabbit that shot across thepath, every sage hen that flew up by the trail, was like a runawaythought, a message that one sent into the desert. As they went farther, the illusion of the mirage became more instead of less convincing; ashallow silver lake that spread for many miles, a little misty in thesunlight. Here and there one saw reflected the image of a heifer, turnedloose to live upon the sparse sand-grass. They were magnified to apreposterous height and looked like mammoths, prehistoric beastsstanding solitary in the waters that for many thousands of yearsactually washed over that desert;--the mirage itself may be the ghostof that long-vanished sea. Beyond the phantom lake lay the line ofmany-colored hills; rich, sun-baked yellow, glowing turquoise, lavender, purple; all the open, pastel colors of the desert. 

After the first five miles the road grew heavier. The horses had to slowdown to a walk and the wheels sank deep into the sand, which now lay inlong ridges, like waves, where the last high wind had drifted it. Twohours brought the party to Pedro's Cup, named for a Mexican desperadowho had once held the sheriff at bay there. The Cup was a greatamphitheater, cut out in the hills, its floor smooth and packed hard, dotted with sagebrush and greasewood. 

On either side of the Cup the yellow hills ran north and south, withwinding ravines between them, full of soft sand which drained down fromthe crumbling banks. On the surface of this fluid sand, one could findbits of brilliant stone, crystals and agates and onyx, and petrifiedwood as red as blood. Dried toads and lizards were to be found there, too. Birds, decomposing more rapidly, left only feathered skeletons. 

After a little reconnoitering, Mrs. Tellamantez declared that it wastime for lunch, and Ray took his hatchet and began to cut greasewood, which burns fiercely in its green state. The little boys dragged thebushes to the spot that Mrs. Tellamantez had chosen for her fire. Mexican women like to cook out of doors. 

After lunch Thea sent Gunner and Axel to hunt for agates. "If you see arattlesnake, run. Don't try to kill it, " she enjoined. 

Gunner hesitated. "If Ray would let me take the hatchet, I could killone all right. "

Mrs. Tellamantez smiled and said something to Johnny in Spanish. 

"Yes, " her husband replied, translating, "they say in Mexico, kill asnake but never hurt his feelings. Down in the hot country, MUCHACHA, "turning to Thea, "people keep a pet snake in the house to kill rats andmice. They call him the house snake. They keep a little mat for him bythe fire, and at night he curl up there and sit with the family, just asfriendly!"

Gunner sniffed with disgust. "Well, I think that's a dirty Mexican wayto keep house; so there!"

Johnny shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps, " he muttered. A Mexican learnsto dive below insults or soar above them, after he crosses the border. 

By this time the south wall of the amphitheater cast a narrow shelf ofshadow, and the party withdrew to this refuge. Ray and Johnny began totalk about the Grand Canyon and Death Valley, two places much shroudedin mystery in those days, and Thea listened intently. Mrs. Tellamanteztook out her drawn-work and pinned it to her knee. Ray could talk wellabout the large part of the continent over which he had been knockedabout, and Johnny was appreciative. 

"You been all over, pretty near. Like a Spanish boy, " he commentedrespectfully. 

Ray, who had taken off his coat, whetted his pocketknife thoughtfully onthe sole of his shoe. "I began to browse around early. I had a mind tosee something of this world, and I ran away from home before I wastwelve. Rustled for myself ever since. "

"Ran away?" Johnny looked hopeful. "What for?"

"Couldn't make it go with my old man, and didn't take to farming. Therewere plenty of boys at home. I wasn't missed. "

Thea wriggled down in the hot sand and rested her chin on her arm. "TellJohnny about the melons, Ray, please do!"

Ray's solid, sunburned cheeks grew a shade redder, and he lookedreproachfully at Thea. "You're stuck on that story, kid. You like to getthe laugh on me, don't you? That was the finishing split I had with myold man, John. He had a claim along the creek, not far from Denver, andraised a little garden stuff for market. One day he had a load of melonsand he decided to take 'em to town and sell 'em along the street, and hemade me go along and drive for him. Denver wasn't the queen city it isnow, by any means, but it seemed a terrible big place to me; and when wegot there, if he didn't make me drive right up Capitol Hill! Pap got outand stopped at folkses houses to ask if they didn't want to buy anymelons, and I was to drive along slow. The farther I went the madder Igot, but I was trying to look unconscious, when the end-gate came looseand one of the melons fell out and squashed. Just then a swell girl, alldressed up, comes out of one of the big houses and calls out, 'Hello, boy, you're losing your melons!' Some dudes on the other side of thestreet took their hats off to her and began to laugh. I couldn't standit any longer. I grabbed the whip and lit into that team, and they toreup the hill like jack-rabbits, them damned melons bouncing out the backevery jump, the old man cussin' an' yellin' behind and everybodylaughin'. I never looked behind, but the whole of Capitol Hill must havebeen a mess with them squashed melons. I didn't stop the team till I gotout of sight of town. Then I pulled up an' left 'em with a rancher I wasacquainted with, and I never went home to get the lickin' that waswaitin' for me. I expect it's waitin' for me yet. "

Thea rolled over in the sand. "Oh, I wish I could have seen those melonsfly, Ray! I'll never see anything as funny as that. Now, tell Johnnyabout your first job. "

Ray had a collection of good stories. He was observant, truthful, andkindly--perhaps the chief requisites in a good story-teller. Occasionally he used newspaper phrases, conscientiously learned in hisefforts at self-instruction, but when he talked naturally he was alwaysworth listening to. Never having had any schooling to speak of, he had, almost from the time he first ran away, tried to make good his loss. Asa sheep-herder he had worried an old grammar to tatters, and readinstructive books with the help of a pocket dictionary. By the light ofmany camp-fires he had pondered upon Prescott's histories, and the worksof Washington Irving, which he bought at a high price from a book-agent. Mathematics and physics were easy for him, but general culture camehard, and he was determined to get it. Ray was a freethinker, andinconsistently believed himself damned for being one. When he wasbraking, down on the Santa Fe, at the end of his run he used to climbinto the upper bunk of the caboose, while a noisy gang played pokerabout the stove below him, and by the roof-lamp read Robert Ingersoll'sspeeches and "The Age of Reason. "

Ray was a loyal-hearted fellow, and it had cost him a great deal to giveup his God. He was one of the stepchildren of Fortune, and he had verylittle to show for all his hard work; the other fellow always got thebest of it. He had come in too late, or too early, on several schemesthat had made money. He brought with him from all his wanderings a gooddeal of information (more or less correct in itself, but unrelated, andtherefore misleading), a high standard of personal honor, a sentimentalveneration for all women, bad as well as good, and a bitter hatred ofEnglishmen. Thea often thought that the nicest thing about Ray was hislove for Mexico and the Mexicans, who had been kind to him when hedrifted, a homeless boy, over the border. In Mexico, Ray was SenorKen-ay-dy, and when he answered to that name he was somehow a differentfellow. He spoke Spanish fluently, and the sunny warmth of that tonguekept him from being quite as hard as his chin, or as narrow as hispopular science. 

While Ray was smoking his cigar, he and Johnny fell to talking about thegreat fortunes that had been made in the Southwest, and about fellowsthey knew who had "struck it rich. "

"I guess you been in on some big deals down there?" Johnny askedtrustfully. 

Ray smiled and shook his head. "I've been out on some, John. I've neverbeen exactly in on any. So far, I've either held on too long or let gotoo soon. But mine's coming to me, all right. " Ray looked reflective. Heleaned back in the shadow and dug out a rest for his elbow in the sand. "The narrowest escape I ever had, was in the Bridal Chamber. If I hadn'tlet go there, it would have made me rich. That was a close call. "

Johnny looked delighted. "You don' say! She was silver mine, I guess?"

"I guess she was! Down at Lake Valley. I put up a few hundred for theprospector, and he gave me a bunch of stock. Before we'd got anythingout of it, my brother-in-law died of the fever in Cuba. My sister wasbeside herself to get his body back to Colorado to bury him. Seemedfoolish to me, but she's the only sister I got. It's expensive for deadfolks to travel, and I had to sell my stock in the mine to raise themoney to get Elmer on the move. Two months afterward, the boys struckthat big pocket in the rock, full of virgin silver. They named her theBridal Chamber. It wasn't ore, you remember. It was pure, soft metal youcould have melted right down into dollars. The boys cut it out withchisels. If old Elmer hadn't played that trick on me, I'd have been infor about fifty thousand. That was a close call, Spanish. "

"I recollec'. When the pocket gone, the town go bust. "

"You bet. Higher'n a kite. There was no vein, just a pocket in the rockthat had sometime or another got filled up with molten silver. You'dthink there would be more somewhere about, but NADA. There's foolsdigging holes in that mountain yet. "

When Ray had finished his cigar, Johnny took his mandolin and beganKennedy's favorite, "Ultimo Amor. " It was now three o'clock in theafternoon, the hottest hour in the day. The narrow shelf of shadow hadwidened until the floor of the amphitheater was marked off in twohalves, one glittering yellow, and one purple. The little boys had comeback and were making a robbers' cave to enact the bold deeds of Pedrothe bandit. Johnny, stretched gracefully on the sand, passed from"Ultimo Amor" to "Fluvia de Oro, " and then to "Noches de Algeria, "playing languidly. 

Every one was busy with his own thoughts. Mrs. Tellamantez was thinkingof the square in the little town in which she was born; of the whitechurch steps, with people genuflecting as they passed, and theround-topped acacia trees, and the band playing in the plaza. RayKennedy was thinking of the future, dreaming the large Western dream ofeasy money, of a fortune kicked up somewhere in the hills, --an oil well, a gold mine, a ledge of copper. He always told himself, when he accepteda cigar from a newly married railroad man, that he knew enough not tomarry until he had found his ideal, and could keep her like a queen. Hebelieved that in the yellow head over there in the sand he had found hisideal, and that by the time she was old enough to marry, he would beable to keep her like a queen. He would kick it up from somewhere, whenhe got loose from the railroad. 

Thea, stirred by tales of adventure, of the Grand Canyon and DeathValley, was recalling a great adventure of her own. Early in the summerher father had been invited to conduct a reunion of old frontiersmen, upin Wyoming, near Laramie, and he took Thea along with him to play theorgan and sing patriotic songs. There they stayed at the house of an oldranchman who told them about a ridge up in the hills called LaramiePlain, where the wagon-trails of the Forty-niners and the Mormons werestill visible. The old man even volunteered to take Mr. Kronborg up intothe hills to see this place, though it was a very long drive to make inone day. Thea had begged frantically to go along, and the old rancher, flattered by her rapt attention to his stories, had interceded for her. 

They set out from Laramie before daylight, behind a strong team ofmules. All the way there was much talk of the Forty-niners. The oldrancher had been a teamster in a freight train that used to crawl backand forth across the plains between Omaha and Cherry Creek, as Denverwas then called, and he had met many a wagon train bound for California. He told of Indians and buffalo, thirst and slaughter, wanderings insnowstorms, and lonely graves in the desert. 

The road they followed was a wild and beautiful one. It led up and up, by granite rocks and stunted pines, around deep ravines and echoinggorges. The top of the ridge, when they reached it, was a great flatplain, strewn with white boulders, with the wind howling over it. Therewas not one trail, as Thea had expected; there were a score; deepfurrows, cut in the earth by heavy wagon wheels, and now grown over withdry, whitish grass. The furrows ran side by side; when one trail hadbeen worn too deep, the next party had abandoned it and made a new trailto the right or left. They were, indeed, only old wagon ruts, runningeast and west, and grown over with grass. But as Thea ran about amongthe white stones, her skirts blowing this way and that, the wind broughtto her eyes tears that might have come anyway. The old rancher picked upan iron ox-shoe from one of the furrows and gave it to her for akeepsake. To the west one could see range after range of blue mountains, and at last the snowy range, with its white, windy peaks, the cloudscaught here and there on their spurs. Again and again Thea had to hideher face from the cold for a moment. The wind never slept on this plain, the old man said. Every little while eagles flew over. 

Coming up from Laramie, the old man had told them that he was inBrownsville, Nebraska, when the first telegraph wires were put acrossthe Missouri River, and that the first message that ever crossed theriver was "Westward the course of Empire takes its way. " He had been inthe room when the instrument began to click, and all the men there had, without thinking what they were doing, taken off their hats, waitingbareheaded to hear the message translated. Thea remembered that messagewhen she sighted down the wagon tracks toward the blue mountains. Shetold herself she would never, never forget it. The spirit of humancourage seemed to live up there with the eagles. For long after, whenshe was moved by a Fourth-of-July oration, or a band, or a circusparade, she was apt to remember that windy ridge. 

To-day she went to sleep while she was thinking about it. When Raywakened her, the horses were hitched to the wagon and Gunner and Axelwere begging for a place on the front seat. The air had cooled, the sunwas setting, and the desert was on fire. Thea contentedly took the backseat with Mrs. Tellamantez. As they drove homeward the stars began tocome out, pale yellow in a yellow sky, and Ray and Johnny began to singone of those railroad ditties that are usually born on the SouthernPacific and run the length of the Santa Fe and the "Q" system beforethey die to give place to a new one. This was a song about a Greaserdance, the refrain being something like this:--

 "Pedro, Pedro, swing high, swing low, And it's allamand left again; For there's boys that's bold and there's some that's cold, But the gold boys come from Spain, Oh, the gold boys come from Spain!"

VIII

Winter was long in coming that year. Throughout October the days werebathed in sunlight and the air was clear as crystal. The town kept itscheerful summer aspect, the desert glistened with light, the sand hillsevery day went through magical changes of color. The scarlet sagebloomed late in the front yards, the cottonwood leaves were bright goldlong before they fell, and it was not until November that the green onthe tamarisks began to cloud and fade. There was a flurry of snow aboutThanksgiving, and then December came on warm and clear. 

Thea had three music pupils now, little girls whose mothers declaredthat Professor Wunsch was "much too severe. " They took their lessons onSaturday, and this, of course, cut down her time for play. She did notreally mind this because she was allowed to use the money--her pupilspaid her twenty-five cents a lesson--to fit up a little room for herselfupstairs in the half-story. It was the end room of the wing, and was notplastered, but was snugly lined with soft pine. The ceiling was so lowthat a grown person could reach it with the palm of the hand, and itsloped down on either side. There was only one window, but it was adouble one and went to the floor. In October, while the days were stillwarm, Thea and Tillie papered the room, walls and ceiling in the samepaper, small red and brown roses on a yellowish ground. Thea bought abrown cotton carpet, and her big brother, Gus, put it down for her oneSunday. She made white cheesecloth curtains and hung them on a tape. Hermother gave her an old walnut dresser with a broken mirror, and she hadher own dumpy walnut single bed, and a blue washbowl and pitcher whichshe had drawn at a church fair lottery. At the head of her bed she had atall round wooden hat-crate, from the clothing store. This, standing onend and draped with cretonne, made a fairly steady table for herlantern. She was not allowed to take a lamp upstairs, so Ray Kennedygave her a railroad lantern by which she could read at night. 

In winter this loft room of Thea's was bitterly cold, but against hermother's advice--and Tillie's--she always left her window open a littleway. Mrs. Kronborg declared that she "had no patience with Americanphysiology, " though the lessons about the injurious effects of alcoholand tobacco were well enough for the boys. Thea asked Dr. Archie aboutthe window, and he told her that a girl who sang must always have plentyof fresh air, or her voice would get husky, and that the cold wouldharden her throat. The important thing, he said, was to keep your feetwarm. On very cold nights Thea always put a brick in the oven aftersupper, and when she went upstairs she wrapped it in an old flannelpetticoat and put it in her bed. The boys, who would never heat bricksfor themselves, sometimes carried off Thea's, and thought it a good joketo get ahead of her. 

When Thea first plunged in between her red blankets, the cold sometimeskept her awake for a good while, and she comforted herself byremembering all she could of "Polar Explorations, " a fat, calf-boundvolume her father had bought from a book-agent, and by thinking aboutthe members of Greely's party: how they lay in their frozensleeping-bags, each man hoarding the warmth of his own body and tryingto make it last as long as possible against the on-coming cold thatwould be everlasting. After half an hour or so, a warm wave crept overher body and round, sturdy legs; she glowed like a little stove with thewarmth of her own blood, and the heavy quilts and red blankets grew warmwherever they touched her, though her breath sometimes froze on thecoverlid. Before daylight, her internal fires went down a little, andshe often wakened to find herself drawn up into a tight ball, somewhatstiff in the legs. But that made it all the easier to get up. 

The acquisition of this room was the beginning of a new era in Thea'slife. It was one of the most important things that ever happened to her. Hitherto, except in summer, when she could be out of doors, she hadlived in constant turmoil; the family, the day school, theSunday-School. The clamor about her drowned the voice within herself. Inthe end of the wing, separated from the other upstairs sleeping-rooms bya long, cold, unfinished lumber room, her mind worked better. Shethought things out more clearly. Pleasant plans and ideas occurred toher which had never come before. She had certain thoughts which werelike companions, ideas which were like older and wiser friends. She leftthem there in the morning, when she finished dressing in the cold, andat night, when she came up with her lantern and shut the door after abusy day, she found them awaiting her. There was no possible way ofheating the room, but that was fortunate, for otherwise it would havebeen occupied by one of her older brothers. 

From the time when she moved up into the wing, Thea began to live adouble life. During the day, when the hours were full of tasks, she wasone of the Kronborg children, but at night she was a different person. On Friday and Saturday nights she always read for a long while after shewas in bed. She had no clock, and there was no one to nag her. 

Ray Kennedy, on his way from the depot to his boardinghouse, oftenlooked up and saw Thea's light burning when the rest of the house wasdark, and felt cheered as by a friendly greeting. He was a faithfulsoul, and many disappointments had not changed his nature. He was still, at heart, the same boy who, when he was sixteen, had settled down tofreeze with his sheep in a Wyoming blizzard, and had been rescued onlyto play the losing game of fidelity to other charges. 

Ray had no very clear idea of what might be going on in Thea's head, buthe knew that something was. He used to remark to Spanish Johnny, "Thatgirl is developing something fine. " Thea was patient with Ray, even inregard to the liberties he took with her name. Outside the family, everyone in Moonstone, except Wunsch and Dr. Archie, called her "Thee-a, " butthis seemed cold and distant to Ray, so he called her "Thee. " Once, in amoment of exasperation, Thea asked him why he did this, and he explainedthat he once had a chum, Theodore, whose name was always abbreviatedthus, and that since he was killed down on the Santa Fe, it seemednatural to call somebody "Thee. " Thea sighed and submitted. She wasalways helpless before homely sentiment and usually changed the subject. 

It was the custom for each of the different Sunday Schools in Moonstoneto give a concert on Christmas Eve. But this year all the churches wereto unite and give, as was announced from the pulpits, "a semi-sacredconcert of picked talent" at the opera house. The Moonstone Orchestra, under the direction of Professor Wunsch, was to play, and the mosttalented members of each Sunday School were to take part in theprogramme. Thea was put down by the committee "for instrumental. " Thismade her indignant, for the vocal numbers were always more popular. Theawent to the president of the committee and demanded hotly if her rival, Lily Fisher, were going to sing. The president was a big, florid, powdered woman, a fierce W. C. T. U. Worker, one of Thea's natural enemies. Her name was Johnson; her husband kept the livery stable, and she wascalled Mrs. Livery Johnson, to distinguish her from other families ofthe same surname. Mrs. Johnson was a prominent Baptist, and Lily Fisherwas the Baptist prodigy. There was a not very Christian rivalry betweenthe Baptist Church and Mr. Kronborg's church. 

When Thea asked Mrs. Johnson whether her rival was to be allowed tosing, Mrs. Johnson, with an eagerness which told how she had waited forthis moment, replied that "Lily was going to recite to be obliging, andto give other children a chance to sing. " As she delivered this thrust, her eyes glittered more than the Ancient Mariner's, Thea thought. Mrs. Johnson disapproved of the way in which Thea was being brought up, of achild whose chosen associates were Mexicans and sinners, and who was, asshe pointedly put it, "bold with men. " She so enjoyed an opportunity torebuke Thea, that, tightly corseted as she was, she could scarcelycontrol her breathing, and her lace and her gold watch chain rose andfell "with short, uneasy motion. " Frowning, Thea turned away and walkedslowly homeward. She suspected guile. Lily Fisher was the most stuck-updoll in the world, and it was certainly not like her to recite to beobliging. Nobody who could sing ever recited, because the warmestapplause always went to the singers. 

However, when the programme was printed in the Moonstone GLEAM, there itwas: "Instrumental solo, Thea Kronborg. Recitation, Lily Fisher. "

Because his orchestra was to play for the concert, Mr. Wunsch imaginedthat he had been put in charge of the music, and he became arrogant. Heinsisted that Thea should play a "Ballade" by Reinecke. When Theaconsulted her mother, Mrs. Kronborg agreed with her that the "Ballade"would "never take" with a Moonstone audience. She advised Thea to play"something with variations, " or, at least, "The Invitation to theDance. "

"It makes no matter what they like, " Wunsch replied to Thea'sentreaties. "It is time already that they learn something. "

Thea's fighting powers had been impaired by an ulcerated tooth andconsequent loss of sleep, so she gave in. She finally had the molarpulled, though it was a second tooth and should have been saved. Thedentist was a clumsy, ignorant country boy, and Mr. Kronborg would nothear of Dr. Archie's taking Thea to a dentist in Denver, though RayKennedy said he could get a pass for her. What with the pain of thetooth, and family discussions about it, with trying to make Christmaspresents and to keep up her school work and practicing, and givinglessons on Saturdays, Thea was fairly worn out. 

On Christmas Eve she was nervous and excited. It was the first time shehad ever played in the opera house, and she had never before had to faceso many people. Wunsch would not let her play with her notes, and shewas afraid of forgetting. Before the concert began, all the participantshad to assemble on the stage and sit there to be looked at. Thea woreher white summer dress and a blue sash, but Lily Fisher had a new pinksilk, trimmed with white swansdown. 

The hall was packed. It seemed as if every one in Moonstone was there, even Mrs. Kohler, in her hood, and old Fritz. The seats were woodenkitchen chairs, numbered, and nailed to long planks which held themtogether in rows. As the floor was not raised, the chairs were all onthe same level. The more interested persons in the audience peered overthe heads of the people in front of them to get a good view of thestage. From the platform Thea picked out many friendly faces. There wasDr. Archie, who never went to church entertainments; there was thefriendly jeweler who ordered her music for her, --he sold accordions andguitars as well as watches, --and the druggist who often lent her books, and her favorite teacher from the school. There was Ray Kennedy, with aparty of freshly barbered railroad men he had brought along with him. There was Mrs. Kronborg with all the children, even Thor, who had beenbrought out in a new white plush coat. At the back of the hall sat alittle group of Mexicans, and among them Thea caught the gleam ofSpanish Johnny's white teeth, and of Mrs. Tellamantez's lustrous, smoothly coiled black hair. 

After the orchestra played "Selections from Erminie, " and the Baptistpreacher made a long prayer, Tillie Kronborg came on with a highlycolored recitation, "The Polish Boy. " When it was over every onebreathed more freely. No committee had the courage to leave Tillie off aprogramme. She was accepted as a trying feature of every entertainment. The Progressive Euchre Club was the only social organization in the townthat entirely escaped Tillie. After Tillie sat down, the Ladies'Quartette sang, "Beloved, it is Night, " and then it was Thea's turn. 

The "Ballade" took ten minutes, which was five minutes too long. Theaudience grew restive and fell to whispering. Thea could hear Mrs. Livery Johnson's bracelets jangling as she fanned herself, and she couldhear her father's nervous, ministerial cough. Thor behaved better thanany one else. When Thea bowed and returned to her seat at the back ofthe stage there was the usual applause, but it was vigorous only fromthe back of the house where the Mexicans sat, and from Ray Kennedy'sCLAQUEURS. Any one could see that a good-natured audience had beenbored. 

Because Mr. Kronborg's sister was on the programme, it had also beennecessary to ask the Baptist preacher's wife's cousin to sing. She was a"deep alto" from McCook, and she sang, "Thy Sentinel Am I. " After hercame Lily Fisher. Thea's rival was also a blonde, but her hair was muchheavier than Thea's, and fell in long round curls over her shoulders. She was the angel-child of the Baptists, and looked exactly like thebeautiful children on soap calendars. Her pink-and-white face, her setsmile of innocence, were surely born of a color-press. She had long, drooping eyelashes, a little pursed-up mouth, and narrow, pointed teeth, like a squirrel's. 

Lily began:--

"ROCK OF AGES, CLEFT FOR ME, carelessly the maiden sang. "

Thea drew a long breath. That was the game; it was a recitation and asong in one. Lily trailed the hymn through half a dozen verses withgreat effect. The Baptist preacher had announced at the beginning of theconcert that "owing to the length of the programme, there would be noencores. " But the applause which followed Lily to her seat was such anunmistakable expression of enthusiasm that Thea had to admit Lily wasjustified in going back. She was attended this time by Mrs. LiveryJohnson herself, crimson with triumph and gleaming-eyed, nervouslyrolling and unrolling a sheet of music. She took off her bracelets andplayed Lily's accompaniment. Lily had the effrontery to come out with, "She sang the song of Home, Sweet Home, the song that touched my heart. "But this did not surprise Thea; as Ray said later in the evening, "thecards had been stacked against her from the beginning. " The next issueof the GLEAM correctly stated that "unquestionably the honors of theevening must be accorded to Miss Lily Fisher. " The Baptists hadeverything their own way. 

After the concert Ray Kennedy joined the Kronborgs' party and walkedhome with them. Thea was grateful for his silent sympathy, even while itirritated her. She inwardly vowed that she would never take anotherlesson from old Wunsch. She wished that her father would not keepcheerfully singing, "When Shepherds Watched, " as he marched ahead, carrying Thor. She felt that silence would become the Kronborgs for awhile. As a family, they somehow seemed a little ridiculous, troopingalong in the starlight. There were so many of them, for one thing. ThenTillie was so absurd. She was giggling and talking to Anna just as ifshe had not made, as even Mrs. Kronborg admitted, an exhibition ofherself. 

When they got home, Ray took a box from his overcoat pocket and slippedit into Thea's hand as he said goodnight. They all hurried in to theglowing stove in the parlor. The sleepy children were sent to bed. Mrs. Kronborg and Anna stayed up to fill the stockings. 

"I guess you're tired, Thea. You needn't stay up. " Mrs. Kronborg's clearand seemingly indifferent eye usually measured Thea pretty accurately. 

Thea hesitated. She glanced at the presents laid out on the dining-roomtable, but they looked unattractive. Even the brown plush monkey she hadbought for Thor with such enthusiasm seemed to have lost his wise andhumorous expression. She murmured, "All right, " to her mother, lit herlantern, and went upstairs. 

Ray's box contained a hand-painted white satin fan, with pond lilies--anunfortunate reminder. Thea smiled grimly and tossed it into her upperdrawer. She was not to be consoled by toys. She undressed quickly andstood for some time in the cold, frowning in the broken looking glass ather flaxen pig-tails, at her white neck and arms. Her own broad, resolute face set its chin at her, her eyes flashed into her owndefiantly. Lily Fisher was pretty, and she was willing to be just as biga fool as people wanted her to be. Very well; Thea Kronborg wasn't. Shewould rather be hated than be stupid, any day. She popped into bed andread stubbornly at a queer paper book the drug-store man had given herbecause he couldn't sell it. She had trained herself to put her mind onwhat she was doing, otherwise she would have come to grief with hercomplicated daily schedule. She read, as intently as if she had not beenflushed with anger, the strange "Musical Memories" of the Reverend H. R. Haweis. At last she blew out the lantern and went to sleep. She had manycurious dreams that night. In one of them Mrs. Tellamantez held hershell to Thea's ear, and she heard the roaring, as before, and distantvoices calling, "Lily Fisher! Lily Fisher!"

IX

Mr. Kronborg considered Thea a remarkable child; but so were all hischildren remarkable. If one of the business men downtown remarked to himthat he "had a mighty bright little girl, there, " he admitted it, and atonce began to explain what a "long head for business" his son Gus had, or that Charley was "a natural electrician, " and had put in a telephonefrom the house to the preacher's study behind the church. 

Mrs. Kronborg watched her daughter thoughtfully. She found her moreinteresting than her other children, and she took her more seriously, without thinking much about why she did so. The other children had to beguided, directed, kept from conflicting with one another. Charley andGus were likely to want the same thing, and to quarrel about it. Annaoften demanded unreasonable service from her older brothers; that theyshould sit up until after midnight to bring her home from parties whenshe did not like the youth who had offered himself as her escort; orthat they should drive twelve miles into the country, on a winter night, to take her to a ranch dance, after they had been working hard all day. Gunner often got bored with his own clothes or stilts or sled, andwanted Axel's. But Thea, from the time she was a little thing, had herown routine. She kept out of every one's way, and was hard to manageonly when the other children interfered with her. Then there was troubleindeed: bursts of temper which used to alarm Mrs. Kronborg. "You oughtto know enough to let Thea alone. She lets you alone, " she often said tothe other children. 

One may have staunch friends in one's own family, but one seldom hasadmirers. Thea, however, had one in the person of her addle-pated aunt, Tillie Kronborg. In older countries, where dress and opinions andmanners are not so thoroughly standardized as in our own West, there isa belief that people who are foolish about the more obvious things oflife are apt to have peculiar insight into what lies beyond the obvious. The old woman who can never learn not to put the kerosene can on thestove, may yet be able to tell fortunes, to persuade a backward child togrow, to cure warts, or to tell people what to do with a young girl whohas gone melancholy. Tillie's mind was a curious machine; when she wasawake it went round like a wheel when the belt has slipped off, and whenshe was asleep she dreamed follies. But she had intuitions. She knew, for instance, that Thea was different from the other Kronborgs, worthythough they all were. Her romantic imagination found possibilities inher niece. When she was sweeping or ironing, or turning the ice-creamfreezer at a furious rate, she often built up brilliant futures forThea, adapting freely the latest novel she had read. 

Tillie made enemies for her niece among the church people because, atsewing societies and church suppers, she sometimes spoke vauntingly, with a toss of her head, just as if Thea's "wonderfulness" were anaccepted fact in Moonstone, like Mrs. Archie's stinginess, or Mrs. Livery Johnson's duplicity. People declared that, on this subject, Tillie made them tired. 

Tillie belonged to a dramatic club that once a year performed in theMoonstone Opera House such plays as "Among the Breakers, " and "TheVeteran of 1812. " Tillie played character parts, the flirtatious oldmaid or the spiteful INTRIGANTE. She used to study her parts up in theattic at home. While she was committing the lines, she got Gunner orAnna to hold the book for her, but when she began "to bring out theexpression, " as she said, she used, very timorously, to ask Thea to holdthe book. Thea was usually--not always--agreeable about it. Her motherhad told her that, since she had some influence with Tillie, it would bea good thing for them all if she could tone her down a shade and "keepher from taking on any worse than need be. " Thea would sit on the footof Tillie's bed, her feet tucked under her, and stare at the silly text. "I wouldn't make so much fuss, there, Tillie, " she would remarkoccasionally; "I don't see the point in it"; or, "What do you pitch yourvoice so high for? It don't carry half as well. "

"I don't see how it comes Thea is so patient with Tillie, " Mrs. Kronborgmore than once remarked to her husband. "She ain't patient with mostpeople, but it seems like she's got a peculiar patience for Tillie. "

Tillie always coaxed Thea to go "behind the scenes" with her when theclub presented a play, and help her with her make-up. Thea hated it, butshe always went. She felt as if she had to do it. There was something inTillie's adoration of her that compelled her. There was no familyimpropriety that Thea was so much ashamed of as Tillie's "acting" andyet she was always being dragged in to assist her. Tillie simply hadher, there. She didn't know why, but it was so. There was a string inher somewhere that Tillie could pull; a sense of obligation to Tillie'smisguided aspirations. The saloon-keepers had some such feeling ofresponsibility toward Spanish Johnny. 

The dramatic club was the pride of Tillie's heart, and her enthusiasmwas the principal factor in keeping it together. Sick or well, Tilliealways attended rehearsals, and was always urging the young people, whotook rehearsals lightly, to "stop fooling and begin now. " The youngmen--bank clerks, grocery clerks, insurance agents--played tricks, laughed at Tillie, and "put it up on each other" about seeing her home;but they often went to tiresome rehearsals just to oblige her. They weregood-natured young fellows. Their trainer and stage-manager was youngUpping, the jeweler who ordered Thea's music for her. 

Though barely thirty, he had followed half a dozen professions, and hadonce been a violinist in the orchestra of the Andrews Opera Company, then well known in little towns throughout Colorado and Nebraska. 

By one amazing indiscretion Tillie very nearly lost her hold upon theMoonstone Drama Club. The club had decided to put on "The Drummer Boy ofShiloh, " a very ambitious undertaking because of the many supers neededand the scenic difficulties of the act which took place in AndersonvillePrison. The members of the club consulted together in Tillie's absenceas to who should play the part of the drummer boy. It must be taken by avery young person, and village boys of that age are self-conscious andare not apt at memorizing. The part was a long one, and clearly it mustbe given to a girl. Some members of the club suggested Thea Kronborg, others advocated Lily Fisher. Lily's partisans urged that she was muchprettier than Thea, and had a much "sweeter disposition. " Nobody deniedthese facts. But there was nothing in the least boyish about Lily, andshe sang all songs and played all parts alike. Lily's simper waspopular, but it seemed not quite the right thing for the heroic drummerboy. 

Upping, the trainer, talked to one and another: "Lily's all right forgirl parts, " he insisted, "but you've got to get a girl with some gingerin her for this. Thea's got the voice, too. When she sings, 'Just Beforethe Battle, Mother, ' she'll bring down the house. "

When all the members of the club had been privately consulted, theyannounced their decision to Tillie at the first regular meeting that wascalled to cast the parts. They expected Tillie to be overcome with joy, but, on the contrary, she seemed embarrassed. "I'm afraid Thea hasn'tgot time for that, " she said jerkily. "She is always so busy with hermusic. Guess you'll have to get somebody else. "

The club lifted its eyebrows. Several of Lily Fisher's friends coughed. Mr. Upping flushed. The stout woman who always played the injured wifecalled Tillie's attention to the fact that this would be a fineopportunity for her niece to show what she could do. Her tone wascondescending. 

Tillie threw up her head and laughed; there was something sharp and wildabout Tillie's laugh--when it was not a giggle. "Oh, I guess Thea hasn'tgot time to do any showing off. Her time to show off ain't come yet. Iexpect she'll make us all sit up when it does. No use asking her to takethe part. She'd turn her nose up at it. I guess they'd be glad to gether in the Denver Dramatics, if they could. "

The company broke up into groups and expressed their amazement. Ofcourse all Swedes were conceited, but they would never have believedthat all the conceit of all the Swedes put together would reach such apitch as this. They confided to each other that Tillie was "just alittle off, on the subject of her niece, " and agreed that it would be aswell not to excite her further. Tillie got a cold reception atrehearsals for a long while afterward, and Thea had a crop of newenemies without even knowing it. 

X

Wunsch and old Fritz and Spanish Johnny celebrated Christmas together, so riotously that Wunsch was unable to give Thea her lesson the nextday. In the middle of the vacation week Thea went to the Kohlers'through a soft, beautiful snowstorm. The air was a tender blue-gray, like the color on the doves that flew in and out of the white dove-houseon the post in the Kohlers' garden. The sand hills looked dim andsleepy. The tamarisk hedge was full of snow, like a foam of blossomsdrifted over it. When Thea opened the gate, old Mrs. Kohler was justcoming in from the chicken yard, with five fresh eggs in her apron and apair of old top-boots on her feet. She called Thea to come and look at abantam egg, which she held up proudly. Her bantam hens were remiss inzeal, and she was always delighted when they accomplished anything. Shetook Thea into the sitting-room, very warm and smelling of food, andbrought her a plateful of little Christmas cakes, made according to oldand hallowed formulae, and put them before her while she warmed herfeet. Then she went to the door of the kitchen stairs and called: "HerrWunsch, Herr Wunsch!"

Wunsch came down wearing an old wadded jacket, with a velvet collar. Thebrown silk was so worn that the wadding stuck out almost everywhere. Heavoided Thea's eyes when he came in, nodded without speaking, andpointed directly to the piano stool. He was not so insistent upon thescales as usual, and throughout the little sonata of Mozart's she wasstudying, he remained languid and absent-minded. His eyes looked veryheavy, and he kept wiping them with one of the new silk handkerchiefsMrs. Kohler had given him for Christmas. When the lesson was over he didnot seem inclined to talk. Thea, loitering on the stool, reached for atattered book she had taken off the music-rest when she sat down. It wasa very old Leipsic edition of the piano score of Gluck's "Orpheus. " Sheturned over the pages curiously. 

"Is it nice?" she asked. 

"It is the most beautiful opera ever made, " Wunsch declared solemnly. "You know the story, eh? How, when she die, Orpheus went down below forhis wife?"

"Oh, yes, I know. I didn't know there was an opera about it, though. Dopeople sing this now?"

"ABER JA! What else? You like to try? See. " He drew her from the stooland sat down at the piano. Turning over the leaves to the third act, hehanded the score to Thea. "Listen, I play it through and you get theRHYTHMUS. EINS, ZWEI, DREI, VIER. " He played through Orpheus' lament, then pushed back his cuffs with awakening interest and nodded at Thea. "Now, VOM BLATT, MIT MIR. "

"ACH, ICH HABE SIE VERLOREN, ALL' MEIN GLUCK IST NUN DAHIN. "

Wunsch sang the aria with much feeling. It was evidently one that wasvery dear to him. 

"NOCH EINMAL, alone, yourself. " He played the introductory measures, then nodded at her vehemently, and she began:--

"ACH, ICH HABE SIE VERLOREN. "

When she finished, Wunsch nodded again. "SCHON, " he muttered as hefinished the accompaniment softly. He dropped his hands on his knees andlooked up at Thea. "That is very fine, eh? There is no such beautifulmelody in the world. You can take the book for one week and learnsomething, to pass the time. It is good to know--always. EURIDICE, EU--RI--DI--CE, WEH DASS ICH AUF ERDEN BIN!" he sang softly, playing themelody with his right hand. 

Thea, who was turning over the pages of the third act, stopped andscowled at a passage. The old German's blurred eyes watched hercuriously. 

"For what do you look so, IMMER?" puckering up his own face. "You seesomething a little difficult, may-be, and you make such a face like itwas an enemy. "

Thea laughed, disconcerted. "Well, difficult things are enemies, aren'tthey? When you have to get them?"

Wunsch lowered his head and threw it up as if he were butting something. "Not at all! By no means. " He took the book from her and looked at it. "Yes, that is not so easy, there. This is an old book. They do not printit so now any more, I think. They leave it out, may-be. Only one womancould sing that good. "

Thea looked at him in perplexity. 

Wunsch went on. "It is written for alto, you see. A woman sings thepart, and there was only one to sing that good in there. You understand?Only one!" He glanced at her quickly and lifted his red forefingerupright before her eyes. 

Thea looked at the finger as if she were hypnotized. "Only one?" sheasked breathlessly; her hands, hanging at her sides, were opening andshutting rapidly. 

Wunsch nodded and still held up that compelling finger. When he droppedhis hands, there was a look of satisfaction in his face. 

"Was she very great?"

Wunsch nodded. 

"Was she beautiful?"

"ABER GAR NICHT! Not at all. She was ugly; big mouth, big teeth, nofigure, nothing at all, " indicating a luxuriant bosom by sweeping hishands over his chest. "A pole, a post! But for the voice--ACH! She havesomething in there, behind the eyes, " tapping his temples. 

Thea followed all his gesticulations intently. "Was she German?"

"No, SPANISCH. " He looked down and frowned for a moment. "ACH, I tellyou, she look like the Frau Tellamantez, some-thing. Long face, longchin, and ugly al-so. "

"Did she die a long while ago?"

"Die? I think not. I never hear, anyhow. I guess she is alive somewherein the world; Paris, may-be. But old, of course. I hear her when I was ayouth. She is too old to sing now any more. "

"Was she the greatest singer you ever heard?"

Wunsch nodded gravely. "Quite so. She was the most--" he hunted for anEnglish word, lifted his hand over his head and snapped his fingersnoiselessly in the air, enunciating fiercely, "KUNST-LER-ISCH!" The wordseemed to glitter in his uplifted hand, his voice was so full ofemotion. 

Wunsch rose from the stool and began to button his wadded jacket, preparing to return to his half-heated room in the loft. Thearegretfully put on her cloak and hood and set out for home. 

When Wunsch looked for his score late that afternoon, he found that Theahad not forgotten to take it with her. He smiled his loose, sarcasticsmile, and thoughtfully rubbed his stubbly chin with his red fingers. When Fritz came home in the early blue twilight the snow was flyingfaster, Mrs. Kohler was cooking HASENPFEFFER in the kitchen, and theprofessor was seated at the piano, playing the Gluck, which he knew byheart. Old Fritz took off his shoes quietly behind the stove and laydown on the lounge before his masterpiece, where the firelight wasplaying over the walls of Moscow. He listened, while the room grewdarker and the windows duller. Wunsch always came back to the samething:--

"ACH, ICH HABE SIE VERLOREN, . . . EURIDICE, EURIDICE!"

From time to time Fritz sighed softly. He, too, had lost a Euridice. 

XI

One Saturday, late in June, Thea arrived early for her lesson. As sheperched herself upon the piano stool, --a wobbly, old-fashioned thingthat worked on a creaky screw, --she gave Wunsch a side glance, smiling. "You must not be cross to me to-day. This is my birthday. "

"So?" he pointed to the keyboard. 

After the lesson they went out to join Mrs. Kohler, who had asked Theato come early, so that she could stay and smell the linden bloom. It wasone of those still days of intense light, when every particle of mica inthe soil flashed like a little mirror, and the glare from the plainbelow seemed more intense than the rays from above. The sand ridges ranglittering gold out to where the mirage licked them up, shining andsteaming like a lake in the tropics. The sky looked like blue lava, forever incapable of clouds, --a turquoise bowl that was the lid of thedesert. And yet within Mrs. Kohler's green patch the water dripped, thebeds had all been hosed, and the air was fresh with rapidly evaporatingmoisture. 

The two symmetrical linden trees were the proudest things in the garden. Their sweetness embalmed all the air. At every turn of thepaths, --whether one went to see the hollyhocks or the bleeding heart, orto look at the purple morning-glories that ran over thebean-poles, --wherever one went, the sweetness of the lindens struck oneafresh and one always came back to them. Under the round leaves, wherethe waxen yellow blossoms hung, bevies of wild bees were buzzing. Thetamarisks were still pink, and the flower-beds were doing their best inhonor of the linden festival. The white dove-house was shining with afresh coat of paint, and the pigeons were crooning contentedly, flyingdown often to drink at the drip from the water tank. Mrs. Kohler, whowas transplanting pansies, came up with her trowel and told Thea it waslucky to have your birthday when the lindens were in bloom, and that shemust go and look at the sweet peas. Wunsch accompanied her, and as theywalked between the flower-beds he took Thea's hand. 

"ES FLUSTERN UND SPRECHEN DIE BLUMEN, "--he muttered. "You know that vonHeine? IM LEUCHTENDEN SOMMERMORGEN?" He looked down at Thea and softlypressed her hand. 

"No, I don't know it. What does FLUSTERN mean?"

"FLUSTERN?--to whisper. You must begin now to know such things. That isnecessary. How many birthdays?"

"Thirteen. I'm in my 'teens now. But how can I know words like that? Ionly know what you say at my lessons. They don't teach German at school. How can I learn?"

"It is always possible to learn when one likes, " said Wunsch. His wordswere peremptory, as usual, but his tone was mild, even confidential. "There is always a way. And if some day you are going to sing, it isnecessary to know well the German language. "

Thea stooped over to pick a leaf of rosemary. How did Wunsch know that, when the very roses on her wall-paper had never heard it? "But am Igoing to?" she asked, still stooping. 

"That is for you to say, " returned Wunsch coldly. "You would bettermarry some JACOB here and keep the house for him, may-be? That is as onedesires. "

Thea flashed up at him a clear, laughing look. "No, I don't want to dothat. You know, " she brushed his coat sleeve quickly with her yellowhead. "Only how can I learn anything here? It's so far from Denver. "

Wunsch's loose lower lip curled in amusement. Then, as if he suddenlyremembered something, he spoke seriously. "Nothing is far and nothing isnear, if one desires. The world is little, people are little, human lifeis little. There is only one big thing--desire. And before it, when itis big, all is little. It brought Columbus across the sea in a littleboat, UND SO WEITER. " Wunsch made a grimace, took his pupil's hand anddrew her toward the grape arbor. "Hereafter I will more speak to you inGerman. Now, sit down and I will teach you for your birthday that littlesong. Ask me the words you do not know already. Now: IM LEUCHTENDENSOMMERMORGEN. "

Thea memorized quickly because she had the power of listening intently. In a few moments she could repeat the eight lines for him. Wunsch noddedencouragingly and they went out of the arbor into the sunlight again. Asthey went up and down the gravel paths between the flowerbeds, the whiteand yellow butterflies kept darting before them, and the pigeons werewashing their pink feet at the drip and crooning in their husky bass. Over and over again Wunsch made her say the lines to him. "You see it isnothing. If you learn a great many of the LIEDER, you will know theGerman language already. WEITER, NUN. " He would incline his head gravelyand listen. 

 "IM LEUCHTENDEN SOMMERMORGEN GEH' ICH IM GARTEN HERUM; ES FLUSTERN UND SPRECHEN DIE BLUMEN, ICH ABER, ICH WANDTE STUMM. 

 "ES FLUSTERN UND SPRECHEN DIE BLUMEN UND SCHAU'N MITLEIDIG MICH AN: 'SEI UNSERER SCHWESTER NICHT BOSE, DU TRAURIGER, BLASSER MANN!'"

 (In the soft-shining summer morning I wandered the garden within. The flowers they whispered and murmured, But I, I wandered dumb. 

 The flowers they whisper and murmur, And me with compassion they scan: "Oh, be not harsh to our sister, Thou sorrowful, death-pale man!")

Wunsch had noticed before that when his pupil read anything in verse thecharacter of her voice changed altogether; it was no longer the voicewhich spoke the speech of Moonstone. It was a soft, rich contralto, andshe read quietly; the feeling was in the voice itself, not indicated byemphasis or change of pitch. She repeated the little verses musically, like a song, and the entreaty of the flowers was even softer than therest, as the shy speech of flowers might be, and she ended with thevoice suspended, almost with a rising inflection. It was a nature-voice, Wunsch told himself, breathed from the creature and apart from language, like the sound of the wind in the trees, or the murmur of water. 

"What is it the flowers mean when they ask him not to be harsh to theirsister, eh?" he asked, looking down at her curiously and wrinkling hisdull red forehead. 

Thea glanced at him in surprise. "I suppose he thinks they are askinghim not to be harsh to his sweetheart--or some girl they remind him of. "

"And why TRAURIGER, BLASSER MANN?"

They had come back to the grape arbor, and Thea picked out a sunny placeon the bench, where a tortoise-shell cat was stretched at full length. She sat down, bending over the cat and teasing his whiskers. "Because hehad been awake all night, thinking about her, wasn't it? Maybe that waswhy he was up so early. "

Wunsch shrugged his shoulders. "If he think about her all night already, why do you say the flowers remind him?"

Thea looked up at him in perplexity. A flash of comprehension lit herface and she smiled eagerly. "Oh, I didn't mean 'remind' in that way! Ididn't mean they brought her to his mind! I meant it was only when hecame out in the morning, that she seemed to him like that, --like one ofthe flowers. "

"And before he came out, how did she seem?"

This time it was Thea who shrugged her shoulders. The warm smile lefther face. She lifted her eyebrows in annoyance and looked off at thesand hills. 

Wunsch persisted. "Why you not answer me?"

"Because it would be silly. You are just trying to make me say things. It spoils things to ask questions. "

Wunsch bowed mockingly; his smile was disagreeable. Suddenly his facegrew grave, grew fierce, indeed. He pulled himself up from his clumsystoop and folded his arms. "But it is necessary to know if you know somethings. Some things cannot be taught. If you not know in the beginning, you not know in the end. For a singer there must be something in theinside from the beginning. I shall not be long in this place, may-be, and I like to know. Yes, "--he ground his heel in the gravel, --"yes, whenyou are barely six, you must know that already. That is the beginning ofall things; DER GEIST, DIE PHANTASIE. It must be in the baby, when itmakes its first cry, like DER RHYTHMUS, or it is not to be. You havesome voice already, and if in the beginning, when you are withthings-to-play, you know that what you will not tell me, then you canlearn to sing, may-be. "

Wunsch began to pace the arbor, rubbing his hands together. The darkflush of his face had spread up under the iron-gray bristles on hishead. He was talking to himself, not to Thea. Insidious power of thelinden bloom! "Oh, much you can learn! ABER NICHT DIE AMERICANISCHENFRAULEIN. They have nothing inside them, " striking his chest with bothfists. "They are like the ones in the MARCHEN, a grinning face andhollow in the insides. Something they can learn, oh, yes, may-be! Butthe secret--what make the rose to red, the sky to blue, the man tolove--IN DER BRUST, IN DER BRUST it is, UND OHNE DIESES GIEBT ES KEINEKUNST, GIEBT ES KEINE KUNST!" He threw up his square hand and shook it, all the fingers apart and wagging. Purple and breathless he went out ofthe arbor and into the house, without saying good-bye. These outburstsfrightened Wunsch. They were always harbingers of ill. 

Thea got her music-book and stole quietly out of the garden. She did notgo home, but wandered off into the sand dunes, where the prickly pearwas in blossom and the green lizards were racing each other in theglittering light. She was shaken by a passionate excitement. She did notaltogether understand what Wunsch was talking about; and yet, in a wayshe knew. She knew, of course, that there was something about her thatwas different. But it was more like a friendly spirit than like anythingthat was a part of herself. She thought everything to it, and itanswered her; happiness consisted of that backward and forward movementof herself. The something came and went, she never knew how. Sometimesshe hunted for it and could not find it; again, she lifted her eyes froma book, or stepped out of doors, or wakened in the morning, and it wasthere, --under her cheek, it usually seemed to be, or over her breast, --akind of warm sureness. And when it was there, everything was moreinteresting and beautiful, even people. When this companion was withher, she could get the most wonderful things out of Spanish Johnny, orWunsch, or Dr. Archie. 

On her thirteenth birthday she wandered for a long while about the sandridges, picking up crystals and looking into the yellow prickly-pearblossoms with their thousand stamens. She looked at the sand hills untilshe wished she WERE a sand hill. And yet she knew that she was going toleave them all behind some day. They would be changing all day long, yellow and purple and lavender, and she would not be there. From thatday on, she felt there was a secret between her and Wunsch. Togetherthey had lifted a lid, pulled out a drawer, and looked at something. They hid it away and never spoke of what they had seen; but neither ofthem forgot it. 

XII

One July night, when the moon was full, Dr. Archie was coming up fromthe depot, restless and discontented, wishing there were something todo. He carried his straw hat in his hand, and kept brushing his hairback from his forehead with a purposeless, unsatisfied gesture. After hepassed Uncle Billy Beemer's cottonwood grove, the sidewalk ran out ofthe shadow into the white moonlight and crossed the sand gully on highposts, like a bridge. As the doctor approached this trestle, he saw awhite figure, and recognized Thea Kronborg. He quickened his pace andshe came to meet him. 

"What are you doing out so late, my girl?" he asked as he took her hand. 

"Oh, I don't know. What do people go to bed so early for? I'd like torun along before the houses and screech at them. Isn't it glorious outhere?"

The young doctor gave a melancholy laugh and pressed her hand. 

"Think of it, " Thea snorted impatiently. "Nobody up but us and therabbits! I've started up half a dozen of 'em. Look at that little onedown there now, "--she stooped and pointed. In the gully below them therewas, indeed, a little rabbit with a white spot of a tail, crouching downon the sand, quite motionless. It seemed to be lapping up the moonlightlike cream. On the other side of the walk, down in the ditch, there wasa patch of tall, rank sunflowers, their shaggy leaves white with dust. The moon stood over the cottonwood grove. There was no wind, and nosound but the wheezing of an engine down on the tracks. 

"Well, we may as well watch the rabbits. " Dr. Archie sat down on thesidewalk and let his feet hang over the edge. He pulled out a smoothlinen handkerchief that smelled of German cologne water. "Well, how goesit? Working hard? You must know about all Wunsch can teach you by thistime. "

Thea shook her head. "Oh, no, I don't, Dr. Archie. He's hard to get at, but he's been a real musician in his time. Mother says she believes he'sforgotten more than the music-teachers down in Denver ever knew. "

"I'm afraid he won't be around here much longer, " said Dr. Archie. "He'sbeen making a tank of himself lately. He'll be pulling his freight oneof these days. That's the way they do, you know. I'll be sorry on youraccount. " He paused and ran his fresh handkerchief over his face. "Whatthe deuce are we all here for anyway, Thea?" he said abruptly. 

"On earth, you mean?" Thea asked in a low voice. 

"Well, primarily, yes. But secondarily, why are we in Moonstone? Itisn't as if we'd been born here. You were, but Wunsch wasn't, and Iwasn't. I suppose I'm here because I married as soon as I got out ofmedical school and had to get a practice quick. If you hurry things, youalways get left in the end. I don't learn anything here, and as for thepeople--In my own town in Michigan, now, there were people who liked meon my father's account, who had even known my grandfather. That meantsomething. But here it's all like the sand: blows north one day andsouth the next. We're all a lot of gamblers without much nerve, playingfor small stakes. The railroad is the one real fact in this country. That has to be; the world has to be got back and forth. But the rest ofus are here just because it's the end of a run and the engine has tohave a drink. Some day I'll get up and find my hair turning gray, andI'll have nothing to show for it. "

Thea slid closer to him and caught his arm. "No, no. I won't let you getgray. You've got to stay young for me. I'm getting young now, too. "

Archie laughed. "Getting?"

"Yes. People aren't young when they're children. Look at Thor, now; he'sjust a little old man. But Gus has a sweetheart, and he's young!"

"Something in that!" Dr. Archie patted her head, and then felt the shapeof her skull gently, with the tips of his fingers. "When you werelittle, Thea, I used always to be curious about the shape of your head. You seemed to have more inside it than most youngsters. I haven'texamined it for a long time. Seems to be the usual shape, but uncommonlyhard, some how. What are you going to do with yourself, anyway?"

"I don't know. "

"Honest, now?" He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. 

Thea laughed and edged away from him. 

"You've got something up your sleeve, haven't you? Anything you like;only don't marry and settle down here without giving yourself a chance, will you?"

"Not much. See, there's another rabbit!"

"That's all right about the rabbits, but I don't want you to get tiedup. Remember that. "

Thea nodded. "Be nice to Wunsch, then. I don't know what I'd do if hewent away. "

"You've got older friends than Wunsch here, Thea. "

"I know. " Thea spoke seriously and looked up at the moon, propping herchin on her hand. "But Wunsch is the only one that can teach me what Iwant to know. I've got to learn to do something well, and that's thething I can do best. "

"Do you want to be a music-teacher?"

"Maybe, but I want to be a good one. I'd like to go to Germany to study, some day. Wunsch says that's the best place, --the only place you canreally learn. " Thea hesitated and then went on nervously, "I've got abook that says so, too. It's called 'My Musical Memories. ' It made mewant to go to Germany even before Wunsch said anything. Of course it's asecret. You're the first one I've told. "

Dr. Archie smiled indulgently. "That's a long way off. Is that whatyou've got in your hard noddle?" He put his hand on her hair, but thistime she shook him off. 

"No, I don't think much about it. But you talk about going, and a bodyhas to have something to go TO!"

"That's so. " Dr. Archie sighed. "You're lucky if you have. Poor Wunsch, now, he hasn't. What do such fellows come out here for? He's been askingme about my mining stock, and about mining towns. What would he do in amining town? He wouldn't know a piece of ore if he saw one. He's gotnothing to sell that a mining town wants to buy. Why don't those oldfellows stay at home? We won't need them for another hundred years. Anengine wiper can get a job, but a piano player! Such people can't makegood. "

"My grandfather Alstrom was a musician, and he made good. "

Dr. Archie chuckled. "Oh, a Swede can make good anywhere, at anything!You've got that in your favor, miss. Come, you must be getting home. "

Thea rose. "Yes, I used to be ashamed of being a Swede, but I'm not anymore. Swedes are kind of common, but I think it's better to beSOMETHING. "

"It surely is! How tall you are getting. You come above my shouldernow. "

"I'll keep on growing, don't you think? I particularly want to be tall. Yes, I guess I must go home. I wish there'd be a fire. "

"A fire?"

"Yes, so the fire-bell would ring and the roundhouse whistle would blow, and everybody would come running out. Sometime I'm going to ring thefire-bell myself and stir them all up. "

"You'd be arrested. "

"Well, that would be better than going to bed. "

"I'll have to lend you some more books. "

Thea shook herself impatiently. "I can't read every night. "

Dr. Archie gave one of his low, sympathetic chuckles as he opened thegate for her. "You're beginning to grow up, that's what's the matterwith you. I'll have to keep an eye on you. Now you'll have to saygood-night to the moon. "

"No, I won't. I sleep on the floor now, right in the moonlight. Mywindow comes down to the floor, and I can look at the sky all night. "

She shot round the house to the kitchen door, and Dr. Archie watched herdisappear with a sigh. He thought of the hard, mean, frizzy little womanwho kept his house for him; once the belle of a Michigan town, now dryand withered up at thirty. "If I had a daughter like Thea to watch, " hereflected, "I wouldn't mind anything. I wonder if all of my life's goingto be a mistake just because I made a big one then? Hardly seems fair. "

Howard Archie was "respected" rather than popular in Moonstone. Everyonerecognized that he was a good physician, and a progressive Western townlikes to be able to point to a handsome, well-set-up, well-dressed manamong its citizens. But a great many people thought Archie "distant, "and they were right. He had the uneasy manner of a man who is not amonghis own kind, and who has not seen enough of the world to feel that allpeople are in some sense his own kind. He knew that every one wascurious about his wife, that she played a sort of character part inMoonstone, and that people made fun of her, not very delicately. Her ownfriends--most of them women who were distasteful to Archie--liked to askher to contribute to church charities, just to see how mean she couldbe. The little, lop-sided cake at the church supper, the cheapestpincushion, the skimpiest apron at the bazaar, were always Mrs. Archie'scontribution. 

All this hurt the doctor's pride. But if there was one thing he hadlearned, it was that there was no changing Belle's nature. He hadmarried a mean woman; and he must accept the consequences. Even inColorado he would have had no pretext for divorce, and, to do himjustice, he had never thought of such a thing. The tenets of thePresbyterian Church in which he had grown up, though he had long ceasedto believe in them, still influenced his conduct and his conception ofpropriety. To him there was something vulgar about divorce. A divorcedman was a disgraced man; at least, he had exhibited his hurt, and madeit a matter for common gossip. Respectability was so necessary to Archiethat he was willing to pay a high price for it. As long as he could keepup a decent exterior, he could manage to get on; and if he could haveconcealed his wife's littleness from all his friends, he would scarcelyhave complained. He was more afraid of pity than he was of anyunhappiness. Had there been another woman for whom he cared greatly, hemight have had plenty of courage; but he was not likely to meet such awoman in Moonstone. 

There was a puzzling timidity in Archie's make-up. The thing that heldhis shoulders stiff, that made him resort to a mirthless little laughwhen he was talking to dull people, that made him sometimes stumble overrugs and carpets, had its counterpart in his mind. He had not thecourage to be an honest thinker. He could comfort himself by evasionsand compromises. He consoled himself for his own marriage by tellinghimself that other people's were not much better. In his work he sawpretty deeply into marital relations in Moonstone, and he could honestlysay that there were not many of his friends whom he envied. Their wivesseemed to suit them well enough, but they would never have suited him. 

Although Dr. Archie could not bring himself to regard marriage merely asa social contract, but looked upon it as somehow made sacred by a churchin which he did not believe, --as a physician he knew that a young manwhose marriage is merely nominal must yet go on living his life. When hewent to Denver or to Chicago, he drifted about in careless company wheregayety and good-humor can be bought, not because he had any taste forsuch society, but because he honestly believed that anything was betterthan divorce. He often told himself that "hanging and wiving go bydestiny. " If wiving went badly with a man, --and it did oftener thannot, --then he must do the best he could to keep up appearances and helpthe tradition of domestic happiness along. The Moonstone gossips, assembled in Mrs. Smiley's millinery and notion store, often discussedDr. Archie's politeness to his wife, and his pleasant manner of speakingabout her. "Nobody has ever got a thing out of him yet, " they agreed. And it was certainly not because no one had ever tried. 

When he was down in Denver, feeling a little jolly, Archie could forgethow unhappy he was at home, and could even make himself believe that hemissed his wife. He always bought her presents, and would have liked tosend her flowers if she had not repeatedly told him never to send heranything but bulbs, --which did not appeal to him in his expansivemoments. At the Denver Athletic Club banquets, or at dinner with hiscolleagues at the Brown Palace Hotel, he sometimes spoke sentimentallyabout "little Mrs. Archie, " and he always drank the toast "to our wives, God bless them!" with gusto. 

The determining factor about Dr. Archie was that he was romantic. He hadmarried Belle White because he was romantic--too romantic to knowanything about women, except what he wished them to be, or to repulse apretty girl who had set her cap for him. At medical school, though hewas a rather wild boy in behavior, he had always disliked coarse jokesand vulgar stories. In his old Flint's Physiology there was still a poemhe had pasted there when he was a student; some verses by Dr. OliverWendell Holmes about the ideals of the medical profession. After so muchand such disillusioning experience with it, he still had a romanticfeeling about the human body; a sense that finer things dwelt in it thancould be explained by anatomy. He never jested about birth or death ormarriage, and did not like to hear other doctors do it. He was a goodnurse, and had a reverence for the bodies of women and children. When hewas tending them, one saw him at his best. Then his constraint andself-consciousness fell away from him. He was easy, gentle, competent, master of himself and of other people. Then the idealist in him was notafraid of being discovered and ridiculed. 

In his tastes, too, the doctor was romantic. Though he read Balzac allthe year through, he still enjoyed the Waverley Novels as much as whenhe had first come upon them, in thick leather-bound volumes, in hisgrandfather's library. He nearly always read Scott on Christmas andholidays, because it brought back the pleasures of his boyhood sovividly. He liked Scott's women. Constance de Beverley and the minstrelgirl in "The Fair Maid of Perth, " not the Duchesse de Langeais, were hisheroines. But better than anything that ever got from the heart of a maninto printer's ink, he loved the poetry of Robert Burns. "Death and Dr. Hornbook" and "The Jolly Beggars, " Burns's "Reply to his Tailor, " heoften read aloud to himself in his office, late at night, after a glassof hot toddy. He used to read "Tam o'Shanter" to Thea Kronborg, and hegot her some of the songs, set to the old airs for which they werewritten. He loved to hear her sing them. Sometimes when she sang, "Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, " the doctor and even Mr. Kronborg joinedin. Thea never minded if people could not sing; she directed them withher head and somehow carried them along. When her father got off thepitch she let her own voice out and covered him. 

XIII

At the beginning of June, when school closed, Thea had told Wunsch thatshe didn't know how much practicing she could get in this summer becauseThor had his worst teeth still to cut. 

"My God! all last summer he was doing that!" Wunsch exclaimed furiously. 

"I know, but it takes them two years, and Thor is slow, " Thea answeredreprovingly. 

The summer went well beyond her hopes, however. She told herself that itwas the best summer of her life, so far. Nobody was sick at home, andher lessons were uninterrupted. Now that she had four pupils of her ownand made a dollar a week, her practicing was regarded more seriously bythe household. Her mother had always arranged things so that she couldhave the parlor four hours a day in summer. Thor proved a friendly ally. He behaved handsomely about his molars, and never objected to beingpulled off into remote places in his cart. When Thea dragged him overthe hill and made a camp under the shade of a bush or a bank, he wouldwaddle about and play with his blocks, or bury his monkey in the sandand dig him up again. Sometimes he got into the cactus and set up ahowl, but usually he let his sister read peacefully, while he coated hishands and face, first with an all-day sucker and then with gravel. 

Life was pleasant and uneventful until the first of September, whenWunsch began to drink so hard that he was unable to appear when Theawent to take her mid-week lesson, and Mrs. Kohler had to send her homeafter a tearful apology. On Saturday morning she set out for theKohlers' again, but on her way, when she was crossing the ravine, shenoticed a woman sitting at the bottom of the gulch, under the railroadtrestle. She turned from her path and saw that it was Mrs. Tellamantez, and she seemed to be doing drawn-work. Then Thea noticed that there wassomething beside her, covered up with a purple and yellow Mexicanblanket. She ran up the gulch and called to Mrs. Tellamantez. TheMexican woman held up a warning finger. Thea glanced at the blanket andrecognized a square red hand which protruded. The middle finger twitchedslightly. 

"Is he hurt?" she gasped. 

Mrs. Tellamantez shook her head. "No; very sick. He knows nothing, " shesaid quietly, folding her hands over her drawn-work. 

Thea learned that Wunsch had been out all night, that this morning Mrs. Kohler had gone to look for him and found him under the trestle coveredwith dirt and cinders. Probably he had been trying to get home and hadlost his way. Mrs. Tellamantez was watching beside the unconscious manwhile Mrs. Kohler and Johnny went to get help. 

"You better go home now, I think, " said Mrs. Tellamantez, in closing hernarration. 

Thea hung her head and looked wistfully toward the blanket. 

"Couldn't I just stay till they come?" she asked. "I'd like to know ifhe's very bad. "

"Bad enough, " sighed Mrs. Tellamantez, taking up her work again. 

Thea sat down under the narrow shade of one of the trestle posts andlistened to the locusts rasping in the hot sand while she watched Mrs. Tellamantez evenly draw her threads. The blanket looked as if it wereover a heap of bricks. 

"I don't see him breathing any, " she said anxiously. 

"Yes, he breathes, " said Mrs. Tellamantez, not lifting her eyes. 

It seemed to Thea that they waited for hours. At last they heard voices, and a party of men came down the hill and up the gulch. Dr. Archie andFritz Kohler came first; behind were Johnny and Ray, and several menfrom the roundhouse. Ray had the canvas litter that was kept at thedepot for accidents on the road. Behind them trailed half a dozen boyswho had been hanging round the depot. 

When Ray saw Thea, he dropped his canvas roll and hurried forward. "Better run along home, Thee. This is ugly business. " Ray was indignantthat anybody who gave Thea music lessons should behave in such a manner. 

Thea resented both his proprietary tone and his superior virtue. "Iwon't. I want to know how bad he is. I'm not a baby!" she exclaimedindignantly, stamping her foot into the sand. 

Dr. Archie, who had been kneeling by the blanket, got up and came towardThea, dusting his knees. He smiled and nodded confidentially. "He'll beall right when we get him home. But he wouldn't want you to see him likethis, poor old chap! Understand? Now, skip!"

Thea ran down the gulch and looked back only once, to see them liftingthe canvas litter with Wunsch upon it, still covered with the blanket. 

The men carried Wunsch up the hill and down the road to the Kohlers'. Mrs. Kohler had gone home and made up a bed in the sitting-room, as sheknew the litter could not be got round the turn in the narrow stairway. Wunsch was like a dead man. He lay unconscious all day. Ray Kennedystayed with him till two o'clock in the afternoon, when he had to go outon his run. It was the first time he had ever been inside the Kohlers'house, and he was so much impressed by Napoleon that the piece-pictureformed a new bond between him and Thea. 

Dr. Archie went back at six o'clock, and found Mrs. Kohler and SpanishJohnny with Wunsch, who was in a high fever, muttering and groaning. 

"There ought to be some one here to look after him to-night, Mrs. Kohler, " he said. "I'm on a confinement case, and I can't be here, butthere ought to be somebody. He may get violent. "

Mrs. Kohler insisted that she could always do anything with Wunsch, butthe doctor shook his head and Spanish Johnny grinned. He said he wouldstay. The doctor laughed at him. "Ten fellows like you couldn't holdhim, Spanish, if he got obstreperous; an Irishman would have his handsfull. Guess I'd better put the soft pedal on him. " He pulled out hishypodermic. 

Spanish Johnny stayed, however, and the Kohlers went to bed. At abouttwo o'clock in the morning Wunsch rose from his ignominious cot. Johnny, who was dozing on the lounge, awoke to find the German standing in themiddle of the room in his undershirt and drawers, his arms bare, hisheavy body seeming twice its natural girth. His face was snarling andsavage, and his eyes were crazy. He had risen to avenge himself, to wipeout his shame, to destroy his enemy. One look was enough for Johnny. Wunsch raised a chair threateningly, and Johnny, with the lightness of aPICADOR, darted under the missile and out of the open window. He shotacross the gully to get help, meanwhile leaving the Kohlers to theirfate. 

Fritz, upstairs, heard the chair crash upon the stove. Then he hearddoors opening and shutting, and some one stumbling about in theshrubbery of the garden. He and Paulina sat up in bed and held aconsultation. Fritz slipped from under the covers, and going cautiouslyover to the window, poked out his head. Then he rushed to the door andbolted it. 

"MEIN GOTT, Paulina, " he gasped, "he has the axe, he will kill us!"

"The dresser, " cried Mrs. Kohler; "push the dresser before the door. ACH, if you had your rabbit gun, now!"

"It is in the barn, " said Fritz sadly. "It would do no good; he wouldnot be afraid of anything now. Stay you in the bed, Paulina. " Thedresser had lost its casters years ago, but he managed to drag it infront of the door. "He is in the garden. He makes nothing. He will getsick again, may-be. "

Fritz went back to bed and his wife pulled the quilt over him and madehim lie down. They heard stumbling in the garden again, then a smash ofglass. 

"ACH, DAS MISTBEET!" gasped Paulina, hearing her hotbed shivered. "Thepoor soul, Fritz, he will cut himself. ACH! what is that?" They both satup in bed. "WIEDER! ACH, What is he doing?"

The noise came steadily, a sound of chopping. Paulina tore off hernight-cap. "DIE BAUME, DIE BAUME! He is cutting our trees, Fritz!" Beforeher husband could prevent her, she had sprung from the bed and rushed tothe window. "DER TAUBENSCHLAG! GERECHTER HIMMEL, he is chopping thedove-house down!"

Fritz reached her side before she had got her breath again, and pokedhis head out beside hers. There, in the faint starlight, they saw abulky man, barefoot, half dressed, chopping away at the white post thatformed the pedestal of the dove-house. The startled pigeons werecroaking and flying about his head, even beating their wings in hisface, so that he struck at them furiously with the axe. In a few secondsthere was a crash, and Wunsch had actually felled the dove-house. 

"Oh, if only it is not the trees next!" prayed Paulina. "The dove-houseyou can make new again, but not DIE BAUME. "

They watched breathlessly. In the garden below Wunsch stood in theattitude of a woodman, contemplating the fallen cote. Suddenly he threwthe axe over his shoulder and went out of the front gate toward thetown. 

"The poor soul, he will meet his death!" Mrs. Kohler wailed. She ranback to her feather bed and hid her face in the pillow. 

Fritz kept watch at the window. "No, no, Paulina, " he called presently;"I see lanterns coming. Johnny must have gone for somebody. Yes, fourlanterns, coming along the gulch. They stop; they must have seen himalready. Now they are under the hill and I cannot see them, but I thinkthey have him. They will bring him back. I must dress and go down. " Hecaught his trousers and began pulling them on by the window. "Yes, herethey come, half a dozen men. And they have tied him with a rope, Paulina!"

"ACH, the poor man! To be led like a cow, " groaned Mrs. Kohler. "Oh, itis good that he has no wife!" She was reproaching herself for naggingFritz when he drank himself into foolish pleasantry or mild sulks, andfelt that she had never before appreciated her blessings. 

Wunsch was in bed for ten days, during which time he was gossiped aboutand even preached about in Moonstone. The Baptist preacher took a shotat the fallen man from his pulpit, Mrs. Livery Johnson noddingapprovingly from her pew. The mothers of Wunsch's pupils sent him notesinforming him that their daughters would discontinue theirmusic-lessons. The old maid who had rented him her piano sent the towndray for her contaminated instrument, and ever afterward declared thatWunsch had ruined its tone and scarred its glossy finish. The Kohlerswere unremitting in their kindness to their friend. Mrs. Kohler made himsoups and broths without stint, and Fritz repaired the dove-house andmounted it on a new post, lest it might be a sad reminder. 

As soon as Wunsch was strong enough to sit about in his slippers andwadded jacket, he told Fritz to bring him some stout thread from theshop. When Fritz asked what he was going to sew, he produced thetattered score of "Orpheus" and said he would like to fix it up for alittle present. Fritz carried it over to the shop and stitched it intopasteboards, covered with dark suiting-cloth. Over the stitches he glueda strip of thin red leather which he got from his friend, theharness-maker. After Paulina had cleaned the pages with fresh bread, Wunsch was amazed to see what a fine book he had. It opened stiffly, butthat was no matter. 

Sitting in the arbor one morning, under the ripe grapes and the brown, curling leaves, with a pen and ink on the bench beside him and the Gluckscore on his knee, Wunsch pondered for a long while. Several times hedipped the pen in the ink, and then put it back again in the cigar boxin which Mrs. Kohler kept her writing utensils. His thoughts wanderedover a wide territory; over many countries and many years. There was noorder or logical sequence in his ideas. Pictures came and went withoutreason. Faces, mountains, rivers, autumn days in other vineyards faraway. He thought of a FUSZREISE he had made through the Hartz Mountainsin his student days; of the innkeeper's pretty daughter who had lightedhis pipe for him in the garden one summer evening, of the woods aboveWiesbaden, haymakers on an island in the river. The roundhouse whistlewoke him from his reveries. Ah, yes, he was in Moonstone, Colorado. Hefrowned for a moment and looked at the book on his knee. He had thoughtof a great many appropriate things to write in it, but suddenly herejected all of them, opened the book, and at the top of themuch-engraved title-page he wrote rapidly in purple ink:--

 EINST, O WUNDER!--

 A. WUNSCH. MOONSTONE, COLO. SEPTEMBER 30, 18--

Nobody in Moonstone ever found what Wunsch's first name was. That "A"may have stood for Adam, or August, or even Amadeus; he got very angryif any one asked him. 

He remained A. Wunsch to the end of his chapter there. When he presentedthis score to Thea, he told her that in ten years she would either knowwhat the inscription meant, or she would not have the least idea, inwhich case it would not matter. 

When Wunsch began to pack his trunk, both the Kohlers were very unhappy. He said he was coming back some day, but that for the present, since hehad lost all his pupils, it would be better for him to try some "newtown. " Mrs. Kohler darned and mended all his clothes, and gave him twonew shirts she had made for Fritz. Fritz made him a new pair of trousersand would have made him an overcoat but for the fact that overcoats wereso easy to pawn. 

Wunsch would not go across the ravine to the town until he went to takethe morning train for Denver. He said that after he got to Denver hewould "look around. " He left Moonstone one bright October morning, without telling any one good-bye. He bought his ticket and went directlyinto the smoking-car. When the train was beginning to pull out, he heardhis name called frantically, and looking out of the window he saw TheaKronborg standing on the siding, bareheaded and panting. Some boys hadbrought word to school that they saw Wunsch's trunk going over to thestation, and Thea had run away from school. She was at the end of thestation platform, her hair in two braids, her blue gingham dress wet tothe knees because she had run across lots through the weeds. It hadrained during the night, and the tall sunflowers behind her were freshand shining. 

"Good-bye, Herr Wunsch, good-bye!" she called waving to him. 

He thrust his head out at the car window and called back, "LEBEN SIEWOHL, LEBEN SIE WOHL, MEIN KIND!" He watched her until the train sweptaround the curve beyond the roundhouse, and then sank back into hisseat, muttering, "She had been running. Ah, she will run a long way;they cannot stop her!"

What was it about the child that one believed in? Was it her doggedindustry, so unusual in this free-and-easy country? Was it herimagination? More likely it was because she had both imagination and astubborn will, curiously balancing and interpenetrating each other. There was something unconscious and unawakened about her, that temptedcuriosity. She had a kind of seriousness that he had not met with in apupil before. She hated difficult things, and yet she could never passone by. They seemed to challenge her; she had no peace until shemastered them. She had the power to make a great effort, to lift aweight heavier than herself. Wunsch hoped he would always remember heras she stood by the track, looking up at him; her broad eager face, sofair in color, with its high cheek-bones, yellow eyebrows andgreenishhazel eyes. It was a face full of light and energy, of theunquestioning hopefulness of first youth. Yes, she was like a flowerfull of sun, but not the soft German flowers of his childhood. He had itnow, the comparison he had absently reached for before: she was like theyellow prickly pear blossoms that open there in the desert; thornier andsturdier than the maiden flowers he remembered; not so sweet, butwonderful. 

That night Mrs. Kohler brushed away many a tear as she got supper andset the table for two. When they sat down, Fritz was more silent thanusual. People who have lived long together need a third at table: theyknow each other's thoughts so well that they have nothing left to say. Mrs. Kohler stirred and stirred her coffee and clattered the spoon, butshe had no heart for her supper. She felt, for the first time in years, that she was tired of her own cooking. She looked across the glass lampat her husband and asked him if the butcher liked his new overcoat, andwhether he had got the shoulders right in a ready-made suit he waspatching over for Ray Kennedy. After supper Fritz offered to wipe thedishes for her, but she told him to go about his business, and not toact as if she were sick or getting helpless. 

When her work in the kitchen was all done, she went out to cover theoleanders against frost, and to take a last look at her chickens. As shecame back from the hen-house she stopped by one of the linden trees andstood resting her hand on the trunk. He would never come back, the poorman; she knew that. He would drift on from new town to new town, fromcatastrophe to catastrophe. He would hardly find a good home for himselfagain. He would die at last in some rough place, and be buried in thedesert or on the wild prairie, far enough from any linden tree!

Fritz, smoking his pipe on the kitchen doorstep, watched his Paulina andguessed her thoughts. He, too, was sorry to lose his friend. But Fritzwas getting old; he had lived a long while and had learned to losewithout struggle. 

XIV

"Mother, " said Peter Kronborg to his wife one morning about two weeksafter Wunsch's departure, "how would you like to drive out to CopperHole with me to-day?"

Mrs. Kronborg said she thought she would enjoy the drive. She put on hergray cashmere dress and gold watch and chain, as befitted a minister'swife, and while her husband was dressing she packed a black oilclothsatchel with such clothing as she and Thor would need overnight. 

Copper Hole was a settlement fifteen miles northwest of Moonstone whereMr. Kronborg preached every Friday evening. There was a big spring thereand a creek and a few irrigating ditches. It was a community ofdiscouraged agriculturists who had disastrously experimented with dryfarming. Mr. Kronborg always drove out one day and back the next, spending the night with one of his parishioners. Often, when the weatherwas fine, his wife accompanied him. To-day they set out from home afterthe midday meal, leaving Tillie in charge of the house. Mrs. Kronborg'smaternal feeling was always garnered up in the baby, whoever the babyhappened to be. If she had the baby with her, the others could look outfor themselves. Thor, of course, was not, accurately speaking, a babyany longer. In the matter of nourishment he was quite independent of hismother, though this independence had not been won without a struggle. Thor was conservative in all things, and the whole family had anguishedwith him when he was being weaned. Being the youngest, he was still thebaby for Mrs. Kronborg, though he was nearly four years old and sat upboldly on her lap this afternoon, holding on to the ends of the linesand shouting "'mup, 'mup, horsey. " His father watched him affectionatelyand hummed hymn tunes in the jovial way that was sometimes such a trialto Thea. 

Mrs. Kronborg was enjoying the sunshine and the brilliant sky and allthe faintly marked features of the dazzling, monotonous landscape. Shehad a rather unusual capacity for getting the flavor of places and ofpeople. Although she was so enmeshed in family cares most of the time, she could emerge serene when she was away from them. For a mother ofseven, she had a singularly unprejudiced point of view. She was, moreover, a fatalist, and as she did not attempt to direct things beyondher control, she found a good deal of time to enjoy the ways of man andnature. 

When they were well upon their road, out where the first lean pasturelands began and the sand grass made a faint showing between thesagebrushes, Mr. Kronborg dropped his tune and turned to his wife. "Mother, I've been thinking about something. "

"I guessed you had. What is it?" She shifted Thor to her left knee, where he would be more out of the way. 

"Well, it's about Thea. Mr. Follansbee came to my study at the churchthe other day and said they would like to have their two girls takelessons of Thea. Then I sounded Miss Meyers" (Miss Meyers was theorganist in Mr. Kronborg's church) "and she said there was a good dealof talk about whether Thea wouldn't take over Wunsch's pupils. She saidif Thea stopped school she wouldn't wonder if she could get pretty muchall Wunsch's class. People think Thea knows about all Wunsch couldteach. "

Mrs. Kronborg looked thoughtful. "Do you think we ought to take her outof school so young?"

"She is young, but next year would be her last year anyway. She's faralong for her age. And she can't learn much under the principal we'vegot now, can she?"

"No, I'm afraid she can't, " his wife admitted. "She frets a good dealand says that man always has to look in the back of the book for theanswers. She hates all that diagramming they have to do, and I thinkmyself it's a waste of time. "

Mr. Kronborg settled himself back into the seat and slowed the mare to awalk. "You see, it occurs to me that we might raise Thea's prices, so itwould be worth her while. Seventy-five cents for hour lessons, fiftycents for half-hour lessons. If she got, say two thirds of Wunsch'sclass, that would bring her in upwards of ten dollars a week. Better paythan teaching a country school, and there would be more work in vacationthan in winter. Steady work twelve months in the year; that's anadvantage. And she'd be living at home, with no expenses. "

"There'd be talk if you raised her prices, " said Mrs. Kronborgdubiously. 

"At first there would. But Thea is so much the best musician in townthat they'd all come into line after a while. A good many people inMoonstone have been making money lately, and have bought new pianos. There were ten new pianos shipped in here from Denver in the last year. People ain't going to let them stand idle; too much money invested. Ibelieve Thea can have as many scholars as she can handle, if we set herup a little. "

"How set her up, do you mean?" Mrs. Kronborg felt a certain reluctanceabout accepting this plan, though she had not yet had time to think outher reasons. 

"Well, I've been thinking for some time we could make good use ofanother room. We couldn't give up the parlor to her all the time. If webuilt another room on the ell and put the piano in there, she could givelessons all day long and it wouldn't bother us. We could build aclothes-press in it, and put in a bed-lounge and a dresser and let Annahave it for her sleeping-room. She needs a place of her own, now thatshe's beginning to be dressy. "

"Seems like Thea ought to have the choice of the room, herself, " saidMrs. Kronborg. 

"But, my dear, she don't want it. Won't have it. I sounded her cominghome from church on Sunday; asked her if she would like to sleep in anew room, if we built on. She fired up like a little wild-cat and saidshe'd made her own room all herself, and she didn't think anybody oughtto take it away from her. "

"She don't mean to be impertinent, father. She's made decided that way, like my father. " Mrs. Kronborg spoke warmly. "I never have any troublewith the child. I remember my father's ways and go at her carefully. Thea's all right. "

Mr. Kronborg laughed indulgently and pinched Thor's full cheek. "Oh, Ididn't mean anything against your girl, mother! She's all right, butshe's a little wild-cat, just the same. I think Ray Kennedy's planningto spoil a born old maid. "

"Huh! She'll get something a good sight better than Ray Kennedy, yousee! Thea's an awful smart girl. I've seen a good many girls take musiclessons in my time, but I ain't seen one that took to it so. Wunsch saidso, too. She's got the making of something in her. "

"I don't deny that, and the sooner she gets at it in a businesslike way, the better. She's the kind that takes responsibility, and it'll be goodfor her. "

Mrs. Kronborg was thoughtful. "In some ways it will, maybe. But there'sa good deal of strain about teaching youngsters, and she's always workedso hard with the scholars she has. I've often listened to her poundingit into 'em. I don't want to work her too hard. She's so serious thatshe's never had what you might call any real childhood. Seems like sheought to have the next few years sort of free and easy. She'll be tieddown with responsibilities soon enough. "

Mr. Kronborg patted his wife's arm. "Don't you believe it, mother. Theais not the marrying kind. I've watched 'em. Anna will marry before longand make a good wife, but I don't see Thea bringing up a family. She'sgot a good deal of her mother in her, but she hasn't got all. She's toopeppery and too fond of having her own way. Then she's always got to beahead in everything. That kind make good church-workers and missionariesand school teachers, but they don't make good wives. They fret all theirenergy away, like colts, and get cut on the wire. "

Mrs. Kronborg laughed. "Give me the graham crackers I put in your pocketfor Thor. He's hungry. You're a funny man, Peter. A body wouldn't think, to hear you, you was talking about your own daughters. I guess you seethrough 'em. Still, even if Thea ain't apt to have children of her own, I don't know as that's a good reason why she should wear herself out onother people's. "

"That's just the point, mother. A girl with all that energy has got todo something, same as a boy, to keep her out of mischief. If you don'twant her to marry Ray, let her do something to make herselfindependent. "

"Well, I'm not against it. It might be the best thing for her. I wish Ifelt sure she wouldn't worry. She takes things hard. She nearly criedherself sick about Wunsch's going away. She's the smartest child of 'emall, Peter, by a long ways. "

Peter Kronborg smiled. "There you go, Anna. That's you all over again. Now, I have no favorites; they all have their good points. But you, "with a twinkle, "always did go in for brains. "

Mrs. Kronborg chuckled as she wiped the cracker crumbs from Thor's chinand fists. "Well, you're mighty conceited, Peter! But I don't know as Iever regretted it. I prefer having a family of my own to fussing withother folks' children, that's the truth. "

Before the Kronborgs reached Copper Hole, Thea's destiny was pretty wellmapped out for her. Mr. Kronborg was always delighted to have an excusefor enlarging the house. 

Mrs. Kronborg was quite right in her conjecture that there would beunfriendly comment in Moonstone when Thea raised her prices formusic-lessons. People said she was getting too conceited for anything. Mrs. Livery Johnson put on a new bonnet and paid up all her back callsto have the pleasure of announcing in each parlor she entered that herdaughters, at least, would "never pay professional prices to TheaKronborg. "

Thea raised no objection to quitting school. She was now in the "highroom, " as it was called, in next to the highest class, and was studyinggeometry and beginning Caesar. She no longer recited her lessons to theteacher she liked, but to the Principal, a man who belonged, like Mrs. Livery Johnson, to the camp of Thea's natural enemies. He taught schoolbecause he was too lazy to work among grown-up people, and he made aneasy job of it. He got out of real work by inventing useless activitiesfor his pupils, such as the "tree-diagramming system. " Thea had spenthours making trees out of "Thanatopsis, " Hamlet's soliloquy, Cato on"Immortality. " She agonized under this waste of time, and was only tooglad to accept her father's offer of liberty. 

So Thea left school the first of November. By the first of January shehad eight one-hour pupils and ten half-hour pupils, and there would bemore in the summer. She spent her earnings generously. She bought a newBrussels carpet for the parlor, and a rifle for Gunner and Axel, and animitation tiger-skin coat and cap for Thor. She enjoyed being able toadd to the family possessions, and thought Thor looked quite as handsomein his spots as the rich children she had seen in Denver. Thor was mostcomplacent in his conspicuous apparel. He could walk anywhere by thistime--though he always preferred to sit, or to be pulled in his cart. Hewas a blissfully lazy child, and had a number of long, dull plays, suchas making nests for his china duck and waiting for her to lay him anegg. Thea thought him very intelligent, and she was proud that he was sobig and burly. She found him restful, loved to hear him call her"sitter, " and really liked his companionship, especially when she wastired. On Saturday, for instance, when she taught from nine in themorning until five in the afternoon, she liked to get off in a cornerwith Thor after supper, away from all the bathing and dressing andjoking and talking that went on in the house, and ask him about hisduck, or hear him tell one of his rambling stories. 

XV

By the time Thea's fifteenth birthday came round, she was established asa music teacher in Moonstone. The new room had been added to the houseearly in the spring, and Thea had been giving her lessons there sincethe middle of May. She liked the personal independence which wasaccorded her as a wage-earner. The family questioned her comings andgoings very little. She could go buggy-riding with Ray Kennedy, forinstance, without taking Gunner or Axel. She could go to SpanishJohnny's and sing part songs with the Mexicans, and nobody objected. 

Thea was still under the first excitement of teaching, and was terriblyin earnest about it. If a pupil did not get on well, she fumed andfretted. She counted until she was hoarse. She listened to scales in hersleep. Wunsch had taught only one pupil seriously, but Thea taughttwenty. The duller they were, the more furiously she poked and proddedthem. With the little girls she was nearly always patient, but withpupils older than herself, she sometimes lost her temper. One of hermistakes was to let herself in for a calling-down from Mrs. LiveryJohnson. That lady appeared at the Kronborgs' one morning and announcedthat she would allow no girl to stamp her foot at her daughter Grace. She added that Thea's bad manners with the older girls were being talkedabout all over town, and that if her temper did not speedily improve shewould lose all her advanced pupils. Thea was frightened. She felt shecould never bear the disgrace, if such a thing happened. Besides, whatwould her father say, after he had gone to the expense of building anaddition to the house? Mrs. Johnson demanded an apology to Grace. Theasaid she was willing to make it. Mrs. Johnson said that hereafter, sinceshe had taken lessons of the best piano teacher in Grinnell, Iowa, sheherself would decide what pieces Grace should study. Thea readilyconsented to that, and Mrs. Johnson rustled away to tell a neighborwoman that Thea Kronborg could be meek enough when you went at herright. 

Thea was telling Ray about this unpleasant encounter as they weredriving out to the sand hills the next Sunday. 

"She was stuffing you, all right, Thee, " Ray reassured her. "There's nogeneral dissatisfaction among your scholars. She just wanted to get in aknock. I talked to the piano tuner the last time he was here, and hesaid all the people he tuned for expressed themselves very favorablyabout your teaching. I wish you didn't take so much pains with them, myself. "

"But I have to, Ray. They're all so dumb. They've got no ambition, " Theaexclaimed irritably. "Jenny Smiley is the only one who isn't stupid. Shecan read pretty well, and she has such good hands. But she don't care arap about it. She has no pride. "

Ray's face was full of complacent satisfaction as he glanced sidewise atThea, but she was looking off intently into the mirage, at one of thosemammoth cattle that are nearly always reflected there. "Do you find iteasier to teach in your new room?" he asked. 

"Yes; I'm not interrupted so much. Of course, if I ever happen to wantto practice at night, that's always the night Anna chooses to go to bedearly. "

"It's a darned shame, Thee, you didn't cop that room for yourself. I'msore at the PADRE about that. He ought to give you that room. You couldfix it up so pretty. "

"I didn't want it, honest I didn't. Father would have let me have it. Ilike my own room better. Somehow I can think better in a little room. Besides, up there I am away from everybody, and I can read as late as Iplease and nobody nags me. "

"A growing girl needs lots of sleep, " Ray providently remarked. 

Thea moved restlessly on the buggy cushions. "They need other thingsmore, " she muttered. "Oh, I forgot. I brought something to show you. Look here, it came on my birthday. Wasn't it nice of him to remember?"She took from her pocket a postcard, bent in the middle and folded, andhanded it to Ray. On it was a white dove, perched on a wreath of veryblue forget-me-nots, and "Birthday Greetings" in gold letters. Underthis was written, "From A. Wunsch. "

Ray turned the card over, examined the postmark, and then began tolaugh. 

"Concord, Kansas. He has my sympathy!"

"Why, is that a poor town?"

"It's the jumping-off place, no town at all. Some houses dumped down inthe middle of a cornfield. You get lost in the corn. Not even a saloonto keep things going; sell whiskey without a license at the butchershop, beer on ice with the liver and beefsteak. I wouldn't stay thereover Sunday for a ten-dollar bill. "

"Oh, dear! What do you suppose he's doing there? Maybe he just stoppedoff there a few days to tune pianos, " Thea suggested hopefully. 

Ray gave her back the card. "He's headed in the wrong direction. Whatdoes he want to get back into a grass country for? Now, there are lotsof good live towns down on the Santa Fe, and everybody down there ismusical. He could always get a job playing in saloons if he wasdead broke. I've figured out that I've got no years of my life to wastein a Methodist country where they raise pork. "

"We must stop on our way back and show this card to Mrs. Kohler. Shemisses him so. "

"By the way, Thee, I hear the old woman goes to church every Sunday tohear you sing. Fritz tells me he has to wait till two o'clock for hisSunday dinner these days. The church people ought to give you credit forthat, when they go for you. "

Thea shook her head and spoke in a tone of resignation. "They'll alwaysgo for me, just as they did for Wunsch. It wasn't because he drank theywent for him; not really. It was something else. "

"You want to salt your money down, Thee, and go to Chicago and take somelessons. Then you come back, and wear a long feather and high heels andput on a few airs, and that'll fix 'em. That's what they like. "

"I'll never have money enough to go to Chicago. Mother meant to lend mesome, I think, but now they've got hard times back in Nebraska, and herfarm don't bring her in anything. Takes all the tenant can raise to paythe taxes. Don't let's talk about that. You promised to tell me aboutthe play you went to see in Denver. "

Any one would have liked to hear Ray's simple and clear account of theperformance he had seen at the Tabor Grand Opera House--Maggie Mitchellin LITTLE BAREFOOT--and any one would have liked to watch his kind face. Ray looked his best out of doors, when his thick red hands were coveredby gloves, and the dull red of his sunburned face somehow seemed rightin the light and wind. He looked better, too, with his hat on; his hairwas thin and dry, with no particular color or character, "regularWilly-boy hair, " as he himself described it. His eyes were pale besidethe reddish bronze of his skin. They had the faded look often seen inthe eyes of men who have lived much in the sun and wind and who havebeen accustomed to train their vision upon distant objects. 

Ray realized that Thea's life was dull and exacting, and that she missedWunsch. He knew she worked hard, that she put up with a great manylittle annoyances, and that her duties as a teacher separated her morethan ever from the boys and girls of her own age. He did everything hecould to provide recreation for her. He brought her candy and magazinesand pineapples--of which she was very fond--from Denver, and kept hiseyes and ears open for anything that might interest her. He was, ofcourse, living for Thea. He had thought it all out carefully and hadmade up his mind just when he would speak to her. When she wasseventeen, then he would tell her his plan and ask her to marry him. Hewould be willing to wait two, or even three years, until she was twenty, if she thought best. By that time he would surely have got in onsomething: copper, oil, gold, silver, sheep, --something. 

Meanwhile, it was pleasure enough to feel that she depended on him moreand more, that she leaned upon his steady kindness. He never broke faithwith himself about her; he never hinted to her of his hopes for thefuture, never suggested that she might be more intimately confidentialwith him, or talked to her of the thing he thought about so constantly. He had the chivalry which is perhaps the proudest possession of hisrace. He had never embarrassed her by so much as a glance. Sometimes, when they drove out to the sand hills, he let his left arm lie along theback of the buggy seat, but it never came any nearer to Thea than that, never touched her. He often turned to her a face full of pride, andfrank admiration, but his glance was never so intimate or so penetratingas Dr. Archie's. His blue eyes were clear and shallow, friendly, uninquiring. He rested Thea because he was so different; because, thoughhe often told her interesting things, he never set lively fancies goingin her head; because he never misunderstood her, and because he never, by any chance, for a single instant, understood her! Yes, with Ray shewas safe; by him she would never be discovered!

XVI

The pleasantest experience Thea had that summer was a trip that she andher mother made to Denver in Ray Kennedy's caboose. Mrs. Kronborg hadbeen looking forward to this excursion for a long while, but as Raynever knew at what hour his freight would leave Moonstone, it wasdifficult to arrange. The call-boy was as likely to summon him to starton his run at twelve o'clock midnight as at twelve o'clock noon. Thefirst week in June started out with all the scheduled trains running ontime, and a light freight business. Tuesday evening Ray, afterconsulting with the dispatcher, stopped at the Kronborgs' front gate totell Mrs. Kronborg--who was helping Tillie water the flowers--that ifshe and Thea could be at the depot at eight o'clock the next morning, hethought he could promise them a pleasant ride and get them into Denverbefore nine o'clock in the evening. Mrs. Kronborg told him cheerfully, across the fence, that she would "take him up on it, " and Ray hurriedback to the yards to scrub out his car. 

The one complaint Ray's brakemen had to make of him was that he was toofussy about his caboose. His former brakeman had asked to be transferredbecause, he said, "Kennedy was as fussy about his car as an old maidabout her bird-cage. " Joe Giddy, who was braking with Ray now, calledhim "the bride, " because he kept the caboose and bunks so clean. 

It was properly the brakeman's business to keep the car clean, but whenRay got back to the depot, Giddy was nowhere to be found. Muttering thatall his brakemen seemed to consider him "easy, " Ray went down to his caralone. He built a fire in the stove and put water on to heat while hegot into his overalls and jumper. Then he set to work with ascrubbing-brush and plenty of soap and "cleaner. " He scrubbed the floorand seats, blacked the stove, put clean sheets on the bunks, and thenbegan to demolish Giddy's picture gallery. Ray found that his brakemenwere likely to have what he termed "a taste for the nude in art, " andGiddy was no exception. Ray took down half a dozen girls in tights andballet skirts, --premiums for cigarette coupons, --and some racy calendarsadvertising saloons and sporting clubs, which had cost Giddy both timeand trouble; he even removed Giddy's particular pet, a naked girl lyingon a couch with her knee carelessly poised in the air. Underneath thepicture was printed the title, "The Odalisque. " Giddy was under thehappy delusion that this title meant something wicked, --there was awicked look about the consonants, --but Ray, of course, had looked it up, and Giddy was indebted to the dictionary for the privilege of keepinghis lady. If "odalisque" had been what Ray called an objectionable word, he would have thrown the picture out in the first place. Ray even tookdown a picture of Mrs. Langtry in evening dress, because it was entitledthe "Jersey Lily, " and because there was a small head of Edward VII, then Prince of Wales, in one corner. Albert Edward's conduct was apopular subject of discussion among railroad men in those days, and asRay pulled the tacks out of this lithograph he felt more indignant withthe English than ever. He deposited all these pictures under themattress of Giddy's bunk, and stood admiring his clean car in thelamplight; the walls now exhibited only a wheatfield, advertisingagricultural implements, a map of Colorado, and some pictures ofrace-horses and hunting-dogs. At this moment Giddy, freshly shaved andshampooed, his shirt shining with the highest polish known to Chineselaundrymen, his straw hat tipped over his right eye, thrust his head inat the door. 

"What in hell--" he brought out furiously. His good humored, sunburnedface seemed fairly to swell with amazement and anger. 

"That's all right, Giddy, " Ray called in a conciliatory tone. "Nothinginjured. I'll put 'em all up again as I found 'em. Going to take someladies down in the car to-morrow. "

Giddy scowled. He did not dispute the propriety of Ray's measures, ifthere were to be ladies on board, but he felt injured. "I suppose you'llexpect me to behave like a Y. M. C. A. Secretary, " he growled. "I can't domy work and serve tea at the same time. "

"No need to have a tea-party, " said Ray with determined cheerfulness. "Mrs. Kronborg will bring the lunch, and it will be a darned good one. "

Giddy lounged against the car, holding his cigar between two thickfingers. "Then I guess she'll get it, " he observed knowingly. "I don'tthink your musical friend is much on the grub-box. Has to keep her handswhite to tickle the ivories. " Giddy had nothing against Thea, but hefelt cantankerous and wanted to get a rise out of Kennedy. 

"Every man to his own job, " Ray replied agreeably, pulling his whiteshirt on over his head. 

Giddy emitted smoke disdainfully. "I suppose so. The man that gets herwill have to wear an apron and bake the pancakes. Well, some men like tomess about the kitchen. " He paused, but Ray was intent on getting intohis clothes as quickly as possible. Giddy thought he could go a littlefurther. "Of course, I don't dispute your right to haul women in thiscar if you want to; but personally, so far as I'm concerned, I'd a gooddeal rather drink a can of tomatoes and do without the women AND theirlunch. I was never much enslaved to hard-boiled eggs, anyhow. "

"You'll eat 'em to-morrow, all the same. " Ray's tone had a steelyglitter as he jumped out of the car, and Giddy stood aside to let himpass. He knew that Kennedy's next reply would be delivered by hand. Hehad once seen Ray beat up a nasty fellow for insulting a Mexican womanwho helped about the grub-car in the work train, and his fists hadworked like two steel hammers. Giddy wasn't looking for trouble. 

At eight o'clock the next morning Ray greeted his ladies and helped theminto the car. Giddy had put on a clean shirt and yellow pig-skin glovesand was whistling his best. He considered Kennedy a fluke as a ladies'man, and if there was to be a party, the honors had to be done by someone who wasn't a blacksmith at small-talk. Giddy had, as Raysarcastically admitted, "a local reputation as a jollier, " and he wasfluent in gallant speeches of a not too-veiled nature. He insisted thatThea should take his seat in the cupola, opposite Ray's, where she couldlook out over the country. Thea told him, as she clambered up, that shecared a good deal more about riding in that seat than about going toDenver. Ray was never so companionable and easy as when he sat chattingin the lookout of his little house on wheels. Good stories came to him, and interesting recollections. Thea had a great respect for the reportshe had to write out, and for the telegrams that were handed to him atstations; for all the knowledge and experience it must take to run afreight train. 

Giddy, down in the car, in the pauses of his work, made himselfagreeable to Mrs. Kronborg. 

"It's a great rest to be where my family can't get at me, Mr. Giddy, "she told him. "I thought you and Ray might have some housework here forme to look after, but I couldn't improve any on this car. "

"Oh, we like to keep her neat, " returned Giddy glibly, winking up atRay's expressive back. "If you want to see a clean ice-box, look at thisone. Yes, Kennedy always carries fresh cream to eat on his oatmeal. I'mnot particular. The tin cow's good enough for me. "

"Most of you boys smoke so much that all victuals taste alike to you, "said Mrs. Kronborg. "I've got no religious scruples against smoking, butI couldn't take as much interest cooking for a man that used tobacco. Iguess it's all right for bachelors who have to eat round. "

Mrs. Kronborg took off her hat and veil and made herself comfortable. She seldom had an opportunity to be idle, and she enjoyed it. She couldsit for hours and watch the sage-hens fly up and the jack-rabbits dartaway from the track, without being bored. She wore a tan bombazinedress, made very plainly, and carried a roomy, worn, mother-of-the-familyhandbag. 

Ray Kennedy always insisted that Mrs. Kronborg was "a fine-lookinglady, " but this was not the common opinion in Moonstone. Ray had livedlong enough among the Mexicans to dislike fussiness, to feel that therewas something more attractive in ease of manner than in absentmindedconcern about hairpins and dabs of lace. He had learned to think thatthe way a woman stood, moved, sat in her chair, looked at you, was moreimportant than the absence of wrinkles from her skirt. Ray had, indeed, such unusual perceptions in some directions, that one could not helpwondering what he would have been if he had ever, as he said, had "halfa chance. "

He was right; Mrs. Kronborg was a fine-looking woman. She was short andsquare, but her head was a real head, not a mere jerky termination ofthe body. It had some individuality apart from hats and hairpins. Herhair, Moonstone women admitted, would have been very pretty "on anybodyelse. " Frizzy bangs were worn then, but Mrs. Kronborg always dressed herhair in the same way, parted in the middle, brushed smoothly back fromher low, white forehead, pinned loosely on the back of her head in twothick braids. It was growing gray about the temples, but after themanner of yellow hair it seemed only to have grown paler there, and hadtaken on a color like that of English primroses. Her eyes were clear anduntroubled; her face smooth and calm, and, as Ray said, "strong. "

Thea and Ray, up in the sunny cupola, were laughing and talking. Ray gotgreat pleasure out of seeing her face there in the little box where heso often imagined it. They were crossing a plateau where great redsandstone boulders lay about, most of them much wider at the top than atthe base, so that they looked like great toadstools. 

"The sand has been blowing against them for a good many hundred years, "Ray explained, directing Thea's eyes with his gloved hand. "You see thesand blows low, being so heavy, and cuts them out underneath. Wind andsand are pretty high-class architects. That's the principle of most ofthe Cliff-Dweller remains down at Canyon de Chelly. The sandstorms haddug out big depressions in the face of a cliff, and the Indians builttheir houses back in that depression. "

"You told me that before, Ray, and of course you know. But the geographysays their houses were cut out of the face of the living rock, and Ilike that better. "

Ray sniffed. "What nonsense does get printed! It's enough to give a mandisrespect for learning. How could them Indians cut houses out of theliving rock, when they knew nothing about the art of forging metals?"Ray leaned back in his chair, swung his foot, and looked thoughtful andhappy. He was in one of his favorite fields of speculation, and nothinggave him more pleasure than talking these things over with TheaKronborg. "I'll tell you, Thee, if those old fellows had learned to workmetals once, your ancient Egyptians and Assyrians wouldn't have beatthem very much. Whatever they did do, they did well. Their masonry'sstanding there to-day, the corners as true as the Denver Capitol. Theywere clever at most everything but metals; and that one failure keptthem from getting across. It was the quicksand that swallowed 'em up, asa race. I guess civilization proper began when men mastered metals. "

Ray was not vain about his bookish phrases. He did not use them to showoff, but because they seemed to him more adequate than colloquialspeech. He felt strongly about these things, and groped for words, as hesaid, "to express himself. " He had the lamentable American belief that"expression" is obligatory. He still carried in his trunk, among theunrelated possessions of a railroad man, a notebook on the title-page ofwhich was written "Impressions on First Viewing the Grand Canyon, Ray H. Kennedy. " The pages of that book were like a battlefield; the laboringauthor had fallen back from metaphor after metaphor, abandoned positionafter position. He would have admitted that the art of forging metalswas nothing to this treacherous business of recording impressions, inwhich the material you were so full of vanished mysteriously under yourstriving hand. "Escaping steam!" he had said to himself, the last timehe tried to read that notebook. 

Thea didn't mind Ray's travel-lecture expressions. She dodged them, unconsciously, as she did her father's professional palaver. The lightin Ray's pale-blue eyes and the feeling in his voice more than made upfor the stiffness of his language. 

"Were the Cliff-Dwellers really clever with their hands, Ray, or do youalways have to make allowance and say, 'That was pretty good for anIndian'?" she asked. 

Ray went down into the car to give some instructions to Giddy. "Well, "he said when he returned, "about the aborigines: once or twice I've beenwith some fellows who were cracking burial mounds. Always felt a littleashamed of it, but we did pull out some remarkable things. We got somepottery out whole; seemed pretty fine to me. I guess their women weretheir artists. We found lots of old shoes and sandals made out of yuccafiber, neat and strong; and feather blankets, too. "

"Feather blankets? You never told me about them. "

"Didn't I? The old fellows--or the squaws--wove a close netting of yuccafiber, and then tied on little bunches of down feathers, overlapping, just the way feathers grow on a bird. Some of them were feathered onboth sides. You can't get anything warmer than that, now, can you?--orprettier. What I like about those old aborigines is, that they got alltheir ideas from nature. "

Thea laughed. "That means you're going to say something about girls'wearing corsets. But some of your Indians flattened their babies' heads, and that's worse than wearing corsets. "

"Give me an Indian girl's figure for beauty, " Ray insisted. "And a girlwith a voice like yours ought to have plenty of lung-action. But youknow my sentiments on that subject. I was going to tell you about thehandsomest thing we ever looted out of those burial mounds. It was on awoman, too, I regret to say. She was preserved as perfect as any mummythat ever came out of the pyramids. She had a big string of turquoisesaround her neck, and she was wrapped in a fox-fur cloak, lined withlittle yellow feathers that must have come off wild canaries. Can youbeat that, now? The fellow that claimed it sold it to a Boston man for ahundred and fifty dollars. "

Thea looked at him admiringly. "Oh, Ray, and didn't you get anything offher, to remember her by, even? She must have been a princess. "

Ray took a wallet from the pocket of the coat that was hanging besidehim, and drew from it a little lump wrapped in worn tissue paper. In amoment a stone, soft and blue as a robin's egg, lay in the hard palm ofhis hand. It was a turquoise, rubbed smooth in the Indian finish, whichis so much more beautiful than the incongruous high polish the white mangives that tender stone. "I got this from her necklace. See the holewhere the string went through? You know how the Indians drill them? Workthe drill with their teeth. You like it, don't you? They're just rightfor you. Blue and yellow are the Swedish colors. " Ray looked intently ather head, bent over his hand, and then gave his whole attention to thetrack. 

"I'll tell you, Thee, " he began after a pause, "I'm going to form acamping party one of these days and persuade your PADRE to take you andyour mother down to that country, and we'll live in the rockhouses--they're as comfortable as can be--and start the cook fires up in'em once again. I'll go into the burial mounds and get you morekeepsakes than any girl ever had before. " Ray had planned such anexpedition for his wedding journey, and it made his heart thump to seehow Thea's eyes kindled when he talked about it. "I've learned more downthere about what makes history, " he went on, "than in all the books I'veever read. When you sit in the sun and let your heels hang out of adoorway that drops a thousand feet, ideas come to you. You begin to feelwhat the human race has been up against from the beginning. There'ssomething mighty elevating about those old habitations. You feel likeit's up to you to do your best, on account of those fellows having it sohard. You feel like you owed them something. "

At Wassiwappa, Ray got instructions to sidetrack until Thirty-six wentby. After reading the message, he turned to his guests. "I'm afraid thiswill hold us up about two hours, Mrs. Kronborg, and we won't get intoDenver till near midnight. "

"That won't trouble me, " said Mrs. Kronborg contentedly. "They know meat the Y. W. C. A. , and they'll let me in any time of night. I came to seethe country, not to make time. I've always wanted to get out at thiswhite place and look around, and now I'll have a chance. What makes itso white?"

"Some kind of chalky rock. " Ray sprang to the ground and gave Mrs. Kronborg his hand. "You can get soil of any color in Colorado; matchmost any ribbon. "

While Ray was getting his train on to a side track, Mrs. Kronborgstrolled off to examine the post-office and station house; these, withthe water tank, made up the town. The station agent "batched" and raisedchickens. He ran out to meet Mrs. Kronborg, clutched at her feverishly, and began telling her at once how lonely he was and what bad luck he washaving with his poultry. She went to his chicken yard with him, andprescribed for gapes. 

Wassiwappa seemed a dreary place enough to people who looked forverdure, a brilliant place to people who liked color. Beside the stationhouse there was a blue-grass plot, protected by a red plank fence, andsix fly-bitten box-elder trees, not much larger than bushes, were keptalive by frequent hosings from the water plug. Over the windows somedusty morning-glory vines were trained on strings. All the country aboutwas broken up into low chalky hills, which were so intensely white, andspotted so evenly with sage, that they looked like white leopardscrouching. White dust powdered everything, and the light was so intensethat the station agent usually wore blue glasses. Behind the stationthere was a water course, which roared in flood time, and a basin in thesoft white rock where a pool of alkali water flashed in the sun like amirror. The agent looked almost as sick as his chickens, and Mrs. Kronborg at once invited him to lunch with her party. He had, heconfessed, a distaste for his own cooking, and lived mainly on sodacrackers and canned beef. He laughed apologetically when Mrs. Kronborgsaid she guessed she'd look about for a shady place to eat lunch. 

She walked up the track to the water tank, and there, in the narrowshadows cast by the uprights on which the tank stood, she found twotramps. They sat up and stared at her, heavy with sleep. When she askedthem where they were going, they told her "to the coast. " They rested byday and traveled by night; walked the ties unless they could steal aride, they said; adding that "these Western roads were getting strict. "Their faces were blistered, their eyes blood-shot, and their shoeslooked fit only for the trash pile. 

"I suppose you're hungry?" Mrs. Kronborg asked. "I suppose you bothdrink?" she went on thoughtfully, not censoriously. 

The huskier of the two hoboes, a bushy, bearded fellow, rolled his eyesand said, "I wonder?" But the other, who was old and spare, with a sharpnose and watery eyes, sighed. "Some has one affliction, some another, "he said. 

Mrs. Kronborg reflected. "Well, " she said at last, "you can't get liquorhere, anyway. I am going to ask you to vacate, because I want to have alittle picnic under this tank for the freight crew that brought mealong. I wish I had lunch enough to provide you, but I ain't. Thestation agent says he gets his provisions over there at the post officestore, and if you are hungry you can get some canned stuff there. " Sheopened her handbag and gave each of the tramps a half-dollar. 

The old man wiped his eyes with his forefinger. "Thank 'ee, ma'am. A canof tomatters will taste pretty good to me. I wasn't always walkin' ties;I had a good job in Cleveland before--"

The hairy tramp turned on him fiercely. "Aw, shut up on that, grandpaw!Ain't you got no gratitude? What do you want to hand the lady that fur?"

The old man hung his head and turned away. As he went off, his comradelooked after him and said to Mrs. Kronborg: "It's true, what he says. Hehad a job in the car shops; but he had bad luck. " They both limped awaytoward the store, and Mrs. Kronborg sighed. She was not afraid oftramps. She always talked to them, and never turned one away. She hatedto think how many of them there were, crawling along the tracks overthat vast country. 

Her reflections were cut short by Ray and Giddy and Thea, who camebringing the lunch box and water bottles. Although there was not shadowenough to accommodate all the party at once, the air under the tank wasdistinctly cooler than the surrounding air, and the drip made a pleasantsound in that breathless noon. The station agent ate as if he had neverbeen fed before, apologizing every time he took another piece of friedchicken. Giddy was unabashed before the devilled eggs of which he hadspoken so scornfully last night. After lunch the men lit their pipes andlay back against the uprights that supported the tank. 

"This is the sunny side of railroading, all right, " Giddy drawledluxuriously. 

"You fellows grumble too much, " said Mrs. Kronborg as she corked thepickle jar. "Your job has its drawbacks, but it don't tie you down. Ofcourse there's the risk; but I believe a man's watched over, and hecan't be hurt on the railroad or anywhere else if it's intended heshouldn't be. "

Giddy laughed. "Then the trains must be operated by fellows the Lord hasit in for, Mrs. Kronborg. They figure it out that a railroad man's onlydue to last eleven years; then it's his turn to be smashed. "

"That's a dark Providence, I don't deny, " Mrs. Kronborg admitted. "Butthere's lots of things in life that's hard to understand. "

"I guess!" murmured Giddy, looking off at the spotted white hills. 

Ray smoked in silence, watching Thea and her mother clear away thelunch. He was thinking that Mrs. Kronborg had in her face the sameserious look that Thea had; only hers was calm and satisfied, and Thea'swas intense and questioning. But in both it was a large kind of look, that was not all the time being broken up and convulsed by trivialthings. They both carried their heads like Indian women, with a kind ofnoble unconsciousness. He got so tired of women who were always noddingand jerking; apologizing, deprecating, coaxing, insinuating with theirheads. 

When Ray's party set off again that afternoon the sun beat fiercely intothe cupola, and Thea curled up in one of the seats at the back of thecar and had a nap. 

As the short twilight came on, Giddy took a turn in the cupola, and Raycame down and sat with Thea on the rear platform of the caboose andwatched the darkness come in soft waves over the plain. They were nowabout thirty miles from Denver, and the mountains looked very near. Thegreat toothed wall behind which the sun had gone down now separated intofour distinct ranges, one behind the other. They were a very pale blue, a color scarcely stronger than wood smoke, and the sunset had leftbright streaks in the snow-filled gorges. In the clear, yellow-streakedsky the stars were coming out, flickering like newly lighted lamps, growing steadier and more golden as the sky darkened and the landbeneath them fell into complete shadow. It was a cool, restful darknessthat was not black or forbidding, but somehow open and free; the nightof high plains where there is no moistness or mistiness in theatmosphere. 

Ray lit his pipe. "I never get tired of them old stars, Thee. I miss 'emup in Washington and Oregon where it's misty. Like 'em best down inMother Mexico, where they have everything their own way. I'm not for anycountry where the stars are dim. " Ray paused and drew on his pipe. "Idon't know as I ever really noticed 'em much till that first year Iherded sheep up in Wyoming. That was the year the blizzard caught me. "

"And you lost all your sheep, didn't you, Ray?" Thea spokesympathetically. "Was the man who owned them nice about it?"

"Yes, he was a good loser. But I didn't get over it for a long while. Sheep are so damned resigned. Sometimes, to this day, when I'mdog-tired, I try to save them sheep all night long. It comes kind ofhard on a boy when he first finds out how little he is, and how bigeverything else is. "

Thea moved restlessly toward him and dropped her chin on her hand, looking at a low star that seemed to rest just on the rim of the earth. "I don't see how you stood it. I don't believe I could. I don't see howpeople can stand it to get knocked out, anyhow!" She spoke with suchfierceness that Ray glanced at her in surprise. She was sitting on thefloor of the car, crouching like a little animal about to spring. 

"No occasion for you to see, " he said warmly. "There'll always be plentyof other people to take the knocks for you. "

"That's nonsense, Ray. " Thea spoke impatiently and leaned lower still, frowning at the red star. "Everybody's up against it for himself, succeeds or fails--himself. "

"In one way, yes, " Ray admitted, knocking the sparks from his pipe outinto the soft darkness that seemed to flow like a river beside the car. "But when you look at it another way, there are a lot of halfway peoplein this world who help the winners win, and the failers fail. If a manstumbles, there's plenty of people to push him down. But if he's like'the youth who bore, ' those same people are foreordained to help himalong. They may hate to, worse than blazes, and they may do a lot ofcussin' about it, but they have to help the winners and they can't dodgeit. It's a natural law, like what keeps the big clock up there going, little wheels and big, and no mix-up. " Ray's hand and his pipe weresuddenly outlined against the sky. "Ever occur to you, Thee, that theyhave to be on time close enough to MAKE TIME? The Dispatcher up theremust have a long head. " Pleased with his similitude, Ray went back tothe lookout. Going into Denver, he had to keep a sharp watch. 

Giddy came down, cheerful at the prospect of getting into port, andsinging a new topical ditty that had come up from the Santa Fe by way ofLa Junta. Nobody knows who makes these songs; they seem to follow eventsautomatically. Mrs. Kronborg made Giddy sing the whole twelve verses ofthis one, and laughed until she wiped her eyes. The story was that ofKatie Casey, head diningroom girl at Winslow, Arizona, who was unjustlydischarged by the Harvey House manager. Her suitor, the yardmaster, tookthe switchmen out on a strike until she was reinstated. Freight trainsfrom the east and the west piled up at Winslow until the yards lookedlike a log-jam. The division superintendent, who was in California, hadto wire instructions for Katie Casey's restoration before he could gethis trains running. Giddy's song told all this with much detail, bothtender and technical, and after each of the dozen verses came therefrain:--

 "Oh, who would think that Katie Casey owned the Santa Fe? But it really looks that way, The dispatcher's turnin' gray, All the crews is off their pay; She can hold the freight from Albuquerq' to Needles any day; The division superintendent, he come home from Monterey, Just to see if things was pleasin' Katie Ca--a--a--sey. "

Thea laughed with her mother and applauded Giddy. Everything was sokindly and comfortable; Giddy and Ray, and their hospitable littlehouse, and the easy-going country, and the stars. She curled up on theseat again with that warm, sleepy feeling of the friendliness of theworld--which nobody keeps very long, and which she was to lose early andirrevocably. 

XVII

The summer flew by. Thea was glad when Ray Kennedy had a Sunday in townand could take her driving. Out among the sand hills she could forgetthe "new room" which was the scene of wearing and fruitless labor. Dr. Archie was away from home a good deal that year. He had put all hismoney into mines above Colorado Springs, and he hoped for great returnsfrom them. 

In the fall of that year, Mr. Kronborg decided that Thea ought to showmore interest in church work. He put it to her frankly, one night atsupper, before the whole family. "How can I insist on the other girls inthe congregation being active in the work, when one of my own daughtersmanifests so little interest?"

"But I sing every Sunday morning, and I have to give up one night a weekto choir practice, " Thea declared rebelliously, pushing back her platewith an angry determination to eat nothing more. 

"One night a week is not enough for the pastor's daughter, " her fatherreplied. "You won't do anything in the sewing society, and you won'ttake part in the Christian Endeavor or the Band of Hope. Very well, youmust make it up in other ways. I want some one to play the organ andlead the singing at prayer-meeting this winter. Deacon Potter told mesome time ago that he thought there would be more interest in ourprayer-meetings if we had the organ. Miss Meyers don't feel that she canplay on Wednesday nights. And there ought to be somebody to start thehymns. Mrs. Potter is getting old, and she always starts them too high. It won't take much of your time, and it will keep people from talking. "

This argument conquered Thea, though she left the table sullenly. Thefear of the tongue, that terror of little towns, is usually felt morekeenly by the minister's family than by other households. Whenever theKronborgs wanted to do anything, even to buy a new carpet, they had totake counsel together as to whether people would talk. Mrs. Kronborg hadher own conviction that people talked when they felt like it, and saidwhat they chose, no matter how the minister's family conductedthemselves. But she did not impart these dangerous ideas to herchildren. Thea was still under the belief that public opinion could beplacated; that if you clucked often enough, the hens would mistake youfor one of themselves. 

Mrs. Kronborg did not have any particular zest for prayer-meetings, andshe stayed at home whenever she had a valid excuse. Thor was too old tofurnish such an excuse now, so every Wednesday night, unless one of thechildren was sick, she trudged off with Thea, behind Mr. Kronborg. Atfirst Thea was terribly bored. But she got used to prayer-meeting, goteven to feel a mournful interest in it. 

The exercises were always pretty much the same. After the first hymn herfather read a passage from the Bible, usually a Psalm. Then there wasanother hymn, and then her father commented upon the passage he had readand, as he said, "applied the Word to our necessities. " After a thirdhymn, the meeting was declared open, and the old men and women tookturns at praying and talking. Mrs. Kronborg never spoke in meeting. Shetold people firmly that she had been brought up to keep silent and letthe men talk, but she gave respectful attention to the others, sittingwith her hands folded in her lap. 

The prayer-meeting audience was always small. The young and energeticmembers of the congregation came only once or twice a year, "to keeppeople from talking. " The usual Wednesday night gathering was made up ofold women, with perhaps six or eight old men, and a few sickly girls whohad not much interest in life; two of them, indeed, were alreadypreparing to die. Thea accepted the mournfulness of the prayer-meetingsas a kind of spiritual discipline, like funerals. She always read lateafter she went home and felt a stronger wish than usual to live and tobe happy. 

The meetings were conducted in the Sunday-School room, where there werewooden chairs instead of pews; an old map of Palestine hung on the wall, and the bracket lamps gave out only a dim light. The old women satmotionless as Indians in their shawls and bonnets; some of them worelong black mourning veils. The old men drooped in their chairs. Everyback, every face, every head said "resignation. " Often there were longsilences, when you could hear nothing but the crackling of the soft coalin the stove and the muffled cough of one of the sick girls. 

There was one nice old lady, --tall, erect, self-respecting, with adelicate white face and a soft voice. She never whined, and what shesaid was always cheerful, though she spoke so nervously that Thea knewshe dreaded getting up, and that she made a real sacrifice to, as shesaid, "testify to the goodness of her Saviour. " She was the mother ofthe girl who coughed, and Thea used to wonder how she explained thingsto herself. There was, indeed, only one woman who talked because shewas, as Mr. Kronborg said, "tonguey. " The others were somehowimpressive. They told about the sweet thoughts that came to them whilethey were at their work; how, amid their household tasks, they weresuddenly lifted by the sense of a divine Presence. Sometimes they toldof their first conversion, of how in their youth that higher Power hadmade itself known to them. Old Mr. Carsen, the carpenter, who gave hisservices as janitor to the church, used often to tell how, when he was ayoung man and a scoffer, bent on the destruction of both body and soul, his Saviour had come to him in the Michigan woods and had stood, itseemed to him, beside the tree he was felling; and how he dropped hisaxe and knelt in prayer "to Him who died for us upon the tree. " Theaalways wanted to ask him more about it; about his mysterious wickedness, and about the vision. 

Sometimes the old people would ask for prayers for their absentchildren. Sometimes they asked their brothers and sisters in Christ topray that they might be stronger against temptations. One of the sickgirls used to ask them to pray that she might have more faith in thetimes of depression that came to her, "when all the way before seemeddark. " She repeated that husky phrase so often, that Thea alwaysremembered it. 

One old woman, who never missed a Wednesday night, and who nearly alwaystook part in the meeting, came all the way up from the depot settlement. She always wore a black crocheted "fascinator" over her thin white hair, and she made long, tremulous prayers, full of railroad terminology. Shehad six sons in the service of different railroads, and she alwaysprayed "for the boys on the road, who know not at what moment they maybe cut off. When, in Thy divine wisdom, their hour is upon them, maythey, O our Heavenly Father, see only white lights along the road toEternity. " She used to speak, too, of "the engines that race withdeath"; and though she looked so old and little when she was on herknees, and her voice was so shaky, her prayers had a thrill of speed anddanger in them; they made one think of the deep black canyons, theslender trestles, the pounding trains. Thea liked to look at her sunkeneyes that seemed full of wisdom, at her black thread gloves, much toolong in the fingers and so meekly folded one over the other. Her facewas brown, and worn away as rocks are worn by water. There are many waysof describing that color of age, but in reality it is not likeparchment, or like any of the things it is said to be like. Thatbrownness and that texture of skin are found only in the faces of oldhuman creatures, who have worked hard and who have always been poor. 

One bitterly cold night in December the prayer-meeting seemed to Thealonger than usual. The prayers and the talks went on and on. It was asif the old people were afraid to go out into the cold, or were stupefiedby the hot air of the room. She had left a book at home that she wasimpatient to get back to. At last the Doxology was sung, but the oldpeople lingered about the stove to greet each other, and Thea took hermother's arm and hurried out to the frozen sidewalk, before her fathercould get away. The wind was whistling up the street and whipping thenaked cottonwood trees against the telegraph poles and the sides of thehouses. Thin snow clouds were flying overhead, so that the sky lookedgray, with a dull phosphorescence. The icy streets and the shingle roofsof the houses were gray, too. All along the street, shutters banged orwindows rattled, or gates wobbled, held by their latch but shaking onloose hinges. There was not a cat or a dog in Moonstone that night thatwas not given a warm shelter; the cats under the kitchen stove, the dogsin barns or coal-sheds. When Thea and her mother reached home, theirmufflers were covered with ice, where their breath had frozen. Theyhurried into the house and made a dash for the parlor and the hard-coalburner, behind which Gunner was sitting on a stool, reading his JulesVerne book. The door stood open into the dining-room, which was heatedfrom the parlor. Mr. Kronborg always had a lunch when he came home fromprayer-meeting, and his pumpkin pie and milk were set out on thedining-table. Mrs. Kronborg said she thought she felt hungry, too, andasked Thea if she didn't want something to eat. 

"No, I'm not hungry, mother. I guess I'll go upstairs. "

"I expect you've got some book up there, " said Mrs. Kronborg, bringingout another pie. "You'd better bring it down here and read. Nobody'lldisturb you, and it's terrible cold up in that loft. "

Thea was always assured that no one would disturb her if she readdownstairs, but the boys talked when they came in, and her father fairlydelivered discourses after he had been renewed by half a pie and apitcher of milk. 

"I don't mind the cold. I'll take a hot brick up for my feet. I put onein the stove before I left, if one of the boys hasn't stolen it. Good-night, mother. " Thea got her brick and lantern, and dashed upstairsthrough the windy loft. She undressed at top speed and got into bed withher brick. She put a pair of white knitted gloves on her hands, andpinned over her head a piece of soft flannel that had been one of Thor'slong petticoats when he was a baby. Thus equipped, she was ready forbusiness. She took from her table a thick paper-backed volume, one ofthe "line" of paper novels the druggist kept to sell to traveling men. She had bought it, only yesterday, because the first sentence interestedher very much, and because she saw, as she glanced over the pages, themagical names of two Russian cities. The book was a poor translation of"Anna Karenina. " Thea opened it at a mark, and fixed her eyes intentlyupon the small print. The hymns, the sick girl, the resigned blackfigures were forgotten. It was the night of the ball in Moscow. 

Thea would have been astonished if she could have known how, yearsafterward, when she had need of them, those old faces were to come backto her, long after they were hidden away under the earth; that theywould seem to her then as full of meaning, as mysteriously marked byDestiny, as the people who danced the mazurka under the elegantKorsunsky. 

XVIII

Mr. Kronborg was too fond of his ease and too sensible to worry hischildren much about religion. He was more sincere than many preachers, but when he spoke to his family about matters of conduct it was usuallywith a regard for keeping up appearances. The church and church workwere discussed in the family like the routine of any other business. Sunday was the hard day of the week with them, just as Saturday was thebusy day with the merchants on Main Street. Revivals were seasons ofextra work and pressure, just as threshing-time was on the farms. Visiting elders had to be lodged and cooked for, the folding-bed in theparlor was let down, and Mrs. Kronborg had to work in the kitchen allday long and attend the night meetings. 

During one of these revivals Thea's sister Anna professed religion with, as Mrs. Kronborg said, "a good deal of fluster. " While Anna was going upto the mourners' bench nightly and asking for the prayers of thecongregation, she disseminated general gloom throughout the household, and after she joined the church she took on an air of "set-apartness"that was extremely trying to her brothers and her sister, though theyrealized that Anna's sanctimoniousness was perhaps a good thing fortheir father. A preacher ought to have one child who did more thanmerely acquiesce in religious observances, and Thea and the boys wereglad enough that it was Anna and not one of themselves who assumed thisobligation. 

"Anna, she's American, " Mrs. Kronborg used to say. The Scandinavianmould of countenance, more or less marked in each of the other children, was scarcely discernible in her, and she looked enough like otherMoonstone girls to be thought pretty. Anna's nature was conventional, likeher face. Her position as the minister's eldest daughter was importantto her, and she tried to live up to it. She read sentimental religiousstory-books and emulated the spiritual struggles and magnanimousbehavior of their persecuted heroines. Everything had to be interpretedfor Anna. Her opinions about the smallest and most commonplace thingswere gleaned from the Denver papers, the church weeklies, from sermonsand Sunday-School addresses. Scarcely anything was attractive to her inits natural state--indeed, scarcely anything was decent until it wasclothed by the opinion of some authority. Her ideas about habit, character, duty, love, marriage, were grouped under heads, like a bookof popular quotations, and were totally unrelated to the emergencies ofhuman living. She discussed all these subjects with other Methodistgirls of her age. They would spend hours, for instance, in deciding whatthey would or would not tolerate in a suitor or a husband, and thefrailties of masculine nature were too often a subject of discussionamong them. In her behavior Anna was a harmless girl, mild except whereher prejudices were concerned, neat and industrious, with no graverfault than priggishness; but her mind had really shocking habits ofclassification. The wickedness of Denver and of Chicago, and even ofMoonstone, occupied her thoughts too much. She had none of the delicacythat goes with a nature of warm impulses, but the kind of fishycuriosity which justifies itself by an expression of horror. 

Thea, and all Thea's ways and friends, seemed indecorous to Anna. Shenot only felt a grave social discrimination against the Mexicans; shecould not forget that Spanish Johnny was a drunkard and that "nobodyknew what he did when he ran away from home. " Thea pretended, of course, that she liked the Mexicans because they were fond of music; but everyone knew that music was nothing very real, and that it did not matter ina girl's relations with people. What was real, then, and what didmatter? Poor Anna!

Anna approved of Ray Kennedy as a young man of steady habits andblameless life, but she regretted that he was an atheist, and that hewas not a passenger conductor with brass buttons on his coat. On thewhole, she wondered what such an exemplary young man found to like inThea. Dr. Archie she treated respectfully because of his position inMoonstone, but she KNEW he had kissed the Mexican barytone's prettydaughter, and she had a whole DOSSIER of evidence about his behavior inhis hours of relaxation in Denver. He was "fast, " and it was because hewas "fast" that Thea liked him. Thea always liked that kind of people. Dr. Archie's whole manner with Thea, Anna often told her mother, was toofree. He was always putting his hand on Thea's head, or holding her handwhile he laughed and looked down at her. The kindlier manifestation ofhuman nature (about which Anna sang and talked, in the interests ofwhich she went to conventions and wore white ribbons) were neverrealities to her after all. She did not believe in them. It was only inattitudes of protest or reproof, clinging to the cross, that humanbeings could be even temporarily decent. 

Preacher Kronborg's secret convictions were very much like Anna's. Hebelieved that his wife was absolutely good, but there was not a man orwoman in his congregation whom he trusted all the way. 

Mrs. Kronborg, on the other hand, was likely to find something to admirein almost any human conduct that was positive and energetic. She couldalways be taken in by the stories of tramps and runaway boys. She wentto the circus and admired the bareback riders, who were "likely goodenough women in their way. " She admired Dr. Archie's fine physique andwell-cut clothes as much as Thea did, and said she "felt it was aprivilege to be handled by such a gentleman when she was sick. "

Soon after Anna became a church member she began to remonstrate withThea about practicing--playing "secular music"--on Sunday. One Sundaythe dispute in the parlor grew warm and was carried to Mrs. Kronborg inthe kitchen. She listened judicially and told Anna to read the chapterabout how Naaman the leper was permitted to bow down in the house ofRimmon. Thea went back to the piano, and Anna lingered to say that, since she was in the right, her mother should have supported her. 

"No, " said Mrs. Kronborg, rather indifferently, "I can't see it thatway, Anna. I never forced you to practice, and I don't see as I shouldkeep Thea from it. I like to hear her, and I guess your father does. Youand Thea will likely follow different lines, and I don't see as I'mcalled upon to bring you up alike. "

Anna looked meek and abused. "Of course all the church people must hearher. Ours is the only noisy house on this street. You hear what she'splaying now, don't you?"

Mrs. Kronborg rose from browning her coffee. "Yes; it's the Blue Danubewaltzes. I'm familiar with 'em. If any of the church people come at you, you just send 'em to me. I ain't afraid to speak out on occasion, and Iwouldn't mind one bit telling the Ladies' Aid a few things aboutstandard composers. " Mrs. Kronborg smiled, and added thoughtfully, "No, I wouldn't mind that one bit. "

Anna went about with a reserved and distant air for a week, and Mrs. Kronborg suspected that she held a larger place than usual in herdaughter's prayers; but that was another thing she didn't mind. 

Although revivals were merely a part of the year's work, likeexamination week at school, and although Anna's piety impressed her verylittle, a time came when Thea was perplexed about religion. A scourge oftyphoid broke out in Moonstone and several of Thea's schoolmates died ofit. She went to their funerals, saw them put into the ground, andwondered a good deal about them. But a certain grim incident, whichcaused the epidemic, troubled her even more than the death of herfriends. 

Early in July, soon after Thea's fifteenth birthday, a particularlydisgusting sort of tramp came into Moonstone in an empty box car. Theawas sitting in the hammock in the front yard when he first crawled up tothe town from the depot, carrying a bundle wrapped in dirty tickingunder one arm, and under the other a wooden box with rusty screeningnailed over one end. He had a thin, hungry face covered with black hair. It was just before suppertime when he came along, and the street smelledof fried potatoes and fried onions and coffee. Thea saw him sniffing theair greedily and walking slower and slower. He looked over the fence. She hoped he would not stop at their gate, for her mother never turnedany one away, and this was the dirtiest and most utterlywretched-looking tramp she had ever seen. There was a terrible odorabout him, too. She caught it even at that distance, and put herhandkerchief to her nose. A moment later she was sorry, for she knewthat he had noticed it. He looked away and shuffled a little faster. 

A few days later Thea heard that the tramp had camped in an empty shackover on the east edge of town, beside the ravine, and was trying to givea miserable sort of show there. He told the boys who went to see what hewas doing, that he had traveled with a circus. His bundle contained afilthy clown's suit, and his box held half a dozen rattlesnakes. 

Saturday night, when Thea went to the butcher shop to get the chickensfor Sunday, she heard the whine of an accordion and saw a crowd beforeone of the saloons. There she found the tramp, his bony body grotesquelyattired in the clown's suit, his face shaved and painted white, --thesweat trickling through the paint and washing it away, --and his eyeswild and feverish. Pulling the accordion in and out seemed to be almosttoo great an effort for him, and he panted to the tune of "Marchingthrough Georgia. " After a considerable crowd had gathered, the trampexhibited his box of snakes, announced that he would now pass the hat, and that when the onlookers had contributed the sum of one dollar, hewould eat "one of these living reptiles. " The crowd began to cough andmurmur, and the saloon keeper rushed off for the marshal, who arrestedthe wretch for giving a show without a license and hurried him away tothe calaboose. 

The calaboose stood in a sunflower patch, --an old hut with a barredwindow and a padlock on the door. The tramp was utterly filthy and therewas no way to give him a bath. The law made no provision to grub-stakevagrants, so after the constable had detained the tramp for twentyfourhours, he released him and told him to "get out of town, and get quick. "The fellow's rattlesnakes had been killed by the saloon keeper. He hidin a box car in the freight yard, probably hoping to get a ride to thenext station, but he was found and put out. After that he was seen nomore. He had disappeared and left no trace except an ugly, stupid word, chalked on the black paint of the seventy-five-foot standpipe which wasthe reservoir for the Moonstone water-supply; the same word, in anothertongue, that the French soldier shouted at Waterloo to the Englishofficer who bade the Old Guard surrender; a comment on life which thedefeated, along the hard roads of the world, sometimes bawl at thevictorious. 

A week after the tramp excitement had passed over, the city water beganto smell and to taste. The Kronborgs had a well in their back yard anddid not use city water, but they heard the complaints of theirneighbors. At first people said that the town well was full of rottingcottonwood roots, but the engineer at the pumping-station convinced themayor that the water left the well untainted. Mayors reason slowly, but, the well being eliminated, the official mind had to travel toward thestandpipe--there was no other track for it to go in. The standpipe amplyrewarded investigation. The tramp had got even with Moonstone. He hadclimbed the standpipe by the handholds and let himself down intoseventy-five feet of cold water, with his shoes and hat and roll ofticking. The city council had a mild panic and passed a new ordinanceabout tramps. But the fever had already broken out, and several adultsand half a dozen children died of it. 

Thea had always found everything that happened in Moonstone exciting, disasters particularly so. It was gratifying to read sensationalMoonstone items in the Denver paper. But she wished she had not chancedto see the tramp as he came into town that evening, sniffing thesupper-laden air. His face remained unpleasantly clear in her memory, and her mind struggled with the problem of his behavior as if it were ahard page in arithmetic. Even when she was practicing, the drama of thetramp kept going on in the back of her head, and she was constantlytrying to make herself realize what pitch of hatred or despair coulddrive a man to do such a hideous thing. She kept seeing him in hisbedraggled clown suit, the white paint on his roughly shaven face, playing his accordion before the saloon. She had noticed his lean body, his high, bald forehead that sloped back like a curved metal lid. Howcould people fall so far out of fortune? She tried to talk to RayKennedy about her perplexity, but Ray would not discuss things of thatsort with her. It was in his sentimental conception of women that theyshould be deeply religious, though men were at liberty to doubt andfinally to deny. A picture called "The Soul Awakened, " popular inMoonstone parlors, pretty well interpreted Ray's idea of woman'sspiritual nature. 

One evening when she was haunted by the figure of the tramp, Thea wentup to Dr. Archie's office. She found him sewing up two bad gashes in theface of a little boy who had been kicked by a mule. After the boy hadbeen bandaged and sent away with his father, Thea helped the doctor washand put away the surgical instruments. Then she dropped into heraccustomed seat beside his desk and began to talk about the tramp. Hereyes were hard and green with excitement, the doctor noticed. 

"It seems to me, Dr. Archie, that the whole town's to blame. I'm toblame, myself. I know he saw me hold my nose when he went by. Father'sto blame. If he believes the Bible, he ought to have gone to thecalaboose and cleaned that man up and taken care of him. That's what Ican't understand; do people believe the Bible, or don't they? If thenext life is all that matters, and we're put here to get ready for it, then why do we try to make money, or learn things, or have a good time?There's not one person in Moonstone that really lives the way the NewTestament says. Does it matter, or don't it?"

Dr. Archie swung round in his chair and looked at her, honestly andleniently. "Well, Thea, it seems to me like this. Every people has hadits religion. All religions are good, and all are pretty much alike. ButI don't see how we could live up to them in the sense you mean. I'vethought about it a good deal, and I can't help feeling that while we arein this world we have to live for the best things of this world, andthose things are material and positive. Now, most religions are passive, and they tell us chiefly what we should not do. " The doctor movedrestlessly, and his eyes hunted for something along the opposite wall:"See here, my girl, take out the years of early childhood and the timewe spend in sleep and dull old age, and we only have about twenty able, waking years. That's not long enough to get acquainted with half thefine things that have been done in the world, much less to do anythingourselves. I think we ought to keep the Commandments and help otherpeople all we can; but the main thing is to live those twenty splendidyears; to do all we can and enjoy all we can. "

Dr. Archie met his little friend's searching gaze, the look of acuteinquiry which always touched him. 

"But poor fellows like that tramp--" she hesitated and wrinkled herforehead. 

The doctor leaned forward and put his hand protectingly over hers, whichlay clenched on the green felt desktop. "Ugly accidents happen, Thea;always have and always will. But the failures are swept back into thepile and forgotten. They don't leave any lasting scar in the world, andthey don't affect the future. The things that last are the good things. The people who forge ahead and do something, they really count. " He sawtears on her cheeks, and he remembered that he had never seen her crybefore, not even when she crushed her finger when she was little. Herose and walked to the window, came back and sat down on the edge of hischair. 

"Forget the tramp, Thea. This is a great big world, and I want you toget about and see it all. You're going to Chicago some day, and dosomething with that fine voice of yours. You're going to be a number onemusician and make us proud of you. Take Mary Anderson, now; even thetramps are proud of her. There isn't a tramp along the 'Q' system whohasn't heard of her. We all like people who do things, even if we onlysee their faces on a cigar-box lid. "

They had a long talk. Thea felt that Dr. Archie had never let himselfout to her so much before. It was the most grown-up conversation she hadever had with him. She left his office happy, flattered and stimulated. She ran for a long while about the white, moonlit streets, looking up atthe stars and the bluish night, at the quiet houses sunk in black shade, the glittering sand hills. She loved the familiar trees, and the peoplein those little houses, and she loved the unknown world beyond Denver. She felt as if she were being pulled in two, between the desire to goaway forever and the desire to stay forever. She had only twentyyears--no time to lose. 

Many a night that summer she left Dr. Archie's office with a desire torun and run about those quiet streets until she wore out her shoes, orwore out the streets themselves; when her chest ached and it seemed asif her heart were spreading all over the desert. When she went home, itwas not to go to sleep. She used to drag her mattress beside her lowwindow and lie awake for a long while, vibrating with excitement, as amachine vibrates from speed. Life rushed in upon her through thatwindow--or so it seemed. In reality, of course, life rushes from within, not from without. There is no work of art so big or so beautiful that itwas not once all contained in some youthful body, like this one whichlay on the floor in the moonlight, pulsing with ardor and anticipation. It was on such nights that Thea Kronborg learned the thing that oldDumas meant when he told the Romanticists that to make a drama he neededbut one passion and four walls. 

XIX

It is well for its peace of mind that the traveling public takesrailroads so much for granted. The only men who are incurably nervousabout railway travel are the railroad operatives. A railroad man neverforgets that the next run may be his turn. 

On a single-track road, like that upon which Ray Kennedy worked, thefreight trains make their way as best they can between passenger trains. Even when there is such a thing as a freight time-schedule, it is merelya form. Along the one track dozens of fast and slow trains dash in bothdirections, kept from collision only by the brains in the dispatcher'soffice. If one passenger train is late, the whole schedule must berevised in an instant; the trains following must be warned, and thosemoving toward the belated train must be assigned new meeting-places. 

Between the shifts and modifications of the passenger schedule, thefreight trains play a game of their own. They have no right to the trackat any given time, but are supposed to be on it when it is free, and tomake the best time they can between passenger trains. A freight train, on a single-track road, gets anywhere at all only by stealing bases. 

Ray Kennedy had stuck to the freight service, although he had hadopportunities to go into the passenger service at higher pay. He alwaysregarded railroading as a temporary makeshift, until he "got intosomething, " and he disliked the passenger service. No brass buttons forhim, he said; too much like a livery. While he was railroading he wouldwear a jumper, thank you!

The wreck that "caught" Ray was a very commonplace one; nothingthrilling about it, and it got only six lines in the Denver papers. Ithappened about daybreak one morning, only thirty-two miles from home. 

At four o'clock in the morning Ray's train had stopped to take water atSaxony, having just rounded the long curve which lies south of thatstation. It was Joe Giddy's business to walk back along the curve aboutthree hundred yards and put out torpedoes to warn any train which mightbe coming up from behind--a freight crew is not notified of trainsfollowing, and the brakeman is supposed to protect his train. Ray was sofussy about the punctilious observance of orders that almost anybrakeman would take a chance once in a while, from natural perversity. 

When the train stopped for water that morning, Ray was at the desk inhis caboose, making out his report. Giddy took his torpedoes, swung offthe rear platform, and glanced back at the curve. He decided that hewould not go back to flag this time. If anything was coming up behind, he could hear it in plenty of time. So he ran forward to look after ahot journal that had been bothering him. In a general way, Giddy'sreasoning was sound. If a freight train, or even a passenger train, hadbeen coming up behind them, he could have heard it in time. But as ithappened, a light engine, which made no noise at all, wascoming, --ordered out to help with the freight that was piling up at theother end of the division. This engine got no warning, came round thecurve, struck the caboose, went straight through it, and crashed intothe heavy lumber car ahead. 

The Kronborgs were just sitting down to breakfast, when the nighttelegraph operator dashed into the yard at a run and hammered on thefront door. Gunner answered the knock, and the telegraph operator toldhim he wanted to see his father a minute, quick. Mr. Kronborg appearedat the door, napkin in hand. The operator was pale and panting. 

"Fourteen was wrecked down at Saxony this morning, " he shouted, "andKennedy's all broke up. We're sending an engine down with the doctor, and the operator at Saxony says Kennedy wants you to come along with usand bring your girl. " He stopped for breath. 

Mr. Kronborg took off his glasses and began rubbing them with hisnapkin. 

"Bring--I don't understand, " he muttered. "How did this happen?"

"No time for that, sir. Getting the engine out now. Your girl, Thea. You'll surely do that for the poor chap. Everybody knows he thinks theworld of her. " Seeing that Mr. Kronborg showed no indication of havingmade up his mind, the operator turned to Gunner. "Call your sister, kid. I'm going to ask the girl herself, " he blurted out. 

"Yes, yes, certainly. Daughter, " Mr. Kronborg called. He had somewhatrecovered himself and reached to the hall hatrack for his hat. 

Just as Thea came out on the front porch, before the operator had hadtime to explain to her, Dr. Archie's ponies came up to the gate at abrisk trot. Archie jumped out the moment his driver stopped the team andcame up to the bewildered girl without so much as saying good-morning toany one. He took her hand with the sympathetic, reassuring gravenesswhich had helped her at more than one hard time in her life. "Get yourhat, my girl. Kennedy's hurt down the road, and he wants you to run downwith me. They'll have a car for us. Get into my buggy, Mr. Kronborg. I'll drive you down, and Larry can come for the team. "

The driver jumped out of the buggy and Mr. Kronborg and the doctor gotin. Thea, still bewildered, sat on her father's knee. Dr. Archie gavehis ponies a smart cut with the whip. 

When they reached the depot, the engine, with one car attached, wasstanding on the main track. The engineer had got his steam up, and wasleaning out of the cab impatiently. In a moment they were off. The runto Saxony took forty minutes. Thea sat still in her seat while Dr. Archie and her father talked about the wreck. She took no part in theconversation and asked no questions, but occasionally she looked at Dr. Archie with a frightened, inquiring glance, which he answered by anencouraging nod. Neither he nor her father said anything about how badlyRay was hurt. When the engine stopped near Saxony, the main track wasalready cleared. As they got out of the car, Dr. Archie pointed to apile of ties. 

"Thea, you'd better sit down here and watch the wreck crew while yourfather and I go up and look Kennedy over. I'll come back for you when Iget him fixed up. "

The two men went off up the sand gulch, and Thea sat down and looked atthe pile of splintered wood and twisted iron that had lately been Ray'scaboose. She was frightened and absent-minded. She felt that she oughtto be thinking about Ray, but her mind kept racing off to all sorts oftrivial and irrelevant things. She wondered whether Grace Johnson wouldbe furious when she came to take her music lesson and found nobody thereto give it to her; whether she had forgotten to close the piano lastnight and whether Thor would get into the new room and mess the keys allup with his sticky fingers; whether Tillie would go upstairs and makeher bed for her. Her mind worked fast, but she could fix it uponnothing. The grasshoppers, the lizards, distracted her attention andseemed more real to her than poor Ray. 

On their way to the sand bank where Ray had been carried, Dr. Archie andMr. Kronborg met the Saxony doctor. He shook hands with them. 

"Nothing you can do, doctor. I couldn't count the fractures. His back'sbroken, too. He wouldn't be alive now if he weren't so confoundedlystrong, poor chap. No use bothering him. I've given him morphia, one anda half, in eighths. "

Dr. Archie hurried on. Ray was lying on a flat canvas litter, under theshelter of a shelving bank, lightly shaded by a slender cottonwood tree. When the doctor and the preacher approached, he looked at them intently. 

"Didn't--" he closed his eyes to hide his bitter disappointment. 

Dr. Archie knew what was the matter. "Thea's back there, Ray. I'll bringher as soon as I've had a look at you. "

Ray looked up. "You might clean me up a trifle, doc. Won't need you foranything else, thank you all the same. "

However little there was left of him, that little was certainly RayKennedy. His personality was as positive as ever, and the blood and dirton his face seemed merely accidental, to have nothing to do with the manhimself. Dr. Archie told Mr. Kronborg to bring a pail of water, and hebegan to sponge Ray's face and neck. Mr. Kronborg stood by, nervouslyrubbing his hands together and trying to think of something to say. Serious situations always embarrassed him and made him formal, even whenhe felt real sympathy. 

"In times like this, Ray, " he brought out at last, crumpling up hishandkerchief in his long fingers, --"in times like this, we don't want toforget the Friend that sticketh closer than a brother. "

Ray looked up at him; a lonely, disconsolate smile played over his mouthand his square cheeks. "Never mind about all that, PADRE, " he saidquietly. "Christ and me fell out long ago. "

There was a moment of silence. Then Ray took pity on Mr. Kronborg'sembarrassment. "You go back for the little girl, PADRE. I want a wordwith the doc in private. "

Ray talked to Dr. Archie for a few moments, then stopped suddenly, witha broad smile. Over the doctor's shoulder he saw Thea coming up thegulch, in her pink chambray dress, carrying her sun-hat by the strings. Such a yellow head! He often told himself that he "was perfectlyfoolish about her hair. " The sight of her, coming, went throughhim softly, like the morphia. "There she is, " he whispered. "Get the oldpreacher out of the way, doc. I want to have a little talk with her. "

Dr. Archie looked up. Thea was hurrying and yet hanging back. She wasmore frightened than he had thought she would be. She had gone with himto see very sick people and had always been steady and calm. As she cameup, she looked at the ground, and he could see that she had been crying. 

Ray Kennedy made an unsuccessful effort to put out his hand. "Hello, little kid, nothing to be afraid of. Darned if I don't believe they'vegone and scared you! Nothing to cry about. I'm the same old goods, onlya little dented. Sit down on my coat there, and keep me company. I'vegot to lay still a bit. "

Dr. Archie and Mr. Kronborg disappeared. Thea cast a timid glance afterthem, but she sat down resolutely and took Ray's hand. 

"You ain't scared now, are you?" he asked affectionately. "You were aregular brick to come, Thee. Did you get any breakfast?"

"No, Ray, I'm not scared. Only I'm dreadful sorry you're hurt, and Ican't help crying. "

His broad, earnest face, languid from the opium and smiling with suchsimple happiness, reassured her. She drew nearer to him and lifted hishand to her knee. He looked at her with his clear, shallow blue eyes. How he loved everything about that face and head! How many nights in hiscupola, looking up the track, he had seen that face in the darkness;through the sleet and snow, or in the soft blue air when the moonlightslept on the desert. 

"You needn't bother to talk, Thee. The doctor's medicine makes me sortof dopey. But it's nice to have company. Kind of cozy, don't you think?Pull my coat under you more. It's a darned shame I can't wait on you. "

"No, no, Ray. I'm all right. Yes, I like it here. And I guess you oughtnot to talk much, ought you? If you can sleep, I'll stay right here, andbe awful quiet. I feel just as much at home with you as ever, now. "

That simple, humble, faithful something in Ray's eyes went straight toThea's heart. She did feel comfortable with him, and happy to give himso much happiness. It was the first time she had ever been conscious ofthat power to bestow intense happiness by simply being near any one. Shealways remembered this day as the beginning of that knowledge. She bentover him and put her lips softly to his cheek. 

Ray's eyes filled with light. "Oh, do that again, kid!" he saidimpulsively. Thea kissed him on the forehead, blushing faintly. Ray heldher hand fast and closed his eyes with a deep sigh of happiness. Themorphia and the sense of her nearness filled him with content. The goldmine, the oil well, the copper ledge--all pipe dreams, he mused, andthis was a dream, too. He might have known it before. It had always beenlike that; the things he admired had always been away out of his reach:a college education, a gentleman's manner, an Englishman'saccent--things over his head. And Thea was farther out of his reach thanall the rest put together. He had been a fool to imagine it, but he wasglad he had been a fool. She had given him one grand dream. Every mileof his run, from Moonstone to Denver, was painted with the colors ofthat hope. Every cactus knew about it. But now that it was not to be, heknew the truth. Thea was never meant for any rough fellow likehim--hadn't he really known that all along, he asked himself? She wasn'tmeant for common men. She was like wedding cake, a thing to dream on. Heraised his eyelids a little. She was stroking his hand and looking offinto the distance. He felt in her face that look of unconscious powerthat Wunsch had seen there. Yes, she was bound for the big terminals ofthe world; no way stations for her. His lids drooped. In the dark hecould see her as she would be after a while; in a box at the Tabor Grandin Denver, with diamonds on her neck and a tiara in her yellow hair, with all the people looking at her through their opera-glasses, and aUnited States Senator, maybe, talking to her. "Then you'll remember me!"He opened his eyes, and they were full of tears. 

Thea leaned closer. "What did you say, Ray? I couldn't hear. "

"Then you'll remember me, " he whispered. 

The spark in his eye, which is one's very self, caught the spark in hersthat was herself, and for a moment they looked into each other'snatures. Thea realized how good and how great-hearted he was, and herealized about her many things. When that elusive spark of personalityretreated in each of them, Thea still saw in his wet eyes her own face, very small, but much prettier than the cracked glass at home had evershown it. It was the first time she had seen her face in that kindestmirror a woman can ever find. 

Ray had felt things in that moment when he seemed to be looking into thevery soul of Thea Kronborg. Yes, the gold mine, the oil well, the copperledge, they'd all got away from him, as things will; but he'd backed awinner once in his life! With all his might he gave his faith to thebroad little hand he held. He wished he could leave her the ruggedstrength of his body to help her through with it all. He would haveliked to tell her a little about his old dream, --there seemed long yearsbetween him and it already, --but to tell her now would somehow beunfair; wouldn't be quite the straightest thing in the world. Probablyshe knew, anyway. He looked up quickly. "You know, don't you, Thee, thatI think you are just the finest thing I've struck in this world?"

The tears ran down Thea's cheeks. "You're too good to me, Ray. You're alot too good to me, " she faltered. 

"Why, kid, " he murmured, "everybody in this world's going to be good toyou!"

Dr. Archie came to the gulch and stood over his patient. "How's itgoing?"

"Can't you give me another punch with your pacifier, doc? The littlegirl had better run along now. " Ray released Thea's hand. "See youlater, Thee. "

She got up and moved away aimlessly, carrying her hat by the strings. Ray looked after her with the exaltation born of bodily pain and saidbetween his teeth, "Always look after that girl, doc. She's a queen!"

Thea and her father went back to Moonstone on the one-o'clock passenger. Dr. Archie stayed with Ray Kennedy until he died, late in the afternoon. 

XX

On Monday morning, the day after Ray Kennedy's funeral, Dr. Archiecalled at Mr. Kronborg's study, a little room behind the church. Mr. Kronborg did not write out his sermons, but spoke from notes jotted uponsmall pieces of cardboard in a kind of shorthand of his own. As sermonsgo, they were not worse than most. His conventional rhetoric pleased themajority of his congregation, and Mr. Kronborg was generally regarded asa model preacher. He did not smoke, he never touched spirits. Hisindulgence in the pleasures of the table was an endearing bond betweenhim and the women of his congregation. He ate enormously, with a zestwhich seemed incongruous with his spare frame. 

This morning the doctor found him opening his mail and reading a pile ofadvertising circulars with deep attention. 

"Good-morning, Mr. Kronborg, " said Dr. Archie, sitting down. "I came tosee you on business. Poor Kennedy asked me to look after his affairs forhim. Like most railroad men he spent his wages, except for a fewinvestments in mines which don't look to me very promising. But his lifewas insured for six hundred dollars in Thea's favor. "

Mr. Kronborg wound his feet about the standard of his desk-chair. "Iassure you, doctor, this is a complete surprise to me. "

"Well, it's not very surprising to me, " Dr. Archie went on. "He talkedto me about it the day he was hurt. He said he wanted the money to beused in a particular way, and in no other. " Dr. Archie paused meaningly. 

Mr. Kronborg fidgeted. "I am sure Thea would observe his wishes in everyrespect. "

"No doubt; but he wanted me to see that you agreed to his plan. It seemsthat for some time Thea has wanted to go away to study music. It wasKennedy's wish that she should take this money and go to Chicago thiswinter. He felt that it would be an advantage to her in a business way:that even if she came back here to teach, it would give her moreauthority and make her position here more comfortable. "

Mr. Kronborg looked a little startled. "She is very young, " hehesitated; "she is barely seventeen. Chicago is a long way from home. Wewould have to consider. I think, Dr. Archie, we had better consult Mrs. Kronborg. "

"I think I can bring Mrs. Kronborg around, if I have your consent. I'vealways found her pretty level-headed. I have several old classmatespracticing in Chicago. One is a throat specialist. He has a good deal todo with singers. He probably knows the best piano teachers and couldrecommend a boarding-house where music students stay. I think Thea needsto get among a lot of young people who are clever like herself. Here shehas no companions but old fellows like me. It's not a natural life for ayoung girl. She'll either get warped, or wither up before her time. Ifit will make you and Mrs. Kronborg feel any easier, I'll be glad to takeThea to Chicago and see that she gets started right. This throat man Ispeak of is a big fellow in his line, and if I can get him interested, he may be able to put her in the way of a good many things. At any rate, he'll know the right teachers. Of course, six hundred dollars won't takeher very far, but even half the winter there would be a great advantage. I think Kennedy sized the situation up exactly. "

"Perhaps; I don't doubt it. You are very kind, Dr. Archie. " Mr. Kronborgwas ornamenting his desk-blotter with hieroglyphics. "I should thinkDenver might be better. There we could watch over her. She is veryyoung. "

Dr. Archie rose. "Kennedy didn't mention Denver. He said Chicago, repeatedly. Under the circumstances, it seems to me we ought to try tocarry out his wishes exactly, if Thea is willing. "

"Certainly, certainly. Thea is conscientious. She would not waste heropportunities. " Mr. Kronborg paused. "If Thea were your own daughter, doctor, would you consent to such a plan, at her present age?"

"I most certainly should. In fact, if she were my daughter, I'd havesent her away before this. She's a most unusual child, and she's onlywasting herself here. At her age she ought to be learning, not teaching. She'll never learn so quickly and easily as she will right now. "

"Well, doctor, you had better talk it over with Mrs. Kronborg. I make ita point to defer to her wishes in such matters. She understands all herchildren perfectly. I may say that she has all a mother's insight, andmore. "

Dr. Archie smiled. "Yes, and then some. I feel quite confident aboutMrs. Kronborg. We usually agree. Good-morning. "

Dr. Archie stepped out into the hot sunshine and walked rapidly towardhis office, with a determined look on his face. He found hiswaiting-room full of patients, and it was one o'clock before he haddismissed the last one. Then he shut his door and took a drink beforegoing over to the hotel for his lunch. He smiled as he locked hiscupboard. "I feel almost as gay as if I were going to get away for awinter myself, " he thought. 

Afterward Thea could never remember much about that summer, or how shelived through her impatience. She was to set off with Dr. Archie on thefifteenth of October, and she gave lessons until the first of September. Then she began to get her clothes ready, and spent whole afternoons inthe village dressmaker's stuffy, littered little sewing-room. Thea andher mother made a trip to Denver to buy the materials for her dresses. Ready-made clothes for girls were not to be had in those days. MissSpencer, the dressmaker, declared that she could do handsomely by Theaif they would only let her carry out her own ideas. But Mrs. Kronborgand Thea felt that Miss Spencer's most daring productions might seem outof place in Chicago, so they restrained her with a firm hand. Tillie, who always helped Mrs. Kronborg with the family sewing, was for lettingMiss Spencer challenge Chicago on Thea's person. Since Ray Kennedy'sdeath, Thea had become more than ever one of Tillie's heroines. Tillieswore each of her friends to secrecy, and, coming home from church orleaning over the fence, told them the most touching stories about Ray'sdevotion, and how Thea would "never get over it. "

Tillie's confidences stimulated the general discussion of Thea'sventure. This discussion went on, upon front porches and in back yards, pretty much all summer. Some people approved of Thea's going to Chicago, but most people did not. There were others who changed their minds aboutit every day. 

Tillie said she wanted Thea to have a ball dress "above all things. " Shebought a fashion book especially devoted to evening clothes and lookedhungrily over the colored plates, picking out costumes that would bebecoming to "a blonde. " She wanted Thea to have all the gay clothes sheherself had always longed for; clothes she often told herself she needed"to recite in. "

"Tillie, " Thea used to cry impatiently, "can't you see that if MissSpencer tried to make one of those things, she'd make me look like acircus girl? Anyhow, I don't know anybody in Chicago. I won't be goingto parties. "

Tillie always replied with a knowing toss of her head, "You see! You'llbe in society before you know it. There ain't many girls as accomplishedas you. "

On the morning of the fifteenth of October the Kronborg family, all ofthem but Gus, who couldn't leave the store, started for the station anhour before train time. Charley had taken Thea's trunk and telescope tothe depot in his delivery wagon early that morning. Thea wore her newblue serge traveling-dress, chosen for its serviceable qualities. Shehad done her hair up carefully, and had put a pale-blue ribbon aroundher throat, under a little lace collar that Mrs. Kohler had crochetedfor her. As they went out of the gate, Mrs. Kronborg looked her overthoughtfully. Yes, that blue ribbon went very well with the dress, andwith Thea's eyes. Thea had a rather unusual touch about such things, shereflected comfortably. Tillie always said that Thea was "so indifferentto dress, " but her mother noticed that she usually put her clothes onwell. She felt the more at ease about letting Thea go away from home, because she had good sense about her clothes and never tried to dress uptoo much. Her coloring was so individual, she was so unusually fair, that in the wrong clothes she might easily have been "conspicuous. "

It was a fine morning, and the family set out from the house in goodspirits. Thea was quiet and calm. She had forgotten nothing, and sheclung tightly to her handbag, which held her trunk-key and all of hermoney that was not in an envelope pinned to her chemise. Thea walkedbehind the others, holding Thor by the hand, and this time she did notfeel that the procession was too long. Thor was uncommunicative thatmorning, and would only talk about how he would rather get a sand bur inhis toe every day than wear shoes and stockings. As they passed thecottonwood grove where Thea often used to bring him in his cart, sheasked him who would take him for nice long walks after sister went away. 

"Oh, I can walk in our yard, " he replied unappreciatively. "I guess Ican make a pond for my duck. "

Thea leaned down and looked into his face. "But you won't forget aboutsister, will you?" Thor shook his head. "And won't you be glad whensister comes back and can take you over to Mrs. Kohler's to see thepigeons?"

"Yes, I'll be glad. But I'm going to have a pigeon my own self. "

"But you haven't got any little house for one. Maybe Axel would make youa little house. "

"Oh, her can live in the barn, her can, " Thor drawled indifferently. 

Thea laughed and squeezed his hand. She always liked his sturdymatter-of-factness. Boys ought to be like that, she thought. 

When they reached the depot, Mr. Kronborg paced the platform somewhatceremoniously with his daughter. Any member of his flock would havegathered that he was giving her good counsel about meeting thetemptations of the world. He did, indeed, begin to admonish her not toforget that talents come from our Heavenly Father and are to be used forhis glory, but he cut his remarks short and looked at his watch. Hebelieved that Thea was a religious girl, but when she looked at him withthat intent, that passionately inquiring gaze which used to move evenWunsch, Mr. Kronborg suddenly felt his eloquence fail. Thea was like hermother, he reflected; you couldn't put much sentiment across with her. As a usual thing, he liked girls to be a little more responsive. Heliked them to blush at his compliments; as Mrs. Kronborg candidly said, "Father could be very soft with the girls. " But this morning he wasthinking that hard-headedness was a reassuring quality in a daughter whowas going to Chicago alone. 

Mr. Kronborg believed that big cities were places where people went tolose their identity and to be wicked. He himself, when he was a studentat the Seminary--he coughed and opened his watch again. He knew, ofcourse, that a great deal of business went on in Chicago, that there wasan active Board of Trade, and that hogs and cattle were slaughteredthere. But when, as a young man, he had stopped over in Chicago, he hadnot interested himself in the commercial activities of the city. Heremembered it as a place full of cheap shows and dance halls and boysfrom the country who were behaving disgustingly. 

Dr. Archie drove up to the station about ten minutes before the trainwas due. His man tied the ponies and stood holding the doctor'salligator-skin bag--very elegant, Thea thought it. Mrs. Kronborg did notburden the doctor with warnings and cautions. She said again that shehoped he could get Thea a comfortable place to stay, where they had goodbeds, and she hoped the landlady would be a woman who'd had children ofher own. "I don't go much on old maids looking after girls, " sheremarked as she took a pin out of her own hat and thrust it into Thea'sblue turban. "You'll be sure to lose your hatpins on the train, Thea. It's better to have an extra one in case. " She tucked in a little curlthat had escaped from Thea's careful twist. "Don't forget to brush yourdress often, and pin it up to the curtains of your berth to-night, so itwon't wrinkle. If you get it wet, have a tailor press it before itdraws. "

She turned Thea about by the shoulders and looked her over a last time. Yes, she looked very well. She wasn't pretty, exactly, --her face was toobroad and her nose was too big. But she had that lovely skin, and shelooked fresh and sweet. She had always been a sweet-smelling child. Hermother had always liked to kiss her, when she happened to think of it. 

The train whistled in, and Mr. Kronborg carried the canvas "telescope"into the car. Thea kissed them all good-bye. Tillie cried, but she wasthe only one who did. They all shouted things up at the closed window ofthe Pullman car, from which Thea looked down at them as from a frame, her face glowing with excitement, her turban a little tilted in spite ofthree hatpins. She had already taken off her new gloves to save them. Mrs. Kronborg reflected that she would never see just that same pictureagain, and as Thea's car slid off along the rails, she wiped a tear fromher eye. "She won't come back a little girl, " Mrs. Kronborg said to herhusband as they turned to go home. "Anyhow, she's been a sweet one. "

While the Kronborg family were trooping slowly homeward, Thea wassitting in the Pullman, her telescope in the seat beside her, herhandbag tightly gripped in her fingers. Dr. Archie had gone into thesmoker. He thought she might be a little tearful, and that it would bekinder to leave her alone for a while. Her eyes did fill once, when shesaw the last of the sand hills and realized that she was going to leavethem behind for a long while. They always made her think of Ray, too. She had had such good times with him out there. 

But, of course, it was herself and her own adventure that mattered toher. If youth did not matter so much to itself, it would never have theheart to go on. Thea was surprised that she did not feel a deeper senseof loss at leaving her old life behind her. It seemed, on the contrary, as she looked out at the yellow desert speeding by, that she had leftvery little. Everything that was essential seemed to be right there inthe car with her. She lacked nothing. She even felt more compact andconfident than usual. She was all there, and something else was there, too, --in her heart, was it, or under her cheek? Anyhow, it was about hersomewhere, that warm sureness, that sturdy little companion with whomshe shared a secret. 

When Dr. Archie came in from the smoker, she was sitting still, lookingintently out of the window and smiling, her lips a little parted, herhair in a blaze of sunshine. The doctor thought she was the prettiestthing he had ever seen, and very funny, with her telescope and bighandbag. She made him feel jolly, and a little mournful, too. He knewthat the splendid things of life are few, after all, and so very easy tomiss. 

PART II. THE SONG OF THE LARK

I

THEA and Dr. Archie had been gone from Moonstone four days. On theafternoon of the nineteenth of October they were in a street-car, ridingthrough the depressing, unkept wastes of North Chicago, on their way tocall upon the Reverend Lars Larsen, a friend to whom Mr. Kronborg hadwritten. Thea was still staying at the rooms of the Young Women'sChristian Association, and was miserable and homesick there. Thehousekeeper watched her in a way that made her uncomfortable. Things hadnot gone very well, so far. The noise and confusion of a big city tiredand disheartened her. She had not had her trunk sent to the ChristianAssociation rooms because she did not want to double cartage charges, and now she was running up a bill for storage on it. The contents of hergray telescope were becoming untidy, and it seemed impossible to keepone's face and hands clean in Chicago. She felt as if she were still onthe train, traveling without enough clothes to keep clean. She wantedanother nightgown, and it did not occur to her that she could buy one. There were other clothes in her trunk that she needed very much, and sheseemed no nearer a place to stay than when she arrived in the rain, onthat first disillusioning morning. 

Dr. Archie had gone at once to his friend Hartley Evans, the throatspecialist, and had asked him to tell him of a good piano teacher anddirect him to a good boarding-house. Dr. Evans said he could easily tellhim who was the best piano teacher in Chicago, but that most students'boarding-houses were "abominable places, where girls got poor food for bodyand mind. " He gave Dr. Archie several addresses, however, and the doctorwent to look the places over. He left Thea in her room, for she seemedtired and was not at all like herself. His inspection of boardinghouseswas not encouraging. The only place that seemed to him at all desirablewas full, and the mistress of the house could not give Thea a room inwhich she could have a piano. She said Thea might use the piano in herparlor; but when Dr. Archie went to look at the parlor he found a girltalking to a young man on one of the corner sofas. Learning that theboarders received all their callers there, he gave up that house, too, as hopeless. 

So when they set out to make the acquaintance of Mr. Larsen on theafternoon he had appointed, the question of a lodging was stillundecided. The Swedish Reform Church was in a sloughy, weedy district, near a group of factories. The church itself was a very neat littlebuilding. The parsonage, next door, looked clean and comfortable, andthere was a well-kept yard about it, with a picket fence. Thea sawseveral little children playing under a swing, and wondered whyministers always had so many. When they rang at the parsonage door, acapable-looking Swedish servant girl answered the bell and told themthat Mr. Larsen's study was in the church, and that he was waiting forthem there. 

Mr. Larsen received them very cordially. The furniture in his study wasso new and the pictures were so heavily framed, that Thea thought itlooked more like the waiting-room of the fashionable Denver dentist towhom Dr. Archie had taken her that summer, than like a preacher's study. There were even flowers in a glass vase on the desk. Mr. Larsen was asmall, plump man, with a short, yellow beard, very white teeth, and alittle turned-up nose on which he wore gold-rimmed eye-glasses. Helooked about thirty-five, but he was growing bald, and his thin, hairwas parted above his left ear and brought up over the bare spot on thetop of his head. He looked cheerful and agreeable. He wore a blue coatand no cuffs. 

After Dr. Archie and Thea sat down on a slippery leather couch, theminister asked for an outline of Thea's plans. Dr. Archie explained thatshe meant to study piano with Andor Harsanyi; that they had already seenhim, that Thea had played for him and he said he would be glad to teachher. 

Mr. Larsen lifted his pale eyebrows and rubbed his plump white handstogether. "But he is a concert pianist already. He will be veryexpensive. "

"That's why Miss Kronborg wants to get a church position if possible. She has not money enough to see her through the winter. There's no useher coming all the way from Colorado and studying with a second-rateteacher. My friends here tell me Harsanyi is the best. "

"Oh, very likely! I have heard him play with Thomas. You Western peopledo things on a big scale. There are half a dozen teachers that I shouldthink--However, you know what you want. " Mr. Larsen showed his contemptfor such extravagant standards by a shrug. He felt that Dr. Archie wastrying to impress him. He had succeeded, indeed, in bringing out thedoctor's stiffest manner. Mr. Larsen went on to explain that he managedthe music in his church himself, and drilled his choir, though the tenorwas the official choirmaster. Unfortunately there were no vacancies inhis choir just now. He had his four voices, very good ones. He lookedaway from Dr. Archie and glanced at Thea. She looked troubled, even alittle frightened when he said this, and drew in her lower lip. She, certainly, was not pretentious, if her protector was. He continued tostudy her. She was sitting on the lounge, her knees far apart, hergloved hands lying stiffly in her lap, like a country girl. Her turban, which seemed a little too big for her, had got tilted in the wind, --itwas always windy in that part of Chicago, --and she looked tired. Shewore no veil, and her hair, too, was the worse for the wind and dust. When he said he had all the voices he required, he noticed that hergloved hands shut tightly. Mr. Larsen reflected that she was not, afterall, responsible for the lofty manner of her father's physician; thatshe was not even responsible for her father, whom he remembered as atiresome fellow. As he watched her tired, worried face, he felt sorryfor her. 

"All the same, I would like to try your voice, " he said, turningpointedly away from her companion. "I am interested in voices. Can yousing to the violin?"

"I guess so, " Thea replied dully. "I don't know. I never tried. "

Mr. Larsen took his violin out of the case and began to tighten thekeys. "We might go into the lecture-room and see how it goes. I can'ttell much about a voice by the organ. The violin is really the properinstrument to try a voice. " He opened a door at the back of his study, pushed Thea gently through it, and looking over his shoulder to Dr. Archie said, "Excuse us, sir. We will be back soon. "

Dr. Archie chuckled. All preachers were alike, officious and on theirdignity; liked to deal with women and girls, but not with men. He tookup a thin volume from the minister's desk. To his amusement it proved tobe a book of "Devotional and Kindred Poems; by Mrs. Aurelia S. Larsen. "He looked them over, thinking that the world changed very little. Hecould remember when the wife of his father's minister had published avolume of verses, which all the church members had to buy and all thechildren were encouraged to read. His grandfather had made a face at thebook and said, "Puir body!" Both ladies seemed to have chosen the samesubjects, too: Jephthah's Daughter, Rizpah, David's Lament for Absalom, etc. The doctor found the book very amusing. 

The Reverend Lars Larsen was a reactionary Swede. His father came toIowa in the sixties, married a Swedish girl who was ambitious, likehimself, and they moved to Kansas and took up land under the HomesteadAct. After that, they bought land and leased it from the Government, acquired land in every possible way. They worked like horses, both ofthem; indeed, they would never have used any horse-flesh they owned asthey used themselves. They reared a large family and worked their sonsand daughters as mercilessly as they worked themselves; all of them butLars. Lars was the fourth son, and he was born lazy. He seemed to bearthe mark of overstrain on the part of his parents. Even in his cradle hewas an example of physical inertia; anything to lie still. When he was agrowing boy his mother had to drag him out of bed every morning, and hehad to be driven to his chores. At school he had a model "attendancerecord, " because he found getting his lessons easier than farm work. Hewas the only one of the family who went through the high school, and bythe time he graduated he had already made up his mind to study for theministry, because it seemed to him the least laborious of all callings. In so far as he could see, it was the only business in which there waspractically no competition, in which a man was not all the time pittedagainst other men who were willing to work themselves to death. Hisfather stubbornly opposed Lars's plan, but after keeping the boy at homefor a year and finding how useless he was on the farm, he sent him to atheological seminary--as much to conceal his laziness from the neighborsas because he did not know what else to do with him. 

Larsen, like Peter Kronborg, got on well in the ministry, because he goton well with the women. His English was no worse than that of most youngpreachers of American parentage, and he made the most of his skill withthe violin. He was supposed to exert a very desirable influence overyoung people and to stimulate their interest in church work. He marriedan American girl, and when his father died he got his share of theproperty--which was very considerable. He invested his money carefullyand was that rare thing, a preacher of independent means. His white, well-kept hands were his result, --the evidence that he had worked outhis life successfully in the way that pleased him. His Kansas brothershated the sight of his hands. 

Larsen liked all the softer things of life, --in so far as he knew aboutthem. He slept late in the morning, was fussy about his food, and read agreat many novels, preferring sentimental ones. He did not smoke, but heate a great deal of candy "for his throat, " and always kept a box ofchocolate drops in the upper right-hand drawer of his desk. He alwaysbought season tickets for the symphony concerts, and he played hisviolin for women's culture clubs. He did not wear cuffs, except onSunday, because he believed that a free wrist facilitated his violinpractice. When he drilled his choir he always held his hand with thelittle and index fingers curved higher than the other two, like a notedGerman conductor he had seen. On the whole, the Reverend Larsen was notan insincere man; he merely spent his life resting and playing, to makeup for the time his forebears had wasted grubbing in the earth. He wassimple-hearted and kind; he enjoyed his candy and his children and hissacred cantatas. He could work energetically at almost any form of play. 

Dr. Archie was deep in "The Lament of Mary Magdalen, " when Mr. Larsenand Thea came back to the study. From the minister's expression hejudged that Thea had succeeded in interesting him. 

Mr. Larsen seemed to have forgotten his hostility toward him, andaddressed him frankly as soon as he entered. He stood holding hisviolin, and as Thea sat down he pointed to her with his bow:--

"I have just been telling Miss Kronborg that though I cannot promise heranything permanent, I might give her something for the next few months. My soprano is a young married woman and is temporarily indisposed. Shewould be glad to be excused from her duties for a while. I like MissKronborg's singing very much, and I think she would benefit by theinstruction in my choir. Singing here might very well lead to somethingelse. We pay our soprano only eight dollars a Sunday, but she alwaysgets ten dollars for singing at funerals. Miss Kronborg has asympathetic voice, and I think there would be a good deal of demand forher at funerals. Several American churches apply to me for a soloist onsuch occasions, and I could help her to pick up quite a little moneythat way. "

This sounded lugubrious to Dr. Archie, who had a physician's dislike offunerals, but he tried to accept the suggestion cordially. 

"Miss Kronborg tells me she is having some trouble getting located, " Mr. Larsen went on with animation, still holding his violin. "I would adviseher to keep away from boarding-houses altogether. Among my parishionersthere are two German women, a mother and daughter. The daughter is aSwede by marriage, and clings to the Swedish Church. They live nearhere, and they rent some of their rooms. They have now a large roomvacant, and have asked me to recommend some one. They have never takenboarders, but Mrs. Lorch, the mother, is a good cook, --at least, I amalways glad to take supper with her, --and I think I could persuade herto let this young woman partake of the family table. The daughter, Mrs. Andersen, is musical, too, and sings in the Mozart Society. I think theymight like to have a music student in the house. You speak German, Isuppose?" he turned to Thea. 

"Oh, no; a few words. I don't know the grammar, " she murmured. 

Dr. Archie noticed that her eyes looked alive again, not frozen as theyhad looked all morning. "If this fellow can help her, it's not for me tobe stand-offish, " he said to himself. 

"Do you think you would like to stay in such a quiet place, withold-fashioned people?" Mr. Larsen asked. "I shouldn't think you couldfind a better place to work, if that's what you want. "

"I think mother would like to have me with people like that, " Theareplied. "And I'd be glad to settle down most anywhere. I'm losingtime. "

"Very well, there's no time like the present. Let us go to see Mrs. Lorch and Mrs. Andersen. "

The minister put his violin in its case and caught up a black-and-whitechecked traveling-cap that he wore when he rode his high Columbia wheel. The three left the church together. 

II

SO Thea did not go to a boarding-house after all. When Dr. Archie leftChicago she was comfortably settled with Mrs. Lorch, and her happyreunion with her trunk somewhat consoled her for his departure. 

Mrs. Lorch and her daughter lived half a mile from the Swedish ReformChurch, in an old square frame house, with a porch supported by frailpillars, set in a damp yard full of big lilac bushes. The house, whichhad been left over from country times, needed paint badly, and lookedgloomy and despondent among its smart Queen Anne neighbors. There was abig back yard with two rows of apple trees and a grape arbor, and awarped walk, two planks wide, which led to the coal bins at the back ofthe lot. Thea's room was on the second floor, overlooking this backyard, and she understood that in the winter she must carry up her owncoal and kindling from the bin. There was no furnace in the house, norunning water except in the kitchen, and that was why the room rent wassmall. All the rooms were heated by stoves, and the lodgers pumped thewater they needed from the cistern under the porch, or from the well atthe entrance of the grape arbor. Old Mrs. Lorch could never bringherself to have costly improvements made in her house; indeed she hadvery little money. She preferred to keep the house just as her husbandbuilt it, and she thought her way of living good enough for plainpeople. 

Thea's room was large enough to admit a rented upright piano withoutcrowding. It was, the widowed daughter said, "a double room that hadalways before been occupied by two gentlemen"; the piano now took theplace of a second occupant. There was an ingrain carpet on the floor, green ivy leaves on a red ground, and clumsy, old-fashioned walnutfurniture. The bed was very wide, and the mattress thin and hard. Overthe fat pillows were "shams" embroidered in Turkey red, each with aflowering scroll--one with "Gute' Nacht, " the other with "Guten Morgen. "The dresser was so big that Thea wondered how it had ever been got intothe house and up the narrow stairs. Besides an old horsehair armchair, there were two low plush "spring-rockers, " against the massive pedestalsof which one was always stumbling in the dark. Thea sat in the dark agood deal those first weeks, and sometimes a painful bump against one ofthose brutally immovable pedestals roused her temper and pulled her outof a heavy hour. The wall-paper was brownish yellow, with blue flowers. When it was put on, the carpet, certainly, had not been consulted. Therewas only one picture on the wall when Thea moved in: a large coloredprint of a brightly lighted church in a snow-storm, on Christmas Eve, with greens hanging about the stone doorway and arched windows. Therewas something warm and home, like about this picture, and Thea grew fondof it. One day, on her way into town to take her lesson, she stopped ata bookstore and bought a photograph of the Naples bust of Julius Caesar. This she had framed, and hung it on the big bare wall behind her stove. It was a curious choice, but she was at the age when people doinexplicable things. She had been interested in Caesar's "Commentaries"when she left school to begin teaching, and she loved to read aboutgreat generals; but these facts would scarcely explain her wanting thatgrim bald head to share her daily existence. It seemed a strange freak, when she bought so few things, and when she had, as Mrs. Andersen saidto Mrs. Lorch, "no pictures of the composers at all. "

Both the widows were kind to her, but Thea liked the mother better. OldMrs. Lorch was fat and jolly, with a red face, always shining as if shehad just come from the stove, bright little eyes, and hair of severalcolors. Her own hair was one cast of iron-gray, her switch another, andher false front still another. Her clothes always smelled of savorycooking, except when she was dressed for church or KAFFEEKLATSCH, andthen she smelled of bay rum or of the lemon-verbena sprig which shetucked inside her puffy black kid glove. Her cooking justified all thatMr. Larsen had said of it, and Thea had never been so well nourishedbefore. 

The daughter, Mrs. Andersen, --Irene, her mother called her, --was adifferent sort of woman altogether. She was perhaps forty years old, angular, big-boned, with large, thin features, light-blue eyes, and dry, yellow hair, the bang tightly frizzed. She was pale, anaemic, andsentimental. She had married the youngest son of a rich, arrogantSwedish family who were lumber merchants in St. Paul. There she dweltduring her married life. Oscar Andersen was a strong, full-bloodedfellow who had counted on a long life and had been rather careless abouthis business affairs. He was killed by the explosion of a steam boilerin the mills, and his brothers managed to prove that he had very littlestock in the big business. They had strongly disapproved of his marriageand they agreed among themselves that they were entirely justified indefrauding his widow, who, they said, "would only marry again and givesome fellow a good thing of it. " Mrs. Andersen would not go to law withthe family that had always snubbed and wounded her--she felt thehumiliation of being thrust out more than she felt her impoverishment;so she went back to Chicago to live with her widowed mother on an incomeof five hundred a year. This experience had given her sentimental naturean incurable hurt. Something withered away in her. Her head had adownward droop; her step was soft and apologetic, even in her mother'shouse, and her smile had the sickly, uncertain flicker that so oftencomes from a secret humiliation. She was affable and yet shrinking, likeone who has come down in the world, who has known better clothes, bettercarpets, better people, brighter hopes. Her husband was buried in theAndersen lot in St. Paul, with a locked iron fence around it. She had togo to his eldest brother for the key when she went to say good-bye tohis grave. She clung to the Swedish Church because it had been herhusband's church. 

As her mother had no room for her household belongings, Mrs. Andersenhad brought home with her only her bedroom set, which now furnished herown room at Mrs. Lorch's. There she spent most of her time, doingfancywork or writing letters to sympathizing German friends in St. Paul, surrounded by keepsakes and photographs of the burly Oscar Andersen. Thea, when she was admitted to this room, and shown these photographs, found herself wondering, like the Andersen family, why such a lusty, gay-looking fellow ever thought he wanted this pallid, long-cheekedwoman, whose manner was always that of withdrawing, and who must havebeen rather thin-blooded even as a girl. 

Mrs. Andersen was certainly a depressing person. It sometimes annoyedThea very much to hear her insinuating knock on the door, her flurriedexplanation of why she had come, as she backed toward the stairs. Mrs. Andersen admired Thea greatly. She thought it a distinction to be even a"temporary soprano"--Thea called herself so quite seriously--in theSwedish Church. She also thought it distinguished to be a pupil ofHarsanyi's. She considered Thea very handsome, very Swedish, verytalented. She fluttered about the upper floor when Thea was practicing. In short, she tried to make a heroine of her, just as Tillie Kronborghad always done, and Thea was conscious of something of the sort. Whenshe was working and heard Mrs. Andersen tip-toeing past her door, sheused to shrug her shoulders and wonder whether she was always to have aTillie diving furtively about her in some disguise or other. 

At the dressmaker's Mrs. Andersen recalled Tillie even more painfully. After her first Sunday in Mr. Larsen's choir, Thea saw that she musthave a proper dress for morning service. Her Moonstone party dress mightdo to wear in the evening, but she must have one frock that could standthe light of day. She, of course, knew nothing about Chicagodressmakers, so she let Mrs. Andersen take her to a German woman whomshe recommended warmly. The German dressmaker was excitable anddramatic. Concert dresses, she said, were her specialty. In herfitting-room there were photographs of singers in the dresses she hadmade them for this or that SANGERFEST. She and Mrs. Andersen togetherachieved a costume which would have warmed Tillie Kronborg's heart. Itwas clearly intended for a woman of forty, with violent tastes. Thereseemed to be a piece of every known fabric in it somewhere. When it camehome, and was spread out on her huge bed, Thea looked it over and toldherself candidly that it was "a horror. " However, her money was gone, and there was nothing to do but make the best of the dress. She neverwore it except, as she said, "to sing in, " as if it were an unbecominguniform. When Mrs. Lorch and Irene told her that she "looked like alittle bird-of-Paradise in it, " Thea shut her teeth and repeated toherself words she had learned from Joe Giddy and Spanish Johnny. 

In these two good women Thea found faithful friends, and in their houseshe found the quiet and peace which helped her to support the greatexperiences of that winter. 

III

ANDOR HARSANYI had never had a pupil in the least like Thea Kronborg. Hehad never had one more intelligent, and he had never had one soignorant. When Thea sat down to take her first lesson from him, she hadnever heard a work by Beethoven or a composition by Chopin. She knewtheir names vaguely. Wunsch had been a musician once, long before hewandered into Moonstone, but when Thea awoke his interest there was notmuch left of him. From him Thea had learned something about the works ofGluck and Bach, and he used to play her some of the compositions ofSchumann. In his trunk he had a mutilated score of the F sharp minorsonata, which he had heard Clara Schumann play at a festival in Leipsic. Though his powers of execution were at such a low ebb, he used to playat this sonata for his pupil and managed to give her some idea of itsbeauty. When Wunsch was a young man, it was still daring to likeSchumann; enthusiasm for his work was considered an expression ofyouthful waywardness. Perhaps that was why Wunsch remembered him best. Thea studied some of the KINDERSZENEN with him, as well as some littlesonatas by Mozart and Clementi. But for the most part Wunsch stuck toCzerny and Hummel. 

Harsanyi found in Thea a pupil with sure, strong hands, one who readrapidly and intelligently, who had, he felt, a richly gifted nature. Butshe had been given no direction, and her ardor was unawakened. She hadnever heard a symphony orchestra. The literature of the piano was anundiscovered world to her. He wondered how she had been able to work sohard when she knew so little of what she was working toward. She hadbeen taught according to the old Stuttgart method; stiff back, stiffelbows, a very formal position of the hands. The best thing about herpreparation was that she had developed an unusual power of work. Henoticed at once her way of charging at difficulties. She ran to meetthem as if they were foes she had long been seeking, seized them as ifthey were destined for her and she for them. Whatever she did well, shetook for granted. Her eagerness aroused all the young Hungarian'schivalry. Instinctively one went to the rescue of a creature who had somuch to overcome and who struggled so hard. He used to tell his wifethat Miss Kronborg's hour took more out of him than half a dozen otherlessons. He usually kept her long over time; he changed her lessonsabout so that he could do so, and often gave her time at the end of theday, when he could talk to her afterward and play for her a little fromwhat he happened to be studying. It was always interesting to play forher. Sometimes she was so silent that he wondered, when she left him, whether she had got anything out of it. But a week later, two weekslater, she would give back his idea again in a way that set himvibrating. 

All this was very well for Harsanyi; an interesting variation in theroutine of teaching. But for Thea Kronborg, that winter was almostbeyond enduring. She always remembered it as the happiest and wildestand saddest of her life. Things came too fast for her; she had not hadenough preparation. There were times when she came home from her lessonand lay upon her bed hating Wunsch and her family, hating a world thathad let her grow up so ignorant; when she wished that she could die thenand there, and be born over again to begin anew. She said something ofthis kind once to her teacher, in the midst of a bitter struggle. Harsanyi turned the light of his wonderful eye upon her--poor fellow, hehad but one, though that was set in such a handsome head--and saidslowly: "Every artist makes himself born. It is very much harder thanthe other time, and longer. Your mother did not bring anything into theworld to play piano. That you must bring into the world yourself. "

This comforted Thea temporarily, for it seemed to give her a chance. Buta great deal of the time she was comfortless. Her letters to Dr. Archiewere brief and businesslike. She was not apt to chatter much, even inthe stimulating company of people she liked, and to chatter on paper wassimply impossible for her. If she tried to write him anything definiteabout her work, she immediately scratched it out as being only partiallytrue, or not true at all. Nothing that she could say about her studiesseemed unqualifiedly true, once she put it down on paper. 

Late one afternoon, when she was thoroughly tired and wanted to struggleon into the dusk, Harsanyi, tired too, threw up his hands and laughed ather. "Not to-day, Miss Kronborg. That sonata will keep; it won't runaway. Even if you and I should not waken up to-morrow, it will bethere. "

Thea turned to him fiercely. "No, it isn't here unless I have it--notfor me, " she cried passionately. "Only what I hold in my two hands isthere for me!"

Harsanyi made no reply. He took a deep breath and sat down again. "Thesecond movement now, quietly, with the shoulders relaxed. "

There were hours, too, of great exaltation; when she was at her best andbecame a part of what she was doing and ceased to exist in any othersense. There were other times when she was so shattered by ideas thatshe could do nothing worth while; when they trampled over her like anarmy and she felt as if she were bleeding to death under them. Shesometimes came home from a late lesson so exhausted that she could eatno supper. If she tried to eat, she was ill afterward. She used to throwherself upon the bed and lie there in the dark, not thinking, notfeeling, but evaporating. That same night, perhaps, she would waken uprested and calm, and as she went over her work in her mind, the passagesseemed to become something of themselves, to take a sort of pattern inthe darkness. She had never learned to work away from the piano untilshe came to Harsanyi, and it helped her more than anything had everhelped her before. 

She almost never worked now with the sunny, happy contentment that hadfilled the hours when she worked with Wunsch--"like a fat horse turninga sorgum mill, " she said bitterly to herself. Then, by sticking to it, she could always do what she set out to do. Now, everything that shereally wanted was impossible; a CANTABILE like Harsanyi's, for instance, instead of her own cloudy tone. No use telling her she might have it inten years. She wanted it now. She wondered how she had ever found otherthings interesting: books, "Anna Karenina"--all that seemed so unrealand on the outside of things. She was not born a musician, she decided;there was no other way of explaining it. 

Sometimes she got so nervous at the piano that she left it, andsnatching up her hat and cape went out and walked, hurrying through thestreets like Christian fleeing from the City of Destruction. And whileshe walked she cried. There was scarcely a street in the neighborhoodthat she had not cried up and down before that winter was over. Thething that used to lie under her cheek, that sat so warmly over herheart when she glided away from the sand hills that autumn morning, wasfar from her. She had come to Chicago to be with it, and it had desertedher, leaving in its place a painful longing, an unresigned despair. 

Harsanyi knew that his interesting pupil--"the savage blonde, " one ofhis male students called her--was sometimes very unhappy. He saw in herdiscontent a curious definition of character. He would have said that agirl with so much musical feeling, so intelligent, with good training ofeye and hand, would, when thus suddenly introduced to the greatliterature of the piano, have found boundless happiness. But he soonlearned that she was not able to forget her own poverty in the richnessof the world he opened to her. Often when he played to her, her face wasthe picture of restless misery. She would sit crouching forward, herelbows on her knees, her brows drawn together and her gray-green eyessmaller than ever, reduced to mere pin-points of cold, piercing light. Sometimes, while she listened, she would swallow hard, two or threetimes, and look nervously from left to right, drawing her shoulderstogether. "Exactly, " he thought, "as if she were being watched, or as ifshe were naked and heard some one coming. "

On the other hand, when she came several times to see Mrs. Harsanyi andthe two babies, she was like a little girl, jolly and gay and eager toplay with the children, who loved her. The little daughter, Tanya, likedto touch Miss Kronborg's yellow hair and pat it, saying, "Dolly, dolly, "because it was of a color much oftener seen on dolls than on people. Butif Harsanyi opened the piano and sat down to play, Miss Kronborggradually drew away from the children, retreated to a corner and becamesullen or troubled. Mrs. Harsanyi noticed this, also, and thought itvery strange behavior. 

Another thing that puzzled Harsanyi was Thea's apparent lack ofcuriosity. Several times he offered to give her tickets to concerts, butshe said she was too tired or that it "knocked her out to be up late. "Harsanyi did not know that she was singing in a choir, and had often tosing at funerals, neither did he realize how much her work with himstirred her and exhausted her. Once, just as she was leaving his studio, he called her back and told her he could give her some tickets that hadbeen sent him for Emma Juch that evening. Thea fingered the black woolon the edge of her plush cape and replied, "Oh, thank you, Mr. Harsanyi, but I have to wash my hair to-night. "

Mrs. Harsanyi liked Miss Kronborg thoroughly. She saw in her the makingof a pupil who would reflect credit upon Harsanyi. She felt that thegirl could be made to look strikingly handsome, and that she had thekind of personality which takes hold of audiences. Moreover, MissKronborg was not in the least sentimental about her husband. Sometimesfrom the show pupils one had to endure a good deal. "I like that girl, "she used to say, when Harsanyi told her of one of Thea's GAUCHERIES. "She doesn't sigh every time the wind blows. With her one swallowdoesn't make a summer. "

Thea told them very little about herself. She was not naturallycommunicative, and she found it hard to feel confidence in new people. She did not know why, but she could not talk to Harsanyi as she could toDr. Archie, or to Johnny and Mrs. Tellamantez. With Mr. Larsen she feltmore at home, and when she was walking she sometimes stopped at hisstudy to eat candy with him or to hear the plot of the novel he happenedto be reading. 

One evening toward the middle of December Thea was to dine with theHarsanyis. She arrived early, to have time to play with the childrenbefore they went to bed. Mrs. Harsanyi took her into her own room andhelped her take off her country "fascinator" and her clumsy plush cape. Thea had bought this cape at a big department store and had paid $16. 50for it. As she had never paid more than ten dollars for a coat before, that seemed to her a large price. It was very heavy and not very warm, ornamented with a showy pattern in black disks, and trimmed around thecollar and the edges with some kind of black wool that "crocked" badlyin snow or rain. It was lined with a cotton stuff called "farmer'ssatin. " Mrs. Harsanyi was one woman in a thousand. As she lifted thiscape from Thea's shoulders and laid it on her white bed, she wished thather husband did not have to charge pupils like this one for theirlessons. Thea wore her Moonstone party dress, white organdie, made witha "V" neck and elbow sleeves, and a blue sash. She looked very pretty init, and around her throat she had a string of pink coral and tiny whiteshells that Ray once brought her from Los Angeles. Mrs. Harsanyi noticedthat she wore high heavy shoes which needed blacking. The choir in Mr. Larsen's church stood behind a railing, so Thea did not pay muchattention to her shoes. 

"You have nothing to do to your hair, " Mrs. Harsanyi said kindly, asThea turned to the mirror. "However it happens to lie, it's alwayspretty. I admire it as much as Tanya does. "

Thea glanced awkwardly away from her and looked stern, but Mrs. Harsanyiknew that she was pleased. They went into the living-room, behind thestudio, where the two children were playing on the big rug before thecoal grate. Andor, the boy, was six, a sturdy, handsome child, and thelittle girl was four. She came tripping to meet Thea, looking like alittle doll in her white net dress--her mother made all her clothes. Thea picked her up and hugged her. Mrs. Harsanyi excused herself andwent to the dining-room. She kept only one maid and did a good deal ofthe housework herself, besides cooking her husband's favorite dishes forhim. She was still under thirty, a slender, graceful woman, gracious, intelligent, and capable. She adapted herself to circumstances with awell-bred ease which solved many of her husband's difficulties, and kepthim, as he said, from feeling cheap and down at the heel. No musicianever had a better wife. Unfortunately her beauty was of a very frail andimpressionable kind, and she was beginning to lose it. Her face was toothin now, and there were often dark circles under her eyes. 

Left alone with the children, Thea sat down on Tanya's little chair--shewould rather have sat on the floor, but was afraid of rumpling herdress--and helped them play "cars" with Andor's iron railway set. Sheshowed him new ways to lay his tracks and how to make switches, set uphis Noah's ark village for stations and packed the animals in the opencoal cars to send them to the stockyards. They worked out their shipmentso realistically that when Andor put the two little reindeer into thestock car, Tanya snatched them out and began to cry, saying she wasn'tgoing to have all their animals killed. 

Harsanyi came in, jaded and tired, and asked Thea to go on with hergame, as he was not equal to talking much before dinner. He sat down andmade pretense of glancing at the evening paper, but he soon dropped it. After the railroad began to grow tiresome, Thea went with the childrento the lounge in the corner, and played for them the game with which sheused to amuse Thor for hours together behind the parlor stove at home, making shadow pictures against the wall with her hands. Her fingers werevery supple, and she could make a duck and a cow and a sheep and a foxand a rabbit and even an elephant. Harsanyi, from his low chair, watchedthem, smiling. The boy was on his knees, jumping up and down with theexcitement of guessing the beasts, and Tanya sat with her feet tuckedunder her and clapped her frail little hands. Thea's profile, in thelamplight, teased his fancy. Where had he seen a head like it before?

When dinner was announced, little Andor took Thea's hand and walked tothe dining-room with her. The children always had dinner with theirparents and behaved very nicely at table. "Mamma, " said Andor seriouslyas he climbed into his chair and tucked his napkin into the collar ofhis blouse, "Miss Kronborg's hands are every kind of animal there is. "

His father laughed. "I wish somebody would say that about my hands, Andor. "

When Thea dined at the Harsanyis before, she noticed that there was anintense suspense from the moment they took their places at the tableuntil the master of the house had tasted the soup. He had a theory thatif the soup went well, the dinner would go well; but if the soup waspoor, all was lost. To-night he tasted his soup and smiled, and Mrs. Harsanyi sat more easily in her chair and turned her attention to Thea. Thea loved their dinner table, because it was lighted by candles insilver candle-sticks, and she had never seen a table so lighted anywhereelse. There were always flowers, too. To-night there was a little orangetree, with oranges on it, that one of Harsanyi's pupils had sent him atThanksgiving time. After Harsanyi had finished his soup and a glass ofred Hungarian wine, he lost his fagged look and became cordial andwitty. He persuaded Thea to drink a little wine to-night. The first timeshe dined with them, when he urged her to taste the glass of sherrybeside her plate, she astonished them by telling them that she "neverdrank. "

Harsanyi was then a man of thirty-two. He was to have a very brilliantcareer, but he did not know it then. Theodore Thomas was perhaps theonly man in Chicago who felt that Harsanyi might have a great future. Harsanyi belonged to the softer Slavic type, and was more like a Polethan a Hungarian. He was tall, slender, active, with sloping, gracefulshoulders and long arms. His head was very fine, strongly and delicatelymodelled, and, as Thea put it, "so independent. " A lock of his thickbrown hair usually hung over his forehead. His eye was wonderful; fullof light and fire when he was interested, soft and thoughtful when hewas tired or melancholy. The meaning and power of two very fine eyesmust all have gone into this one--the right one, fortunately, the onenext his audience when he played. He believed that the glass eye whichgave one side of his face such a dull, blind look, had ruined hiscareer, or rather had made a career impossible for him. Harsanyi losthis eye when he was twelve years old, in a Pennsylvania mining townwhere explosives happened to be kept too near the frame shanties inwhich the company packed newly arrived Hungarian families. 

His father was a musician and a good one, but he had cruelly over-workedthe boy; keeping him at the piano for six hours a day and making himplay in cafes and dance halls for half the night. Andor ran away andcrossed the ocean with an uncle, who smuggled him through the port asone of his own many children. The explosion in which Andor was hurtkilled a score of people, and he was thought lucky to get off with aneye. He still had a clipping from a Pittsburg paper, giving a list ofthe dead and injured. He appeared as "Harsanyi, Andor, left eye andslight injuries about the head. " That was his first American "notice";and he kept it. He held no grudge against the coal company; heunderstood that the accident was merely one of the things that are boundto happen in the general scramble of American life, where every onecomes to grab and takes his chance. 

While they were eating dessert, Thea asked Harsanyi if she could changeher Tuesday lesson from afternoon to morning. "I have to be at a choirrehearsal in the afternoon, to get ready for the Christmas music, and Iexpect it will last until late. "

Harsanyi put down his fork and looked up. "A choir rehearsal? You singin a church?"

"Yes. A little Swedish church, over on the North side. "

"Why did you not tell us?"

"Oh, I'm only a temporary. The regular soprano is not well. "

"How long have you been singing there?"

"Ever since I came. I had to get a position of some kind, " Theaexplained, flushing, "and the preacher took me on. He runs the choirhimself. He knew my father, and I guess he took me to oblige. "

Harsanyi tapped the tablecloth with the ends of his fingers. "But whydid you never tell us? Why are you so reticent with us?"

Thea looked shyly at him from under her brows. "Well, it's certainly notvery interesting. It's only a little church. I only do it for businessreasons. "

"What do you mean? Don't you like to sing? Don't you sing well?"

"I like it well enough, but, of course, I don't know anything aboutsinging. I guess that's why I never said anything about it. Anybodythat's got a voice can sing in a little church like that. "

Harsanyi laughed softly--a little scornfully, Thea thought. "So you havea voice, have you?"

Thea hesitated, looked intently at the candles and then at Harsanyi. "Yes, " she said firmly; "I have got some, anyway. "

"Good girl, " said Mrs. Harsanyi, nodding and smiling at Thea. "You mustlet us hear you sing after dinner. "

This remark seemingly closed the subject, and when the coffee wasbrought they began to talk of other things. Harsanyi asked Thea how shehappened to know so much about the way in which freight trains areoperated, and she tried to give him some idea of how the people inlittle desert towns live by the railway and order their lives by thecoming and going of the trains. When they left the diningroom thechildren were sent to bed and Mrs. Harsanyi took Thea into the studio. She and her husband usually sat there in the evening. 

Although their apartment seemed so elegant to Thea, it was small andcramped. The studio was the only spacious room. The Harsanyis were poor, and it was due to Mrs. Harsanyi's good management that their lives, evenin hard times, moved along with dignity and order. She had long agofound out that bills or debts of any kind frightened her husband andcrippled his working power. He said they were like bars on the windows, and shut out the future; they meant that just so many hundred dollars'worth of his life was debilitated and exhausted before he got to it. SoMrs. Harsanyi saw to it that they never owed anything. Harsanyi was notextravagant, though he was sometimes careless about money. Quiet andorder and his wife's good taste were the things that meant most to him. After these, good food, good cigars, a little good wine. He wore hisclothes until they were shabby, until his wife had to ask the tailor tocome to the house and measure him for new ones. His neckties she usuallymade herself, and when she was in shops she always kept her eye open forsilks in very dull or pale shades, grays and olives, warm blacks andbrowns. 

When they went into the studio Mrs. Harsanyi took up her embroidery andThea sat down beside her on a low stool, her hands clasped about herknees. While his wife and his pupil talked, Harsanyi sank into a CHAISELONGUE in which he sometimes snatched a few moments' rest between hislessons, and smoked. He sat well out of the circle of the lamplight, hisfeet to the fire. His feet were slender and well shaped, alwayselegantly shod. Much of the grace of his movements was due to the factthat his feet were almost as sure and flexible as his hands. He listenedto the conversation with amusement. He admired his wife's tact andkindness with crude young people; she taught them so much withoutseeming to be instructing. When the clock struck nine, Thea said shemust be going home. 

Harsanyi rose and flung away his cigarette. "Not yet. We have just begunthe evening. Now you are going to sing for us. I have been waiting foryou to recover from dinner. Come, what shall it be?" he crossed to thepiano. 

Thea laughed and shook her head, locking her elbows still tighter abouther knees. "Thank you, Mr. Harsanyi, but if you really make me sing, I'll accompany myself. You couldn't stand it to play the sort of thingsI have to sing. "

As Harsanyi still pointed to the chair at the piano, she left her stooland went to it, while he returned to his CHAISE LONGUE. Thea looked atthe keyboard uneasily for a moment, then she began "Come, yeDisconsolate, " the hymn Wunsch had always liked to hear her sing. Mrs. Harsanyi glanced questioningly at her husband, but he was lookingintently at the toes of his boots, shading his forehead with his longwhite hand. When Thea finished the hymn she did not turn around, butimmediately began "The Ninety and Nine. " Mrs. Harsanyi kept trying tocatch her husband's eye; but his chin only sank lower on his collar. 

"There were ninety and nine that safely lay In the shelter of the fold, But one was out on the hills away, Far off from the gates of gold. "

Harsanyi looked at her, then back at the fire. 

"Rejoice, for the Shepherd has found his sheep. "

Thea turned on the chair and grinned. "That's about enough, isn't it?That song got me my job. The preacher said it was sympathetic, " sheminced the word, remembering Mr. Larsen's manner. 

Harsanyi drew himself up in his chair, resting his elbows on the lowarms. "Yes? That is better suited to your voice. Your upper tones aregood, above G. I must teach you some songs. Don't you knowanything--pleasant?"

Thea shook her head ruefully. "I'm afraid I don't. Let me see--Perhaps, "she turned to the piano and put her hands on the keys. "I used to singthis for Mr. Wunsch a long while ago. It's for contralto, but I'll tryit. " She frowned at the keyboard a moment, played the few introductorymeasures, and began:

"ACH, ICH HABE SIE VERLOREN, "

She had not sung it for a long time, and it came back like an oldfriendship. When she finished, Harsanyi sprang from his chair anddropped lightly upon his toes, a kind of ENTRE-CHAT that he sometimesexecuted when he formed a sudden resolution, or when he was about tofollow a pure intuition, against reason. His wife said that when he gavethat spring he was shot from the bow of his ancestors, and now when heleft his chair in that manner she knew he was intensely interested. Hewent quickly to the piano. 

"Sing that again. There is nothing the matter with your low voice, mygirl. I will play for you. Let your voice out. " Without looking at herhe began the accompaniment. Thea drew back her shoulders, relaxed theminstinctively, and sang. 

When she finished the aria, Harsanyi beckoned her nearer. "Sing AH--AHfor me, as I indicate. " He kept his right hand on the keyboard and puthis left to her throat, placing the tips of his delicate fingers overher larynx. "Again, --until your breath is gone. --Trill between the twotones, always; good! Again; excellent!--Now up, --stay there. E and F. Not so good, is it? F is always a hard one. --Now, try thehalf-tone. --That's right, nothing difficult about it. --Now, pianissimo, AH--AH. Now, swell it, AH--AH. --Again, follow my hand. --Now, carry itdown. --Anybody ever tell you anything about your breathing?"

"Mr. Larsen says I have an unusually long breath, " Thea replied withspirit. 

Harsanyi smiled. "So you have, so you have. That was what I meant. Now, once more; carry it up and then down, AH--AH. " He put his hand back toher throat and sat with his head bent, his one eye closed. He loved tohear a big voice throb in a relaxed, natural throat, and he was thinkingthat no one had ever felt this voice vibrate before. It was like a wildbird that had flown into his studio on Middleton Street from goodnessknew how far! No one knew that it had come, or even that it existed;least of all the strange, crude girl in whose throat it beat itspassionate wings. What a simple thing it was, he reflected; why had henever guessed it before? Everything about her indicated it, --the bigmouth, the wide jaw and chin, the strong white teeth, the deep laugh. The machine was so simple and strong, seemed to be so easily operated. She sang from the bottom of herself. Her breath came from down where herlaugh came from, the deep laugh which Mrs. Harsanyi had once called "thelaugh of the people. " A relaxed throat, a voice that lay on the breath, that had never been forced off the breath; it rose and fell in theair-column like the little balls which are put to shine in the jet of afountain. The voice did not thin as it went up; the upper tones were asfull and rich as the lower, produced in the same way and asunconsciously, only with deeper breath. 

At last Harsanyi threw back his head and rose. "You must be tired, MissKronborg. "

When she replied, she startled him; he had forgotten how hard and fullof burs her speaking voice was. "No, " she said, "singing never tiresme. "

Harsanyi pushed back his hair with a nervous hand. "I don't know muchabout the voice, but I shall take liberties and teach you some goodsongs. I think you have a very interesting voice. "

"I'm glad if you like it. Good-night, Mr. Harsanyi. " Thea went with Mrs. Harsanyi to get her wraps. 

When Mrs. Harsanyi came back to her husband, she found him walkingrestlessly up and down the room. 

"Don't you think her voice wonderful, dear?" she asked. 

"I scarcely know what to think. All I really know about that girl isthat she tires me to death. We must not have her often. If I did nothave my living to make, then--" he dropped into a chair and closed hiseyes. "How tired I am. What a voice!"

IV

AFTER that evening Thea's work with Harsanyi changed somewhat. Heinsisted that she should study some songs with him, and after almostevery lesson he gave up half an hour of his own time to practicing themwith her. He did not pretend to know much about voice production, but sofar, he thought, she had acquired no really injurious habits. A healthyand powerful organ had found its own method, which was not a bad one. Hewished to find out a good deal before he recommended a vocal teacher. Henever told Thea what he thought about her voice, and made her generalignorance of anything worth singing his pretext for the trouble he took. That was in the beginning. After the first few lessons his own pleasureand hers were pretext enough. The singing came at the end of the lessonhour, and they both treated it as a form of relaxation. 

Harsanyi did not say much even to his wife about his discovery. Hebrooded upon it in a curious way. He found that these unscientificsinging lessons stimulated him in his own study. After Miss Kronborgleft him he often lay down in his studio for an hour before dinner, withhis head full of musical ideas, with an effervescence in his brain whichhe had sometimes lost for weeks together under the grind of teaching. Hehad never got so much back for himself from any pupil as he did fromMiss Kronborg. From the first she had stimulated him; something in herpersonality invariably affected him. Now that he was feeling his waytoward her voice, he found her more interesting than ever before. Shelifted the tedium of the winter for him, gave him curious fancies andreveries. Musically, she was sympathetic to him. Why all this was true, he never asked himself. He had learned that one must take where and whenone can the mysterious mental irritant that rouses one's imagination;that it is not to be had by order. She often wearied him, but she neverbored him. Under her crudeness and brusque hardness, he felt there was anature quite different, of which he never got so much as a hint exceptwhen she was at the piano, or when she sang. It was toward this hiddencreature that he was trying, for his own pleasure, to find his way. Inshort, Harsanyi looked forward to his hour with Thea for the same reasonthat poor Wunsch had sometimes dreaded his; because she stirred him morethan anything she did could adequately explain. 

One afternoon Harsanyi, after the lesson, was standing by the windowputting some collodion on a cracked finger, and Thea was at the pianotrying over "Die Lorelei" which he had given her last week to practice. It was scarcely a song which a singing master would have given her, buthe had his own reasons. How she sang it mattered only to him and to her. He was playing his own game now, without interference; he suspected thathe could not do so always. 

When she finished the song, she looked back over her shoulder at him andspoke thoughtfully. "That wasn't right, at the end, was it?"

"No, that should be an open, flowing tone, something like this, "--hewaved his fingers rapidly in the air. "You get the idea?"

"No, I don't. Seems a queer ending, after the rest. "

Harsanyi corked his little bottle and dropped it into the pocket of hisvelvet coat. "Why so? Shipwrecks come and go, MARCHEN come and go, butthe river keeps right on. There you have your open, flowing tone. "

Thea looked intently at the music. "I see, " she said dully. "Oh, I see!"she repeated quickly and turned to him a glowing countenance. "It is theriver. --Oh, yes, I get it now!" She looked at him but long enough tocatch his glance, then turned to the piano again. Harsanyi was neverquite sure where the light came from when her face suddenly flashed outat him in that way. Her eyes were too small to account for it, thoughthey glittered like green ice in the sun. At such moments her hair wasyellower, her skin whiter, her cheeks pinker, as if a lamp had suddenlybeen turned up inside of her. She went at the song again:

"ICH WEISS NICHT, WAS SOLL ES BEDEUTEN, DAS ICH SO TRAURIG BIN. "

A kind of happiness vibrated in her voice. Harsanyi noticed how much andhow unhesitatingly she changed her delivery of the whole song, the firstpart as well as the last. He had often noticed that she could not thinka thing out in passages. Until she saw it as a whole, she wandered likea blind man surrounded by torments. After she once had her "revelation, "after she got the idea that to her--not always to him--explainedeverything, then she went forward rapidly. But she was not always easyto help. She was sometimes impervious to suggestion; she would stare athim as if she were deaf and ignore everything he told her to do. Then, all at once, something would happen in her brain and she would begin todo all that he had been for weeks telling her to do, without realizingthat he had ever told her. 

To-night Thea forgot Harsanyi and his finger. She finished the song onlyto begin it with fresh enthusiasm. 

"UND DAS HAT MIT IHREM SINGEN DIE LORELEI GETHAN. "

She sat there singing it until the darkening room was so flooded with itthat Harsanyi threw open a window. 

"You really must stop it, Miss Kronborg. I shan't be able to get it outof my head to-night. "

Thea laughed tolerantly as she began to gather up her music. "Why, Ithought you had gone, Mr. Harsanyi. I like that song. "

That evening at dinner Harsanyi sat looking intently into a glass ofheavy yellow wine; boring into it, indeed, with his one eye, when hisface suddenly broke into a smile. 

"What is it, Andor?" his wife asked. 

He smiled again, this time at her, and took up the nutcrackers and aBrazil nut. "Do you know, " he said in a tone so intimate andconfidential that he might have been speaking to himself, --"do you know, I like to see Miss Kronborg get hold of an idea. In spite of being sotalented, she's not quick. But when she does get an idea, it fills herup to the eyes. She had my room so reeking of a song this afternoon thatI couldn't stay there. "

Mrs. Harsanyi looked up quickly, "'Die Lorelei, ' you mean? One couldn'tthink of anything else anywhere in the house. I thought she waspossessed. But don't you think her voice is wonderful sometimes?"

Harsanyi tasted his wine slowly. "My dear, I've told you before that Idon't know what I think about Miss Kronborg, except that I'm glad thereare not two of her. I sometimes wonder whether she is not glad. Fresh asshe is at it all, I've occasionally fancied that, if she knew how, shewould like to--diminish. " He moved his left hand out into the air as ifhe were suggesting a DIMINUENDO to an orchestra. 

V

BY the first of February Thea had been in Chicago almost four months, and she did not know much more about the city than if she had neverquitted Moonstone. She was, as Harsanyi said, incurious. Her work tookmost of her time, and she found that she had to sleep a good deal. Ithad never before been so hard to get up in the morning. She had thebother of caring for her room, and she had to build her fire and bringup her coal. Her routine was frequently interrupted by a message fromMr. Larsen summoning her to sing at a funeral. Every funeral took half aday, and the time had to be made up. When Mrs. Harsanyi asked her if itdid not depress her to sing at funerals, she replied that she "had beenbrought up to go to funerals and didn't mind. "

Thea never went into shops unless she had to, and she felt no interestin them. Indeed, she shunned them, as places where one was sure to beparted from one's money in some way. She was nervous about counting herchange, and she could not accustom herself to having her purchases sentto her address. She felt much safer with her bundles under her arm. 

During this first winter Thea got no city consciousness. Chicago wassimply a wilderness through which one had to find one's way. She felt nointerest in the general briskness and zest of the crowds. The crash andscramble of that big, rich, appetent Western city she did not take in atall, except to notice that the noise of the drays and street-cars tiredher. The brilliant window displays, the splendid furs and stuffs, thegorgeous flower-shops, the gay candy-shops, she scarcely noticed. AtChristmas-time she did feel some curiosity about the toy-stores, and shewished she held Thor's little mittened fist in her hand as she stoodbefore the windows. The jewelers' windows, too, had a strong attractionfor her--she had always liked bright stones. When she went into the cityshe used to brave the biting lake winds and stand gazing in at thedisplays of diamonds and pearls and emeralds; the tiaras and necklacesand earrings, on white velvet. These seemed very well worth while toher, things worth coveting. 

Mrs. Lorch and Mrs. Andersen often told each other it was strange thatMiss Kronborg had so little initiative about "visiting points ofinterest. " When Thea came to live with them she had expressed a wish tosee two places: Montgomery Ward and Company's big mail-order store, andthe packing-houses, to which all the hogs and cattle that went throughMoonstone were bound. One of Mrs. Lorch's lodgers worked in apacking-house, and Mrs. Andersen brought Thea word that she had spokento Mr. Eckman and he would gladly take her to Packingtown. Eckman was atoughish young Swede, and he thought it would be something of a lark totake a pretty girl through the slaughter-houses. But he wasdisappointed. Thea neither grew faint nor clung to the arm he keptoffering her. She asked innumerable questions and was impatient becausehe knew so little of what was going on outside of his own department. When they got off the street-car and walked back to Mrs. Lorch's housein the dusk, Eckman put her hand in his overcoat pocket--she had nomuff--and kept squeezing it ardently until she said, "Don't do that; myring cuts me. " That night he told his roommate that he "could havekissed her as easy as rolling off a log, but she wasn't worth thetrouble. " As for Thea, she had enjoyed the afternoon very much, andwrote her father a brief but clear account of what she had seen. 

One night at supper Mrs. Andersen was talking about the exhibit ofstudents' work she had seen at the Art Institute that afternoon. Severalof her friends had sketches in the exhibit. Thea, who always felt thatshe was behindhand in courtesy to Mrs. Andersen, thought that here wasan opportunity to show interest without committing herself to anything. "Where is that, the Institute?" she asked absently. 

Mrs. Andersen clasped her napkin in both hands. "The Art Institute? Ourbeautiful Art Institute on Michigan Avenue? Do you mean to say you havenever visited it?"

"Oh, is it the place with the big lions out in front? I remember; I sawit when I went to Montgomery Ward's. Yes, I thought the lions werebeautiful. "

"But the pictures! Didn't you visit the galleries?"

"No. The sign outside said it was a pay-day. I've always meant to goback, but I haven't happened to be down that way since. "

Mrs. Lorch and Mrs. Andersen looked at each other. The old mother spoke, fixing her shining little eyes upon Thea across the table. "Ah, but MissKronborg, there are old masters! Oh, many of them, such as you could notsee anywhere out of Europe. "

"And Corots, " breathed Mrs. Andersen, tilting her head feelingly. "Suchexamples of the Barbizon school!" This was meaningless to Thea, who didnot read the art columns of the Sunday INTER-OCEAN as Mrs. Andersen did. 

"Oh, I'm going there some day, " she reassured them. "I like to look atoil paintings. "

One bleak day in February, when the wind was blowing clouds of dirt likea Moonstone sandstorm, dirt that filled your eyes and ears and mouth, Thea fought her way across the unprotected space in front of the ArtInstitute and into the doors of the building. She did not come out againuntil the closing hour. In the street-car, on the long cold ride home, while she sat staring at the waistcoat buttons of a fat strap-hanger, she had a serious reckoning with herself. She seldom thought about herway of life, about what she ought or ought not to do; usually there wasbut one obvious and important thing to be done. But that afternoon sheremonstrated with herself severely. She told herself that she wasmissing a great deal; that she ought to be more willing to take adviceand to go to see things. She was sorry that she had let months passwithout going to the Art Institute. After this she would go once a week. 

The Institute proved, indeed, a place of retreat, as the sand hills orthe Kohlers' garden used to be; a place where she could forget Mrs. Andersen's tiresome overtures of friendship, the stout contralto in thechoir whom she so unreasonably hated, and even, for a little while, thetorment of her work. That building was a place in which she could relaxand play, and she could hardly ever play now. On the whole, she spentmore time with the casts than with the pictures. They were at once moresimple and more perplexing; and some way they seemed more important, harder to overlook. It never occurred to her to buy a catalogue, so shecalled most of the casts by names she made up for them. Some of them sheknew; the Dying Gladiator she had read about in "Childe Harold" almostas long ago as she could remember; he was strongly associated with Dr. Archie and childish illnesses. The Venus di Milo puzzled her; she couldnot see why people thought her so beautiful. She told herself over andover that she did not think the Apollo Belvedere "at all handsome. "Better than anything else she liked a great equestrian statue of anevil, cruel-looking general with an unpronounceable name. She used towalk round and round this terrible man and his terrible horse, frowningat him, brooding upon him, as if she had to make some momentous decisionabout him. 

The casts, when she lingered long among them, always made her gloomy. Itwas with a lightening of the heart, a feeling of throwing off the oldmiseries and old sorrows of the world, that she ran up the widestaircase to the pictures. There she liked best the ones that toldstories. There was a painting by Gerome called "The Pasha's Grief" whichalways made her wish for Gunner and Axel. The Pasha was seated on a rug, beside a green candle almost as big as a telegraph pole, and before himwas stretched his dead tiger, a splendid beast, and there were pinkroses scattered about him. She loved, too, a picture of some boysbringing in a newborn calf on a litter, the cow walking beside it andlicking it. The Corot which hung next to this painting she did not likeor dislike; she never saw it. 

But in that same room there was a picture--oh, that was the thing sheran upstairs so fast to see! That was her picture. She imagined thatnobody cared for it but herself, and that it waited for her. That was apicture indeed. She liked even the name of it, "The Song of the Lark. "The flat country, the early morning light, the wet fields, the look inthe girl's heavy face--well, they were all hers, anyhow, whatever wasthere. She told herself that that picture was "right. " Just what shemeant by this, it would take a clever person to explain. But to her theword covered the almost boundless satisfaction she felt when she lookedat the picture. 

Before Thea had any idea how fast the weeks were flying, before Mr. Larsen's "permanent" soprano had returned to her duties, spring came;windy, dusty, strident, shrill; a season almost more violent in Chicagothan the winter from which it releases one, or the heat to which iteventually delivers one. One sunny morning the apple trees in Mrs. Lorch's back yard burst into bloom, and for the first time in monthsThea dressed without building a fire. The morning shone like a holiday, and for her it was to be a holiday. There was in the air that sudden, treacherous softness which makes the Poles who work in thepacking-houses get drunk. At such times beauty is necessary, and inPackingtown there is no place to get it except at the saloons, where onecan buy for a few hours the illusion of comfort, hope, love, --whateverone most longs for. 

Harsanyi had given Thea a ticket for the symphony concert thatafternoon, and when she looked out at the white apple trees her doubtsas to whether she ought to go vanished at once. She would make her worklight that morning, she told herself. She would go to the concert fullof energy. When she set off, after dinner, Mrs. Lorch, who knew Chicagoweather, prevailed upon her to take her cape. The old lady said thatsuch sudden mildness, so early in April, presaged a sharp return ofwinter, and she was anxious about her apple trees. 

The concert began at two-thirty, and Thea was in her seat in theAuditorium at ten minutes after two--a fine seat in the first row of thebalcony, on the side, where she could see the house as well as theorchestra. She had been to so few concerts that the great house, thecrowd of people, and the lights, all had a stimulating effect. She wassurprised to see so many men in the audience, and wondered how theycould leave their business in the afternoon. During the first numberThea was so much interested in the orchestra itself, in the men, theinstruments, the volume of sound, that she paid little attention to whatthey were playing. Her excitement impaired her power of listening. Shekept saying to herself, "Now I must stop this foolishness and listen; Imay never hear this again"; but her mind was like a glass that is hardto focus. She was not ready to listen until the second number, Dvorak'sSymphony in E minor, called on the programme, "From the New World. " Thefirst theme had scarcely been given out when her mind became clear;instant composure fell upon her, and with it came the power ofconcentration. This was music she could understand, music from the NewWorld indeed! Strange how, as the first movement went on, it broughtback to her that high tableland above Laramie; the grass-grown wagontrails, the far-away peaks of the snowy range, the wind and the eagles, that old man and the first telegraph message. 

When the first movement ended, Thea's hands and feet were cold as ice. She was too much excited to know anything except that she wantedsomething desperately, and when the English horns gave out the theme ofthe Largo, she knew that what she wanted was exactly that. Here were thesand hills, the grasshoppers and locusts, all the things that wakenedand chirped in the early morning; the reaching and reaching of highplains, the immeasurable yearning of all flat lands. There was home init, too; first memories, first mornings long ago; the amazement of a newsoul in a new world; a soul new and yet old, that had dreamed somethingdespairing, something glorious, in the dark before it was born; a soulobsessed by what it did not know, under the cloud of a past it could notrecall. 

If Thea had had much experience in concert-going, and had known her owncapacity, she would have left the hall when the symphony was over. Butshe sat still, scarcely knowing where she was, because her mind had beenfar away and had not yet come back to her. She was startled when theorchestra began to play again--the entry of the gods into Walhalla. Sheheard it as people hear things in their sleep. She knew scarcelyanything about the Wagner operas. She had a vague idea that "Rhinegold"was about the strife between gods and men; she had read something aboutit in Mr. Haweis's book long ago. Too tired to follow the orchestra withmuch understanding, she crouched down in her seat and closed her eyes. The cold, stately measures of the Walhalla music rang out, far away; therainbow bridge throbbed out into the air, under it the wailing of theRhine daughters and the singing of the Rhine. But Thea was sunk intwilight; it was all going on in another world. So it happened that witha dull, almost listless ear she heard for the first time that troubledmusic, ever-darkening, ever-brightening, which was to flow through somany years of her life. 

When Thea emerged from the concert hall, Mrs. Lorch's predictions hadbeen fulfilled. A furious gale was beating over the city from LakeMichigan. The streets were full of cold, hurrying, angry people, runningfor street-cars and barking at each other. The sun was setting in aclear, windy sky, that flamed with red as if there were a great firesomewhere on the edge of the city. For almost the first time Thea wasconscious of the city itself, of the congestion of life all about her, of the brutality and power of those streams that flowed in the streets, threatening to drive one under. People jostled her, ran into her, pokedher aside with their elbows, uttering angry exclamations. She got on thewrong car and was roughly ejected by the conductor at a windy corner, infront of a saloon. She stood there dazed and shivering. The cars passed, screaming as they rounded curves, but either they were full to thedoors, or were bound for places where she did not want to go. Her handswere so cold that she took off her tight kid gloves. The street lightsbegan to gleam in the dusk. A young man came out of the saloon and stoodeyeing her questioningly while he lit a cigarette. "Looking for a friendto-night?" he asked. Thea drew up the collar of her cape and walked on afew paces. The young man shrugged his shoulders and drifted away. 

Thea came back to the corner and stood there irresolutely. An old manapproached her. He, too, seemed to be waiting for a car. He wore anovercoat with a black fur collar, his gray mustache was waxed intolittle points, and his eyes were watery. He kept thrusting his face upnear hers. Her hat blew off and he ran after it--a stiff, pitiful skiphe had--and brought it back to her. Then, while she was pinning her haton, her cape blew up, and he held it down for her, looking at herintently. His face worked as if he were going to cry or were frightened. He leaned over and whispered something to her. It struck her as curiousthat he was really quite timid, like an old beggar. "Oh, let me ALONE!"she cried miserably between her teeth. He vanished, disappeared like theDevil in a play. But in the mean time something had got away from her;she could not remember how the violins came in after the horns, justthere. When her cape blew up, perhaps--Why did these men torment her? Acloud of dust blew in her face and blinded her. There was some powerabroad in the world bent upon taking away from her that feeling withwhich she had come out of the concert hall. Everything seemed to sweepdown on her to tear it out from under her cape. If one had that, theworld became one's enemy; people, buildings, wagons, cars, rushed at oneto crush it under, to make one let go of it. Thea glared round her atthe crowds, the ugly, sprawling streets, the long lines of lights, andshe was not crying now. Her eyes were brighter than even Harsanyi hadever seen them. All these things and people were no longer remote andnegligible; they had to be met, they were lined up against her, theywere there to take something from her. Very well; they should never haveit. They might trample her to death, but they should never have it. Aslong as she lived that ecstasy was going to be hers. She would live forit, work for it, die for it; but she was going to have it, time aftertime, height after height. She could hear the crash of the orchestraagain, and she rose on the brasses. She would have it, what the trumpetswere singing! She would have it, have it, --it! Under the old cape shepressed her hands upon her heaving bosom, that was a little girl's nolonger. 

VI

ONE afternoon in April, Theodore Thomas, the conductor of the ChicagoSymphony Orchestra, had turned out his desk light and was about to leavehis office in the Auditorium Building, when Harsanyi appeared in thedoorway. The conductor welcomed him with a hearty hand-grip and threwoff the overcoat he had just put on. He pushed Harsanyi into a chair andsat down at his burdened desk, pointing to the piles of papers andrailway folders upon it. 

"Another tour, clear to the coast. This traveling is the part of my workthat grinds me, Andor. You know what it means: bad food, dirt, noise, exhaustion for the men and for me. I'm not so young as I once was. It'stime I quit the highway. This is the last tour, I swear!"

"Then I'm sorry for the 'highway. ' I remember when I first heard you inPittsburg, long ago. It was a life-line you threw me. It's about one ofthe people along your highway that I've come to see you. Whom do youconsider the best teacher for voice in Chicago?"

Mr. Thomas frowned and pulled his heavy mustache. "Let me see; I supposeon the whole Madison Bowers is the best. He's intelligent, and he hadgood training. I don't like him. "

Harsanyi nodded. "I thought there was no one else. I don't like him, either, so I hesitated. But I suppose he must do, for the present. "

"Have you found anything promising? One of your own students?"

"Yes, sir. A young Swedish girl from somewhere in Colorado. She is verytalented, and she seems to me to have a remarkable voice. "

"High voice?"

"I think it will be; though her low voice has a beautiful quality, veryindividual. She has had no instruction in voice at all, and I shrinkfrom handing her over to anybody; her own instinct about it has been sogood. It is one of those voices that manages itself easily, withoutthinning as it goes up; good breathing and perfect relaxation. But shemust have a teacher, of course. There is a break in the middle voice, sothat the voice does not all work together; an unevenness. "

Thomas looked up. "So? Curious; that cleft often happens with theSwedes. Some of their best singers have had it. It always reminds me ofthe space you so often see between their front teeth. Is she strongphysically?"

Harsanyi's eye flashed. He lifted his hand before him and clenched it. "Like a horse, like a tree! Every time I give her a lesson, I lose apound. She goes after what she wants. "

"Intelligent, you say? Musically intelligent?"

"Yes; but no cultivation whatever. She came to me like a fine youngsavage, a book with nothing written in it. That is why I feel theresponsibility of directing her. " Harsanyi paused and crushed his softgray hat over his knee. "She would interest you, Mr. Thomas, " he addedslowly. "She has a quality--very individual. "

"Yes; the Scandinavians are apt to have that, too. She can't go toGermany, I suppose?"

"Not now, at any rate. She is poor. "

Thomas frowned again "I don't think Bowers a really first-rate man. He'stoo petty to be really first-rate; in his nature, I mean. But I dare sayhe's the best you can do, if you can't give her time enough yourself. "

Harsanyi waved his hand. "Oh, the time is nothing--she may have all shewants. But I cannot teach her to sing. "

"Might not come amiss if you made a musician of her, however, " said Mr. Thomas dryly. 

"I have done my best. But I can only play with a voice, and this is nota voice to be played with. I think she will be a musician, whateverhappens. She is not quick, but she is solid, real; not like theseothers. My wife says that with that girl one swallow does not make asummer. "

Mr. Thomas laughed. "Tell Mrs. Harsanyi that her remark conveyssomething to me. Don't let yourself get too much interested. Voices areso often disappointing; especially women's voices. So much chance aboutit, so many factors. "

"Perhaps that is why they interest one. All the intelligence and talentin the world can't make a singer. The voice is a wild thing. It can't bebred in captivity. It is a sport, like the silver fox. It happens. "

Mr. Thomas smiled into Harsanyi's gleaming eye. "Why haven't you broughther to sing for me?"

"I've been tempted to, but I knew you were driven to death, with thistour confronting you. "

"Oh, I can always find time to listen to a girl who has a voice, if shemeans business. I'm sorry I'm leaving so soon. I could advise you betterif I had heard her. I can sometimes give a singer suggestions. I'veworked so much with them. "

"You're the only conductor I know who is not snobbish about singers. "Harsanyi spoke warmly. 

"Dear me, why should I be? They've learned from me, and I've learnedfrom them. " As they rose, Thomas took the younger man affectionately bythe arm. "Tell me about that wife of yours. Is she well, and as lovelyas ever? And such fine children! Come to see me oftener, when I getback. I miss it when you don't. "

The two men left the Auditorium Building together. Harsanyi walked home. Even a short talk with Thomas always stimulated him. As he walked he wasrecalling an evening they once spent together in Cincinnati. 

Harsanyi was the soloist at one of Thomas's concerts there, and afterthe performance the conductor had taken him off to a RATHSKELLER wherethere was excellent German cooking, and where the proprietor saw to itthat Thomas had the best wines procurable. Thomas had been working withthe great chorus of the Festival Association and was speaking of it withenthusiasm when Harsanyi asked him how it was that he was able to feelsuch an interest in choral directing and in voices generally. Thomasseldom spoke of his youth or his early struggles, but that night heturned back the pages and told Harsanyi a long story. 

He said he had spent the summer of his fifteenth year wandering aboutalone in the South, giving violin concerts in little towns. He traveledon horseback. When he came into a town, he went about all day tacking upposters announcing his concert in the evening. Before the concert, hestood at the door taking in the admission money until his audience hadarrived, and then he went on the platform and played. It was a lazy, hand-to-mouth existence, and Thomas said he must have got to like thateasy way of living and the relaxing Southern atmosphere. At any rate, when he got back to New York in the fall, he was rather torpid; perhapshe had been growing too fast. From this adolescent drowsiness the ladwas awakened by two voices, by two women who sang in New York in1851, --Jenny Lind and Henrietta Sontag. They were the first greatartists he had ever heard, and he never forgot his debt to them. 

As he said, "It was not voice and execution alone. There was a greatnessabout them. They were great women, great artists. They opened a newworld to me. " Night after night he went to hear them, striving toreproduce the quality of their tone upon his violin. From that time hisidea about strings was completely changed, and on his violin he triedalways for the singing, vibrating tone, instead of the loud and somewhatharsh tone then prevalent among even the best German violinists. Inlater years he often advised violinists to study singing, and singers tostudy violin. He told Harsanyi that he got his first conception of tonequality from Jenny Lind. 

"But, of course, " he added, "the great thing I got from Lind and Sontagwas the indefinite, not the definite, thing. For an impressionable boy, their inspiration was incalculable. They gave me my first feeling forthe Italian style--but I could never say how much they gave me. At thatage, such influences are actually creative. I always think of myartistic consciousness as beginning then. "

All his life Thomas did his best to repay what he felt he owed to thesinger's art. No man could get such singing from choruses, and no manworked harder to raise the standard of singing in schools and churchesand choral societies. 

VII

All through the lesson Thea had felt that Harsanyi was restless andabstracted. Before the hour was over, he pushed back his chair and saidresolutely, "I am not in the mood, Miss Kronborg. I have something on mymind, and I must talk to you. When do you intend to go home?"

Thea turned to him in surprise. "The first of June, about. Mr. Larsenwill not need me after that, and I have not much money ahead. I shallwork hard this summer, though. "

"And to-day is the first of May; May-day. " Harsanyi leaned forward, hiselbows on his knees, his hands locked between them. "Yes, I must talk toyou about something. I have asked Madison Bowers to let me bring you tohim on Thursday, at your usual lesson-time. He is the best vocal teacherin Chicago, and it is time you began to work seriously with your voice. "

Thea's brow wrinkled. "You mean take lessons of Bowers?"

Harsanyi nodded, without lifting his head. 

"But I can't, Mr. Harsanyi. I haven't got the time, and, besides--" sheblushed and drew her shoulders up stiffly--"besides, I can't afford topay two teachers. " Thea felt that she had blurted this out in the worstpossible way, and she turned back to the keyboard to hide her chagrin. 

"I know that. I don't mean that you shall pay two teachers. After you goto Bowers you will not need me. I need scarcely tell you that I shan'tbe happy at losing you. "

Thea turned to him, hurt and angry. "But I don't want to go to Bowers. Idon't want to leave you. What's the matter? Don't I work hard enough?I'm sure you teach people that don't try half as hard. "

Harsanyi rose to his feet. "Don't misunderstand me, Miss Kronborg. Youinterest me more than any pupil I have. I have been thinking for monthsabout what you ought to do, since that night when you first sang forme. " He walked over to the window, turned, and came toward her again. "Ibelieve that your voice is worth all that you can put into it. I havenot come to this decision rashly. I have studied you, and I have becomemore and more convinced, against my own desires. I cannot make a singerof you, so it was my business to find a man who could. I have evenconsulted Theodore Thomas about it. "

"But suppose I don't want to be a singer? I want to study with you. What's the matter? Do you really think I've no talent? Can't I be apianist?"

Harsanyi paced up and down the long rug in front of her. "My girl, youare very talented. You could be a pianist, a good one. But the earlytraining of a pianist, such a pianist as you would want to be, must besomething tremendous. He must have had no other life than music. At yourage he must be the master of his instrument. Nothing can ever take theplace of that first training. You know very well that your technique isgood, but it is not remarkable. It will never overtake yourintelligence. You have a fine power of work, but you are not by nature astudent. You are not by nature, I think, a pianist. You would never findyourself. In the effort to do so, I'm afraid your playing would becomewarped, eccentric. " He threw back his head and looked at his pupilintently with that one eye which sometimes seemed to see deeper than anytwo eyes, as if its singleness gave it privileges. "Oh, I have watchedyou very carefully, Miss Kronborg. Because you had had so little and hadyet done so much for yourself, I had a great wish to help you. I believethat the strongest need of your nature is to find yourself, to emerge ASyourself. Until I heard you sing I wondered how you were to do this, butit has grown clearer to me every day. "

Thea looked away toward the window with hard, narrow eyes. "You mean Ican be a singer because I haven't brains enough to be a pianist. "

"You have brains enough and talent enough. But to do what you will wantto do, it takes more than these--it takes vocation. Now, I think youhave vocation, but for the voice, not for the piano. If you knew, "--hestopped and sighed, --"if you knew how fortunate I sometimes think you. With the voice the way is so much shorter, the rewards are more easilywon. In your voice I think Nature herself did for you what it would takeyou many years to do at the piano. Perhaps you were not born in thewrong place after all. Let us talk frankly now. We have never done sobefore, and I have respected your reticence. What you want more thananything else in the world is to be an artist; is that true?"

She turned her face away from him and looked down at the keyboard. Heranswer came in a thickened voice. "Yes, I suppose so. "

"When did you first feel that you wanted to be an artist?"

"I don't know. There was always--something. "

"Did you never think that you were going to sing?"

"Yes. "

"How long ago was that?"

"Always, until I came to you. It was you who made me want to playpiano. " Her voice trembled. "Before, I tried to think I did, but I waspretending. "

Harsanyi reached out and caught the hand that was hanging at her side. He pressed it as if to give her something. "Can't you see, my dear girl, that was only because I happened to be the first artist you have everknown? If I had been a trombone player, it would have been the same; youwould have wanted to play trombone. But all the while you have beenworking with such good-will, something has been struggling against me. See, here we were, you and I and this instrument, "--he tapped thepiano, --"three good friends, working so hard. But all the while therewas something fighting us: your gift, and the woman you were meant tobe. When you find your way to that gift and to that woman, you will beat peace. In the beginning it was an artist that you wanted to be; well, you may be an artist, always. "

Thea drew a long breath. Her hands fell in her lap. "So I'm just where Ibegan. No teacher, nothing done. No money. "

Harsanyi turned away. "Feel no apprehension about the money, MissKronborg. Come back in the fall and we shall manage that. I shall evengo to Mr. Thomas if necessary. This year will not be lost. If you butknew what an advantage this winter's study, all your study of the piano, will give you over most singers. Perhaps things have come out better foryou than if we had planned them knowingly. "

"You mean they have IF I can sing. "

Thea spoke with a heavy irony, so heavy, indeed, that it was coarse. Itgrated upon Harsanyi because he felt that it was not sincere, an awkwardaffectation. 

He wheeled toward her. "Miss Kronborg, answer me this. YOU KNOW THAT YOUCAN SING, do you not? You have always known it. While we worked heretogether you sometimes said to yourself, 'I have something you knownothing about; I could surprise you. ' Is that also true?"

Thea nodded and hung her head. 

"Why were you not frank with me? Did I not deserve it?"

She shuddered. Her bent shoulders trembled. "I don't know, " shemuttered. "I didn't mean to be like that. I couldn't. I can't. It'sdifferent. "

"You mean it is very personal?" he asked kindly. 

She nodded. "Not at church or funerals, or with people like Mr. Larsen. But with you it was--personal. I'm not like you and Mrs. Harsanyi. Icome of rough people. I'm rough. But I'm independent, too. It was--all Ihad. There is no use my talking, Mr. Harsanyi. I can't tell you. "

"You needn't tell me. I know. Every artist knows. " Harsanyi stoodlooking at his pupil's back, bent as if she were pushing something, ather lowered head. "You can sing for those people because with them youdo not commit yourself. But the reality, one cannot uncover THAT untilone is sure. One can fail one's self, but one must not live to see thatfail; better never reveal it. Let me help you to make yourself sure ofit. That I can do better than Bowers. "

Thea lifted her face and threw out her hands. 

Harsanyi shook his head and smiled. "Oh, promise nothing! You will havemuch to do. There will not be voice only, but French, German, Italian. You will have work enough. But sometimes you will need to be understood;what you never show to any one will need companionship. And then youmust come to me. " He peered into her face with that searching, intimateglance. "You know what I mean, the thing in you that has no businesswith what is little, that will have to do only with beauty and power. "

Thea threw out her hands fiercely, as if to push him away. She made asound in her throat, but it was not articulate. Harsanyi took one of herhands and kissed it lightly upon the back. His salute was one ofgreeting, not of farewell, and it was for some one he had never seen. 

When Mrs. Harsanyi came in at six o'clock, she found her husband sittinglistlessly by the window. "Tired?" she asked. 

"A little. I've just got through a difficulty. I've sent Miss Kronborgaway; turned her over to Bowers, for voice. "

"Sent Miss Kronborg away? Andor, what is the matter with you?"

"It's nothing rash. I've known for a long while I ought to do it. She ismade for a singer, not a pianist. "

Mrs. Harsanyi sat down on the piano chair. She spoke a little bitterly:"How can you be sure of that? She was, at least, the best you had. Ithought you meant to have her play at your students' recital next fall. I am sure she would have made an impression. I could have dressed her sothat she would have been very striking. She had so much individuality. "

Harsanyi bent forward, looking at the floor. "Yes, I know. I shall missher, of course. "

Mrs. Harsanyi looked at her husband's fine head against the gray window. She had never felt deeper tenderness for him than she did at thatmoment. Her heart ached for him. "You will never get on, Andor, " shesaid mournfully. 

Harsanyi sat motionless. "No, I shall never get on, " he repeatedquietly. Suddenly he sprang up with that light movement she knew sowell, and stood in the window, with folded arms. "But some day I shallbe able to look her in the face and laugh because I did what I could forher. I believe in her. She will do nothing common. She is uncommon, in acommon, common world. That is what I get out of it. It means more to methan if she played at my concert and brought me a dozen pupils. All thisdrudgery will kill me if once in a while I cannot hope something, forsomebody! If I cannot sometimes see a bird fly and wave my hand to it. "

His tone was angry and injured. Mrs. Harsanyi understood that this wasone of the times when his wife was a part of the drudgery, of the"common, common world. "

He had let something he cared for go, and he felt bitterly aboutwhatever was left. The mood would pass, and he would be sorry. She knewhim. It wounded her, of course, but that hurt was not new. It was as oldas her love for him. She went out and left him alone. 

VIII

ONE warm damp June night the Denver Express was speeding westward acrossthe earthy-smelling plains of Iowa. The lights in the day-coach wereturned low and the ventilators were open, admitting showers of soot anddust upon the occupants of the narrow green plush chairs which weretilted at various angles of discomfort. In each of these chairs someuncomfortable human being lay drawn up, or stretched out, or writhingfrom one position to another. There were tired men in rumpled shirts, their necks bare and their suspenders down; old women with their headstied up in black handkerchiefs; bedraggled young women who went to sleepwhile they were nursing their babies and forgot to button up theirdresses; dirty boys who added to the general discomfort by taking offtheir boots. The brakeman, when he came through at midnight, sniffed theheavy air disdainfully and looked up at the ventilators. As he glanceddown the double rows of contorted figures, he saw one pair of eyes thatwere wide open and bright, a yellow head that was not overcome by thestupefying heat and smell in the car. "There's a girl for you, " hethought as he stopped by Thea's chair. 

"Like to have the window up a little?" he asked. 

Thea smiled up at him, not misunderstanding his friendliness. "The girlbehind me is sick; she can't stand a draft. What time is it, please?"

He took out his open-faced watch and held it before her eyes with aknowing look. "In a hurry?" he asked. "I'll leave the end door open andair you out. Catch a wink; the time'll go faster. "

Thea nodded good-night to him and settled her head back on her pillow, looking up at the oil lamps. She was going back to Moonstone for hersummer vacation, and she was sitting up all night in a day-coach becausethat seemed such an easy way to save money. At her age discomfort was asmall matter, when one made five dollars a day by it. She hadconfidently expected to sleep after the car got quiet, but in the twochairs behind her were a sick girl and her mother, and the girl had beencoughing steadily since ten o'clock. They had come from somewhere inPennsylvania, and this was their second night on the road. The mothersaid they were going to Colorado "for her daughter's lungs. " Thedaughter was a little older than Thea, perhaps nineteen, with patientdark eyes and curly brown hair. She was pretty in spite of being sosooty and travel-stained. She had put on an ugly figured satine kimonoover her loosened clothes. Thea, when she boarded the train in Chicago, happened to stop and plant her heavy telescope on this seat. She had notintended to remain there, but the sick girl had looked up at her with aneager smile and said, "Do sit there, miss. I'd so much rather not have agentleman in front of me. "

After the girl began to cough there were no empty seats left, and ifthere had been Thea could scarcely have changed without hurting herfeelings. The mother turned on her side and went to sleep; she was usedto the cough. But the girl lay wide awake, her eyes fixed on the roof ofthe car, as Thea's were. The two girls must have seen very differentthings there. 

Thea fell to going over her winter in Chicago. It was only under unusualor uncomfortable conditions like these that she could keep her mindfixed upon herself or her own affairs for any length of time. The rapidmotion and the vibration of the wheels under her seemed to give herthoughts rapidity and clearness. She had taken twenty very expensivelessons from Madison Bowers, but she did not yet know what he thought ofher or of her ability. He was different from any man with whom she hadever had to do. With her other teachers she had felt a personalrelation; but with him she did not. Bowers was a cold, bitter, avaricious man, but he knew a great deal about voices. He worked with avoice as if he were in a laboratory, conducting a series of experiments. He was conscientious and industrious, even capable of a certain coldfury when he was working with an interesting voice, but Harsanyideclared that he had the soul of a shrimp, and could no more make anartist than a throat specialist could. Thea realized that he had taughther a great deal in twenty lessons. 

Although she cared so much less for Bowers than for Harsanyi, Thea was, on the whole, happier since she had been studying with him than she hadbeen before. She had always told herself that she studied piano to fitherself to be a music teacher. But she never asked herself why she wasstudying voice. Her voice, more than any other part of her, had to dowith that confidence, that sense of wholeness and inner well-being thatshe had felt at moments ever since she could remember. 

Of this feeling Thea had never spoken to any human being until that daywhen she told Harsanyi that "there had always been--something. " Hithertoshe had felt but one obligation toward it--secrecy; to protect it evenfrom herself. She had always believed that by doing all that wasrequired of her by her family, her teachers, her pupils, she kept thatpart of herself from being caught up in the meshes of common things. Shetook it for granted that some day, when she was older, she would know agreat deal more about it. It was as if she had an appointment to meetthe rest of herself sometime, somewhere. It was moving to meet her andshe was moving to meet it. That meeting awaited her, just as surely as, for the poor girl in the seat behind her, there awaited a hole in theearth, already dug. 

For Thea, so much had begun with a hole in the earth. Yes, shereflected, this new part of her life had all begun that morning when shesat on the clay bank beside Ray Kennedy, under the flickering shade ofthe cottonwood tree. She remembered the way Ray had looked at her thatmorning. Why had he cared so much? And Wunsch, and Dr. Archie, andSpanish Johnny, why had they? It was something that had to do with herthat made them care, but it was not she. It was something they believedin, but it was not she. Perhaps each of them concealed another person inhimself, just as she did. Why was it that they seemed to feel and tohunt for a second person in her and not in each other? Thea frowned upat the dull lamp in the roof of the car. What if one's second self couldsomehow speak to all these second selves? What if one could bring themout, as whiskey did Spanish Johnny's? How deep they lay, these secondpersons, and how little one knew about them, except to guard themfiercely. It was to music, more than to anything else, that these hiddenthings in people responded. Her mother--even her mother had something ofthat sort which replied to music. 

Thea found herself listening for the coughing behind her and not hearingit. She turned cautiously and looked back over the head-rest of herchair. The poor girl had fallen asleep. Thea looked at her intently. Whywas she so afraid of men? Why did she shrink into herself and avert herface whenever a man passed her chair? Thea thought she knew; of course, she knew. How horrible to waste away like that, in the time when oneought to be growing fuller and stronger and rounder every day. Supposethere were such a dark hole open for her, between to-night and thatplace where she was to meet herself? Her eyes narrowed. She put her handon her breast and felt how warm it was; and within it there was a full, powerful pulsation. She smiled--though she was ashamed of it--with thenatural contempt of strength for weakness, with the sense of physicalsecurity which makes the savage merciless. Nobody could die while theyfelt like that inside. The springs there were wound so tight that itwould be a long while before there was any slack in them. The life inthere was rooted deep. She was going to have a few things before shedied. She realized that there were a great many trains dashing east andwest on the face of the continent that night, and that they all carriedyoung people who meant to have things. But the difference was that SHEWAS GOING TO GET THEM! That was all. Let people try to stop her! Sheglowered at the rows of feckless bodies that lay sprawled in the chairs. Let them try it once! Along with the yearning that came from some deeppart of her, that was selfless and exalted, Thea had a hard kind ofcockiness, a determination to get ahead. Well, there are passages inlife when that fierce, stubborn self-assertion will stand its groundafter the nobler feeling is overwhelmed and beaten under. 

Having told herself once more that she meant to grab a few things, Theawent to sleep. 

She was wakened in the morning by the sunlight, which beat fiercelythrough the glass of the car window upon her face. She made herself asclean as she could, and while the people all about her were getting coldfood out of their lunch-baskets she escaped into the dining-car. Herthrift did not go to the point of enabling her to carry a lunchbasket. At that early hour there were few people in the dining-car. The linenwas white and fresh, the darkies were trim and smiling, and the sunlightgleamed pleasantly upon the silver and the glass water-bottles. On eachtable there was a slender vase with a single pink rose in it. When Theasat down she looked into her rose and thought it the most beautifulthing in the world; it was wide open, recklessly offering its yellowheart, and there were drops of water on the petals. All the future wasin that rose, all that one would like to be. The flower put her in anabsolutely regal mood. She had a whole pot of coffee, and scrambled eggswith chopped ham, utterly disregarding the astonishing price they cost. She had faith enough in what she could do, she told herself, to haveeggs if she wanted them. At the table opposite her sat a man and hiswife and little boy--Thea classified them as being "from the East. "They spoke in that quick, sure staccato, which Thea, like Ray Kennedy, pretended to scorn and secretly admired. People who could use words inthat confident way, and who spoke them elegantly, had a great advantagein life, she reflected. There were so many words which she could notpronounce in speech as she had to do in singing. Language was likeclothes; it could be a help to one, or it could give one away. But themost important thing was that one should not pretend to be what one wasnot. 

When she paid her check she consulted the waiter. "Waiter, do yousuppose I could buy one of those roses? I'm out of the day-coach, andthere is a sick girl in there. I'd like to take her a cup of coffee andone of those flowers. "

The waiter liked nothing better than advising travelers lesssophisticated than himself. He told Thea there were a few roses left inthe icebox and he would get one. He took the flower and the coffee intothe day-coach. Thea pointed out the girl, but she did not accompany him. She hated thanks and never received them gracefully. She stood outsideon the platform to get some fresh air into her lungs. The train wascrossing the Platte River now, and the sunlight was so intense that itseemed to quiver in little flames on the glittering sandbars, the scrubwillows, and the curling, fretted shallows. 

Thea felt that she was coming back to her own land. She had often heardMrs. Kronborg say that she "believed in immigration, " and so did Theabelieve in it. This earth seemed to her young and fresh and kindly, aplace where refugees from old, sad countries were given another chance. The mere absence of rocks gave the soil a kind of amiability andgenerosity, and the absence of natural boundaries gave the spirit awider range. Wire fences might mark the end of a man's pasture, but theycould not shut in his thoughts as mountains and forests can. It was overflat lands like this, stretching out to drink the sun, that the larkssang--and one's heart sang there, too. Thea was glad that this was hercountry, even if one did not learn to speak elegantly there. It was, somehow, an honest country, and there was a new song in that blue airwhich had never been sung in the world before. It was hard to tell aboutit, for it had nothing to do with words; it was like the light of thedesert at noon, or the smell of the sagebrush after rain; intangible butpowerful. She had the sense of going back to a friendly soil, whosefriendship was somehow going to strengthen her; a naive, generouscountry that gave one its joyous force, its large-hearted, childlikepower to love, just as it gave one its coarse, brilliant flowers. 

As she drew in that glorious air Thea's mind went back to Ray Kennedy. He, too, had that feeling of empire; as if all the Southwest reallybelonged to him because he had knocked about over it so much, and knewit, as he said, "like the blisters on his own hands. " That feeling, shereflected, was the real element of companionship between her and Ray. Now that she was going back to Colorado, she realized this as she hadnot done before. 

IX

THEA reached Moonstone in the late afternoon, and all the Kronborgs werethere to meet her except her two older brothers. Gus and Charley wereyoung men now, and they had declared at noon that it would "look sillyif the whole bunch went down to the train. " "There's no use making afuss over Thea just because she's been to Chicago, " Charley warned hismother. "She's inclined to think pretty well of herself, anyhow, and ifyou go treating her like company, there'll be no living in the housewith her. " Mrs. Kronborg simply leveled her eyes at Charley, and hefaded away, muttering. She had, as Mr. Kronborg always said with aninclination of his head, good control over her children. Anna, too, wished to absent herself from the party, but in the end her curiositygot the better of her. So when Thea stepped down from the porter'sstool, a very creditable Kronborg representation was grouped on theplatform to greet her. After they had all kissed her (Gunner and Axelshyly), Mr. Kronborg hurried his flock into the hotel omnibus, in whichthey were to be driven ceremoniously home, with the neighbors lookingout of their windows to see them go by. 

All the family talked to her at once, except Thor, --impressive in newtrousers, --who was gravely silent and who refused to sit on Thea's lap. One of the first things Anna told her was that Maggie Evans, the girlwho used to cough in prayer meeting, died yesterday, and had made arequest that Thea sing at her funeral. 

Thea's smile froze. "I'm not going to sing at all this summer, except myexercises. Bowers says I taxed my voice last winter, singing at funeralsso much. If I begin the first day after I get home, there'll be no endto it. You can tell them I caught cold on the train, or something. "

Thea saw Anna glance at their mother. Thea remembered having seen thatlook on Anna's face often before, but she had never thought anythingabout it because she was used to it. Now she realized that the look wasdistinctly spiteful, even vindictive. She suddenly realized that Annahad always disliked her. 

Mrs. Kronborg seemed to notice nothing, and changed the trend of theconversation, telling Thea that Dr. Archie and Mr. Upping, the jeweler, were both coming in to see her that evening, and that she had askedSpanish Johnny to come, because he had behaved well all winter and oughtto be encouraged. 

The next morning Thea wakened early in her own room up under the eavesand lay watching the sunlight shine on the roses of her wall-paper. Shewondered whether she would ever like a plastered room as well as thisone lined with scantlings. It was snug and tight, like the cabin of alittle boat. Her bed faced the window and stood against the wall, underthe slant of the ceiling. When she went away she could just touch theceiling with the tips of her fingers; now she could touch it with thepalm of her hand. It was so little that it was like a sunny cave, withroses running all over the roof. Through the low window, as she laythere, she could watch people going by on the farther side of thestreet; men, going downtown to open their stores. Thor was over there, rattling his express wagon along the sidewalk. Tillie had put a bunch ofFrench pinks in a tumbler of water on her dresser, and they gave out apleasant perfume. The blue jays were fighting and screeching in thecottonwood tree outside her window, as they always did, and she couldhear the old Baptist deacon across the street calling his chickens, asshe had heard him do every summer morning since she could remember. Itwas pleasant to waken up in that bed, in that room, and to feel thebrightness of the morning, while light quivered about the low, paperedceiling in golden spots, refracted by the broken mirror and the glass ofwater that held the pinks. "IM LEUCHTENDEN SOMMERMORGEN"; those lines, and the face of her old teacher, came back to Thea, floated to her outof sleep, perhaps. She had been dreaming something pleasant, but shecould not remember what. She would go to call upon Mrs. Kohler to-day, and see the pigeons washing their pink feet in the drip under the watertank, and flying about their house that was sure to have a fresh coat ofwhite paint on it for summer. On the way home she would stop to see Mrs. Tellamantez. On Sunday she would coax Gunner to take her out to the sandhills. She had missed them in Chicago; had been homesick for theirbrilliant morning gold and for their soft colors at evening. The Lake, somehow, had never taken their place. 

While she lay planning, relaxed in warm drowsiness, she heard a knock ather door. She supposed it was Tillie, who sometimes fluttered in on herbefore she was out of bed to offer some service which the family wouldhave ridiculed. But instead, Mrs. Kronborg herself came in, carrying atray with Thea's breakfast set out on one of the best white napkins. Thea sat up with some embarrassment and pulled her nightgown togetheracross her chest. Mrs. Kronborg was always busy downstairs in themorning, and Thea could not remember when her mother had come to herroom before. 

"I thought you'd be tired, after traveling, and might like to take iteasy for once. " Mrs. Kronborg put the tray on the edge of the bed. "Itook some thick cream for you before the boys got at it. They raised ahowl. " She chuckled and sat down in the big wooden rocking chair. Hervisit made Thea feel grown-up, and, somehow, important. 

Mrs. Kronborg asked her about Bowers and the Harsanyis. She felt a greatchange in Thea, in her face and in her manner. Mr. Kronborg had noticedit, too, and had spoken of it to his wife with great satisfaction whilethey were undressing last night. Mrs. Kronborg sat looking at herdaughter, who lay on her side, supporting herself on her elbow andlazily drinking her coffee from the tray before her. Her short-sleevednightgown had come open at the throat again, and Mrs. Kronborg noticedhow white her arms and shoulders were, as if they had been dipped in newmilk. Her chest was fuller than when she went away, her breasts rounderand firmer, and though she was so white where she was uncovered, theylooked rosy through the thin muslin. Her body had the elasticity thatcomes of being highly charged with the desire to live. Her hair, hangingin two loose braids, one by either cheek, was just enough disordered tocatch the light in all its curly ends. 

Thea always woke with a pink flush on her cheeks, and this morning hermother thought she had never seen her eyes so wide-open and bright; likeclear green springs in the wood, when the early sunlight sparkles inthem. She would make a very handsome woman, Mrs. Kronborg said toherself, if she would only get rid of that fierce look she hadsometimes. Mrs. Kronborg took great pleasure in good looks, wherever shefound them. She still remembered that, as a baby, Thea had been the"best-formed" of any of her children. 

"I'll have to get you a longer bed, " she remarked, as she put the trayon the table. "You're getting too long for that one. "

Thea looked up at her mother and laughed, dropping back on her pillowwith a magnificent stretch of her whole body. Mrs. Kronborg sat downagain. 

"I don't like to press you, Thea, but I think you'd better sing at thatfuneral to-morrow. I'm afraid you'll always be sorry if you don't. Sometimes a little thing like that, that seems nothing at the time, comes back on one afterward and troubles one a good deal. I don't meanthe church shall run you to death this summer, like they used to. I'vespoken my mind to your father about that, and he's very reasonable. ButMaggie talked a good deal about you to people this winter; always askedwhat word we'd had, and said how she missed your singing and all. Iguess you ought to do that much for her. "

"All right, mother, if you think so. " Thea lay looking at her motherwith intensely bright eyes. 

"That's right, daughter. " Mrs. Kronborg rose and went over to get thetray, stopping to put her hand on Thea's chest. "You're filling outnice, " she said, feeling about. "No, I wouldn't bother about thebuttons. Leave 'em stay off. This is a good time to harden your chest. "

Thea lay still and heard her mother's firm step receding along the barefloor of the trunk loft. There was no sham about her mother, shereflected. Her mother knew a great many things of which she nevertalked, and all the church people were forever chattering about thingsof which they knew nothing. She liked her mother. 

Now for Mexican Town and the Kohlers! She meant to run in on the oldwoman without warning, and hug her. 

X

SPANISH JOHNNY had no shop of his own, but he kept a table and anorder-book in one corner of the drug store where paints and wall-paperwere sold, and he was sometimes to be found there for an hour or soabout noon. Thea had gone into the drug store to have a friendly chatwith the proprietor, who used to lend her books from his shelves. Shefound Johnny there, trimming rolls of wall-paper for the parlor ofBanker Smith's new house. She sat down on the top of his table andwatched him. 

"Johnny, " she said suddenly, "I want you to write down the words of thatMexican serenade you used to sing; you know, 'ROSA DE NOCHE. ' It's anunusual song. I'm going to study it. I know enough Spanish for that. "

Johnny looked up from his roller with his bright, affable smile. "SI, but it is low for you, I think; VOZ CONTRALTO. It is low for me. "

"Nonsense. I can do more with my low voice than I used to. I'll showyou. Sit down and write it out for me, please. " Thea beckoned him withthe short yellow pencil tied to his order-book. 

Johnny ran his fingers through his curly black hair. "If you wish. I donot know if that SERENATA all right for young ladies. Down there it ismore for married ladies. They sing it for husbands--or somebody else, may-bee. " Johnny's eyes twinkled and he apologized gracefully with hisshoulders. He sat down at the table, and while Thea looked over his arm, began to write the song down in a long, slanting script, with highlyornamental capitals. Presently he looked up. "This-a song not exactlyMexican, " he said thoughtfully. "It come from farther down; Brazil, Venezuela, may-bee. I learn it from some fellow down there, and he learnit from another fellow. It is-a most like Mexican, but not quite. " Theadid not release him, but pointed to the paper. There were three versesof the song in all, and when Johnny had written them down, he satlooking at them meditatively, his head on one side. "I don' think for ahigh voice, SENORITA, " he objected with polite persistence. "How youaccompany with piano?"

"Oh, that will be easy enough. "

"For you, may-bee!" Johnny smiled and drummed on the table with the tipsof his agile brown fingers. "You know something? Listen, I tell you. " Herose and sat down on the table beside her, putting his foot on thechair. He loved to talk at the hour of noon. "When you was a littlegirl, no bigger than that, you come to my house one day 'bout noon, likethis, and I was in the door, playing guitar. You was barehead, barefoot;you run away from home. You stand there and make a frown at me an'listen. By 'n by you say for me to sing. I sing some lil' ting, and thenI say for you to sing with me. You don' know no words, of course, butyou take the air and you sing it justa beauti-ful! I never see a childdo that, outside Mexico. You was, oh, I do' know--seven year, may-bee. By 'n by the preacher come look for you and begin for scold. I say, 'Don' scold, Meester Kronborg. She come for hear guitar. She gotta somemusic in her, that child. Where she get?' Then he tell me 'bout yourgran'papa play oboe in the old country. I never forgetta that time. "Johnny chuckled softly. 

Thea nodded. "I remember that day, too. I liked your music better thanthe church music. When are you going to have a dance over there, Johnny?"

Johnny tilted his head. "Well, Saturday night the Spanish boys have alil' party, some DANZA. You know Miguel Ramas? He have some youngcousins, two boys, very nice-a, come from Torreon. They going to SaltLake for some job-a, and stay off with him two-three days, and he mus'have a party. You like to come?"

That was how Thea came to go to the Mexican ball. Mexican Town had beenincreased by half a dozen new families during the last few years, andthe Mexicans had put up an adobe dance-hall, that looked exactly likeone of their own dwellings, except that it was a little longer, and wasso unpretentious that nobody in Moonstone knew of its existence. The"Spanish boys" are reticent about their own affairs. Ray Kennedy used toknow about all their little doings, but since his death there was no onewhom the Mexicans considered SIMPATICO. 

On Saturday evening after supper Thea told her mother that she was goingover to Mrs. Tellamantez's to watch the Mexicans dance for a while, andthat Johnny would bring her home. 

Mrs. Kronborg smiled. She noticed that Thea had put on a white dress andhad done her hair up with unusual care, and that she carried her bestblue scarf. "Maybe you'll take a turn yourself, eh? I wouldn't mindwatching them Mexicans. They're lovely dancers. "

Thea made a feeble suggestion that her mother might go with her, butMrs. Kronborg was too wise for that. She knew that Thea would have abetter time if she went alone, and she watched her daughter go out ofthe gate and down the sidewalk that led to the depot. 

Thea walked slowly. It was a soft, rosy evening. The sand hills werelavender. The sun had gone down a glowing copper disk, and the fleecyclouds in the east were a burning rose-color, flecked with gold. Theapassed the cottonwood grove and then the depot, where she left thesidewalk and took the sandy path toward Mexican Town. She could hear thescraping of violins being tuned, the tinkle of mandolins, and the growlof a double bass. Where had they got a double bass? She did not knowthere was one in Moonstone. She found later that it was the propertyof one of Ramas's young cousins, who was taking it to Utah with himto cheer him at his "job-a. "

The Mexicans never wait until it is dark to begin to dance, and Thea hadno difficulty in finding the new hall, because every other house in thetown was deserted. Even the babies had gone to the ball; a neighbor wasalways willing to hold the baby while the mother danced. Mrs. Tellamantez came out to meet Thea and led her in. Johnny bowed to herfrom the platform at the end of the room, where he was playing themandolin along with two fiddles and the bass. The hall was a long lowroom, with whitewashed walls, a fairly tight plank floor, wooden benchesalong the sides, and a few bracket lamps screwed to the frame timbers. There must have been fifty people there, counting the children. TheMexican dances were very much family affairs. The fathers always dancedagain and again with their little daughters, as well as with theirwives. One of the girls came up to greet Thea, her dark cheeks glowingwith pleasure and cordiality, and introduced her brother, with whom shehad just been dancing. "You better take him every time he asks you, " shewhispered. "He's the best dancer here, except Johnny. "

Thea soon decided that the poorest dancer was herself. Even Mrs. Tellamantez, who always held her shoulders so stiffly, danced betterthan she did. The musicians did not remain long at their post. When oneof them felt like dancing, he called some other boy to take hisinstrument, put on his coat, and went down on the floor. Johnny, whowore a blousy white silk shirt, did not even put on his coat. 

The dances the railroad men gave in Firemen's Hall were the only dancesThea had ever been allowed to go to, and they were very different fromthis. The boys played rough jokes and thought it smart to be clumsy andto run into each other on the floor. For the square dances there wasalways the bawling voice of the caller, who was also the countyauctioneer. 

This Mexican dance was soft and quiet. There was no calling, theconversation was very low, the rhythm of the music was smooth andengaging, the men were graceful and courteous. Some of them Thea hadnever before seen out of their working clothes, smeared with grease fromthe round-house or clay from the brickyard. Sometimes, when the musichappened to be a popular Mexican waltz song, the dancers sang it softlyas they moved. There were three little girls under twelve, in theirfirst communion dresses, and one of them had an orange marigold in herblack hair, just over her ear. They danced with the men and with eachother. There was an atmosphere of ease and friendly pleasure in the low, dimly lit room, and Thea could not help wondering whether the Mexicanshad no jealousies or neighborly grudges as the people in Moonstone had. There was no constraint of any kind there to-night, but a kind ofnatural harmony about their movements, their greetings, their lowconversation, their smiles. 

Ramas brought up his two young cousins, Silvo and Felipe, and presentedthem. They were handsome, smiling youths, of eighteen and twenty, withpale-gold skins, smooth cheeks, aquiline features, and wavy black hair, like Johnny's. They were dressed alike, in black velvet jackets and softsilk shirts, with opal shirt-buttons and flowing black ties loopedthrough gold rings. They had charming manners, and low, guitar-likevoices. They knew almost no English, but a Mexican boy can pay a greatmany compliments with a very limited vocabulary. The Ramas boys thoughtThea dazzlingly beautiful. They had never seen a Scandinavian girlbefore, and her hair and fair skin bewitched them. "BLANCO Y ORO, SEMEJANTE LA PASCUA!" (White and gold, like Easter!) they exclaimed toeach other. Silvo, the younger, declared that he could never go on toUtah; that he and his double bass had reached their ultimatedestination. The elder was more crafty; he asked Miguel Ramas whetherthere would be "plenty more girls like that _A_ Salt Lake, maybee?"

Silvo, overhearing, gave his brother a contemptuous glance. "Plenty moreA PARAISO may-bee!" he retorted. When they were not dancing with her, their eyes followed her, over the coiffures of their other partners. That was not difficult; one blonde head moving among so many dark ones. 

Thea had not meant to dance much, but the Ramas boys danced so well andwere so handsome and adoring that she yielded to their entreaties. Whenshe sat out a dance with them, they talked to her about their family athome, and told her how their mother had once punned upon their name. RAMA, in Spanish, meant a branch, they explained. Once when they werelittle lads their mother took them along when she went to help the womendecorate the church for Easter. Some one asked her whether she hadbrought any flowers, and she replied that she had brought her "ramas. "This was evidently a cherished family story. 

When it was nearly midnight, Johnny announced that every one was goingto his house to have "some lil' icecream and some lil' MUSICA. " He beganto put out the lights and Mrs. Tellamantez led the way across the squareto her CASA. The Ramas brothers escorted Thea, and as they stepped outof the door, Silvo exclaimed, "HACE FRIO!" and threw his velvet coatabout her shoulders. 

Most of the company followed Mrs. Tellamantez, and they sat about on thegravel in her little yard while she and Johnny and Mrs. Miguel Ramasserved the ice-cream. Thea sat on Felipe's coat, since Silvo's wasalready about her shoulders. The youths lay down on the shining gravelbeside her, one on her right and one on her left. Johnny already calledthem "LOS ACOLITOS, " the altar-boys. The talk all about them was low, and indolent. One of the girls was playing on Johnny's guitar, anotherwas picking lightly at a mandolin. The moonlight was so bright that onecould see every glance and smile, and the flash of their teeth. Themoonflowers over Mrs. Tellamantez's door were wide open and of anunearthly white. The moon itself looked like a great pale flower in thesky. 

After all the ice-cream was gone, Johnny approached Thea, his guitarunder his arm, and the elder Ramas boy politely gave up his place. Johnny sat down, took a long breath, struck a fierce chord, and thenhushed it with his other hand. "Now we have some lil' SERENATA, eh? Youwan' a try?"

When Thea began to sing, instant silence fell upon the company. She feltall those dark eyes fix themselves upon her intently. She could see themshine. The faces came out of the shadow like the white flowers over thedoor. Felipe leaned his head upon his hand. Silvo dropped on his backand lay looking at the moon, under the impression that he was stilllooking at Thea. When she finished the first verse, Thea whispered toJohnny, "Again, I can do it better than that. "

She had sung for churches and funerals and teachers, but she had neverbefore sung for a really musical people, and this was the first time shehad ever felt the response that such a people can give. They turnedthemselves and all they had over to her. For the moment they cared aboutnothing in the world but what she was doing. Their faces confronted her, open, eager, unprotected. She felt as if all these warm-blooded peopledebouched into her. Mrs. Tellamantez's fateful resignation, Johnny'smadness, the adoration of the boy who lay still in the sand; in aninstant these things seemed to be within her instead of without, as ifthey had come from her in the first place. 

When she finished, her listeners broke into excited murmur. The menbegan hunting feverishly for cigarettes. Famos Serranos the barytonebricklayer, touched Johnny's arm, gave him a questioning look, thenheaved a deep sigh. Johnny dropped on his elbow, wiping his face andneck and hands with his handkerchief. "SENORITA, " he panted, "if yousing like that once in the City of Mexico, they just-a go crazy. In theCity of Mexico they ain't-a sit like stumps when they hear that, not-amuch! When they like, they just-a give you the town. "

Thea laughed. She, too, was excited. "Think so, Johnny? Come, singsomething with me. EL PARRENO; I haven't sung that for a long time. "

Johnny laughed and hugged his guitar. "You not-a forget him?" He beganteasing his strings. "Come!" He threw back his head, "ANOCHE-E-E--"

"ANOCHE ME CONFESSE CON UN PADRE CARMELITE, Y ME DIO PENITENCIA QUEBESARAS TU BOQUITA. "

(Last night I made confession With a Carmelite father, And he gave meabsolution For the kisses you imprinted. )

Johnny had almost every fault that a tenor can have. His voice was thin, unsteady, husky in the middle tones. But it was distinctly a voice, andsometimes he managed to get something very sweet out of it. Certainly itmade him happy to sing. Thea kept glancing down at him as he lay thereon his elbow. His eyes seemed twice as large as usual and had lights inthem like those the moonlight makes on black, running water. Thearemembered the old stories about his "spells. " She had never seen himwhen his madness was on him, but she felt something tonight at her elbowthat gave her an idea of what it might be like. For the first time shefully understood the cryptic explanation that Mrs. Tellamantez had madeto Dr. Archie, long ago. There were the same shells along the walk; shebelieved she could pick out the very one. There was the same moon upyonder, and panting at her elbow was the same Johnny--fooled by the sameold things!

When they had finished, Famos, the barytone, murmured something toJohnny; who replied, "Sure we can sing 'Trovatore. ' We have no alto, butall the girls can sing alto and make some noise. "

The women laughed. Mexican women of the poorer class do not sing likethe men. Perhaps they are too indolent. In the evening, when the men aresinging their throats dry on the doorstep, or around the camp-firebeside the work-train, the women usually sit and comb their hair. 

While Johnny was gesticulating and telling everybody what to sing andhow to sing it, Thea put out her foot and touched the corpse of Silvowith the toe of her slipper. "Aren't you going to sing, Silvo?" sheasked teasingly. 

The boy turned on his side and raised himself on his elbow for a moment. "Not this night, SENORITA, " he pleaded softly, "not this night!" Hedropped back again, and lay with his cheek on his right arm, the handlying passive on the sand above his head. 

"How does he flatten himself into the ground like that?" Thea askedherself. "I wish I knew. It's very effective, somehow. "

Across the gulch the Kohlers' little house slept among its trees, a darkspot on the white face of the desert. The windows of their upstairsbedroom were open, and Paulina had listened to the dance music for along while before she drowsed off. She was a light sleeper, and when shewoke again, after midnight, Johnny's concert was at its height. She laystill until she could bear it no longer. Then she wakened Fritz and theywent over to the window and leaned out. They could hear clearly there. 

"DIE THEA, " whispered Mrs. Kohler; "it must be. ACH, WUNDERSCHON!"

Fritz was not so wide awake as his wife. He grunted and scratched on thefloor with his bare foot. They were listening to a Mexican part-song;the tenor, then the soprano, then both together; the barytone joinsthem, rages, is extinguished; the tenor expires in sobs, and the sopranofinishes alone. When the soprano's last note died away, Fritz nodded tohis wife. "JA, " he said; "SCHON. "

There was silence for a few moments. Then the guitar sounded fiercely, and several male voices began the sextette from "Lucia. " Johnny's reedytenor they knew well, and the bricklayer's big, opaque barytone; theothers might be anybody over there--just Mexican voices. Then at theappointed, at the acute, moment, the soprano voice, like a fountain jet, shot up into the light. "HORCH! HORCH!" the old people whispered, bothat once. How it leaped from among those dusky male voices! How it playedin and about and around and over them, like a goldfish darting amongcreek minnows, like a yellow butterfly soaring above a swarm of darkones. "Ah, " said Mrs. Kohler softly, "the dear man; if he could hear hernow!"

XI

MRS. KRONBORG had said that Thea was not to be disturbed on Sundaymorning, and she slept until noon. When she came downstairs the familywere just sitting down to dinner, Mr. Kronborg at one end of the longtable, Mrs. Kronborg at the other. Anna, stiff and ceremonious, in hersummer silk, sat at her father's right, and the boys were strung alongon either side of the table. There was a place left for Thea between hermother and Thor. During the silence which preceded the blessing, Theafelt something uncomfortable in the air. Anna and her older brothers hadlowered their eyes when she came in. Mrs. Kronborg nodded cheerfully, and after the blessing, as she began to pour the coffee, turned to her. 

"I expect you had a good time at that dance, Thea. I hope you got yoursleep out. "

"High society, that, " remarked Charley, giving the mashed potatoes avicious swat. Anna's mouth and eyebrows became half-moons. 

Thea looked across the table at the uncompromising countenances of herolder brothers. "Why, what's the matter with the Mexicans?" she asked, flushing. "They don't trouble anybody, and they are kind to theirfamilies and have good manners. "

"Nice clean people; got some style about them. Do you really like thatkind, Thea, or do you just pretend to? That's what I'd like to know. "Gus looked at her with pained inquiry. But he at least looked at her. 

"They're just as clean as white people, and they have a perfect right totheir own ways. Of course I like 'em. I don't pretend things. "

"Everybody according to their own taste, " remarked Charley bitterly. "Quit crumbing your bread up, Thor. Ain't you learned how to eat yet?"

"Children, children!" said Mr. Kronborg nervously, looking up from thechicken he was dismembering. He glanced at his wife, whom he expected tomaintain harmony in the family. 

"That's all right, Charley. Drop it there, " said Mrs. Kronborg. "No usespoiling your Sunday dinner with race prejudices. The Mexicans suit meand Thea very well. They are a useful people. Now you can just talkabout something else. "

Conversation, however, did not flourish at that dinner. Everybody ate asfast as possible. Charley and Gus said they had engagements and left thetable as soon as they finished their apple pie. Anna sat primly and atewith great elegance. When she spoke at all she spoke to her father, about church matters, and always in a commiserating tone, as if he hadmet with some misfortune. Mr. Kronborg, quite innocent of herintentions, replied kindly and absent-mindedly. After the dessert hewent to take his usual Sunday afternoon nap, and Mrs. Kronborg carriedsome dinner to a sick neighbor. Thea and Anna began to clear the table. 

"I should think you would show more consideration for father's position, Thea, " Anna began as soon as she and her sister were alone. 

Thea gave her a sidelong glance. "Why, what have I done to father?"

"Everybody at Sunday-School was talking about you going over there andsinging with the Mexicans all night, when you won't sing for the church. Somebody heard you, and told it all over town. Of course, we all get theblame for it. "

"Anything disgraceful about singing?" Thea asked with a provoking yawn. 

"I must say you choose your company! You always had that streak in you, Thea. We all hoped that going away would improve you. Of course, itreflects on father when you are scarcely polite to the nice people hereand make up to the rowdies. "

"Oh, it's my singing with the Mexicans you object to?" Thea put down atray full of dishes. "Well, I like to sing over there, and I don't liketo over here. I'll sing for them any time they ask me to. They knowsomething about what I'm doing. They're a talented people. "

"Talented!" Anna made the word sound like escaping steam. "I suppose youthink it's smart to come home and throw that at your family!"

Thea picked up the tray. By this time she was as white as the Sundaytablecloth. "Well, " she replied in a cold, even tone, "I'll have tothrow it at them sooner or later. It's just a question of when, and itmight as well be now as any time. " She carried the tray blindly into thekitchen. 

Tillie, who was always listening and looking out for her, took thedishes from her with a furtive, frightened glance at her stony face. Thea went slowly up the back stairs to her loft. Her legs seemed asheavy as lead as she climbed the stairs, and she felt as if everythinginside her had solidified and grown hard. 

After shutting her door and locking it, she sat down on the edge of herbed. This place had always been her refuge, but there was a hostility inthe house now which this door could not shut out. This would be her lastsummer in that room. Its services were over; its time was done. She roseand put her hand on the low ceiling. Two tears ran down her cheeks, asif they came from ice that melted slowly. She was not ready to leave herlittle shell. She was being pulled out too soon. She would never be ableto think anywhere else as well as here. She would never sleep so well orhave such dreams in any other bed; even last night, such sweet, breathless dreams--Thea hid her face in the pillow. Wherever she wentshe would like to take that little bed with her. When she went away fromit for good, she would leave something that she could never recover;memories of pleasant excitement, of happy adventures in her mind; ofwarm sleep on howling winter nights, and joyous awakenings on summermornings. There were certain dreams that might refuse to come to her atall except in a little morning cave, facing the sun--where they came toher so powerfully, where they beat a triumph in her!

The room was hot as an oven. The sun was beating fiercely on theshingles behind the board ceiling. She undressed, and before she threwherself upon her bed in her chemise, she frowned at herself for a longwhile in her looking-glass. Yes, she and It must fight it out together. The thing that looked at her out of her own eyes was the only friend shecould count on. Oh, she would make these people sorry enough! Therewould come a time when they would want to make it up with her. But, never again! She had no little vanities, only one big one, and she wouldnever forgive. 

Her mother was all right, but her mother was a part of the family, andshe was not. In the nature of things, her mother had to be on bothsides. Thea felt that she had been betrayed. A truce had been brokenbehind her back. She had never had much individual affection for any ofher brothers except Thor, but she had never been disloyal, never feltscorn or held grudges. As a little girl she had always been good friendswith Gunner and Axel, whenever she had time to play. Even before she gother own room, when they were all sleeping and dressing together, likelittle cubs, and breakfasting in the kitchen, she had led an absorbingpersonal life of her own. But she had a cub loyalty to the other cubs. She thought them nice boys and tried to make them get their lessons. Sheonce fought a bully who "picked on" Axel at school. She never made funof Anna's crimpings and curlings and beauty-rites. 

Thea had always taken it for granted that her sister and brothersrecognized that she had special abilities, and that they were proud ofit. She had done them the honor, she told herself bitterly, to believethat though they had no particular endowments, THEY WERE OF HER KIND, and not of the Moonstone kind. Now they had all grown up and becomepersons. They faced each other as individuals, and she saw that Anna andGus and Charley were among the people whom she had always recognized asher natural enemies. Their ambitions and sacred proprieties weremeaningless to her. She had neglected to congratulate Charley uponhaving been promoted from the grocery department of Commings's store tothe drygoods department. Her mother had reproved her for this omission. And how was she to know, Thea asked herself, that Anna expected to beteased because Bert Rice now came and sat in the hammock with her everynight? No, it was all clear enough. Nothing that she would ever do inthe world would seem important to them, and nothing they would ever dowould seem important to her. 

Thea lay thinking intently all through the stifling afternoon. Tilliewhispered something outside her door once, but she did not answer. Shelay on her bed until the second church bell rang, and she saw the familygo trooping up the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, Anna andher father in the lead. Anna seemed to have taken on a very story-bookattitude toward her father; patronizing and condescending, it seemed toThea. The older boys were not in the family band. They now took theirgirls to church. Tillie had stayed at home to get supper. Thea got up, washed her hot face and arms, and put on the white organdie dress shehad worn last night; it was getting too small for her, and she might aswell wear it out. After she was dressed she unlocked her door and wentcautiously downstairs. She felt as if chilling hostilities might beawaiting her in the trunk loft, on the stairway, almost anywhere. In thedining-room she found Tillie, sitting by the open window, reading thedramatic news in a Denver Sunday paper. Tillie kept a scrapbook in whichshe pasted clippings about actors and actresses. 

"Come look at this picture of Pauline Hall in tights, Thea, " she called. "Ain't she cute? It's too bad you didn't go to the theater more when youwas in Chicago; such a good chance! Didn't you even get to see ClaraMorris or Modjeska?"

"No; I didn't have time. Besides, it costs money, Tillie, " Thea repliedwearily, glancing at the paper Tillie held out to her. 

Tillie looked up at her niece. "Don't you go and be upset about any ofAnna's notions. She's one of these narrow kind. Your father and motherdon't pay any attention to what she says. Anna's fussy; she is with me, but I don't mind her. "

"Oh, I don't mind her. That's all right, Tillie. I guess I'll take awalk. "

Thea knew that Tillie hoped she would stay and talk to her for a while, and she would have liked to please her. But in a house as small as thatone, everything was too intimate and mixed up together. The family wasthe family, an integral thing. One couldn't discuss Anna there. She feltdifferently toward the house and everything in it, as if the batteredold furniture that seemed so kindly, and the old carpets on which shehad played, had been nourishing a secret grudge against her and were notto be trusted any more. 

She went aimlessly out of the front gate, not knowing what to do withherself. Mexican Town, somehow, was spoiled for her just then, and shefelt that she would hide if she saw Silvo or Felipe coming toward her. She walked down through the empty main street. All the stores wereclosed, their blinds down. On the steps of the bank some idle boys weresitting, telling disgusting stories because there was nothing else todo. Several of them had gone to school with Thea, but when she nodded tothem they hung their heads and did not speak. Thea's body was oftencuriously expressive of what was going on in her mind, and to-nightthere was something in her walk and carriage that made these boys feelthat she was "stuck up. " If she had stopped and talked to them, theywould have thawed out on the instant and would have been friendly andgrateful. But Thea was hurt afresh, and walked on, holding her chinhigher than ever. As she passed the Duke Block, she saw a light in Dr. Archie's office, and she went up the stairs and opened the door into hisstudy. She found him with a pile of papers and accountbooks before him. He pointed her to her old chair at the end of his desk and leaned backin his own, looking at her with satisfaction. How handsome she wasgrowing!

"I'm still chasing the elusive metal, Thea, "--he pointed to the papersbefore him, --"I'm up to my neck in mines, and I'm going to be a rich mansome day. "

"I hope you will; awfully rich. That's the only thing that counts. " Shelooked restlessly about the consulting-room. "To do any of the things onewants to do, one has to have lots and lots of money. "

Dr. Archie was direct. "What's the matter? Do you need some?"

Thea shrugged. "Oh, I can get along, in a little way. " She lookedintently out of the window at the arc streetlamp that was just beginningto sputter. "But it's silly to live at all for little things, " she addedquietly. "Living's too much trouble unless one can get something big outof it. "

Dr. Archie rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, dropped his chinon his clasped hands and looked at her. "Living is no trouble for littlepeople, believe me!" he exclaimed. "What do you want to get out of it?"

"Oh--so many things!" Thea shivered. 

"But what? Money? You mentioned that. Well, you can make money, if youcare about that more than anything else. " He nodded prophetically abovehis interlacing fingers. 

"But I don't. That's only one thing. Anyhow, I couldn't if I did. " Shepulled her dress lower at the neck as if she were suffocating. "I onlywant impossible things, " she said roughly. "The others don't interestme. "

Dr. Archie watched her contemplatively, as if she were a beaker full ofchemicals working. A few years ago, when she used to sit there, thelight from under his green lampshade used to fall full upon her broadface and yellow pigtails. Now her face was in the shadow and the line oflight fell below her bare throat, directly across her bosom. Theshrunken white organdie rose and fell as if she were struggling to befree and to break out of it altogether. He felt that her heart must belaboring heavily in there, but he was afraid to touch her; he was, indeed. He had never seen her like this before. Her hair, piled high onher head, gave her a commanding look, and her eyes, that used to be soinquisitive, were stormy. 

"Thea, " he said slowly, "I won't say that you can have everything youwant--that means having nothing, in reality. But if you decide what itis you want most, YOU CAN GET IT. " His eye caught hers for a moment. "Not everybody can, but you can. Only, if you want a big thing, you'vegot to have nerve enough to cut out all that's easy, everything that'sto be had cheap. " Dr. Archie paused. He picked up a paper-cutter and, feeling the edge of it softly with his fingers, he added slowly, as ifto himself:--

"He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who daresnot put it to the touch To win. . . Or lose it all. "

Thea's lips parted; she looked at him from under a frown, searching hisface. "Do you mean to break loose, too, and--do something?" she askedin a low voice. 

"I mean to get rich, if you call that doing anything. I've found what Ican do without. You make such bargains in your mind, first. "

Thea sprang up and took the paper-cutter he had put down, twisting it inher hands. "A long while first, sometimes, " she said with a short laugh. "But suppose one can never get out what they've got in them? Supposethey make a mess of it in the end; then what?" She threw thepaper-cutter on the desk and took a step toward the doctor, until herdress touched him. She stood looking down at him. "Oh, it's easy tofail!" She was breathing through her mouth and her throat was throbbingwith excitement. 

As he looked up at her, Dr. Archie's hands tightened on the arms of hischair. He had thought he knew Thea Kronborg pretty well, but he did notknow the girl who was standing there. She was beautiful, as his littleSwede had never been, but she frightened him. Her pale cheeks, herparted lips, her flashing eyes, seemed suddenly to mean one thing--hedid not know what. A light seemed to break upon her from far away--orperhaps from far within. She seemed to grow taller, like a scarf drawnout long; looked as if she were pursued and fleeing, and--yes, shelooked tormented. "It's easy to fail, " he heard her say again, "and if Ifail, you'd better forget about me, for I'll be one of the worst womenthat ever lived. I'll be an awful woman!"

In the shadowy light above the lampshade he caught her glance again andheld it for a moment. Wild as her eyes were, that yellow gleam at theback of them was as hard as a diamond drill-point. He rose with anervous laugh and dropped his hand lightly on her shoulder. "No, youwon't. You'll be a splendid one!"

She shook him off before he could say anything more, and went out of hisdoor with a kind of bound. She left so quickly and so lightly that hecould not even hear her footstep in the hallway outside. Archie droppedback into his chair and sat motionless for a long while. 

So it went; one loved a quaint little girl, cheerful, industrious, always on the run and hustling through her tasks; and suddenly one losther. He had thought he knew that child like the glove on his hand. Butabout this tall girl who threw up her head and glittered like that allover, he knew nothing. She was goaded by desires, ambitions, revulsionsthat were dark to him. One thing he knew: the old highroad of life, wornsafe and easy, hugging the sunny slopes, would scarcely hold her again. 

After that night Thea could have asked pretty much anything of him. Hecould have refused her nothing. Years ago a crafty little bunch of hairand smiles had shown him what she wanted, and he had promptly marriedher. To-night a very different sort of girl--driven wild by doubts andyouth, by poverty and riches--had let him see the fierceness of hernature. She went out still distraught, not knowing or caring what shehad shown him. But to Archie knowledge of that sort was obligation. Oh, he was the same old Howard Archie!

That Sunday in July was the turning-point; Thea's peace of mind did notcome back. She found it hard even to practice at home. There wassomething in the air there that froze her throat. In the morning, shewalked as far as she could walk. In the hot afternoons she lay on herbed in her nightgown, planning fiercely. She haunted the post-office. She must have worn a path in the sidewalk that led to the post-office, that summer. She was there the moment the mail-sacks came up from thedepot, morning and evening, and while the letters were being sorted anddistributed she paced up and down outside, under the cottonwood trees, listening to the thump, thump, thump of Mr. Thompson's stamp. She hungupon any sort of word from Chicago; a card from Bowers, a letter fromMrs. Harsanyi, from Mr. Larsen, from her landlady, --anything to reassureher that Chicago was still there. She began to feel the samerestlessness that had tortured her the last spring when she was teachingin Moonstone. Suppose she never got away again, after all? Suppose onebroke a leg and had to lie in bed at home for weeks, or had pneumoniaand died there. The desert was so big and thirsty; if one's footslipped, it could drink one up like a drop of water. 

This time, when Thea left Moonstone to go back to Chicago, she wentalone. As the train pulled out, she looked back at her mother and fatherand Thor. They were calm and cheerful; they did not know, they did notunderstand. Something pulled in her--and broke. She cried all the way toDenver, and that night, in her berth, she kept sobbing and wakingherself. But when the sun rose in the morning, she was far away. It wasall behind her, and she knew that she would never cry like that again. People live through such pain only once; pain comes again, but it findsa tougher surface. Thea remembered how she had gone away the first time, with what confidence in everything, and what pitiful ignorance. Such asilly! She felt resentful toward that stupid, good-natured child. Howmuch older she was now, and how much harder! She was going away tofight, and she was going away forever. 

PART III. STUPID FACES

I

So many grinning, stupid faces! Thea was sitting by the window inBowers's studio, waiting for him to come back from lunch. On her kneewas the latest number of an illustrated musical journal in whichmusicians great and little stridently advertised their wares. Everyafternoon she played accompaniments for people who looked and smiledlike these. She was getting tired of the human countenance. 

Thea had been in Chicago for two months. She had a small church positionwhich partly paid her living expenses, and she paid for her singinglessons by playing Bowers's accompaniments every afternoon from twountil six. She had been compelled to leave her old friends Mrs. Lorchand Mrs. Andersen, because the long ride from North Chicago to Bowers'sstudio on Michigan Avenue took too much time--an hour in the morning, and at night, when the cars were crowded, an hour and a half. For thefirst month she had clung to her old room, but the bad air in the cars, at the end of a long day's work, fatigued her greatly and was bad forher voice. Since she left Mrs. Lorch, she had been staying at astudents' club to which she was introduced by Miss Adler, Bowers'smorning accompanist, an intelligent Jewish girl from Evanston. 

Thea took her lesson from Bowers every day from eleven-thirty untiltwelve. Then she went out to lunch with an Italian grammar under herarm, and came back to the studio to begin her work at two. In theafternoon Bowers coached professionals and taught his advanced pupils. It was his theory that Thea ought to be able to learn a great deal bykeeping her ears open while she played for him. 

The concert-going public of Chicago still remembers the long, sallow, discontented face of Madison Bowers. He seldom missed an eveningconcert, and was usually to be seen lounging somewhere at the back ofthe concert hall, reading a newspaper or review, and conspicuouslyignoring the efforts of the performers. At the end of a number he lookedup from his paper long enough to sweep the applauding audience with acontemptuous eye. His face was intelligent, with a narrow lower jaw, athin nose, faded gray eyes, and a close-cut brown mustache. His hair wasiron-gray, thin and dead-looking. He went to concerts chiefly to satisfyhimself as to how badly things were done and how gullible the publicwas. He hated the whole race of artists; the work they did, the wagesthey got, and the way they spent their money. His father, old HiramBowers, was still alive and at work, a genial old choirmaster in Boston, full of enthusiasm at seventy. But Madison was of the colder stuff ofhis grandfathers, a long line of New Hampshire farmers; hard workers, close traders, with good minds, mean natures, and flinty eyes. As a boyMadison had a fine barytone voice, and his father made great sacrificesfor him, sending him to Germany at an early age and keeping him abroadat his studies for years. Madison worked under the best teachers, andafterward sang in England in oratorio. His cold nature and academicmethods were against him. His audiences were always aware of thecontempt he felt for them. A dozen poorer singers succeeded, but Bowersdid not. 

Bowers had all the qualities which go to make a good teacher--exceptgenerosity and warmth. His intelligence was of a high order, his tastenever at fault. He seldom worked with a voice without improving it, andin teaching the delivery of oratorio he was without a rival. Singers camefrom far and near to study Bach and Handel with him. Even the fashionablesopranos and contraltos of Chicago, St. Paul, and St. Louis (they wereusually ladies with very rich husbands, and Bowers called them the"pampered jades of Asia") humbly endured his sardonic humor for the sakeof what he could do for them. He was not at all above helping a verylame singer across, if her husband's check-book warranted it. He had awhole bag of tricks for stupid people, "life-preservers, " he calledthem. "Cheap repairs for a cheap 'un, " he used to say, but the husbandsnever found the repairs very cheap. Those were the days when lumbermen'sdaughters and brewers' wives contended in song; studied in Germany andthen floated from SANGERFEST to SANGERFEST. Choral societies flourishedin all the rich lake cities and river cities. The soloists came toChicago to coach with Bowers, and he often took long journeys to hearand instruct a chorus. He was intensely avaricious, and from thesesemi-professionals he reaped a golden harvest. They fed his pockets andthey fed his ever-hungry contempt, his scorn of himself and hisaccomplices. The more money he made, the more parsimonious he became. His wife was so shabby that she never went anywhere with him, whichsuited him exactly. Because his clients were luxurious and extravagant, he took a revengeful pleasure in having his shoes halfsoled a secondtime, and in getting the last wear out of a broken collar. He had firstbeen interested in Thea Kronborg because of her bluntness, her countryroughness, and her manifest carefulness about money. The mention ofHarsanyi's name always made him pull a wry face. For the first time Theahad a friend who, in his own cool and guarded way, liked her forwhatever was least admirable in her. 

Thea was still looking at the musical paper, her grammar unopened on thewindow-sill, when Bowers sauntered in a little before two o'clock. Hewas smoking a cheap cigarette and wore the same soft felt hat he hadworn all last winter. He never carried a cane or wore gloves. 

Thea followed him from the reception-room into the studio. "I may cut mylesson out to-morrow, Mr. Bowers. I have to hunt a new boarding-place. "

Bowers looked up languidly from his desk where he had begun to go over apile of letters. "What's the matter with the Studio Club? Been fightingwith them again?"

"The Club's all right for people who like to live that way. I don't. "

Bowers lifted his eyebrows. "Why so tempery?" he asked as he drew acheck from an envelope postmarked "Minneapolis. "

"I can't work with a lot of girls around. They're too familiar. I nevercould get along with girls of my own age. It's all too chummy. Gets onmy nerves. I didn't come here to play kindergarten games. " Thea beganenergetically to arrange the scattered music on the piano. 

Bowers grimaced good-humoredly at her over the three checks he waspinning together. He liked to play at a rough game of banter with her. He flattered himself that he had made her harsher than she was when shefirst came to him; that he had got off a little of the sugar-coatingHarsanyi always put on his pupils. 

"The art of making yourself agreeable never comes amiss, Miss Kronborg. I should say you rather need a little practice along that line. When youcome to marketing your wares in the world, a little smoothness goesfarther than a great deal of talent sometimes. If you happen to becursed with a real talent, then you've got to be very smooth indeed, oryou'll never get your money back. " Bowers snapped the elastic bandaround his bank-book. 

Thea gave him a sharp, recognizing glance. "Well, that's the money I'llhave to go without, " she replied. 

"Just what do you mean?"

"I mean the money people have to grin for. I used to know a railroad manwho said there was money in every profession that you couldn't take. He'd tried a good many jobs, " Thea added musingly; "perhaps he was tooparticular about the kind he could take, for he never picked up much. Hewas proud, but I liked him for that. "

Bowers rose and closed his desk. "Mrs. Priest is late again. By the way, Miss Kronborg, remember not to frown when you are playing for Mrs. Priest. You did not remember yesterday. "

"You mean when she hits a tone with her breath like that? Why do you lether? You wouldn't let me. "

"I certainly would not. But that is a mannerism of Mrs. Priest's. Thepublic like it, and they pay a great deal of money for the pleasure ofhearing her do it. There she is. Remember!"

Bowers opened the door of the reception-room and a tall, imposing womanrustled in, bringing with her a glow of animation which pervaded theroom as if half a dozen persons, all talking gayly, had come in insteadof one. She was large, handsome, expansive, uncontrolled; one felt thisthe moment she crossed the threshold. She shone with care andcleanliness, mature vigor, unchallenged authority, gracious good-humor, and absolute confidence in her person, her powers, her position, and herway of life; a glowing, overwhelming self-satisfaction, only to be foundwhere human society is young and strong and without yesterdays. Her facehad a kind of heavy, thoughtless beauty, like a pink peony just at thepoint of beginning to fade. Her brown hair was waved in front and doneup behind in a great twist, held by a tortoiseshell comb with goldfiligree. She wore a beautiful little green hat with three long greenfeathers sticking straight up in front, a little cape made of velvet andfur with a yellow satin rose on it. Her gloves, her shoes, her veil, somehow made themselves felt. She gave the impression of wearing a cargoof splendid merchandise. 

Mrs. Priest nodded graciously to Thea, coquettishly to Bowers, and askedhim to untie her veil for her. She threw her splendid wrap on a chair, the yellow lining out. Thea was already at the piano. Mrs. Priest stoodbehind her. 

"'Rejoice Greatly' first, please. And please don't hurry it in there, "she put her arm over Thea's shoulder, and indicated the passage by asweep of her white glove. She threw out her chest, clasped her handsover her abdomen, lifted her chin, worked the muscles of her cheeks backand forth for a moment, and then began with conviction, "Re-jo-oice!Re-jo-oice!"

Bowers paced the room with his catlike tread. When he checked Mrs. Priest's vehemence at all, he handled her roughly; poked and hammeredher massive person with cold satisfaction, almost as if he were takingout a grudge on this splendid creation. Such treatment the imposing ladydid not at all resent. She tried harder and harder, her eyes growing allthe while more lustrous and her lips redder. Thea played on as she wastold, ignoring the singer's struggles. 

When she first heard Mrs. Priest sing in church, Thea admired her. Sinceshe had found out how dull the goodnatured soprano really was, she felta deep contempt for her. She felt that Mrs. Priest ought to be reprovedand even punished for her shortcomings; that she ought to beexposed, --at least to herself, --and not be permitted to live and shinein happy ignorance of what a poor thing it was she brought across soradiantly. Thea's cold looks of reproof were lost upon Mrs. Priest;although the lady did murmur one day when she took Bowers home in hercarriage, "How handsome your afternoon girl would be if she did not havethat unfortunate squint; it gives her that vacant Swede look, like ananimal. " That amused Bowers. He liked to watch the germination andgrowth of antipathies. 

One of the first disappointments Thea had to face when she returned toChicago that fall, was the news that the Harsanyis were not coming back. They had spent the summer in a camp in the Adirondacks and were movingto New York. An old teacher and friend of Harsanyi's, one of thebest-known piano teachers in New York, was about to retire because offailing health and had arranged to turn his pupils over to Harsanyi. Andor was to give two recitals in New York in November, to devotehimself to his new students until spring, and then to go on a shortconcert tour. The Harsanyis had taken a furnished apartment in New York, as they would not attempt to settle a place of their own until Andor'srecitals were over. The first of December, however, Thea received a notefrom Mrs. Harsanyi, asking her to call at the old studio, where she waspacking their goods for shipment. 

The morning after this invitation reached her, Thea climbed the stairsand knocked at the familiar door. Mrs. Harsanyi herself opened it, andembraced her visitor warmly. Taking Thea into the studio, which waslittered with excelsior and packing-cases, she stood holding her handand looking at her in the strong light from the big window before sheallowed her to sit down. Her quick eye saw many changes. The girl wastaller, her figure had become definite, her carriage positive. She hadgot used to living in the body of a young woman, and she no longer triedto ignore it and behave as if she were a little girl. With thatincreased independence of body there had come a change in her face; anindifference, something hard and skeptical. Her clothes, too, weredifferent, like the attire of a shopgirl who tries to follow thefashions; a purple suit, a piece of cheap fur, a three-cornered purplehat with a pompon sticking up in front. The queer country clothes sheused to wear suited her much better, Mrs. Harsanyi thought. But suchtrifles, after all, were accidental and remediable. She put her hand onthe girl's strong shoulder. 

"How much the summer has done for you! Yes, you are a young lady atlast. Andor will be so glad to hear about you. "

Thea looked about at the disorder of the familiar room. The pictureswere piled in a corner, the piano and the CHAISE LONGUE were gone. "Isuppose I ought to be glad you have gone away, " she said, "but I'm not. It's a fine thing for Mr. Harsanyi, I suppose. "

Mrs. Harsanyi gave her a quick glance that said more than words. "If youknew how long I have wanted to get him away from here, Miss Kronborg! Heis never tired, never discouraged, now. "

Thea sighed. "I'm glad for that, then. " Her eyes traveled over the faintdiscolorations on the walls where the pictures had hung. "I may run awaymyself. I don't know whether I can stand it here without you. "

"We hope that you can come to New York to study before very long. Wehave thought of that. And you must tell me how you are getting on withBowers. Andor will want to know all about it. "

"I guess I get on more or less. But I don't like my work very well. Itnever seems serious as my work with Mr. Harsanyi did. I play Bowers'saccompaniments in the afternoons, you know. I thought I would learn agood deal from the people who work with him, but I don't think I getmuch. "

Mrs. Harsanyi looked at her inquiringly. Thea took out a carefullyfolded handkerchief from the bosom of her dress and began to draw thecorners apart. "Singing doesn't seem to be a very brainy profession, Mrs. Harsanyi, " she said slowly. "The people I see now are not a bitlike the ones I used to meet here. Mr. Harsanyi's pupils, even the dumbones, had more--well, more of everything, it seems to me. The people Ihave to play accompaniments for are discouraging. The professionals, like Katharine Priest and Miles Murdstone, are worst of all. If I haveto play 'The Messiah' much longer for Mrs. Priest, I'll go out of mymind!" Thea brought her foot down sharply on the bare floor. 

Mrs. Harsanyi looked down at the foot in perplexity. "You mustn't wearsuch high heels, my dear. They will spoil your walk and make you mincealong. Can't you at least learn to avoid what you dislike in thesesingers? I was never able to care for Mrs. Priest's singing. "

Thea was sitting with her chin lowered. Without moving her head shelooked up at Mrs. Harsanyi and smiled; a smile much too cold anddesperate to be seen on a young face, Mrs. Harsanyi felt. "Mrs. Harsanyi, it seems to me that what I learn is just TO DISLIKE. I dislikeso much and so hard that it tires me out. I've got no heart foranything. " She threw up her head suddenly and sat in defiance, her handclenched on the arm of the chair. "Mr. Harsanyi couldn't stand thesepeople an hour, I know he couldn't. He'd put them right out of thewindow there, frizzes and feathers and all. Now, take that new sopranothey're all making such a fuss about, Jessie Darcey. She's going on tourwith a symphony orchestra and she's working up her repertory withBowers. She's singing some Schumann songs Mr. Harsanyi used to go overwith me. Well, I don't know what he WOULD do if he heard her. "

"But if your own work goes well, and you know these people are wrong, why do you let them discourage you?"

Thea shook her head. "That's just what I don't understand myself. Only, after I've heard them all afternoon, I come out frozen up. Somehow ittakes the shine off of everything. People want Jessie Darcey and thekind of thing she does; so what's the use?"

Mrs. Harsanyi smiled. "That stile you must simply vault over. You mustnot begin to fret about the successes of cheap people. After all, what have they to do with you?"

"Well, if I had somebody like Mr. Harsanyi, perhaps I wouldn't fretabout them. He was the teacher for me. Please tell him so. "

Thea rose and Mrs. Harsanyi took her hand again. "I am sorry you have togo through this time of discouragement. I wish Andor could talk to you, he would understand it so well. But I feel like urging you to keep clearof Mrs. Priest and Jessie Darcey and all their works. "

Thea laughed discordantly. "No use urging me. I don't get on with themAT ALL. My spine gets like a steel rail when they come near me. I likedthem at first, you know. Their clothes and their manners were so fine, and Mrs. Priest IS handsome. But now I keep wanting to tell them howstupid they are. Seems like they ought to be informed, don't you thinkso?" There was a flash of the shrewd grin that Mrs. Harsanyi remembered. Thea pressed her hand. "I must go now. I had to give my lesson hour thismorning to a Duluth woman who has come on to coach, and I must go andplay 'On Mighty Pens' for her. Please tell Mr. Harsanyi that I thinkoratorio is a great chance for bluffers. "

Mrs. Harsanyi detained her. "But he will want to know much more thanthat about you. You are free at seven? Come back this evening, then, andwe will go to dinner somewhere, to some cheerful place. I think you needa party. "

Thea brightened. "Oh, I do! I'll love to come; that will be like oldtimes. You see, " she lingered a moment, softening, "I wouldn't mind ifthere were only ONE of them I could really admire. "

"How about Bowers?" Mrs. Harsanyi asked as they were approaching thestairway. 

"Well, there's nothing he loves like a good fakir, and nothing he hateslike a good artist. I always remember something Mr. Harsanyi said abouthim. He said Bowers was the cold muffin that had been left on theplate. "

Mrs. Harsanyi stopped short at the head of the stairs and saiddecidedly: "I think Andor made a mistake. I can't believe that is theright atmosphere for you. It would hurt you more than most people. It'sall wrong. "

"Something's wrong, " Thea called back as she clattered down the stairsin her high heels. 

II

DURING that winter Thea lived in so many places that sometimes at nightwhen she left Bowers's studio and emerged into the street she had tostop and think for a moment to remember where she was living now andwhat was the best way to get there. 

When she moved into a new place her eyes challenged the beds, thecarpets, the food, the mistress of the house. The boarding-houses werewretchedly conducted and Thea's complaints sometimes took an insultingform. She quarreled with one landlady after another and moved on. Whenshe moved into a new room, she was almost sure to hate it on sight andto begin planning to hunt another place before she unpacked her trunk. She was moody and contemptuous toward her fellow boarders, except towardthe young men, whom she treated with a careless familiarity which theyusually misunderstood. They liked her, however, and when she left thehouse after a storm, they helped her to move her things and came to seeher after she got settled in a new place. But she moved so often thatthey soon ceased to follow her. They could see no reason for keeping upwith a girl who, under her jocularity, was cold, self-centered, andunimpressionable. They soon felt that she did not admire them. 

Thea used to waken up in the night and wonder why she was so unhappy. She would have been amazed if she had known how much the people whom shemet in Bowers's studio had to do with her low spirits. She had neverbeen conscious of those instinctive standards which are called ideals, and she did not know that she was suffering for them. She often foundherself sneering when she was on a street-car, or when she was brushingout her hair before her mirror, as some inane remark or too familiarmannerism flitted across her mind. 

She felt no creature kindness, no tolerant good-will for Mrs. Priest orJessie Darcey. After one of Jessie Darcey's concerts the glowing pressnotices, and the admiring comments that floated about Bowers's studio, caused Thea bitter unhappiness. It was not the torment of personaljealousy. She had never thought of herself as even a possible rival ofMiss Darcey. She was a poor music student, and Jessie Darcey was apopular and petted professional. Mrs. Priest, whatever one held againsther, had a fine, big, showy voice and an impressive presence. She readindifferently, was inaccurate, and was always putting other peoplewrong, but she at least had the material out of which singers can bemade. But people seemed to like Jessie Darcey exactly because she couldnot sing; because, as they put it, she was "so natural andunprofessional. " Her singing was pronounced "artless, " her voice"birdlike. " Miss Darcey was thin and awkward in person, with a sharp, sallow face. Thea noticed that her plainness was accounted to hercredit, and that people spoke of it affectionately. Miss Darcey wassinging everywhere just then; one could not help hearing about her. Shewas backed by some of the packing-house people and by the ChicagoNorthwestern Railroad. Only one critic raised his voice against her. Thea went to several of Jessie Darcey's concerts. It was the first timeshe had had an opportunity to observe the whims of the public whichsingers live by interesting. She saw that people liked in Miss Darceyevery quality a singer ought not to have, and especially the nervouscomplacency that stamped her as a commonplace young woman. They seemedto have a warmer feeling for Jessie than for Mrs. Priest, anaffectionate and cherishing regard. Chicago was not so very differentfrom Moonstone, after all, and Jessie Darcey was only Lily Fisher underanother name. 

Thea particularly hated to accompany for Miss Darcey because she sangoff pitch and didn't mind it in the least. It was excruciating to sitthere day after day and hear her; there was something shameless andindecent about not singing true. 

One morning Miss Darcey came by appointment to go over the programme forher Peoria concert. She was such a frail-looking girl that Thea ought tohave felt sorry for her. True, she had an arch, sprightly little manner, and a flash of salmon-pink on either brown cheek. But a narrow upper jawgave her face a pinched look, and her eyelids were heavy and relaxed. Bythe morning light, the purplish brown circles under her eyes werepathetic enough, and foretold no long or brilliant future. A singer witha poor digestion and low vitality; she needed no seer to cast herhoroscope. If Thea had ever taken the pains to study her, she would haveseen that, under all her smiles and archness, poor Miss Darcey wasreally frightened to death. She could not understand her success anymore than Thea could; she kept catching her breath and lifting hereyebrows and trying to believe that it was true. Her loquacity was notnatural, she forced herself to it, and when she confided to you how manydefects she could overcome by her unusual command of head resonance, shewas not so much trying to persuade you as to persuade herself. 

When she took a note that was high for her, Miss Darcey always put herright hand out into the air, as if she were indicating height, or givingan exact measurement. Some early teacher had told her that she could"place" a tone more surely by the help of such a gesture, and she firmlybelieved that it was of great assistance to her. (Even when she wassinging in public, she kept her right hand down with difficulty, nervously clasping her white kid fingers together when she took a highnote. Thea could always see her elbows stiffen. ) She unvaryinglyexecuted this gesture with a smile of gracious confidence, as if shewere actually putting her finger on the tone: "There it is, friends!"

This morning, in Gounod's "Ave Maria, " as Miss Darcey approached her Bnatural:--

DANS--NOS--A--LAR--MES!

Out went the hand, with the sure airy gesture, though it was littleabove A she got with her voice, whatever she touched with her finger. Often Bowers let such things pass--with the right people--but thismorning he snapped his jaws together and muttered, "God!" Miss Darceytried again, with the same gesture as of putting the crowning touch, tilting her head and smiling radiantly at Bowers, as if to say, "It isfor you I do all this!"

DANS--NOS A--LAR------MES!

This time she made B flat, and went on in the happy belief that she haddone well enough, when she suddenly found that her accompanist was notgoing on with her, and this put her out completely. 

She turned to Thea, whose hands had fallen in her lap. "Oh why did youstop just there! It IS too trying! Now we'd better go back to that otherCRESCENDO and try it from there. "

"I beg your pardon, " Thea muttered. "I thought you wanted to get that Bnatural. " She began again, as Miss Darcey indicated. 

After the singer was gone, Bowers walked up to Thea and asked languidly, "Why do you hate Jessie so? Her little variations from pitch are betweenher and her public; they don't hurt you. Has she ever done anything toyou except be very agreeable?"

"Yes, she has done things to me, " Thea retorted hotly. 

Bowers looked interested. "What, for example?"

"I can't explain, but I've got it in for her. "

Bowers laughed. "No doubt about that. I'll have to suggest that youconceal it a little more effectually. That is--necessary, MissKronborg, " he added, looking back over the shoulder of the overcoat hewas putting on. 

He went out to lunch and Thea thought the subject closed. But late inthe afternoon, when he was taking his dyspepsia tablet and a glass ofwater between lessons, he looked up and said in a voice ironicallycoaxing:--

"Miss Kronborg, I wish you would tell me why you hate Jessie. "

Taken by surprise Thea put down the score she was reading and answeredbefore she knew what she was saying, "I hate her for the sake of what Iused to think a singer might be. "

Bowers balanced the tablet on the end of his long forefinger andwhistled softly. "And how did you form your conception of what a singerought to be?" he asked. 

"I don't know. " Thea flushed and spoke under her breath; "but I supposeI got most of it from Harsanyi. "

Bowers made no comment upon this reply, but opened the door for the nextpupil, who was waiting in the reception-room. 

It was dark when Thea left the studio that night. She knew she hadoffended Bowers. Somehow she had hurt herself, too. She felt unequal tothe boarding-house table, the sneaking divinity student who sat next herand had tried to kiss her on the stairs last night. She went over to thewaterside of Michigan Avenue and walked along beside the lake. It was aclear, frosty winter night. The great empty space over the water wasrestful and spoke of freedom. If she had any money at all, she would goaway. The stars glittered over the wide black water. She looked up atthem wearily and shook her head. She believed that what she felt wasdespair, but it was only one of the forms of hope. She felt, indeed, asif she were bidding the stars good-bye; but she was renewing a promise. Though their challenge is universal and eternal, the stars get no answerbut that, --the brief light flashed back to them from the eyes of theyoung who unaccountably aspire. 

The rich, noisy, city, fat with food and drink, is a spent thing; itschief concern is its digestion and its little game of hide-and-seek withthe undertaker. Money and office and success are the consolations ofimpotence. Fortune turns kind to such solid people and lets them sucktheir bone in peace. She flecks her whip upon flesh that is more alive, upon that stream of hungry boys and girls who tramp the streets of everycity, recognizable by their pride and discontent, who are the Future, and who possess the treasure of creative power. 

III

WHILE her living arrangements were so casual and fortuitous, Bowers'sstudio was the one fixed thing in Thea's life. She went out from it touncertainties, and hastened to it from nebulous confusion. She was moreinfluenced by Bowers than she knew. Unconsciously she began to take onsomething of his dry contempt, and to share his grudge withoutunderstanding exactly what it was about. His cynicism seemed to herhonest, and the amiability of his pupils artificial. She admired hisdrastic treatment of his dull pupils. The stupid deserved all they got, and more. Bowers knew that she thought him a very clever man. 

One afternoon when Bowers came in from lunch Thea handed him a card onwhich he read the name, "Mr. Philip Frederick Ottenburg. "

"He said he would be in again to-morrow and that he wanted some time. Who is he? I like him better than the others. "

Bowers nodded. "So do I. He's not a singer. He's a beer prince: son ofthe big brewer in St. Louis. He's been in Germany with his mother. Ididn't know he was back. "

"Does he take lessons?"

"Now and again. He sings rather well. He's at the head of the Chicagobranch of the Ottenburg business, but he can't stick to work and isalways running away. He has great ideas in beer, people tell me. He'swhat they call an imaginative business man; goes over to Bayreuth andseems to do nothing but give parties and spend money, and brings backmore good notions for the brewery than the fellows who sit tight dig outin five years. I was born too long ago to be much taken in by thesechesty boys with flowered vests, but I like Fred, all the same. "

"So do I, " said Thea positively. 

Bowers made a sound between a cough and a laugh. "Oh, he's alady-killer, all right! The girls in here are always making eyes at him. You won't be the first. " He threw some sheets of music on the piano. "Better look that over; accompaniment's a little tricky. It's for thatnew woman from Detroit. And Mrs. Priest will be in this afternoon. "

Thea sighed. "'I Know that my Redeemer Liveth'?"

"The same. She starts on her concert tour next week, and we'll have arest. Until then, I suppose we'll have to be going over her programme. "

The next day Thea hurried through her luncheon at a German bakery andgot back to the studio at ten minutes past one. She felt sure that theyoung brewer would come early, before it was time for Bowers to arrive. He had not said he would, but yesterday, when he opened the door to go, he had glanced about the room and at her, and something in his eye hadconveyed that suggestion. 

Sure enough, at twenty minutes past one the door of the reception-roomopened, and a tall, robust young man with a cane and an English hat andulster looked in expectantly. "Ah--ha!" he exclaimed, "I thought if Icame early I might have good luck. And how are you to-day, MissKronborg?"

Thea was sitting in the window chair. At her left elbow there was atable, and upon this table the young man sat down, holding his hat andcane in his hand, loosening his long coat so that it fell back from hisshoulders. He was a gleaming, florid young fellow. His hair, thick andyellow, was cut very short, and he wore a closely trimmed beard, longenough on the chin to curl a little. Even his eyebrows were thick andyellow, like fleece. He had lively blue eyes--Thea looked up at themwith great interest as he sat chatting and swinging his footrhythmically. He was easily familiar, and frankly so. Wherever peoplemet young Ottenburg, in his office, on shipboard, in a foreign hotel orrailway compartment, they always felt (and usually liked) that artlesspresumption which seemed to say, "In this case we may waive formalities. We really haven't time. This is to-day, but it will soon be to-morrow, and then we may be very different people, and in some other country. " Hehad a way of floating people out of dull or awkward situations, out oftheir own torpor or constraint or discouragement. It was a markedpersonal talent, of almost incalculable value in the representative of agreat business founded on social amenities. Thea had liked him yesterdayfor the way in which he had picked her up out of herself and her Germangrammar for a few exciting moments. 

"By the way, will you tell me your first name, please? Thea? Oh, thenyou ARE a Swede, sure enough! I thought so. Let me call you Miss Thea, after the German fashion. You won't mind? Of course not!" He usuallymade his assumption of a special understanding seem a tribute to theother person and not to himself. 

"How long have you been with Bowers here? Do you like the old grouch? Sodo I. I've come to tell him about a new soprano I heard at Bayreuth. He'll pretend not to care, but he does. Do you warble with him? Have youanything of a voice? Honest? You look it, you know. What are you goingin for, something big? Opera?"

Thea blushed crimson. "Oh, I'm not going in for anything. I'm trying tolearn to sing at funerals. "

Ottenburg leaned forward. His eyes twinkled. "I'll engage you to sing atmine. You can't fool me, Miss Thea. May I hear you take your lesson thisafternoon?"

"No, you may not. I took it this morning. "

He picked up a roll of music that lay behind him on the table. "Is thisyours? Let me see what you are doing. "

He snapped back the clasp and began turning over the songs. "All veryfine, but tame. What's he got you at this Mozart stuff for? I shouldn'tthink it would suit your voice. Oh, I can make a pretty good guess atwhat will suit you! This from 'Gioconda' is more in your line. What'sthis Grieg? It looks interesting. TAK FOR DITT ROD. What does thatmean?"

"'Thanks for your Advice. ' Don't you know it?"

"No; not at all. Let's try it. " He rose, pushed open the door into themusic-room, and motioned Thea to enter before him. She hung back. 

"I couldn't give you much of an idea of it. It's a big song. "

Ottenburg took her gently by the elbow and pushed her into the otherroom. He sat down carelessly at the piano and looked over the music fora moment. "I think I can get you through it. But how stupid not to havethe German words. Can you really sing the Norwegian? What an infernallanguage to sing. Translate the text for me. " He handed her the music. 

Thea looked at it, then at him, and shook her head. "I can't. The truthis I don't know either English or Swedish very well, and Norwegian'sstill worse, " she said confidentially. She not infrequently refused todo what she was asked to do, but it was not like her to explain herrefusal, even when she had a good reason. 

"I understand. We immigrants never speak any language well. But you knowwhat it means, don't you?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then don't frown at me like that, but tell me. "

Thea continued to frown, but she also smiled. She was confused, but notembarrassed. She was not afraid of Ottenburg. He was not one of thosepeople who made her spine like a steel rail. On the contrary, he madeone venturesome. 

"Well, it goes something like this: Thanks for your advice! But I preferto steer my boat into the din of roaring breakers. Even if the journeyis my last, I may find what I have never found before. Onward must I go, for I yearn for the wild sea. I long to fight my way through the angrywaves, and to see how far, and how long I can make them carry me. "

Ottenburg took the music and began: "Wait a moment. Is that too fast?How do you take it? That right?" He pulled up his cuffs and began theaccompaniment again. He had become entirely serious, and he played withfine enthusiasm and with understanding. 

Fred's talent was worth almost as much to old Otto Ottenburg as thesteady industry of his older sons. When Fred sang the Prize Song at aninterstate meet of the TURNVEREIN, ten thousand TURNERS went forthpledged to Ottenburg beer. 

As Thea finished the song Fred turned back to the first page, withoutlooking up from the music. "Now, once more, " he called. They beganagain, and did not hear Bowers when he came in and stood in the doorway. He stood still, blinking like an owl at their two heads shining in thesun. He could not see their faces, but there was something about hisgirl's back that he had not noticed before: a very slight and yet veryfree motion, from the toes up. Her whole back seemed plastic, seemed tobe moulding itself to the galloping rhythm of the song. Bowers perceivedsuch things sometimes--unwillingly. He had known to-day that there wassomething afoot. The river of sound which had its source in his pupilhad caught him two flights down. He had stopped and listened with a kindof sneering admiration. From the door he watched her with ahalf-incredulous, half-malicious smile. 

When he had struck the keys for the last time, Ottenburg dropped hishands on his knees and looked up with a quick breath. "I got youthrough. What a stunning song! Did I play it right?"

Thea studied his excited face. There was a good deal of meaning in it, and there was a good deal in her own as she answered him. "You suitedme, " she said ungrudgingly. 

After Ottenburg was gone, Thea noticed that Bowers was more agreeablethan usual. She had heard the young brewer ask Bowers to dine with himat his club that evening, and she saw that he looked forward to thedinner with pleasure. He dropped a remark to the effect that Fred knewas much about food and wines as any man in Chicago. He said thisboastfully. 

"If he's such a grand business man, how does he have time to run aroundlistening to singing-lessons?" Thea asked suspiciously. 

As she went home to her boarding-house through the February slush, shewished she were going to dine with them. At nine o'clock she looked upfrom her grammar to wonder what Bowers and Ottenburg were having to eat. At that moment they were talking of her. 

IV

THEA noticed that Bowers took rather more pains with her now that FredOttenburg often dropped in at eleven-thirty to hear her lesson. Afterthe lesson the young man took Bowers off to lunch with him, and Bowersliked good food when another man paid for it. He encouraged Fred'svisits, and Thea soon saw that Fred knew exactly why. 

One morning, after her lesson, Ottenburg turned to Bowers. "If you'lllend me Miss Thea, I think I have an engagement for her. Mrs. HenryNathanmeyer is going to give three musical evenings in April, firstthree Saturdays, and she has consulted me about soloists. For the firstevening she has a young violinist, and she would be charmed to have MissKronborg. She will pay fifty dollars. Not much, but Miss Thea would meetsome people there who might be useful. What do you say?"

Bowers passed the question on to Thea. "I guess you could use the fifty, couldn't you, Miss Kronborg? You can easily work up some songs. "

Thea was perplexed. "I need the money awfully, " she said frankly; "but Ihaven't got the right clothes for that sort of thing. I suppose I'dbetter try to get some. "

Ottenburg spoke up quickly, "Oh, you'd make nothing out of it if youwent to buying evening clothes. I've thought of that. Mrs. Nathanmeyerhas a troop of daughters, a perfect seraglio, all ages and sizes. She'llbe glad to fit you out, if you aren't sensitive about wearing kosherclothes. Let me take you to see her, and you'll find that she'll arrangethat easily enough. I told her she must produce something nice, blue oryellow, and properly cut. I brought half a dozen Worth gowns through thecustoms for her two weeks ago, and she's not ungrateful. When can we goto see her?"

"I haven't any time free, except at night, " Thea replied in someconfusion. 

"To-morrow evening, then? I shall call for you at eight. Bring all yoursongs along; she will want us to give her a little rehearsal, perhaps. I'll play your accompaniments, if you've no objection. That will savemoney for you and for Mrs. Nathanmeyer. She needs it. " Ottenburgchuckled as he took down the number of Thea's boarding-house. 

The Nathanmeyers were so rich and great that even Thea had heard ofthem, and this seemed a very remarkable opportunity. Ottenburg hadbrought it about by merely lifting a finger, apparently. He was a beerprince sure enough, as Bowers had said. 

The next evening at a quarter to eight Thea was dressed and waiting inthe boarding-house parlor. She was nervous and fidgety and found itdifficult to sit still on the hard, convex upholstery of the chairs. Shetried them one after another, moving about the dimly lighted, mustyroom, where the gas always leaked gently and sang in the burners. Therewas no one in the parlor but the medical student, who was playing one ofSousa's marches so vigorously that the china ornaments on the top of thepiano rattled. In a few moments some of the pension-office girls wouldcome in and begin to two-step. Thea wished that Ottenburg would come andlet her escape. She glanced at herself in the long, somber mirror. Shewas wearing her pale-blue broadcloth church dress, which was notunbecoming but was certainly too heavy to wear to anybody's house in theevening. Her slippers were run over at the heel and she had not had timeto have them mended, and her white gloves were not so clean as theyshould be. However, she knew that she would forget these annoying thingsas soon as Ottenburg came. 

Mary, the Hungarian chambermaid, came to the door, stood between theplush portieres, beckoned to Thea, and made an inarticulate sound in herthroat. Thea jumped up and ran into the hall, where Ottenburg stoodsmiling, his caped cloak open, his silk hat in his white-kid hand. TheHungarian girl stood like a monument on her flat heels, staring at thepink carnation in Ottenburg's coat. Her broad, pockmarked face wore theonly expression of which it was capable, a kind of animal wonder. As theyoung man followed Thea out, he glanced back over his shoulder throughthe crack of the door; the Hun clapped her hands over her stomach, opened her mouth, and made another raucous sound in her throat. 

"Isn't she awful?" Thea exclaimed. "I think she's half-witted. Can youunderstand her?"

Ottenburg laughed as he helped her into the carriage. "Oh, yes; I canunderstand her!" He settled himself on the front seat opposite Thea. "Now, I want to tell you about the people we are going to see. We mayhave a musical public in this country some day, but as yet there areonly the Germans and the Jews. All the other people go to hear JessieDarcey sing, 'O, Promise Me!' The Nathanmeyers are the finest kind ofJews. If you do anything for Mrs. Henry Nathanmeyer, you must putyourself into her hands. Whatever she says about music, about clothes, about life, will be correct. And you may feel at ease with her. Sheexpects nothing of people; she has lived in Chicago twenty years. If youwere to behave like the Magyar who was so interested in my buttonhole, she would not be surprised. If you were to sing like Jessie Darcey, shewould not be surprised; but she would manage not to hear you again. "

"Would she? Well, that's the kind of people I want to find. " Thea feltherself growing bolder. 

"You will be all right with her so long as you do not try to be anythingthat you are not. Her standards have nothing to do with Chicago. Herperceptions--or her grandmother's, which is the same thing--were keenwhen all this was an Indian village. So merely be yourself, and you willlike her. She will like you because the Jews always sense talent, and, "he added ironically, "they admire certain qualities of feeling that arefound only in the white-skinned races. "

Thea looked into the young man's face as the light of a street lampflashed into the carriage. His somewhat academic manner amused her. 

"What makes you take such an interest in singers?" she asked curiously. "You seem to have a perfect passion for hearing music-lessons. I wish Icould trade jobs with you!"

"I'm not interested in singers. " His tone was offended. "I am interestedin talent. There are only two interesting things in the world, anyhow;and talent is one of them. "

"What's the other?" The question came meekly from the figure oppositehim. Another arc-light flashed in at the window. 

Fred saw her face and broke into a laugh. "Why, you're guying me, youlittle wretch! You won't let me behave properly. " He dropped his glovedhand lightly on her knee, took it away and let it hang between his own. "Do you know, " he said confidentially, "I believe I'm more in earnestabout all this than you are. "

"About all what?"

"All you've got in your throat there. "

"Oh! I'm in earnest all right; only I never was much good at talking. Jessie Darcey is the smooth talker. 'You notice the effect I getthere--' If she only got 'em, she'd be a wonder, you know!"

Mr. And Mrs. Nathanmeyer were alone in their great library. Their threeunmarried daughters had departed in successive carriages, one to adinner, one to a Nietszche club, one to a ball given for the girlsemployed in the big department stores. When Ottenburg and Thea entered, Henry Nathanmeyer and his wife were sitting at a table at the fartherend of the long room, with a reading-lamp and a tray of cigarettes andcordial-glasses between them. The overhead lights were too soft to bringout the colors of the big rugs, and none of the picture lights were on. One could merely see that there were pictures there. Fred whispered thatthey were Rousseaus and Corots, very fine ones which the old banker hadbought long ago for next to nothing. In the hall Ottenburg had stoppedThea before a painting of a woman eating grapes out of a paper bag, andhad told her gravely that there was the most beautiful Manet in theworld. He made her take off her hat and gloves in the hall, and lookedher over a little before he took her in. But once they were in thelibrary he seemed perfectly satisfied with her and led her down the longroom to their hostess. 

Mrs. Nathanmeyer was a heavy, powerful old Jewess, with a greatpompadour of white hair, a swarthy complexion, an eagle nose, and sharp, glittering eyes. She wore a black velvet dress with a long train, and adiamond necklace and earrings. She took Thea to the other side of thetable and presented her to Mr. Nathanmeyer, who apologized for notrising, pointing to a slippered foot on a cushion; he said that hesuffered from gout. He had a very soft voice and spoke with an accentwhich would have been heavy if it had not been so caressing. He keptThea standing beside him for some time. He noticed that she stoodeasily, looked straight down into his face, and was not embarrassed. Even when Mrs. Nathanmeyer told Ottenburg to bring a chair for Thea, theold man did not release her hand, and she did not sit down. He admiredher just as she was, as she happened to be standing, and she felt it. Hewas much handsomer than his wife, Thea thought. His forehead was high, his hair soft and white, his skin pink, a little puffy under his clearblue eyes. She noticed how warm and delicate his hands were, pleasant totouch and beautiful to look at. Ottenburg had told her that Mr. Nathanmeyer had a very fine collection of medals and cameos, and hisfingers looked as if they had never touched anything but delicately cutsurfaces. 

He asked Thea where Moonstone was; how many inhabitants it had; what herfather's business was; from what part of Sweden her grandfather came;and whether she spoke Swedish as a child. He was interested to hear thather mother's mother was still living, and that her grandfather hadplayed the oboe. Thea felt at home standing there beside him; she feltthat he was very wise, and that he some way took one's life up andlooked it over kindly, as if it were a story. She was sorry when theyleft him to go into the music-room. 

As they reached the door of the music-room, Mrs. Nathanmeyer turned aswitch that threw on many lights. The room was even larger than thelibrary, all glittering surfaces, with two Steinway pianos. 

Mrs. Nathanmeyer rang for her own maid. "Selma will take you upstairs, Miss Kronborg, and you will find some dresses on the bed. Try several ofthem, and take the one you like best. Selma will help you. She has agreat deal of taste. When you are dressed, come down and let us go oversome of your songs with Mr. Ottenburg. "

After Thea went away with the maid, Ottenburg came up to Mrs. Nathanmeyer and stood beside her, resting his hand on the high back ofher chair. 

"Well, GNADIGE FRAU, do you like her?"

"I think so. I liked her when she talked to father. She will always geton better with men. "

Ottenburg leaned over her chair. "Prophetess! Do you see what I meant?"

"About her beauty? She has great possibilities, but you can never tellabout those Northern women. They look so strong, but they are easilybattered. The face falls so early under those wide cheek-bones. A singleidea--hate or greed, or even love--can tear them to shreds. She isnineteen? Well, in ten years she may have quite a regal beauty, or shemay have a heavy, discontented face, all dug out in channels. That willdepend upon the kind of ideas she lives with. "

"Or the kind of people?" Ottenburg suggested. 

The old Jewess folded her arms over her massive chest, drew back hershoulders, and looked up at the young man. "With that hard glint in hereye? The people won't matter much, I fancy. They will come and go. Sheis very much interested in herself--as she should be. "

Ottenburg frowned. "Wait until you hear her sing. Her eyes are differentthen. That gleam that comes in them is curious, isn't it? As you say, it's impersonal. "

The object of this discussion came in, smiling. She had chosen neitherthe blue nor the yellow gown, but a pale rose-color, with silverbutterflies. Mrs. Nathanmeyer lifted her lorgnette and studied her asshe approached. She caught the characteristic things at once: the free, strong walk, the calm carriage of the head, the milky whiteness of thegirl's arms and shoulders. 

"Yes, that color is good for you, " she said approvingly. "The yellow oneprobably killed your hair? Yes; this does very well indeed, so we needthink no more about it. "

Thea glanced questioningly at Ottenburg. He smiled and bowed, seemedperfectly satisfied. He asked her to stand in the elbow of the piano, infront of him, instead of behind him as she had been taught to do. 

"Yes, " said the hostess with feeling. "That other position isbarbarous. "

Thea sang an aria from 'Gioconda, ' some songs by Schumann which she hadstudied with Harsanyi, and the "TAK FOR DIT ROD, " which Ottenburg liked. 

"That you must do again, " he declared when they finished this song. "Youdid it much better the other day. You accented it more, like a dance ora galop. How did you do it?"

Thea laughed, glancing sidewise at Mrs. Nathanmeyer. "You want itrough-house, do you? Bowers likes me to sing it more seriously, but italways makes me think about a story my grandmother used to tell. "

Fred pointed to the chair behind her. "Won't you rest a moment and tellus about it? I thought you had some notion about it when you first sangit for me. "

Thea sat down. "In Norway my grandmother knew a girl who was awfully inlove with a young fellow. She went into service on a big dairy farm tomake enough money for her outfit. They were married at Christmastime, and everybody was glad, because they'd been sighing around about eachother for so long. That very summer, the day before St. John's Day, herhusband caught her carrying on with another farm-hand. The next nightall the farm people had a bonfire and a big dance up on the mountain, and everybody was dancing and singing. I guess they were all a littledrunk, for they got to seeing how near they could make the girls danceto the edge of the cliff. Ole--he was the girl's husband--seemed thejolliest and the drunkest of anybody. He danced his wife nearer andnearer the edge of the rock, and his wife began to scream so that theothers stopped dancing and the music stopped; but Ole went right onsinging, and he danced her over the edge of the cliff and they fellhundreds of feet and were all smashed to pieces. "

Ottenburg turned back to the piano. "That's the idea! Now, come MissThea. Let it go!"

Thea took her place. She laughed and drew herself up out of her corsets, threw her shoulders high and let them drop again. She had never sung ina low dress before, and she found it comfortable. Ottenburg jerked hishead and they began the song. The accompaniment sounded more than everlike the thumping and scraping of heavy feet. 

When they stopped, they heard a sympathetic tapping at the end of theroom. Old Mr. Nathanmeyer had come to the door and was sitting back inthe shadow, just inside the library, applauding with his cane. Theathrew him a bright smile. He continued to sit there, his slippered footon a low chair, his cane between his fingers, and she glanced at himfrom time to time. The doorway made a frame for him, and he looked likea man in a picture, with the long, shadowy room behind him. 

Mrs. Nathanmeyer summoned the maid again. "Selma will pack that gown ina box for you, and you can take it home in Mr. Ottenburg's carriage. "

Thea turned to follow the maid, but hesitated. "Shall I wear gloves?"she asked, turning again to Mrs. Nathanmeyer. 

"No, I think not. Your arms are good, and you will feel freer without. You will need light slippers, pink--or white, if you have them, will doquite as well. "

Thea went upstairs with the maid and Mrs. Nathanmeyer rose, tookOttenburg's arm, and walked toward her husband. "That's the first realvoice I have heard in Chicago, " she said decidedly. "I don't count thatstupid Priest woman. What do you say, father?"

Mr. Nathanmeyer shook his white head and smiled softly, as if he werethinking about something very agreeable. "SVENSK SOMMAR, " he murmured. "She is like a Swedish summer. I spent nearly a year there when I was ayoung man, " he explained to Ottenburg. 

When Ottenburg got Thea and her big box into the carriage, it occurredto him that she must be hungry, after singing so much. When he askedher, she admitted that she was very hungry, indeed. 

He took out his watch. "Would you mind stopping somewhere with me? It'sonly eleven. "

"Mind? Of course, I wouldn't mind. I wasn't brought up like that. I cantake care of myself. "

Ottenburg laughed. "And I can take care of myself, so we can do lots ofjolly things together. " He opened the carriage door and spoke to thedriver. "I'm stuck on the way you sing that Grieg song, " he declared. 

When Thea got into bed that night she told herself that this was thehappiest evening she had had in Chicago. She had enjoyed theNathanmeyers and their grand house, her new dress, and Ottenburg, herfirst real carriage ride, and the good supper when she was so hungry. And Ottenburg WAS jolly! He made you want to come back at him. Youweren't always being caught up and mystified. When you started in withhim, you went; you cut the breeze, as Ray used to say. He had some go inhim. 

Philip Frederick Ottenburg was the third son of the great brewer. Hismother was Katarina Furst, the daughter and heiress of a brewingbusiness older and richer than Otto Ottenburg's. As a young woman shehad been a conspicuous figure in German-American society in New York, and not untouched by scandal. She was a handsome, headstrong girl, arebellious and violent force in a provincial society. She was brutallysentimental and heavily romantic. Her free speech, her Continentalideas, and her proclivity for championing new causes, even when she didnot know much about them, made her an object of suspicion. She wasalways going abroad to seek out intellectual affinities, and was one ofthe group of young women who followed Wagner about in his old age, keeping at a respectful distance, but receiving now and then a graciousacknowledgment that he appreciated their homage. When the composer died, Katarina, then a matron with a family, took to her bed and saw no onefor a week. 

After having been engaged to an American actor, a Welsh socialistagitator, and a German army officer, Fraulein Furst at last placedherself and her great brewery interests into the trustworthy hands ofOtto Ottenburg, who had been her suitor ever since he was a clerk, learning his business in her father's office. 

Her first two sons were exactly like their father. Even as children theywere industrious, earnest little tradesmen. As Frau Ottenburg said, "shehad to wait for her Fred, but she got him at last, " the first man whohad altogether pleased her. Frederick entered Harvard when he waseighteen. When his mother went to Boston to visit him, she not only gothim everything he wished for, but she made handsome and oftenembarrassing presents to all his friends. She gave dinners and supperparties for the Glee Club, made the crew break training, and was agenerally disturbing influence. In his third year Fred left theuniversity because of a serious escapade which had somewhat hampered hislife ever since. He went at once into his father's business, where, inhis own way, he had made himself very useful. 

Fred Ottenburg was now twenty-eight, and people could only say of himthat he had been less hurt by his mother's indulgence than most boyswould have been. He had never wanted anything that he could not have it, and he might have had a great many things that he had never wanted. Hewas extravagant, but not prodigal. He turned most of the money hismother gave him into the business, and lived on his generous salary. 

Fred had never been bored for a whole day in his life. When he was inChicago or St. Louis, he went to ballgames, prize-fights, andhorse-races. When he was in Germany, he went to concerts and to theopera. He belonged to a long list of sporting-clubs and hunting-clubs, and was a good boxer. He had so many natural interests that he had noaffectations. At Harvard he kept away from the aesthetic circle that hadalready discovered Francis Thompson. He liked no poetry but Germanpoetry. Physical energy was the thing he was full to the brim of, andmusic was one of its natural forms of expression. He had a healthy loveof sport and art, of eating and drinking. When he was in Germany, hescarcely knew where the soup ended and the symphony began. 

V

MARCH began badly for Thea. She had a cold during the first week, andafter she got through her church duties on Sunday she had to go to bedwith tonsilitis. She was still in the boarding-house at which youngOttenburg had called when he took her to see Mrs. Nathanmeyer. She hadstayed on there because her room, although it was inconvenient and verysmall, was at the corner of the house and got the sunlight. 

Since she left Mrs. Lorch, this was the first place where she had gotaway from a north light. Her rooms had all been as damp and mouldy asthey were dark, with deep foundations of dirt under the carpets, anddirty walls. In her present room there was no running water and noclothes closet, and she had to have the dresser moved out to make roomfor her piano. But there were two windows, one on the south and one onthe west, a light wall-paper with morning-glory vines, and on the floora clean matting. The landlady had tried to make the room look cheerful, because it was hard to let. It was so small that Thea could keep itclean herself, after the Hun had done her worst. She hung her dresses onthe door under a sheet, used the washstand for a dresser, slept on acot, and opened both the windows when she practiced. She felt lesswalled in than she had in the other houses. 

Wednesday was her third day in bed. The medical student who lived in thehouse had been in to see her, had left some tablets and a foamy gargle, and told her that she could probably go back to work on Monday. Thelandlady stuck her head in once a day, but Thea did not encourage hervisits. The Hungarian chambermaid brought her soup and toast. She made asloppy pretense of putting the room in order, but she was such a dirtycreature that Thea would not let her touch her cot; she got up everymorning and turned the mattress and made the bed herself. The exertionmade her feel miserably ill, but at least she could lie stillcontentedly for a long while afterward. She hated the poisoned feelingin her throat, and no matter how often she gargled she felt unclean anddisgusting. Still, if she had to be ill, she was almost glad that shehad a contagious illness. Otherwise she would have been at the mercy ofthe people in the house. She knew that they disliked her, yet now thatshe was ill, they took it upon themselves to tap at her door, send hermessages, books, even a miserable flower or two. Thea knew that theirsympathy was an expression of self-righteousness, and she hated them forit. The divinity student, who was always whispering soft things to her, sent her "The Kreutzer Sonata. "

The medical student had been kind to her: he knew that she did not wantto pay a doctor. His gargle had helped her, and he gave her things tomake her sleep at night. But he had been a cheat, too. He had exceededhis rights. She had no soreness in her chest, and had told him soclearly. All this thumping of her back, and listening to her breathing, was done to satisfy personal curiosity. She had watched him with acontemptuous smile. She was too sick to care; if it amused him--She madehim wash his hands before he touched her; he was never very clean. Allthe same, it wounded her and made her feel that the world was a prettydisgusting place. "The Kreutzer Sonata" did not make her feel any morecheerful. She threw it aside with hatred. She could not believe it waswritten by the same man who wrote the novel that had thrilled her. 

Her cot was beside the south window, and on Wednesday afternoon she laythinking about the Harsanyis, about old Mr. Nathanmeyer, and about howshe was missing Fred Ottenburg's visits to the studio. That was much theworst thing about being sick. If she were going to the studio every day, she might be having pleasant encounters with Fred. He was always runningaway, Bowers said, and he might be planning to go away as soon as Mrs. Nathanmeyer's evenings were over. And here she was losing all this time!

After a while she heard the Hun's clumsy trot in the hall, and then apound on the door. Mary came in, making her usual uncouth sounds, carrying a long box and a big basket. Thea sat up in bed and tore offthe strings and paper. The basket was full of fruit, with a big Hawaiianpineapple in the middle, and in the box there were layers of pink roseswith long, woody stems and dark-green leaves. They filled the room witha cool smell that made another air to breathe. Mary stood with her apronfull of paper and cardboard. When she saw Thea take an envelope out fromunder the flowers, she uttered an exclamation, pointed to the roses, andthen to the bosom of her own dress, on the left side. Thea laughed andnodded. She understood that Mary associated the color with Ottenburg'sBOUTONNIERE. She pointed to the water pitcher, --she had nothing else bigenough to hold the flowers, --and made Mary put it on the window sillbeside her. 

After Mary was gone Thea locked the door. When the landlady knocked, shepretended that she was asleep. She lay still all afternoon and withdrowsy eyes watched the roses open. They were the first hothouse flowersshe had ever had. The cool fragrance they released was soothing, and asthe pink petals curled back, they were the only things between her andthe gray sky. She lay on her side, putting the room and theboarding-house behind her. Fred knew where all the pleasant things inthe world were, she reflected, and knew the road to them. He had keys toall the nice places in his pocket, and seemed to jingle them from timeto time. And then, he was young; and her friends had always been old. Her mind went back over them. They had all been teachers; wonderfullykind, but still teachers. Ray Kennedy, she knew, had wanted to marryher, but he was the most protecting and teacher-like of them all. Shemoved impatiently in her cot and threw her braids away from her hotneck, over her pillow. "I don't want him for a teacher, " she thought, frowning petulantly out of the window. "I've had such a string of them. I want him for a sweetheart. "

VI

"THEA, " said Fred Ottenburg one drizzly afternoon in April, while theysat waiting for their tea at a restaurant in the Pullman Building, overlooking the lake, "what are you going to do this summer?"

"I don't know. Work, I suppose. "

"With Bowers, you mean? Even Bowers goes fishing for a month. Chicago'sno place to work, in the summer. Haven't you made any plans?"

Thea shrugged her shoulders. "No use having any plans when you haven'tany money. They are unbecoming. "

"Aren't you going home?"

She shook her head. "No. It won't be comfortable there till I've gotsomething to show for myself. I'm not getting on at all, you know. Thisyear has been mostly wasted. "

"You're stale; that's what's the matter with you. And just now you'redead tired. You'll talk more rationally after you've had some tea. Restyour throat until it comes. " They were sitting by a window. As Ottenburglooked at her in the gray light, he remembered what Mrs. Nathanmeyer hadsaid about the Swedish face "breaking early. " Thea was as gray as theweather. Her skin looked sick. Her hair, too, though on a damp day itcurled charmingly about her face, looked pale. 

Fred beckoned the waiter and increased his order for food. Thea did nothear him. She was staring out of the window, down at the roof of the ArtInstitute and the green lions, dripping in the rain. The lake was allrolling mist, with a soft shimmer of robin's-egg blue in the gray. Alumber boat, with two very tall masts, was emerging gaunt and black outof the fog. When the tea came Thea ate hungrily, and Fred watched her. He thought her eyes became a little less bleak. The kettle sangcheerfully over the spirit lamp, and she seemed to concentrate herattention upon that pleasant sound. She kept looking toward itlistlessly and indulgently, in a way that gave him a realization of herloneliness. Fred lit a cigarette and smoked thoughtfully. He and Theawere alone in the quiet, dusky room full of white tables. In those daysChicago people never stopped for tea. "Come, " he said at last, "whatwould you do this summer, if you could do whatever you wished?"

"I'd go a long way from here! West, I think. Maybe I could get some ofmy spring back. All this cold, cloudy weather, "--she looked out at thelake and shivered, --"I don't know, it does things to me, " she endedabruptly. 

Fred nodded. "I know. You've been going down ever since you hadtonsilitis. I've seen it. What you need is to sit in the sun and bakefor three months. You've got the right idea. I remember once when wewere having dinner somewhere you kept asking me about the Cliff-Dwellerruins. Do they still interest you?"

"Of course they do. I've always wanted to go down there--long before Iever got in for this. "

"I don't think I told you, but my father owns a whole canyon full ofCliff-Dweller ruins. He has a big worthless ranch down in Arizona, neara Navajo reservation, and there's a canyon on the place they callPanther Canyon, chock full of that sort of thing. I often go down thereto hunt. Henry Biltmer and his wife live there and keep a tidy place. He's an old German who worked in the brewery until he lost his health. Now he runs a few cattle. Henry likes to do me a favor. I've done a fewfor him. " Fred drowned his cigarette in his saucer and studied Thea'sexpression, which was wistful and intent, envious and admiring. Hecontinued with satisfaction: "If you went down there and stayed withthem for two or three months, they wouldn't let you pay anything. Imight send Henry a new gun, but even I couldn't offer him money forputting up a friend of mine. I'll get you transportation. It would makea new girl of you. Let me write to Henry, and you pack your trunk. That's all that's necessary. No red tape about it. What do you say, Thea?"

She bit her lip, and sighed as if she were waking up. 

Fred crumpled his napkin impatiently. "Well, isn't it easy enough?"

"That's the trouble; it's TOO easy. Doesn't sound probable. I'm not usedto getting things for nothing. "

Ottenburg laughed. "Oh, if that's all, I'll show you how to begin. Youwon't get this for nothing, quite. I'll ask you to let me stop off andsee you on my way to California. Perhaps by that time you will be gladto see me. Better let me break the news to Bowers. I can manage him. Heneeds a little transportation himself now and then. You must getcorduroy riding-things and leather leggings. There are a few snakesabout. Why do you keep frowning?"

"Well, I don't exactly see why you take the trouble. What do you get outof it? You haven't liked me so well the last two or three weeks. "

Fred dropped his third cigarette and looked at his watch. "If you don'tsee that, it's because you need a tonic. I'll show you what I'll get outof it. Now I'm going to get a cab and take you home. You are too tiredto walk a step. You'd better get to bed as soon as you get there. Ofcourse, I don't like you so well when you're half anaesthetized all thetime. What have you been doing to yourself?"

Thea rose. "I don't know. Being bored eats the heart out of me, Iguess. " She walked meekly in front of him to the elevator. Fred noticedfor the hundredth time how vehemently her body proclaimed her state offeeling. He remembered how remarkably brilliant and beautiful she hadbeen when she sang at Mrs. Nathanmeyer's: flushed and gleaming, roundand supple, something that couldn't be dimmed or downed. And now sheseemed a moving figure of discouragement. The very waiters glanced ather apprehensively. It was not that she made a fuss, but her back wasmost extraordinarily vocal. One never needed to see her face to knowwhat she was full of that day. Yet she was certainly not mercurial. Herflesh seemed to take a mood and to "set, " like plaster. As he put herinto the cab, Fred reflected once more that he "gave her up. " He wouldattack her when his lance was brighter. 

PART IV. THE ANCIENT PEOPLE

I

THE San Francisco Mountain lies in Northern Arizona, above Flagstaff, and its blue slopes and snowy summit entice the eye for a hundred milesacross the desert. About its base lie the pine forests of the Navajos, where the great red-trunked trees live out their peaceful centuries inthat sparkling air. The PINONS and scrub begin only where the forestends, where the country breaks into open, stony clearings and thesurface of the earth cracks into deep canyons. The great pines stand ata considerable distance from each other. Each tree grows alone, murmursalone, thinks alone. They do not intrude upon each other. The Navajosare not much in the habit of giving or of asking help. Their language isnot a communicative one, and they never attempt an interchange ofpersonality in speech. Over their forests there is the same inexorablereserve. Each tree has its exalted power to bear. 

That was the first thing Thea Kronborg felt about the forest, as shedrove through it one May morning in Henry Biltmer's democrat wagon--andit was the first great forest she had ever seen. She had got off thetrain at Flagstaff that morning, rolled off into the high, chill airwhen all the pines on the mountain were fired by sunrise, so that sheseemed to fall from sleep directly into the forest. 

Old Biltmer followed a faint wagon trail which ran southeast, and which, as they traveled, continually dipped lower, falling away from the highplateau on the slope of which Flagstaff sits. The white peak of themountain, the snow gorges above the timber, now disappeared from time totime as the road dropped and dropped, and the forest closed behind thewagon. More than the mountain disappeared as the forest closed thus. Thea seemed to be taking very little through the wood with her. Thepersonality of which she was so tired seemed to let go of her. The high, sparkling air drank it up like blotting-paper. It was lost in thethrilling blue of the new sky and the song of the thin wind in thePINONS. The old, fretted lines which marked one off, which definedher, --made her Thea Kronborg, Bowers's accompanist, a soprano with afaulty middle voice, --were all erased. 

So far she had failed. Her two years in Chicago had not resulted inanything. She had failed with Harsanyi, and she had made no greatprogress with her voice. She had come to believe that whatever Bowershad taught her was of secondary importance, and that in the essentialthings she had made no advance. Her student life closed behind her, likethe forest, and she doubted whether she could go back to it if shetried. Probably she would teach music in little country towns all herlife. Failure was not so tragic as she would have supposed; she wastired enough not to care. 

She was getting back to the earliest sources of gladness that she couldremember. She had loved the sun, and the brilliant solitudes of sand andsun, long before these other things had come along to fasten themselvesupon her and torment her. That night, when she clambered into her bigGerman feather bed, she felt completely released from the enslavingdesire to get on in the world. Darkness had once again the sweet wonderthat it had in childhood. 

II

THEA'S life at the Ottenburg ranch was simple and full of light, likethe days themselves. She awoke every morning when the first fierceshafts of sunlight darted through the curtainless windows of her room atthe ranch house. After breakfast she took her lunch-basket and went downto the canyon. Usually she did not return until sunset. 

Panther Canyon was like a thousand others--one of those abrupt fissureswith which the earth in the Southwest is riddled; so abrupt that youmight walk over the edge of any one of them on a dark night and neverknow what had happened to you. This canyon headed on the Ottenburgranch, about a mile from the ranch house, and it was accessible only atits head. The canyon walls, for the first two hundred feet below thesurface, were perpendicular cliffs, striped with even-running strata ofrock. From there on to the bottom the sides were less abrupt, wereshelving, and lightly fringed with PINONS and dwarf cedars. The effectwas that of a gentler canyon within a wilder one. The dead city lay atthe point where the perpendicular outer wall ceased and the V-shapedinner gorge began. There a stratum of rock, softer than those above, hadbeen hollowed out by the action of time until it was like a deep grooverunning along the sides of the canyon. In this hollow (like a great foldin the rock) the Ancient People had built their houses of yellowishstone and mortar. The over-hanging cliff above made a roof two hundredfeet thick. The hard stratum below was an everlasting floor. The housesstood along in a row, like the buildings in a city block, or like abarracks. 

In both walls of the canyon the same streak of soft rock had been washedout, and the long horizontal groove had been built up with houses. Thedead city had thus two streets, one set in either cliff, facing eachother across the ravine, with a river of blue air between them. 

The canyon twisted and wound like a snake, and these two streets went onfor four miles or more, interrupted by the abrupt turnings of the gorge, but beginning again within each turn. The canyon had a dozen of thesefalse endings near its head. Beyond, the windings were larger and lessperceptible, and it went on for a hundred miles, too narrow, precipitous, and terrible for man to follow it. The Cliff Dwellers likedwide canyons, where the great cliffs caught the sun. Panther Canyon hadbeen deserted for hundreds of years when the first Spanish missionariescame into Arizona, but the masonry of the houses was still wonderfullyfirm; had crumbled only where a landslide or a rolling boulder had tornit. 

All the houses in the canyon were clean with the cleanness of sun-baked, wind-swept places, and they all smelled of the tough little cedars thattwisted themselves into the very doorways. One of these rock-rooms Theatook for her own. Fred had told her how to make it comfortable. The dayafter she came old Henry brought over on one of the pack-ponies a rollof Navajo blankets that belonged to Fred, and Thea lined her cave withthem. The room was not more than eight by ten feet, and she could touchthe stone roof with her finger-tips. This was her old idea: a nest in ahigh cliff, full of sun. All morning long the sun beat upon her cliff, while the ruins on the opposite side of the canyon were in shadow. Inthe afternoon, when she had the shade of two hundred feet of rock wall, the ruins on the other side of the gulf stood out in the blazingsunlight. Before her door ran the narrow, winding path that had been thestreet of the Ancient People. The yucca and niggerhead cactus greweverywhere. From her doorstep she looked out on the ocher-colored slopethat ran down several hundred feet to the stream, and this hot rock wassparsely grown with dwarf trees. Their colors were so pale that theshadows of the little trees on the rock stood out sharper than the treesthemselves. When Thea first came, the chokecherry bushes were inblossom, and the scent of them was almost sickeningly sweet after ashower. At the very bottom of the canyon, along the stream, there was athread of bright, flickering, golden-green, --cottonwood seedlings. Theymade a living, chattering screen behind which she took her bath everymorning. 

Thea went down to the stream by the Indian water trail. She had found abathing-pool with a sand bottom, where the creek was damned by fallentrees. The climb back was long and steep, and when she reached herlittle house in the cliff she always felt fresh delight in its comfortand inaccessibility. By the time she got there, the woolly red-and-grayblankets were saturated with sunlight, and she sometimes fell asleep assoon as she stretched her body on their warm surfaces. She used towonder at her own inactivity. She could lie there hour after hour in thesun and listen to the strident whir of the big locusts, and to thelight, ironical laughter of the quaking asps. All her life she had beenhurrying and sputtering, as if she had been born behind time and hadbeen trying to catch up. Now, she reflected, as she drew herself outlong upon the rugs, it was as if she were waiting for something to catchup with her. She had got to a place where she was out of the stream ofmeaningless activity and undirected effort. 

Here she could lie for half a day undistracted, holding pleasant andincomplete conceptions in her mind--almost in her hands. They werescarcely clear enough to be called ideas. They had something to do withfragrance and color and sound, but almost nothing to do with words. Shewas singing very little now, but a song would go through her head allmorning, as a spring keeps welling up, and it was like a pleasantsensation indefinitely prolonged. It was much more like a sensation thanlike an idea, or an act of remembering. Music had never come to her inthat sensuous form before. It had always been a thing to be struggledwith, had always brought anxiety and exaltation and chagrin--nevercontent and indolence. Thea began to wonder whether people could notutterly lose the power to work, as they can lose their voice or theirmemory. She had always been a little drudge, hurrying from one task toanother--as if it mattered! And now her power to think seemed convertedinto a power of sustained sensation. She could become a mere receptaclefor heat, or become a color, like the bright lizards that darted abouton the hot stones outside her door; or she could become a continuousrepetition of sound, like the cicadas. 

III

THE faculty of observation was never highly developed in Thea Kronborg. A great deal escaped her eye as she passed through the world. But thethings which were for her, she saw; she experienced them physically andremembered them as if they had once been a part of herself. The rosesshe used to see in the florists' shops in Chicago were merely roses. Butwhen she thought of the moonflowers that grew over Mrs. Tellamantez'sdoor, it was as if she had been that vine and had opened up in whiteflowers every night. There were memories of light on the sand hills, ofmasses of prickly-pear blossoms she had found in the desert in earlychildhood, of the late afternoon sun pouring through the grape leavesand the mint bed in Mrs. Kohler's garden, which she would never lose. These recollections were a part of her mind and personality. In Chicagoshe had got almost nothing that went into her subconscious self and tookroot there. But here, in Panther Canyon, there were again things whichseemed destined for her. 

Panther Canyon was the home of innumerable swallows. They built nests inthe wall far above the hollow groove in which Thea's own rock chamberlay. They seldom ventured above the rim of the canyon, to the flat, wind-swept tableland. Their world was the blue air-river between thecanyon walls. In that blue gulf the arrow-shaped birds swam all daylong, with only an occasional movement of the wings. The only sad thingabout them was their timidity; the way in which they lived their livesbetween the echoing cliffs and never dared to rise out of the shadow ofthe canyon walls. As they swam past her door, Thea often felt how easyit would be to dream one's life out in some cleft in the world. 

From the ancient dwelling there came always a dignified, unobtrusivesadness; now stronger, now fainter, --like the aromatic smell which thedwarf cedars gave out in the sun, --but always present, a part of the airone breathed. At night, when Thea dreamed about the canyon, --or in theearly morning when she hurried toward it, anticipating it, --herconception of it was of yellow rocks baking in sunlight, the swallows, the cedar smell, and that peculiar sadness--a voice out of the past, notvery loud, that went on saying a few simple things to the solitudeeternally. 

Standing up in her lodge, Thea could with her thumb nail dislodge flakesof carbon from the rock roof--the cooking-smoke of the Ancient People. They were that near! A timid, nest-building folk, like the swallows. Howoften Thea remembered Ray Kennedy's moralizing about the cliff cities. He used to say that he never felt the hardness of the human struggle orthe sadness of history as he felt it among those ruins. He used to say, too, that it made one feel an obligation to do one's best. On the firstday that Thea climbed the water trail she began to have intuitions aboutthe women who had worn the path, and who had spent so great a part oftheir lives going up and down it. She found herself trying to walk asthey must have walked, with a feeling in her feet and knees and loinswhich she had never known before, --which must have come up to her out ofthe accustomed dust of that rocky trail. She could feel the weight of anIndian baby hanging to her back as she climbed. 

The empty houses, among which she wandered in the afternoon, theblanketed one in which she lay all morning, were haunted by certainfears and desires; feelings about warmth and cold and water and physicalstrength. It seemed to Thea that a certain understanding of those oldpeople came up to her out of the rock shelf on which she lay; thatcertain feelings were transmitted to her, suggestions that were simple, insistent, and monotonous, like the beating of Indian drums. They werenot expressible in words, but seemed rather to translate themselves intoattitudes of body, into degrees of muscular tension or relaxation; thenaked strength of youth, sharp as the sunshafts; the crouchingtimorousness of age, the sullenness of women who waited for theircaptors. At the first turning of the canyon there was a half-ruinedtower of yellow masonry, a watch-tower upon which the young men used toentice eagles and snare them with nets. Sometimes for a whole morningThea could see the coppery breast and shoulders of an Indian youth thereagainst the sky; see him throw the net, and watch the struggle with theeagle. 

Old Henry Biltmer, at the ranch, had been a great deal among the PuebloIndians who are the descendants of the Cliff-Dwellers. After supper heused to sit and smoke his pipe by the kitchen stove and talk to Theaabout them. He had never found any one before who was interested in hisruins. Every Sunday the old man prowled about in the canyon, and he hadcome to know a good deal more about it than he could account for. He hadgathered up a whole chestful of Cliff-Dweller relics which he meant totake back to Germany with him some day. He taught Thea how to findthings among the ruins: grinding-stones, and drills and needles made ofturkey-bones. There were fragments of pottery everywhere. Old Henryexplained to her that the Ancient People had developed masonry andpottery far beyond any other crafts. After they had made houses forthemselves, the next thing was to house the precious water. He explainedto her how all their customs and ceremonies and their religion went backto water. The men provided the food, but water was the care of thewomen. The stupid women carried water for most of their lives; thecleverer ones made the vessels to hold it. Their pottery was their mostdirect appeal to water, the envelope and sheath of the precious elementitself. The strongest Indian need was expressed in those graceful jars, fashioned slowly by hand, without the aid of a wheel. 

When Thea took her bath at the bottom of the canyon, in the sunny poolbehind the screen of cottonwoods, she sometimes felt as if the watermust have sovereign qualities, from having been the object of so muchservice and desire. That stream was the only living thing left of thedrama that had been played out in the canyon centuries ago. In therapid, restless heart of it, flowing swifter than the rest, there was acontinuity of life that reached back into the old time. The glitteringthread of current had a kind of lightly worn, loosely knit personality, graceful and laughing. Thea's bath came to have a ceremonial gravity. The atmosphere of the canyon was ritualistic. 

One morning, as she was standing upright in the pool, splashing waterbetween her shoulder-blades with a big sponge, something flashed throughher mind that made her draw herself up and stand still until the waterhad quite dried upon her flushed skin. The stream and the brokenpottery: what was any art but an effort to make a sheath, a mould inwhich to imprison for a moment the shining, elusive element which islife itself, --life hurrying past us and running away, too strong tostop, too sweet to lose? The Indian women had held it in their jars. Inthe sculpture she had seen in the Art Institute, it had been caught in aflash of arrested motion. In singing, one made a vessel of one's throatand nostrils and held it on one's breath, caught the stream in a scaleof natural intervals. 

IV

THEA had a superstitious feeling about the potsherds, and liked betterto leave them in the dwellings where she found them. If she took a fewbits back to her own lodge and hid them under the blankets, she did itguiltily, as if she were being watched. She was a guest in these houses, and ought to behave as such. Nearly every afternoon she went to thechambers which contained the most interesting fragments of pottery, satand looked at them for a while. Some of them were beautifully decorated. This care, expended upon vessels that could not hold food or water anybetter for the additional labor put upon them, made her heart go out tothose ancient potters. They had not only expressed their desire, butthey had expressed it as beautifully as they could. Food, fire, water, and something else--even here, in this crack in the world, so far backin the night of the past! Down here at the beginning that painful thingwas already stirring; the seed of sorrow, and of so much delight. 

There were jars done in a delicate overlay, like pine cones; and therewere many patterns in a low relief, like basket-work. Some of thepottery was decorated in color, red and brown, black and white, ingraceful geometrical patterns. One day, on a fragment of a shallow bowl, she found a crested serpent's head, painted in red on terra-cotta. Againshe found half a bowl with a broad band of white cliff-houses painted ona black ground. They were scarcely conventionalized at all; there theywere in the black border, just as they stood in the rock before her. Itbrought her centuries nearer to these people to find that they saw theirhouses exactly as she saw them. 

Yes, Ray Kennedy was right. All these things made one feel that oneought to do one's best, and help to fulfill some desire of the dust thatslept there. A dream had been dreamed there long ago, in the night ofages, and the wind had whispered some promise to the sadness of thesavage. In their own way, those people had felt the beginnings of whatwas to come. These potsherds were like fetters that bound one to a longchain of human endeavor. 

Not only did the world seem older and richer to Thea now, but sheherself seemed older. She had never been alone for so long before, orthought so much. Nothing had ever engrossed her so deeply as the dailycontemplation of that line of pale-yellow houses tucked into the wrinkleof the cliff. Moonstone and Chicago had become vague. Here everythingwas simple and definite, as things had been in childhood. Her mind waslike a ragbag into which she had been frantically thrusting whatever shecould grab. And here she must throw this lumber away. The things thatwere really hers separated themselves from the rest. Her ideas weresimplified, became sharper and clearer. She felt united and strong. 

When Thea had been at the Ottenburg ranch for two months, she got aletter from Fred announcing that he "might be along at almost any timenow. " The letter came at night, and the next morning she took it downinto the canyon with her. She was delighted that he was coming soon. Shehad never felt so grateful to any one, and she wanted to tell himeverything that had happened to her since she had been there--more thanhad happened in all her life before. Certainly she liked Fred betterthan any one else in the world. There was Harsanyi, of course--butHarsanyi was always tired. Just now, and here, she wanted some one whohad never been tired, who could catch an idea and run with it. 

She was ashamed to think what an apprehensive drudge she must alwayshave seemed to Fred, and she wondered why he had concerned himself abouther at all. Perhaps she would never be so happy or so good-lookingagain, and she would like Fred to see her, for once, at her best. Shehad not been singing much, but she knew that her voice was moreinteresting than it had ever been before. She had begun to understandthat--with her, at least--voice was, first of all, vitality; a lightnessin the body and a driving power in the blood. If she had that, she couldsing. When she felt so keenly alive, lying on that insensible shelf ofstone, when her body bounded like a rubber ball away from its hardness, then she could sing. This, too, she could explain to Fred. He would knowwhat she meant. 

Another week passed. Thea did the same things as before, felt the sameinfluences, went over the same ideas; but there was a livelier movementin her thoughts, and a freshening of sensation, like the brightnesswhich came over the underbrush after a shower. A persistentaffirmation--or denial--was going on in her, like the tapping of thewoodpecker in the one tall pine tree across the chasm. Musical phrasesdrove each other rapidly through her mind, and the song of the cicadawas now too long and too sharp. Everything seemed suddenly to take theform of a desire for action. 

It was while she was in this abstracted state, waiting for the clock tostrike, that Thea at last made up her mind what she was going to try todo in the world, and that she was going to Germany to study withoutfurther loss of time. Only by the merest chance had she ever got toPanther Canyon. There was certainly no kindly Providence that directedone's life; and one's parents did not in the least care what became ofone, so long as one did not misbehave and endanger their comfort. One'slife was at the mercy of blind chance. She had better take it in her ownhands and lose everything than meekly draw the plough under the rod ofparental guidance. She had seen it when she was at home lastsummer, --the hostility of comfortable, self-satisfied people toward anyserious effort. Even to her father it seemed indecorous. Whenever shespoke seriously, he looked apologetic. Yet she had clung fast towhatever was left of Moonstone in her mind. No more of that! TheCliff-Dwellers had lengthened her past. She had older and higherobligations. 

V

ONE Sunday afternoon late in July old Henry Biltmer was rheumaticallydescending into the head of the canyon. The Sunday before had been oneof those cloudy days--fortunately rare--when the life goes out of thatcountry and it becomes a gray ghost, an empty, shivering uncertainty. Henry had spent the day in the barn; his canyon was a reality only whenit was flooded with the light of its great lamp, when the yellow rockscast purple shadows, and the resin was fairly cooking in the corkscrewcedars. The yuccas were in blossom now. Out of each clump of sharpbayonet leaves rose a tall stalk hung with greenish-white bells withthick, fleshy petals. The niggerhead cactus was thrusting its crimsonblooms up out of every crevice in the rocks. 

Henry had come out on the pretext of hunting a spade and pick-axe thatyoung Ottenburg had borrowed, but he was keeping his eyes open. He wasreally very curious about the new occupants of the canyon, and what theyfound to do there all day long. He let his eye travel along the gulf fora mile or so to the first turning, where the fissure zigzagged out andthen receded behind a stone promontory on which stood the yellowish, crumbling ruin of the old watch-tower. 

From the base of this tower, which now threw its shadow forward, bits ofrock kept flying out into the open gulf--skating upon the air until theylost their momentum, then falling like chips until they rang upon theledges at the bottom of the gorge or splashed into the stream. Biltmershaded his eyes with his hand. There on the promontory, against thecream-colored cliff, were two figures nimbly moving in the light, bothslender and agile, entirely absorbed in their game. They looked like twoboys. Both were hatless and both wore white shirts. 

Henry forgot his pick-axe and followed the trail before the cliff-housestoward the tower. Behind the tower, as he well knew, were heaps ofstones, large and small, piled against the face of the cliff. He hadalways believed that the Indian watchmen piled them there forammunition. Thea and Fred had come upon these missiles and were throwingthem for distance. As Biltmer approached he could hear them laughing, and he caught Thea's voice, high and excited, with a ring of vexation init. Fred was teaching her to throw a heavy stone like a discus. When itwas Fred's turn, he sent a triangular-shaped stone out into the air withconsiderable skill. Thea watched it enviously, standing in ahalf-defiant posture, her sleeves rolled above her elbows and her faceflushed with heat and excitement. After Fred's third missile had rungupon the rocks below, she snatched up a stone and stepped impatientlyout on the ledge in front of him. He caught her by the elbows and pulledher back. 

"Not so close, you silly! You'll spin yourself off in a minute. "

"You went that close. There's your heel-mark, " she retorted. 

"Well, I know how. That makes a difference. " He drew a mark in the dustwith his toe. "There, that's right. Don't step over that. Pivot yourselfon your spine, and make a half turn. When you've swung your length, letit go. "

Thea settled the flat piece of rock between her wrist and fingers, facedthe cliff wall, stretched her arm in position, whirled round on her leftfoot to the full stretch of her body, and let the missile spin out overthe gulf. She hung expectantly in the air, forgetting to draw back herarm, her eyes following the stone as if it carried her fortunes with it. Her comrade watched her; there weren't many girls who could show a linelike that from the toe to the thigh, from the shoulder to the tip of theoutstretched hand. The stone spent itself and began to fall. Thea drewback and struck her knee furiously with her palm. 

"There it goes again! Not nearly so far as yours. What IS the matterwith me? Give me another. " She faced the cliff and whirled again. Thestone spun out, not quite so far as before. 

Ottenburg laughed. "Why do you keep on working AFTER you've thrown it?You can't help it along then. "

Without replying, Thea stooped and selected another stone, took a deepbreath and made another turn. Fred watched the disk, exclaiming, "Goodgirl! You got past the pine that time. That's a good throw. "

She took out her handkerchief and wiped her glowing face and throat, pausing to feel her right shoulder with her left hand. 

"Ah--ha, you've made yourself sore, haven't you? What did I tell you?You go at things too hard. I'll tell you what I'm going to do, Thea, "Fred dusted his hands and began tucking in the blouse of his shirt, "I'mgoing to make some single-sticks and teach you to fence. You'd be allright there. You're light and quick and you've got lots of drive in you. I'd like to have you come at me with foils; you'd look so fierce, " hechuckled. 

She turned away from him and stubbornly sent out another stone, hangingin the air after its flight. Her fury amused Fred, who took all gameslightly and played them well. She was breathing hard, and little beadsof moisture had gathered on her upper lip. He slipped his arm about her. "If you will look as pretty as that--" he bent his head and kissed her. Thea was startled, gave him an angry push, drove at him with her freehand in a manner quite hostile. Fred was on his mettle in an instant. Hepinned both her arms down and kissed her resolutely. 

When he released her, she turned away and spoke over her shoulder. "Thatwas mean of you, but I suppose I deserved what I got. "

"I should say you did deserve it, " Fred panted, "turning savage on melike that! I should say you did deserve it!"

He saw her shoulders harden. "Well, I just said I deserved it, didn't I?What more do you want?"

"I want you to tell me why you flew at me like that! You weren'tplaying; you looked as if you'd like to murder me. "

She brushed back her hair impatiently. "I didn't mean anything, really. You interrupted me when I was watching the stone. I can't jump from onething to another. I pushed you without thinking. "

Fred thought her back expressed contrition. He went up to her, stoodbehind her with his chin above her shoulder, and said something in herear. Thea laughed and turned toward him. They left the stone-pilecarelessly, as if they had never been interested in it, rounded theyellow tower, and disappeared into the second turn of the canyon, wherethe dead city, interrupted by the jutting promontory, began again. 

Old Biltmer had been somewhat embarrassed by the turn the game hadtaken. He had not heard their conversation, but the pantomime againstthe rocks was clear enough. When the two young people disappeared, theirhost retreated rapidly toward the head of the canyon. 

"I guess that young lady can take care of herself, " he chuckled. "YoungFred, though, he has quite a way with them. "

VI

DAY was breaking over Panther Canyon. The gulf was cold and full ofheavy, purplish twilight. The wood smoke which drifted from one of thecliff-houses hung in a blue scarf across the chasm, until the draftcaught it and whirled it away. Thea was crouching in the doorway of herrock house, while Ottenburg looked after the crackling fire in the nextcave. He was waiting for it to burn down to coals before he put thecoffee on to boil. 

They had left the ranch house that morning a little after three o'clock, having packed their camp equipment the day before, and had crossed theopen pasture land with their lantern while the stars were still bright. During the descent into the canyon by lantern-light, they were chilledthrough their coats and sweaters. The lantern crept slowly along therock trail, where the heavy air seemed to offer resistance. The voice ofthe stream at the bottom of the gorge was hollow and threatening, muchlouder and deeper than it ever was by day--another voice altogether. Thesullenness of the place seemed to say that the world could get on verywell without people, red or white; that under the human world there wasa geological world, conducting its silent, immense operations which wereindifferent to man. Thea had often seen the desert sunrise, --alighthearted affair, where the sun springs out of bed and the world isgolden in an instant. But this canyon seemed to waken like an old man, with rheum and stiffness of the joints, with heaviness, and a dull, malignant mind. She crouched against the wall while the stars faded, andthought what courage the early races must have had to endure so much forthe little they got out of life. 

At last a kind of hopefulness broke in the air. In a moment thepine trees up on the edge of the rim were flashing with copperyfire. The thin red clouds which hung above their pointed tops began toboil and move rapidly, weaving in and out like smoke. The swallowsdarted out of their rock houses as at a signal, and flew upward, towardthe rim. Little brown birds began to chirp in the bushes along thewatercourse down at the bottom of the ravine, where everything was stilldusky and pale. At first the golden light seemed to hang like a waveupon the rim of the canyon; the trees and bushes up there, which onescarcely noticed at noon, stood out magnified by the slanting rays. Long, thin streaks of light began to reach quiveringly down into thecanyon. The red sun rose rapidly above the tops of the blazing pines, and its glow burst into the gulf, about the very doorstep on which Theasat. It bored into the wet, dark underbrush. The dripping cherry bushes, the pale aspens, and the frosty PINONS were glittering and trembling, swimming in the liquid gold. All the pale, dusty little herbs of thebean family, never seen by any one but a botanist, became for a momentindividual and important, their silky leaves quite beautiful with dewand light. The arch of sky overhead, heavy as lead a little whilebefore, lifted, became more and more transparent, and one could look upinto depths of pearly blue. 

The savor of coffee and bacon mingled with the smell of wet cedarsdrying, and Fred called to Thea that he was ready for her. They sat downin the doorway of his kitchen, with the warmth of the live coals behindthem and the sunlight on their faces, and began their breakfast, Mrs. Biltmer's thick coffee cups and the cream bottle between them, thecoffee-pot and frying-pan conveniently keeping hot among the embers. 

"I thought you were going back on the whole proposition, Thea, when youwere crawling along with that lantern. I couldn't get a word out ofyou. "

"I know. I was cold and hungry, and I didn't believe there was going tobe any morning, anyway. Didn't you feel queer, at all?"

Fred squinted above his smoking cup. "Well, I am never strong forgetting up before the sun. The world looks unfurnished. When I first litthe fire and had a square look at you, I thought I'd got the wrong girl. Pale, grim--you were a sight!"

Thea leaned back into the shadow of the rock room and warmed her handsover the coals. "It was dismal enough. How warm these walls are, all theway round; and your breakfast is so good. I'm all right now, Fred. "

"Yes, you're all right now. " Fred lit a cigarette and looked at hercritically as her head emerged into the sun again. "You get up everymorning just a little bit handsomer than you were the day before. I'dlove you just as much if you were not turning into one of the loveliestwomen I've ever seen; but you are, and that's a fact to be reckonedwith. " He watched her across the thin line of smoke he blew from hislips. "What are you going to do with all that beauty and all thattalent, Miss Kronborg?"

She turned away to the fire again. "I don't know what you're talkingabout, " she muttered with an awkwardness which did not conceal herpleasure. 

Ottenburg laughed softly. "Oh, yes, you do! Nobody better! You're aclose one, but you give yourself away sometimes, like everybody else. Doyou know, I've decided that you never do a single thing without anulterior motive. " He threw away his cigarette, took out histobacco-pouch and began to fill his pipe. "You ride and fence and walkand climb, but I know that all the while you're getting somewhere inyour mind. All these things are instruments; and I, too, am aninstrument. " He looked up in time to intercept a quick, startled glancefrom Thea. "Oh, I don't mind, " he chuckled; "not a bit. Every woman, every interesting woman, has ulterior motives, many of 'em lesscreditable than yours. It's your constancy that amuses me. You must havebeen doing it ever since you were two feet high. "

Thea looked slowly up at her companion's good-humored face. His eyes, sometimes too restless and sympathetic in town, had grown steadier andclearer in the open air. His short curly beard and yellow hair hadreddened in the sun and wind. The pleasant vigor of his person wasalways delightful to her, something to signal to and laugh with in aworld of negative people. With Fred she was never becalmed. There wasalways life in the air, always something coming and going, a rhythm offeeling and action, --stronger than the natural accord of youth. As shelooked at him, leaning against the sunny wall, she felt a desire to befrank with him. She was not willfully holding anything back. But, on theother hand, she could not force things that held themselves back. "Yes, it was like that when I was little, " she said at last. "I had to beclose, as you call it, or go under. But I didn't know I had been likethat since you came. I've had nothing to be close about. I haven'tthought about anything but having a good time with you. I've justdrifted. "

Fred blew a trail of smoke out into the breeze and looked knowing. "Yes, you drift like a rifle ball, my dear. It's your--your direction that Ilike best of all. Most fellows wouldn't, you know. I'm unusual. "

They both laughed, but Thea frowned questioningly. "Why wouldn't mostfellows? Other fellows have liked me. "

"Yes, serious fellows. You told me yourself they were all old, orsolemn. But jolly fellows want to be the whole target. They would sayyou were all brain and muscle; that you have no feeling. "

She glanced at him sidewise. "Oh, they would, would they?"

"Of course they would, " Fred continued blandly. "Jolly fellows have noimagination. They want to be the animating force. When they are notaround, they want a girl to be--extinct, " he waved his hand. "Oldfellows like Mr. Nathanmeyer understand your kind; but among the youngones, you are rather lucky to have found me. Even I wasn't always sowise. I've had my time of thinking it would not bore me to be the Apolloof a homey flat, and I've paid out a trifle to learn better. All thosethings get very tedious unless they are hooked up with an idea of somesort. It's because we DON'T come out here only to look at each other anddrink coffee that it's so pleasant to--look at each other. " Fred drewon his pipe for a while, studying Thea's abstraction. She was staring upat the far wall of the canyon with a troubled expression that drew hereyes narrow and her mouth hard. Her hands lay in her lap, one over theother, the fingers interlacing. "Suppose, " Fred came out atlength, --"suppose I were to offer you what most of the young men I knowwould offer a girl they'd been sitting up nights about: a comfortableflat in Chicago, a summer camp up in the woods, musical evenings, and afamily to bring up. Would it look attractive to you?"

Thea sat up straight and stared at him in alarm, glared into his eyes. "Perfectly hideous!" she exclaimed. 

Fred dropped back against the old stonework and laughed deep in hischest. "Well, don't be frightened. I won't offer them. You're not anest-building bird. You know I always liked your song, 'Me for the joltof the breakers!' I understand. "

She rose impatiently and walked to the edge of the cliff. "It's not thatso much. It's waking up every morning with the feeling that your life isyour own, and your strength is your own, and your talent is your own;that you're all there, and there's no sag in you. " She stood for amoment as if she were tortured by uncertainty, then turned suddenly backto him. "Don't talk about these things any more now, " she entreated. "Itisn't that I want to keep anything from you. The trouble is that I'vegot nothing to keep--except (you know as well as I) that feeling. I toldyou about it in Chicago once. But it always makes me unhappy to talkabout it. It will spoil the day. Will you go for a climb with me?" Sheheld out her hands with a smile so eager that it made Ottenburg feel howmuch she needed to get away from herself. 

He sprang up and caught the hands she put out so cordially, and stoodswinging them back and forth. "I won't tease you. A word's enough to me. But I love it, all the same. Understand?" He pressed her hands anddropped them. "Now, where are you going to drag me?"

"I want you to drag me. Over there, to the other houses. They are moreinteresting than these. " She pointed across the gorge to the row ofwhite houses in the other cliff. "The trail is broken away, but I got upthere once. It's possible. You have to go to the bottom of the canyon, cross the creek, and then go up hand-over-hand. "

Ottenburg, lounging against the sunny wall, his hands in the pockets ofhis jacket, looked across at the distant dwellings. "It's an awfulclimb, " he sighed, "when I could be perfectly happy here with my pipe. However--" He took up his stick and hat and followed Thea down the watertrail. "Do you climb this path every day? You surely earn your bath. Iwent down and had a look at your pool the other afternoon. Neat place, with all those little cottonwoods. Must be very becoming. "

"Think so?" Thea said over her shoulder, as she swung round a turn. 

"Yes, and so do you, evidently. I'm becoming expert at reading yourmeaning in your back. I'm behind you so much on these single-foottrails. You don't wear stays, do you?"

"Not here. "

"I wouldn't, anywhere, if I were you. They will make you less elastic. The side muscles get flabby. If you go in for opera, there's a fortunein a flexible body. Most of the German singers are clumsy, even whenthey're well set up. "

Thea switched a PINON branch back at him. "Oh, I'll never get fat! ThatI can promise you. "

Fred smiled, looking after her. "Keep that promise, no matter how manyothers you break, " he drawled. 

The upward climb, after they had crossed the stream, was at first abreathless scramble through underbrush. When they reached the bigboulders, Ottenburg went first because he had the longer leg-reach, andgave Thea a hand when the step was quite beyond her, swinging her upuntil she could get a foothold. At last they reached a little platformamong the rocks, with only a hundred feet of jagged, sloping wallbetween them and the cliff-houses. 

Ottenburg lay down under a pine tree and declared that he was going tohave a pipe before he went any farther. "It's a good thing to know whento stop, Thea, " he said meaningly. 

"I'm not going to stop now until I get there, " Thea insisted. "I'll goon alone. "

Fred settled his shoulder against the tree-trunk. "Go on if you like, but I'm here to enjoy myself. If you meet a rattler on the way, have itout with him. "

She hesitated, fanning herself with her felt hat. "I never have metone. "

"There's reasoning for you, " Fred murmured languidly. 

Thea turned away resolutely and began to go up the wall, using anirregular cleft in the rock for a path. The cliff, which looked almostperpendicular from the bottom, was really made up of ledges andboulders, and behind these she soon disappeared. For a long while Fredsmoked with half-closed eyes, smiling to himself now and again. Occasionally he lifted an eyebrow as he heard the rattle of small stonesamong the rocks above. "In a temper, " he concluded; "do her good. " Thenhe subsided into warm drowsiness and listened to the locusts in theyuccas, and the tap-tap of the old woodpecker that was never weary ofassaulting the big pine. 

Fred had finished his pipe and was wondering whether he wanted another, when he heard a call from the cliff far above him. Looking up, he sawThea standing on the edge of a projecting crag. She waved to him andthrew her arm over her head, as if she were snapping her fingers in theair. 

As he saw her there between the sky and the gulf, with that great washof air and the morning light about her, Fred recalled the brilliantfigure at Mrs. Nathanmeyer's. Thea was one of those people who emerge, unexpectedly, larger than we are accustomed to see them. Even at thisdistance one got the impression of muscular energy and audacity, --a kindof brilliancy of motion, --of a personality that carried across bigspaces and expanded among big things. Lying still, with his hands underhis head, Ottenburg rhetorically addressed the figure in the air. "Youare the sort that used to run wild in Germany, dressed in their hair anda piece of skin. Soldiers caught 'em in nets. Old Nathanmeyer, " hemused, "would like a peep at her now. Knowing old fellow. Always buyingthose Zorn etchings of peasant girls bathing. No sag in them either. Must be the cold climate. " He sat up. "She'll begin to pitch rocks on meif I don't move. " In response to another impatient gesture from thecrag, he rose and began swinging slowly up the trail. 

It was the afternoon of that long day. Thea was lying on a blanket inthe door of her rock house. She and Ottenburg had come back from theirclimb and had lunch, and he had gone off for a nap in one of thecliff-houses farther down the path. He was sleeping peacefully, his coatunder his head and his face turned toward the wall. 

Thea, too, was drowsy, and lay looking through halfclosed eyes up at theblazing blue arch over the rim of the canyon. She was thinking ofnothing at all. Her mind, like her body, was full of warmth, lassitude, physical content. Suddenly an eagle, tawny and of great size, sailedover the cleft in which she lay, across the arch of sky. He dropped fora moment into the gulf between the walls, then wheeled, and mounteduntil his plumage was so steeped in light that he looked like a goldenbird. He swept on, following the course of the canyon a little way andthen disappearing beyond the rim. Thea sprang to her feet as if she hadbeen thrown up from the rock by volcanic action. She stood rigid on theedge of the stone shelf, straining her eyes after that strong, tawnyflight. O eagle of eagles! Endeavor, achievement, desire, gloriousstriving of human art! From a cleft in the heart of the world shesaluted it. . . It had come all the way; when men lived in caves, it wasthere. A vanished race; but along the trails, in the stream, under thespreading cactus, there still glittered in the sun the bits of theirfrail clay vessels, fragments of their desire. 

VII

FROM the day of Fred's arrival, he and Thea were unceasingly active. They took long rides into the Navajo pine forests, bought turquoises andsilver bracelets from the wandering Indian herdsmen, and rode twentymiles to Flagstaff upon the slightest pretext. Thea had never felt thispleasant excitement about any man before, and she found herself tryingvery hard to please young Ottenburg. She was never tired, never dull. There was a zest about waking up in the morning and dressing, aboutwalking, riding, even about sleep. 

One morning when Thea came out from her room at seven o'clock, she foundHenry and Fred on the porch, looking up at the sky. The day was alreadyhot and there was no breeze. The sun was shining, but heavy brown cloudswere hanging in the west, like the smoke of a forest fire. She and Fredhad meant to ride to Flagstaff that morning, but Biltmer advised againstit, foretelling a storm. After breakfast they lingered about the house, waiting for the weather to make up its mind. Fred had brought hisguitar, and as they had the dining-room to themselves, he made Thea goover some songs with him. They got interested and kept it up until Mrs. Biltmer came to set the table for dinner. Ottenburg knew some of theMexican things Spanish Johnny used to sing. Thea had never beforehappened to tell him about Spanish Johnny, and he seemed more interestedin Johnny than in Dr. Archie or Wunsch. 

After dinner they were too restless to endure the ranch house anylonger, and ran away to the canyon to practice with single-sticks. Fredcarried a slicker and a sweater, and he made Thea wear one of the rubberhats that hung in Biltmer's gun-room. As they crossed the pasture landthe clumsy slicker kept catching in the lacings of his leggings. 

"Why don't you drop that thing?" Thea asked. "I won't mind a shower. I've been wet before. "

"No use taking chances. "

From the canyon they were unable to watch the sky, since only a strip ofthe zenith was visible. The flat ledge about the watch-tower was theonly level spot large enough for single-stick exercise, and they werestill practicing there when, at about four o'clock, a tremendous roll ofthunder echoed between the cliffs and the atmosphere suddenly becamethick. 

Fred thrust the sticks in a cleft in the rock. "We're in for it, Thea. Better make for your cave where there are blankets. " He caught her elbowand hurried her along the path before the cliff-houses. They made thehalf-mile at a quick trot, and as they ran the rocks and the sky and theair between the cliffs turned a turbid green, like the color in a mossagate. When they reached the blanketed rock room, they looked at eachother and laughed. Their faces had taken on a greenish pallor. Thea'shair, even, was green. 

"Dark as pitch in here, " Fred exclaimed as they hurried over the oldrock doorstep. "But it's warm. The rocks hold the heat. It's going to beterribly cold outside, all right. " He was interrupted by a deafeningpeal of thunder. "Lord, what an echo! Lucky you don't mind. It's worthwatching out there. We needn't come in yet. "

The green light grew murkier and murkier. The smaller vegetation wasblotted out. The yuccas, the cedars, and PINONS stood dark and rigid, like bronze. The swallows flew up with sharp, terrified twitterings. Even the quaking asps were still. While Fred and Thea watched from thedoorway, the light changed to purple. Clouds of dark vapor, likechlorine gas, began to float down from the head of the canyon and hungbetween them and the cliff-houses in the opposite wall. Before they knewit, the wall itself had disappeared. The air was positivelyvenomous-looking, and grew colder every minute. The thunder seemed tocrash against one cliff, then against the other, and to go shrieking offinto the inner canyon. 

The moment the rain broke, it beat the vapors down. In the gulf beforethem the water fell in spouts, and dashed from the high cliffs overhead. It tore aspens and chokecherry bushes out of the ground and left theyuccas hanging by their tough roots. Only the little cedars stood blackand unmoved in the torrents that fell from so far above. The rockchamber was full of fine spray from the streams of water that shot overthe doorway. Thea crept to the back wall and rolled herself in ablanket, and Fred threw the heavier blankets over her. The wool of theNavajo sheep was soon kindled by the warmth of her body, and wasimpenetrable to dampness. Her hair, where it hung below the rubber hat, gathered the moisture like a sponge. Fred put on the slicker, tied thesweater about his neck, and settled himself cross-legged beside her. Thechamber was so dark that, although he could see the outline of her headand shoulders, he could not see her face. He struck a wax match to lighthis pipe. As he sheltered it between his hands, it sizzled andsputtered, throwing a yellow flicker over Thea and her blankets. 

"You look like a gypsy, " he said as he dropped the match. "Any one you'drather be shut up with than me? No? Sure about that?"

"I think I am. Aren't you cold?"

"Not especially. " Fred smoked in silence, listening to the roar of thewater outside. "We may not get away from here right away, " he remarked. 

"I shan't mind. Shall you?"

He laughed grimly and pulled on his pipe. "Do you know where you're at, Miss Thea Kronborg?" he said at last. "You've got me going pretty hard, I suppose you know. I've had a lot of sweethearts, but I've never beenso much--engrossed before. What are you going to do about it?" He heardnothing from the blankets. "Are you going to play fair, or is it aboutmy cue to cut away?"

"I'll play fair. I don't see why you want to go. "

"What do you want me around for?--to play with?"

Thea struggled up among the blankets. "I want you for everything. Idon't know whether I'm what people call in love with you or not. InMoonstone that meant sitting in a hammock with somebody. I don't want tosit in a hammock with you, but I want to do almost everything else. Oh, hundreds of things!"

"If I run away, will you go with me?"

"I don't know. I'll have to think about that. Maybe I would. " She freedherself from her wrappings and stood up. "It's not raining so hard now. Hadn't we better start this minute? It will be night before we get toBiltmer's. "

Fred struck another match. "It's seven. I don't know how much of thepath may be washed away. I don't even know whether I ought to let youtry it without a lantern. "

Thea went to the doorway and looked out. "There's nothing else to do. The sweater and the slicker will keep me dry, and this will be my chanceto find out whether these shoes are really water-tight. They cost aweek's salary. " She retreated to the back of the cave. "It's gettingblacker every minute. "

Ottenburg took a brandy flask from his coat pocket. "Better have some ofthis before we start. Can you take it without water?"

Thea lifted it obediently to her lips. She put on the sweater and Fredhelped her to get the clumsy slicker on over it. He buttoned it andfastened the high collar. She could feel that his hands were hurried andclumsy. The coat was too big, and he took off his necktie and belted itin at the waist. While she tucked her hair more securely under therubber hat he stood in front of her, between her and the gray doorway, without moving. 

"Are you ready to go?" she asked carelessly. 

"If you are, " he spoke quietly, without moving, except to bend his headforward a little. 

Thea laughed and put her hands on his shoulders. "You know how to handleme, don't you?" she whispered. For the first time, she kissed himwithout constraint or embarrassment. 

"Thea, Thea, Thea!" Fred whispered her name three times, shaking her alittle as if to waken her. It was too dark to see, but he could feelthat she was smiling. 

When she kissed him she had not hidden her face on his shoulder, --shehad risen a little on her toes, and stood straight and free. In thatmoment when he came close to her actual personality, he felt in her thesame expansion that he had noticed at Mrs. Nathanmeyer's. She becamefreer and stronger under impulses. When she rose to meet him like that, he felt her flash into everything that she had ever suggested to him, asif she filled out her own shadow. 

She pushed him away and shot past him out into the rain. "Now for it, Fred, " she called back exultantly. The rain was pouring steadily downthrough the dying gray twilight, and muddy streams were spouting andfoaming over the cliff. 

Fred caught her and held her back. "Keep behind me, Thea. I don't knowabout the path. It may be gone altogether. Can't tell what there isunder this water. "

But the path was older than the white man's Arizona. The rush of waterhad washed away the dust and stones that lay on the surface, but therock skeleton of the Indian trail was there, ready for the foot. Wherethe streams poured down through gullies, there was always a cedar or aPINON to cling to. By wading and slipping and climbing, they got along. As they neared the head of the canyon, where the path lifted and rose insteep loops to the surface of the plateau, the climb was more difficult. The earth above had broken away and washed down over the trail, bringingrocks and bushes and even young trees with it. The last ghost ofdaylight was dying and there was no time to lose. The canyon behind themwas already black. 

"We've got to go right through the top of this pine tree, Thea. No timeto hunt a way around. Give me your hand. " After they had crashed throughthe mass of branches, Fred stopped abruptly. "Gosh, what a hole! Can youjump it? Wait a minute. "

He cleared the washout, slipped on the wet rock at the farther side, andcaught himself just in time to escape a tumble. "If I could only findsomething to hold to, I could give you a hand. It's so cursed dark, andthere are no trees here where they're needed. Here's something; it's aroot. It will hold all right. " He braced himself on the rock, grippedthe crooked root with one hand and swung himself across toward Thea, holding out his arm. "Good jump! I must say you don't lose your nerve ina tight place. Can you keep at it a little longer? We're almost out. Have to make that next ledge. Put your foot on my knee and catchsomething to pull by. "

Thea went up over his shoulder. "It's hard ground up here, " she panted. "Did I wrench your arm when I slipped then? It was a cactus I grabbed, and it startled me. "

"Now, one more pull and we're on the level. "

They emerged gasping upon the black plateau. In the last five minutesthe darkness had solidified and it seemed as if the skies were pouringblack water. They could not see where the sky ended or the plain began. The light at the ranch house burned a steady spark through the rain. Fred drew Thea's arm through his and they struck off toward the light. They could not see each other, and the rain at their backs seemed todrive them along. They kept laughing as they stumbled over tufts ofgrass or stepped into slippery pools. They were delighted with eachother and with the adventure which lay behind them. 

"I can't even see the whites of your eyes, Thea. But I'd know who washere stepping out with me, anywhere. Part coyote you are, by the feel ofyou. When you make up your mind to jump, you jump! My gracious, what'sthe matter with your hand?"

"Cactus spines. Didn't I tell you when I grabbed the cactus? I thoughtit was a root. Are we going straight?"

"I don't know. Somewhere near it, I think. I'm very comfortable, aren'tyou? You're warm, except your cheeks. How funny they are when they'rewet. Still, you always feel like you. I like this. I could walk toFlagstaff. It's fun, not being able to see anything. I feel surer of youwhen I can't see you. Will you run away with me?"

Thea laughed. "I won't run far to-night. I'll think about it. Look, Fred, there's somebody coming. "

"Henry, with his lantern. Good enough! Halloo! Hallo--o--o!" Fredshouted. 

The moving light bobbed toward them. In half an hour Thea was in her bigfeather bed, drinking hot lentil soup, and almost before the soup wasswallowed she was asleep. 

VIII

ON the first day of September Fred Ottenburg and Thea Kronborg leftFlagstaff by the east-bound express. As the bright morning advanced, they sat alone on the rear platform of the observation car, watching theyellow miles unfold and disappear. With complete content they saw thebrilliant, empty country flash by. They were tired of the desert and thedead races, of a world without change or ideas. Fred said he was glad tosit back and let the Santa Fe do the work for a while. 

"And where are we going, anyhow?" he added. 

"To Chicago, I suppose. Where else would we be going?" Thea hunted for ahandkerchief in her handbag. 

"I wasn't sure, so I had the trunks checked to Albuquerque. We canrecheck there to Chicago, if you like. Why Chicago? You'll never go backto Bowers. Why wouldn't this be a good time to make a run for it? Wecould take the southern branch at Albuquerque, down to El Paso, and thenover into Mexico. We are exceptionally free. Nobody waiting for usanywhere. "

Thea sighted along the steel rails that quivered in the light behindthem. "I don't see why I couldn't marry you in Chicago, as well as anyplace, " she brought out with some embarrassment. 

Fred took the handbag out of her nervous clasp and swung it about on hisfinger. "You've no particular love for that spot, have you? Besides, asI've told you, my family would make a row. They are an excitable lot. They discuss and argue everlastingly. The only way I can ever putanything through is to go ahead, and convince them afterward. "

"Yes; I understand. I don't mind that. I don't want to marry yourfamily. I'm sure you wouldn't want to marry mine. But I don't see why wehave to go so far. "

"When we get to Winslow, you look about the freight yards and you'llprobably see several yellow cars with my name on them. That's why, mydear. When your visiting-card is on every beer bottle, you can't dothings quietly. Things get into the papers. " As he watched her troubledexpression, he grew anxious. He leaned forward on his camp-chair, andkept twirling the handbag between his knees. "Here's a suggestion, Thea, " he said presently. "Dismiss it if you don't like it: suppose wego down to Mexico on the chance. You've never seen anything like MexicoCity; it will be a lark for you, anyhow. If you change your mind, anddon't want to marry me, you can go back to Chicago, and I'll take asteamer from Vera Cruz and go up to New York. When I get to Chicago, you'll be at work, and nobody will ever be the wiser. No reason why weshouldn't both travel in Mexico, is there? You'll be traveling alone. I'll merely tell you the right places to stop, and come to take youdriving. I won't put any pressure on you. Have I ever?" He swung the bagtoward her and looked up under her hat. 

"No, you haven't, " she murmured. She was thinking that her own positionmight be less difficult if he had used what he called pressure. Heclearly wished her to take the responsibility. 

"You have your own future in the back of your mind all the time, " Fredbegan, "and I have it in mine. I'm not going to try to carry you off, asI might another girl. If you wanted to quit me, I couldn't hold you, nomatter how many times you had married me. I don't want to overpersuadeyou. But I'd like mighty well to get you down to that jolly old city, where everything would please you, and give myself a chance. Then, ifyou thought you could have a better time with me than without me, I'dtry to grab you before you changed your mind. You are not a sentimentalperson. "

Thea drew her veil down over her face. "I think I am, a little; aboutyou, " she said quietly. Fred's irony somehow hurt her. 

"What's at the bottom of your mind, Thea?" he asked hurriedly. "I can'ttell. Why do you consider it at all, if you're not sure? Why are youhere with me now?"

Her face was half-averted. He was thinking that it looked older and morefirm--almost hard--under a veil. 

"Isn't it possible to do things without having any very clear reason?"she asked slowly. "I have no plan in the back of my mind. Now that I'mwith you, I want to be with you; that's all. I can't settle down tobeing alone again. I am here to-day because I want to be with youto-day. " She paused. "One thing, though; if I gave you my word, I'd keepit. And you could hold me, though you don't seem to think so. Maybe I'mnot sentimental, but I'm not very light, either. If I went off with youlike this, it wouldn't be to amuse myself. "

Ottenburg's eyes fell. His lips worked nervously for a moment. "Do youmean that you really care for me, Thea Kronborg?" he asked unsteadily. 

"I guess so. It's like anything else. It takes hold of you and you'vegot to go through with it, even if you're afraid. I was afraid to leaveMoonstone, and afraid to leave Harsanyi. But I had to go through withit. "

"And are you afraid now?" Fred asked slowly. 

"Yes; more than I've ever been. But I don't think I could go back. Thepast closes up behind one, somehow. One would rather have a new kind ofmisery. The old kind seems like death or unconsciousness. You can'tforce your life back into that mould again. No, one can't go back. " Sherose and stood by the back grating of the platform, her hand on thebrass rail. 

Fred went to her side. She pushed up her veil and turned her mostglowing face to him. Her eyes were wet and there were tears on herlashes, but she was smiling the rare, whole-hearted smile he had seenonce or twice before. He looked at her shining eyes, her parted lips, her chin a little lifted. It was as if they were colored by a sunrise hecould not see. He put his hand over hers and clasped it with a strengthshe felt. Her eyelashes trembled, her mouth softened, but her eyes werestill brilliant. 

"Will you always be like you were down there, if I go with you?" sheasked under her breath. 

His fingers tightened on hers. "By God, I will!" he muttered. 

"That's the only promise I'll ask you for. Now go away for a while andlet me think about it. Come back at lunchtime and I'll tell you. Willthat do?"

"Anything will do, Thea, if you'll only let me keep an eye on you. Therest of the world doesn't interest me much. You've got me in deep. "

Fred dropped her hand and turned away. As he glanced back from the frontend of the observation car, he saw that she was still standing there, and any one would have known that she was brooding over something. Theearnestness of her head and shoulders had a certain nobility. He stoodlooking at her for a moment. 

When he reached the forward smoking-car, Fred took a seat at the end, where he could shut the other passengers from his sight. He put on histraveling-cap and sat down wearily, keeping his head near the window. "In any case, I shall help her more than I shall hurt her, " he keptsaying to himself. He admitted that this was not the only motive whichimpelled him, but it was one of them. "I'll make it my business in lifeto get her on. There's nothing else I care about so much as seeing herhave her chance. She hasn't touched her real force yet. She isn't evenaware of it. Lord, don't I know something about them? There isn't one ofthem that has such a depth to draw from. She'll be one of the greatartists of our time. Playing accompaniments for that cheese-faced sneak!I'll get her off to Germany this winter, or take her. She hasn't got anytime to waste now. I'll make it up to her, all right. "

Ottenburg certainly meant to make it up to her, in so far as he could. His feeling was as generous as strong human feelings are likely to be. The only trouble was, that he was married already, and had been since hewas twenty. 

His older friends in Chicago, people who had been friends of his family, knew of the unfortunate state of his personal affairs; but they werepeople whom in the natural course of things Thea Kronborg would scarcelymeet. Mrs. Frederick Ottenburg lived in California, at Santa Barbara, where her health was supposed to be better than elsewhere, and herhusband lived in Chicago. He visited his wife every winter to reinforceher position, and his devoted mother, although her hatred for herdaughter-inlaw was scarcely approachable in words, went to Santa Barbaraevery year to make things look better and to relieve her son. 

When Frederick Ottenburg was beginning his junior year at Harvard, hegot a letter from Dick Brisbane, a Kansas City boy he knew, telling himthat his FIANCEE, Miss Edith Beers, was going to New York to buy hertrousseau. She would be at the Holland House, with her aunt and a girlfrom Kansas City who was to be a bridesmaid, for two weeks or more. IfOttenburg happened to be going down to New York, would he call upon MissBeers and "show her a good time"?

Fred did happen to be going to New York. He was going down from NewHaven, after the Thanksgiving game. He called on Miss Beers and foundher, as he that night telegraphed Brisbane, a "ripping beauty, nomistake. " He took her and her aunt and her uninteresting friend to thetheater and to the opera, and he asked them to lunch with him at theWaldorf. He took no little pains in arranging the luncheon with the headwaiter. Miss Beers was the sort of girl with whom a young man liked toseem experienced. She was dark and slender and fiery. She was witty andslangy; said daring things and carried them off with NONCHALANCE. Herchildish extravagance and contempt for all the serious facts of lifecould be charged to her father's generosity and his long packing-housepurse. Freaks that would have been vulgar and ostentatious in a moresimpleminded girl, in Miss Beers seemed whimsical and picturesque. Shedarted about in magnificent furs and pumps and close-clinging gowns, though that was the day of full skirts. Her hats were large and floppy. When she wriggled out of her moleskin coat at luncheon, she looked likea slim black weasel. Her satin dress was a mere sheath, so conspicuousby its severity and scantness that every one in the dining-room stared. She ate nothing but alligator-pear salad and hothouse grapes, drank alittle champagne, and took cognac in her coffee. She ridiculed, in theraciest slang, the singers they had heard at the opera the night before, and when her aunt pretended to reprove her, she murmured indifferently, "What's the matter with you, old sport?" She rattled on with a subduedloquaciousness, always keeping her voice low and monotonous, alwayslooking out of the corner of her eye and speaking, as it were, inasides, out of the corner of her mouth. She was scornful ofeverything, --which became her eyebrows. Her face was mobile anddiscontented, her eyes quick and black. There was a sort of smoulderingfire about her, young Ottenburg thought. She entertained himprodigiously. 

After luncheon Miss Beers said she was going uptown to be fitted, andthat she would go alone because her aunt made her nervous. When Fredheld her coat for her, she murmured, "Thank you, Alphonse, " as if shewere addressing the waiter. As she stepped into a hansom, with a longstretch of thin silk stocking, she said negligently, over her furcollar, "Better let me take you along and drop you somewhere. " He sprangin after her, and she told the driver to go to the Park. 

It was a bright winter day, and bitterly cold. Miss Beers asked Fred totell her about the game at New Haven, and when he did so paid noattention to what he said. She sank back into the hansom and held hermuff before her face, lowering it occasionally to utter laconic remarksabout the people in the carriages they passed, interrupting Fred'snarrative in a disconcerting manner. As they entered the Park hehappened to glance under her wide black hat at her black eyes andhair--the muff hid everything else--and discovered that she was crying. To his solicitous inquiry she replied that it "was enough to make youdamp, to go and try on dresses to marry a man you weren't keen about. "

Further explanations followed. She had thought she was "perfectlycracked" about Brisbane, until she met Fred at the Holland House threedays ago. Then she knew she would scratch Brisbane's eyes out if shemarried him. What was she going to do?

Fred told the driver to keep going. What did she want to do? Well, shedidn't know. One had to marry somebody, after all the machinery had beenput in motion. Perhaps she might as well scratch Brisbane as anybodyelse; for scratch she would, if she didn't get what she wanted. 

Of course, Fred agreed, one had to marry somebody. And certainly thisgirl beat anything he had ever been up against before. Again he told thedriver to go ahead. Did she mean that she would think of marrying him, by any chance? Of course she did, Alphonse. Hadn't he seen that all overher face three days ago? If he hadn't, he was a snowball. 

By this time Fred was beginning to feel sorry for the driver. MissBeers, however, was compassionless. After a few more turns, Fredsuggested tea at the Casino. He was very cold himself, and rememberingthe shining silk hose and pumps, he wondered that the girl was notfrozen. As they got out of the hansom, he slipped the driver a bill andtold him to have something hot while he waited. 

At the tea-table, in a snug glass enclosure, with the steam sputteringin the pipes beside them and a brilliant winter sunset without, theydeveloped their plan. Miss Beers had with her plenty of money, destinedfor tradesmen, which she was quite willing to divert into otherchannels--the first excitement of buying a trousseau had worn off, anyway. It was very much like any other shopping. Fred had his allowanceand a few hundred he had won on the game. She would meet him to-morrowmorning at the Jersey ferry. They could take one of the west-boundPennsylvania trains and go--anywhere, some place where the laws weren'ttoo fussy. --Fred had not even thought about the laws!--It would be allright with her father; he knew Fred's family. 

Now that they were engaged, she thought she would like to drive a littlemore. They were jerked about in the cab for another hour through thedeserted Park. Miss Beers, having removed her hat, reclined upon Fred'sshoulder. 

The next morning they left Jersey City by the latest fast train out. They had some misadventures, crossed several States before they found ajustice obliging enough to marry two persons whose names automaticallyinstigated inquiry. The bride's family were rather pleased with heroriginality; besides, any one of the Ottenburg boys was clearly a bettermatch than young Brisbane. With Otto Ottenburg, however, the affair wentdown hard, and to his wife, the once proud Katarina Furst, such adisappointment was almost unbearable. Her sons had always been clay inher hands, and now the GELIEBTER SOHN had escaped her. 

Beers, the packer, gave his daughter a house in St. Louis, and Fred wentinto his father's business. At the end of a year, he was mutelyappealing to his mother for sympathy. At the end of two, he was drinkingand in open rebellion. He had learned to detest his wife. Herwastefulness and cruelty revolted him. The ignorance and the fatuousconceit which lay behind her grimacing mask of slang and ridiculehumiliated him so deeply that he became absolutely reckless. Her gracewas only an uneasy wriggle, her audacity was the result of insolence andenvy, and her wit was restless spite. As her personal mannerisms grewmore and more odious to him, he began to dull his perceptions withchampagne. He had it for tea, he drank it with dinner, and during theevening he took enough to insure that he would be well insulated when hegot home. This behavior spread alarm among his friends. It wasscandalous, and it did not occur among brewers. He was violating theNOBLESSE OBLIGE of his guild. His father and his father's partnerslooked alarmed. 

When Fred's mother went to him and with clasped hands entreated anexplanation, he told her that the only trouble was that he couldn't holdenough wine to make life endurable, so he was going to get out fromunder and enlist in the navy. He didn't want anything but the shirt onhis back and clean salt air. His mother could look out; he was going tomake a scandal. 

Mrs. Otto Ottenburg went to Kansas City to see Mr. Beers, and had thesatisfaction of telling him that he had brought up his daughter like asavage, EINE UNGEBILDETE. All the Ottenburgs and all the Beers, and manyof their friends, were drawn into the quarrel. It was to public opinion, however and not to his mother's activities, that Fred owed his partialescape from bondage. The cosmopolitan brewing world of St. Louis hadconservative standards. The Ottenburgs' friends were not predisposed infavor of the plunging Kansas City set, and they disliked young Fred'swife from the day that she was brought among them. They found herignorant and ill-bred and insufferably impertinent. When they becameaware of how matters were going between her and Fred, they omitted noopportunity to snub her. Young Fred had always been popular, and St. Louis people took up his cause with warmth. Even the younger men, amongwhom Mrs. Fred tried to draft a following, at first avoided and thenignored her. Her defeat was so conspicuous, her life became such adesert, that she at last consented to accept the house in Santa Barbarawhich Mrs. Otto Ottenburg had long owned and cherished. This villa, withits luxuriant gardens, was the price of Fred's furlough. His mother wasonly too glad to offer it in his behalf. As soon as his wife wasestablished in California, Fred was transferred from St. Louis toChicago. 

A divorce was the one thing Edith would never, never, give him. She toldhim so, and she told his family so, and her father stood behind her. Shewould enter into no arrangement that might eventually lead to divorce. She had insulted her husband before guests and servants, had scratchedhis face, thrown hand-mirrors and hairbrushes and nail-scissors at himoften enough, but she knew that Fred was hardly the fellow who would gointo court and offer that sort of evidence. In her behavior with othermen she was discreet. 

After Fred went to Chicago, his mother visited him often, and dropped aword to her old friends there, who were already kindly disposed towardthe young man. They gossiped as little as was compatible with theinterest they felt, undertook to make life agreeable for Fred, and toldhis story only where they felt it would do good: to girls who seemed tofind the young brewer attractive. So far, he had behaved well, and hadkept out of entanglements. 

Since he was transferred to Chicago, Fred had been abroad several times, and had fallen more and more into the way of going about among youngartists, --people with whom personal relations were incidental. Withwomen, and even girls, who had careers to follow, a young man might havepleasant friendships without being regarded as a prospective suitor orlover. Among artists his position was not irregular, because with themhis marriageableness was not an issue. His tastes, his enthusiasm, andhis agreeable personality made him welcome. 

With Thea Kronborg he had allowed himself more liberty than he usuallydid in his friendships or gallantries with young artists, because sheseemed to him distinctly not the marrying kind. She impressed him asequipped to be an artist, and to be nothing else; already directed, concentrated, formed as to mental habit. He was generous andsympathetic, and she was lonely and needed friendship; neededcheerfulness. She had not much power of reaching out toward usefulpeople or useful experiences, did not see opportunities. She had no tactabout going after good positions or enlisting the interest ofinfluential persons. She antagonized people rather than conciliatedthem. He discovered at once that she had a merry side, a robust humorthat was deep and hearty, like her laugh, but it slept most of the timeunder her own doubts and the dullness of her life. She had not what iscalled a "sense of humor. " That is, she had no intellectual humor; nopower to enjoy the absurdities of people, no relish of theirpretentiousness and inconsistencies--which only depressed her. But herjoviality, Fred felt, was an asset, and ought to be developed. Hediscovered that she was more receptive and more effective under apleasant stimulus than she was under the gray grind which she consideredher salvation. She was still Methodist enough to believe that if a thingwere hard and irksome, it must be good for her. And yet, whatever shedid well was spontaneous. Under the least glow of excitement, as at Mrs. Nathanmeyer's, he had seen the apprehensive, frowning drudge of Bowers'sstudio flash into a resourceful and consciously beautiful woman. 

His interest in Thea was serious, almost from the first, and so sincerethat he felt no distrust of himself. He believed that he knew a greatdeal more about her possibilities than Bowers knew, and he liked tothink that he had given her a stronger hold on life. She had never seenherself or known herself as she did at Mrs. Nathanmeyer's musicalevenings. She had been a different girl ever since. He had notanticipated that she would grow more fond of him than his immediateusefulness warranted. He thought he knew the ways of artists, and, as hesaid, she must have been "at it from her cradle. " He had imagined, perhaps, but never really believed, that he would find her waiting forhim sometime as he found her waiting on the day he reached the Biltmerranch. Once he found her so--well, he did not pretend to be anythingmore or less than a reasonably well-intentioned young man. A lovesickgirl or a flirtatious woman he could have handled easily enough. But apersonality like that, unconsciously revealing itself for the first timeunder the exaltation of a personal feeling, --what could one do but watchit? As he used to say to himself, in reckless moments back there in thecanyon, "You can't put out a sunrise. " He had to watch it, and then hehad to share it. 

Besides, was he really going to do her any harm? The Lord knew he wouldmarry her if he could! Marriage would be an incident, not an end withher; he was sure of that. If it were not he, it would be some one else;some one who would be a weight about her neck, probably; who would holdher back and beat her down and divert her from the first plunge forwhich he felt she was gathering all her energies. He meant to help her, and he could not think of another man who would. He went over hisunmarried friends, East and West, and he could not think of one whowould know what she was driving at--or care. The clever ones wereselfish, the kindly ones were stupid. 

"Damn it, if she's going to fall in love with somebody, it had better beme than any of the others--of the sort she'd find. Get her tied up withsome conceited ass who'd try to make her over, train her like a puppy!Give one of 'em a big nature like that, and he'd be horrified. Hewouldn't show his face in the clubs until he'd gone after her and combedher down to conform to some fool idea in his own head--put there by someother woman, too, his first sweetheart or his grandmother or a maidenaunt. At least, I understand her. I know what she needs and where she'sbound, and I mean to see that she has a fighting chance. "

His own conduct looked crooked, he admitted; but he asked himselfwhether, between men and women, all ways were not more or less crooked. He believed those which are called straight were the most dangerous ofall. They seemed to him, for the most part, to lie between windowlessstone walls, and their rectitude had been achieved at the expense oflight and air. In their unquestioned regularity lurked every sort ofhuman cruelty and meanness, and every kind of humiliation and suffering. He would rather have any woman he cared for wounded than crushed. Hewould deceive her not once, he told himself fiercely, but a hundredtimes, to keep her free. 

When Fred went back to the observation car at one o'clock, after theluncheon call, it was empty, and he found Thea alone on the platform. She put out her hand, and met his eyes. 

"It's as I said. Things have closed behind me. I can't go back, so I amgoing on--to Mexico?" She lifted her face with an eager, questioningsmile. 

Fred met it with a sinking heart. Had he really hoped she would give himanother answer? He would have given pretty much anything--But there, that did no good. He could give only what he had. Things were nevercomplete in this world; you had to snatch at them as they came or gowithout. Nobody could look into her face and draw back, nobody who hadany courage. She had courage enough for anything--look at her mouth andchin and eyes! Where did it come from, that light? How could a face, afamiliar face, become so the picture of hope, be painted with the verycolors of youth's exaltation? She was right; she was not one of thosewho draw back. Some people get on by avoiding dangers, others by ridingthrough them. 

They stood by the railing looking back at the sand levels, both feelingthat the train was steaming ahead very fast. Fred's mind was a confusionof images and ideas. Only two things were clear to him: the force of herdetermination, and the belief that, handicapped as he was, he could dobetter by her than another man would do. He knew he would alwaysremember her, standing there with that expectant, forward-looking smile, enough to turn the future into summer. 

PART V. DR. ARCHIE'S VENTURE

I

DR. HOWARD ARCHIE had come down to Denver for a meeting of thestockholders in the San Felipe silver mine. It was not absolutelynecessary for him to come, but he had no very pressing cases at home. Winter was closing down in Moonstone, and he dreaded the dullness of it. On the 10th day of January, therefore, he was registered at the BrownPalace Hotel. On the morning of the 11th he came down to breakfast tofind the streets white and the air thick with snow. A wild northwesterwas blowing down from the mountains, one of those beautiful storms thatwrap Denver in dry, furry snow, and make the city a loadstone tothousands of men in the mountains and on the plains. The brakemen out ontheir box-cars, the miners up in their diggings, the lonely homesteadersin the sand hills of Yucca and Kit Carson Counties, begin to think ofDenver, muffled in snow, full of food and drink and good cheer, and toyearn for her with that admiration which makes her, more than otherAmerican cities, an object of sentiment. 

Howard Archie was glad he had got in before the storm came. He felt ascheerful as if he had received a legacy that morning, and he greeted theclerk with even greater friendliness than usual when he stopped at thedesk for his mail. In the dining-room he found several old friendsseated here and there before substantial breakfasts: cattlemen andmining engineers from odd corners of the State, all looking fresh andwell pleased with themselves. He had a word with one and another beforehe sat down at the little table by a window, where the Austrian headwaiter stood attentively behind a chair. After his breakfast was putbefore him, the doctor began to run over his letters. There was onedirected in Thea Kronborg's handwriting, forwarded from Moonstone. Hesaw with astonishment, as he put another lump of sugar into his cup, that this letter bore a New York postmark. He had known that Thea was inMexico, traveling with some Chicago people, but New York, to a Denverman, seems much farther away than Mexico City. He put the letter behindhis plate, upright against the stem of his water goblet, and looked atit thoughtfully while he drank his second cup of coffee. He had been alittle anxious about Thea; she had not written to him for a long while. 

As he never got good coffee at home, the doctor always drank three cupsfor breakfast when he was in Denver. Oscar knew just when to bring him asecond pot, fresh and smoking. "And more cream, Oscar, please. You knowI like lots of cream, " the doctor murmured, as he opened the squareenvelope, marked in the upper right-hand corner, "Everett House, UnionSquare. " The text of the letter was as follows:--

DEAR DOCTOR ARCHIE:--

I have not written to you for a long time, but it has not beenunintentional. I could not write you frankly, and so I would not writeat all. I can be frank with you now, but not by letter. It is a greatdeal to ask, but I wonder if you could come to New York to help me out?I have got into difficulties, and I need your advice. I need yourfriendship. I am afraid I must even ask you to lend me money, if you canwithout serious inconvenience. I have to go to Germany to study, and itcan't be put off any longer. My voice is ready. Needless to say, I don'twant any word of this to reach my family. They are the last people Iwould turn to, though I love my mother dearly. If you can come, pleasetelegraph me at this hotel. Don't despair of me. I'll make it up to youyet. 

Your old friend, THEA KRONBORG. 

This in a bold, jagged handwriting with a Gothic turn to theletters, --something between a highly sophisticated hand and a veryunsophisticated one, --not in the least smooth or flowing. 

The doctor bit off the end of a cigar nervously and read the letterthrough again, fumbling distractedly in his pockets for matches, whilethe waiter kept trying to call his attention to the box he had justplaced before him. At last Oscar came out, as if the idea had juststruck him, "Matches, sir?"

"Yes, thank you. " The doctor slipped a coin into his palm and rose, crumpling Thea's letter in his hand and thrusting the others into hispocket unopened. He went back to the desk in the lobby and beckoned tothe clerk, upon whose kindness he threw himself apologetically. 

"Harry, I've got to pull out unexpectedly. Call up the Burlington, willyou, and ask them to route me to New York the quickest way, and to letus know. Ask for the hour I'll get in. I have to wire. "

"Certainly, Dr. Archie. Have it for you in a minute. " The young man'spallid, clean-scraped face was all sympathetic interest as he reachedfor the telephone. Dr. Archie put out his hand and stopped him. 

"Wait a minute. Tell me, first, is Captain Harris down yet?"

"No, sir. The Captain hasn't come down yet this morning. "

"I'll wait here for him. If I don't happen to catch him, nail him andget me. Thank you, Harry. "

The doctor spoke gratefully and turned away. He began to pace the lobby, his hands behind him, watching the bronze elevator doors like a hawk. Atlast Captain Harris issued from one of them, tall and imposing, wearinga Stetson and fierce mustaches, a fur coat on his arm, a solitaireglittering upon his little finger and another in his black satin ascot. He was one of the grand old bluffers of those good old days. As gullibleas a schoolboy, he had managed, with his sharp eye and knowing air andtwisted blond mustaches, to pass himself off for an astute financier, and the Denver papers respectfully referred to him as the Rothschild ofCripple Creek. 

Dr. Archie stopped the Captain on his way to breakfast. "Must see you aminute, Captain. Can't wait. Want to sell you some shares in the SanFelipe. Got to raise money. "

The Captain grandly bestowed his hat upon an eager porter who hadalready lifted his fur coat tenderly from his arm and stood nursing it. In removing his hat, the Captain exposed a bald, flushed dome, thatchedabout the ears with yellowish gray hair. "Bad time to sell, doctor. Youwant to hold on to San Felipe, and buy more. What have you got toraise?"

"Oh, not a great sum. Five or six thousand. I've been buying up closeand have run short. "

"I see, I see. Well, doctor, you'll have to let me get through thatdoor. I was out last night, and I'm going to get my bacon, if you loseyour mine. " He clapped Archie on the shoulder and pushed him along infront of him. "Come ahead with me, and we'll talk business. "

Dr. Archie attended the Captain and waited while he gave his order, taking the seat the old promoter indicated. 

"Now, sir, " the Captain turned to him, "you don't want to sell anything. You must be under the impression that I'm one of these damned NewEngland sharks that get their pound of flesh off the widow and orphan. If you're a little short, sign a note and I'll write a check. That's theway gentlemen do business. If you want to put up some San Felipe ascollateral, let her go, but I shan't touch a share of it. Pens and ink, please, Oscar, "--he lifted a large forefinger to the Austrian. 

The Captain took out his checkbook and a book of blank notes, andadjusted his nose-nippers. He wrote a few words in one book and Archiewrote a few in the other. Then they each tore across perforations andexchanged slips of paper. 

"That's the way. Saves office rent, " the Captain commented withsatisfaction, returning the books to his pocket. "And now, Archie, whereare you off to?"

"Got to go East to-night. A deal waiting for me in New York. " Dr. Archierose. 

The Captain's face brightened as he saw Oscar approaching with a tray, and he began tucking the corner of his napkin inside his collar, overhis ascot. "Don't let them unload anything on you back there, doctor, "he said genially, "and don't let them relieve you of anything, either. Don't let them get any Cripple stuff off you. We can manage our ownsilver out here, and we're going to take it out by the ton, sir!"

The doctor left the dining-room, and after another consultation with theclerk, he wrote his first telegram to Thea:--

Miss Thea Kronborg, Everett House, New York. 

Will call at your hotel eleven o'clock Friday morning. Glad to come. Thank you. 

ARCHIE

He stood and heard the message actually clicked off on the wire, withthe feeling that she was hearing the click at the other end. Then he satdown in the lobby and wrote a note to his wife and one to the otherdoctor in Moonstone. When he at last issued out into the storm, it waswith a feeling of elation rather than of anxiety. Whatever was wrong, hecould make it right. Her letter had practically said so. 

He tramped about the snowy streets, from the bank to the Union Station, where he shoved his money under the grating of the ticket window as ifhe could not get rid of it fast enough. He had never been in New York, never been farther east than Buffalo. "That's rather a shame, " hereflected boyishly as he put the long tickets in his pocket, "for a mannearly forty years old. " However, he thought as he walked up toward theclub, he was on the whole glad that his first trip had a human interest, that he was going for something, and because he was wanted. He lovedholidays. He felt as if he were going to Germany himself. "Queer, "--hewent over it with the snow blowing in his face, --"but that sort of thingis more interesting than mines and making your daily bread. It's worthpaying out to be in on it, --for a fellow like me. And when it'sThea--Oh, I back her!" he laughed aloud as he burst in at the door ofthe Athletic Club, powdered with snow. 

Archie sat down before the New York papers and ran over theadvertisements of hotels, but he was too restless to read. Probably hehad better get a new overcoat, and he was not sure about the shape ofhis collars. "I don't want to look different to her from everybody elsethere, " he mused. "I guess I'll go down and have Van look me over. He'llput me right. "

So he plunged out into the snow again and started for his tailor's. Whenhe passed a florist's shop he stopped and looked in at the window, smiling; how naturally pleasant things recalled one another. At thetailor's he kept whistling, "Flow gently, Sweet Afton, " while Van Dusenadvised him, until that resourceful tailor and haberdasher exclaimed, "You must have a date back there, doctor; you behave like a bridegroom, "and made him remember that he wasn't one. 

Before he let him go, Van put his finger on the Masonic pin in hisclient's lapel. "Mustn't wear that, doctor. Very bad form back there. "

II

FRED OTTENBURG, smartly dressed for the afternoon, with a long blackcoat and gaiters was sitting in the dusty parlor of the Everett House. His manner was not in accord with his personal freshness, the good linesof his clothes, and the shining smoothness of his hair. His attitude wasone of deep dejection, and his face, though it had the cool, unimpeachable fairness possible only to a very blond young man, was byno means happy. A page shuffled into the room and looked about. When hemade out the dark figure in a shadowy corner, tracing over the carpetpattern with a cane, he droned, "The lady says you can come up, sir. "

Fred picked up his hat and gloves and followed the creature, who seemedan aged boy in uniform, through dark corridors that smelled of oldcarpets. The page knocked at the door of Thea's sitting-room, and thenwandered away. Thea came to the door with a telegram in her hand. Sheasked Ottenburg to come in and pointed to one of the clumsy, sullen-looking chairs that were as thick as they were high. The room wasbrown with time, dark in spite of two windows that opened on UnionSquare, with dull curtains and carpet, and heavy, respectable-lookingfurniture in somber colors. The place was saved from utter dismalness bya coal fire under the black marble mantelpiece, --brilliantly reflectedin a long mirror that hung between the two windows. This was the firsttime Fred had seen the room, and he took it in quickly, as he put downhis hat and gloves. 

Thea seated herself at the walnut writing-desk, still holding the slipof yellow paper. "Dr. Archie is coming, " she said. "He will be hereFriday morning. "

"Well, that's good, at any rate, " her visitor replied with a determinedeffort at cheerfulness. Then, turning to the fire, he added blankly, "Ifyou want him. "

"Of course I want him. I would never have asked such a thing of him if Ihadn't wanted him a great deal. It's a very expensive trip. " Thea spokeseverely. Then she went on, in a milder tone. "He doesn't say anythingabout the money, but I think his coming means that he can let me haveit. "

Fred was standing before the mantel, rubbing his hands togethernervously. "Probably. You are still determined to call on him?" He satdown tentatively in the chair Thea had indicated. "I don't see why youwon't borrow from me, and let him sign with you, for instance. Thatwould constitute a perfectly regular business transaction. I could bringsuit against either of you for my money. "

Thea turned toward him from the desk. "We won't take that up again, Fred. I should have a different feeling about it if I went on yourmoney. In a way I shall feel freer on Dr. Archie's, and in another way Ishall feel more bound. I shall try even harder. " She paused. "He isalmost like my father, " she added irrelevantly. 

"Still, he isn't, you know, " Fred persisted. "It wouldn't be anythingnew. I've loaned money to students before, and got it back, too. "

"Yes; I know you're generous, " Thea hurried over it, "but this will bethe best way. He will be here on Friday did I tell you?"

"I think you mentioned it. That's rather soon. May I smoke?" he took outa small cigarette case. "I suppose you'll be off next week?" he asked ashe struck a match. 

"Just as soon as I can, " she replied with a restless movement of herarms, as if her dark-blue dress were too tight for her. "It seems as ifI'd been here forever. "

"And yet, " the young man mused, "we got in only four days ago. Factsreally don't count for much, do they? It's all in the way people feel:even in little things. "

Thea winced, but she did not answer him. She put the telegram back inits envelope and placed it carefully in one of the pigeonholes of thedesk. 

"I suppose, " Fred brought out with effort, "that your friend is in yourconfidence?"

"He always has been. I shall have to tell him about myself. I wish Icould without dragging you in. "

Fred shook himself. "Don't bother about where you drag me, please, " heput in, flushing. "I don't give--" he subsided suddenly. 

"I'm afraid, " Thea went on gravely, "that he won't understand. He'll behard on you. "

Fred studied the white ash of his cigarette before he flicked it off. "You mean he'll see me as even worse than I am. Yes, I suppose I shalllook very low to him: a fifthrate scoundrel. But that only matters in sofar as it hurts his feelings. "

Thea sighed. "We'll both look pretty low. And after all, we must reallybe just about as we shall look to him. "

Ottenburg started up and threw his cigarette into the grate. "That Ideny. Have you ever been really frank with this preceptor of yourchildhood, even when you WERE a child? Think a minute, have you? Ofcourse not! From your cradle, as I once told you, you've been 'doing it'on the side, living your own life, admitting to yourself things thatwould horrify him. You've always deceived him to the extent of lettinghim think you different from what you are. He couldn't understand then, he can't understand now. So why not spare yourself and him?"

She shook her head. "Of course, I've had my own thoughts. Maybe he hashad his, too. But I've never done anything before that he would muchmind. I must put myself right with him, --as right as I can, --to beginover. He'll make allowances for me. He always has. But I'm afraid hewon't for you. "

"Leave that to him and me. I take it you want me to see him?" Fred satdown again and began absently to trace the carpet pattern with his cane. "At the worst, " he spoke wanderingly, "I thought you'd perhaps let me goin on the business end of it and invest along with you. You'd put inyour talent and ambition and hard work, and I'd put in the moneyand--well, nobody's good wishes are to be scorned, not even mine. Then, when the thing panned out big, we could share together. Your doctorfriend hasn't cared half so much about your future as I have. "

"He's cared a good deal. He doesn't know as much about such things asyou do. Of course you've been a great deal more help to me than any oneelse ever has, " Thea said quietly. The black clock on the mantel beganto strike. She listened to the five strokes and then said, "I'd haveliked your helping me eight months ago. But now, you'd simply be keepingme. "

"You weren't ready for it eight months ago. " Fred leaned back at last inhis chair. "You simply weren't ready for it. You were too tired. Youwere too timid. Your whole tone was too low. You couldn't rise from achair like that, "--she had started up apprehensively and gone toward thewindow. --"You were fumbling and awkward. Since then you've come intoyour personality. You were always locking horns with it before. You werea sullen little drudge eight months ago, afraid of being caught ateither looking or moving like yourself. Nobody could tell anything aboutyou. A voice is not an instrument that's found ready-made. A voice ispersonality. It can be as big as a circus and as common asdirt. --There's good money in that kind, too, but I don't happen to beinterested in them. --Nobody could tell much about what you might be ableto do, last winter. I divined more than anybody else. "

"Yes, I know you did. " Thea walked over to the oldfashioned mantel andheld her hands down to the glow of the fire. "I owe so much to you, andthat's what makes things hard. That's why I have to get away from youaltogether. I depend on you for so many things. Oh, I did even lastwinter, in Chicago!" She knelt down by the grate and held her handscloser to the coals. "And one thing leads to another. "

Ottenburg watched her as she bent toward the fire. His glance brighteneda little. "Anyhow, you couldn't look as you do now, before you knew me. You WERE clumsy. And whatever you do now, you do splendidly. And youcan't cry enough to spoil your face for more than ten minutes. It comesright back, in spite of you. It's only since you've known me that you'velet yourself be beautiful. "

Without rising she turned her face away. Fred went on impetuously. "Oh, you can turn it away from me, Thea; you can take it away from me! Allthe same--" his spurt died and he fell back. "How can you turn on me so, after all!" he sighed. 

"I haven't. But when you arranged with yourself to take me in like that, you couldn't have been thinking very kindly of me. I can't understandhow you carried it through, when I was so easy, and all thecircumstances were so easy. "

Her crouching position by the fire became threatening. Fred got up, andThea also rose. 

"No, " he said, "I can't make you see that now. Some time later, perhaps, you will understand better. For one thing, I honestly could not imaginethat words, names, meant so much to you. " Fred was talking with thedesperation of a man who has put himself in the wrong and who yet feelsthat there was an idea of truth in his conduct. "Suppose that you hadmarried your brakeman and lived with him year after year, caring for himeven less than you do for your doctor, or for Harsanyi. I suppose youwould have felt quite all right about it, because that relation has aname in good standing. To me, that seems--sickening!" He took a rapidturn about the room and then as Thea remained standing, he rolled one ofthe elephantine chairs up to the hearth for her. 

"Sit down and listen to me for a moment, Thea. " He began pacing from thehearthrug to the window and back again, while she sat down compliantly. "Don't you know most of the people in the world are not individuals atall? They never have an individual idea or experience. A lot of girls goto boarding-school together, come out the same season, dance at the sameparties, are married off in groups, have their babies at about the sametime, send their children to school together, and so the human croprenews itself. Such women know as much about the reality of the formsthey go through as they know about the wars they learn the dates of. They get their most personal experiences out of novels and plays. Everything is second-hand with them. Why, you COULDN'T live like that. "

Thea sat looking toward the mantel, her eyes half closed, her chinlevel, her head set as if she were enduring something. Her hands, verywhite, lay passive on her dark gown. From the window corner Fred lookedat them and at her. He shook his head and flashed an angry, tormentedlook out into the blue twilight over the Square, through which muffledcries and calls and the clang of car bells came up from the street. Heturned again and began to pace the floor, his hands in his pockets. 

"Say what you will, Thea Kronborg, you are not that sort of person. Youwill never sit alone with a pacifier and a novel. You won't subsist onwhat the old ladies have put into the bottle for you. You will alwaysbreak through into the realities. That was the first thing Harsanyifound out about you; that you couldn't be kept on the outside. If you'dlived in Moonstone all your life and got on with the discreet brakeman, you'd have had just the same nature. Your children would have been therealities then, probably. If they'd been commonplace, you'd have killedthem with driving. You'd have managed some way to live twenty times asmuch as the people around you. "

Fred paused. He sought along the shadowy ceiling and heavy mouldings forwords. When he began again, his voice was lower, and at first he spokewith less conviction, though again it grew on him. "Now I knew allthis--oh, knew it better than I can ever make you understand! You'vebeen running a handicap. You had no time to lose. I wanted you to havewhat you need and to get on fast--get through with me, if need be; Icounted on that. You've no time to sit round and analyze your conduct oryour feelings. Other women give their whole lives to it. They've nothingelse to do. Helping a man to get his divorce is a career for them; justthe sort of intellectual exercise they like. "

Fred dived fiercely into his pockets as if he would rip them out andscatter their contents to the winds. Stopping before her, he took a deepbreath and went on again, this time slowly. "All that sort of thing isforeign to you. You'd be nowhere at it. You haven't that kind of mind. The grammatical niceties of conduct are dark to you. You're simple--andpoetic. " Fred's voice seemed to be wandering about in the thickeningdusk. "You won't play much. You won't, perhaps, love many times. " Hepaused. "And you did love me, you know. Your railroad friend would haveunderstood me. I COULD have thrown you back. The reverse was there, --itstared me in the face, --but I couldn't pull it. I let you drive ahead. "He threw out his hands. What Thea noticed, oddly enough, was the flashof the firelight on his cuff link. He turned again. "And you'll alwaysdrive ahead, " he muttered. "It's your way. "

There was a long silence. Fred had dropped into a chair. He seemed, after such an explosion, not to have a word left in him. Thea put herhand to the back of her neck and pressed it, as if the muscles therewere aching. 

"Well, " she said at last, "I at least overlook more in you than I do inmyself. I am always excusing you to myself. I don't do much else. "

"Then why, in Heaven's name, won't you let me be your friend? You make ascoundrel of me, borrowing money from another man to get out of myclutches. "

"If I borrow from him, it's to study. Anything I took from you would bedifferent. As I said before, you'd be keeping me. "

"Keeping! I like your language. It's pure Moonstone, Thea, --like yourpoint of view. I wonder how long you'll be a Methodist. " He turned awaybitterly. 

"Well, I've never said I wasn't Moonstone, have I? I am, and that's whyI want Dr. Archie. I can't see anything so funny about Moonstone, youknow. " She pushed her chair back a little from the hearth and claspedher hands over her knee, still looking thoughtfully into the red coals. "We always come back to the same thing, Fred. The name, as you call it, makes a difference to me how I feel about myself. You would have actedvery differently with a girl of your own kind, and that's why I can'ttake anything from you now. You've made everything impossible. Beingmarried is one thing and not being married is the other thing, andthat's all there is to it. I can't see how you reasoned with yourself, if you took the trouble to reason. You say I was too much alone, and yetwhat you did was to cut me off more than I ever had been. Now I'm goingto try to make good to my friends out there. That's all there is leftfor me. "

"Make good to your friends!" Fred burst out. "What one of them cares asI care, or believes as I believe? I've told you I'll never ask agracious word from you until I can ask it with all the churches inChristendom at my back. "

Thea looked up, and when she saw Fred's face, she thought sadly that he, too, looked as if things were spoiled for him. "If you know me as wellas you say you do, Fred, " she said slowly, "then you are not beinghonest with yourself. You know that I can't do things halfway. If youkept me at all--you'd keep me. " She dropped her head wearily on her handand sat with her forehead resting on her fingers. 

Fred leaned over her and said just above his breath, "Then, when I getthat divorce, you'll take it up with me again? You'll at least let meknow, warn me, before there is a serious question of anybody else?"

Without lifting her head, Thea answered him. "Oh, I don't think therewill ever be a question of anybody else. Not if I can help it. I supposeI've given you every reason to think there will be, --at once, onshipboard, any time. "

Ottenburg drew himself up like a shot. "Stop it, Thea!" he said sharply. "That's one thing you've never done. That's like any common woman. " Hesaw her shoulders lift a little and grow calm. Then he went to the otherside of the room and took up his hat and gloves from the sofa. He cameback cheerfully. "I didn't drop in to bully you this afternoon. I cameto coax you to go out for tea with me somewhere. " He waited, but she didnot look up or lift her head, still sunk on her hand. 

Her handkerchief had fallen. Fred picked it up and put it on her knee, pressing her fingers over it. "Good-night, dear and wonderful, " hewhispered, --"wonderful and dear! How can you ever get away from me whenI will always follow you, through every wall, through every door, wherever you go. " He looked down at her bent head, and the curve of herneck that was so sad. He stooped, and with his lips just touched herhair where the firelight made it ruddiest. "I didn't know I had it inme, Thea. I thought it was all a fairy tale. I don't know myself anymore. " He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "The salt's all gone outof your hair. It's full of sun and wind again. I believe it hasmemories. " Again she heard him take a deep breath. "I could do withoutyou for a lifetime, if that would give you to yourself. A woman like youdoesn't find herself, alone. "

She thrust her free hand up to him. He kissed it softly, as if she wereasleep and he were afraid of waking her. 

From the door he turned back irrelevantly. "As to your old friend, Thea, if he's to be here on Friday, why, "--he snatched out his watch and heldit down to catch the light from the grate, --"he's on the train now! Thatought to cheer you. Good-night. " She heard the door close. 

III

ON Friday afternoon Thea Kronborg was walking excitedly up and down hersitting-room, which at that hour was flooded by thin, clear sunshine. Both windows were open, and the fire in the grate was low, for the daywas one of those false springs that sometimes blow into New York fromthe sea in the middle of winter, soft, warm, with a persuasive saltymoisture in the air and a relaxing thaw under foot. Thea was flushed andanimated, and she seemed as restless as the sooty sparrows that chirpedand cheeped distractingly about the windows. She kept looking at theblack clock, and then down into the Square. The room was full offlowers, and she stopped now and then to arrange them or to move theminto the sunlight. After the bellboy came to announce a visitor, shetook some Roman hyacinths from a glass and stuck them in the front ofher dark-blue dress. 

When at last Fred Ottenburg appeared in the doorway, she met him with anexclamation of pleasure. "I am glad you've come, Fred. I was afraid youmight not get my note, and I wanted to see you before you see Dr. Archie. He's so nice!" She brought her hands together to emphasize herstatement. 

"Is he? I'm glad. You see I'm quite out of breath. I didn't wait for theelevator, but ran upstairs. I was so pleased at being sent for. " Hedropped his hat and overcoat. "Yes, I should say he is nice! I don'tseem to recognize all of these, " waving his handkerchief about at theflowers. 

"Yes, he brought them himself, in a big box. He brought lots with himbesides flowers. Oh, lots of things! The old Moonstone feeling, "--Theamoved her hand back and forth in the air, fluttering her fingers, --"thefeeling of starting out, early in the morning, to take my lesson. "

"And you've had everything out with him?"

"No, I haven't. "

"Haven't?" He looked up in consternation. 

"No, I haven't!" Thea spoke excitedly, moving about over the sunnypatches on the grimy carpet. "I've lied to him, just as you said I hadalways lied to him, and that's why I'm so happy. I've let him think whathe likes to think. Oh, I couldn't do anything else, Fred, "--she shookher head emphatically. "If you'd seen him when he came in, so pleasedand excited! You see this is a great adventure for him. From the momentI began to talk to him, he entreated me not to say too much, not tospoil his notion of me. Not in so many words, of course. But if you'dseen his eyes, his face, his kind hands! Oh, no! I couldn't. " She took adeep breath, as if with a renewed sense of her narrow escape. 

"Then, what did you tell him?" Fred demanded. 

Thea sat down on the edge of the sofa and began shutting and opening herhands nervously. "Well, I told him enough, and not too much. I told himall about how good you were to me last winter, getting me engagementsand things, and how you had helped me with my work more than anybody. Then I told him about how you sent me down to the ranch when I had nomoney or anything. " She paused and wrinkled her forehead. "And I toldhim that I wanted to marry you and ran away to Mexico with you, and thatI was awfully happy until you told me that you couldn't marry mebecause--well, I told him why. " Thea dropped her eyes and moved the toeof her shoe about restlessly on the carpet. 

"And he took it from you, like that?" Fred asked, almost with awe. 

"Yes, just like that, and asked no questions. He was hurt; he had somewretched moments. I could see him squirming and squirming and trying toget past it. He kept shutting his eyes and rubbing his forehead. Butwhen I told him that I absolutely knew you wanted to marry me, that youwould whenever you could, that seemed to help him a good deal. "

"And that satisfied him?" Fred asked wonderingly. He could not quiteimagine what kind of person Dr. Archie might be. 

"He took me by the shoulders once and asked, oh, in such a frightenedway, 'Thea, was he GOOD to you, this young man?' When I told him youwere, he looked at me again: 'And you care for him a great deal, youbelieve in him?' Then he seemed satisfied. " Thea paused. "You see, he'sjust tremendously good, and tremendously afraid of things--of somethings. Otherwise he would have got rid of Mrs. Archie. " She looked upsuddenly: "You were right, though; one can't tell people about thingsthey don't know already. "

Fred stood in the window, his back to the sunlight, fingering thejonquils. "Yes, you can, my dear. But you must tell it in such a waythat they don't know you're telling it, and that they don't know they'rehearing it. "

Thea smiled past him, out into the air. "I see. It's a secret. Like thesound in the shell. "

"What's that?" Fred was watching her and thinking how moving thatfaraway expression, in her, happened to be. "What did you say?"

She came back. "Oh, something old and Moonstony! I have almost forgottenit myself. But I feel better than I thought I ever could again. I can'twait to be off. Oh, Fred, " she sprang up, "I want to get at it!"

As she broke out with this, she threw up her head and lifted herself alittle on her toes. Fred colored and looked at her fearfully, hesitatingly. Her eyes, which looked out through the window, werebright--they had no memories. No, she did not remember. That momentaryelevation had no associations for her. It was unconscious. 

He looked her up and down and laughed and shook his head. "You are justall I want you to be--and that is, --not for me! Don't worry, you'll getat it. You are at it. My God! have you ever, for one moment, been atanything else?"

Thea did not answer him, and clearly she had not heard him. She waswatching something out in the thin light of the false spring and itstreacherously soft air. 

Fred waited a moment. "Are you going to dine with your friend to-night?"

"Yes. He has never been in New York before. He wants to go about. Whereshall I tell him to go?"

"Wouldn't it be a better plan, since you wish me to meet him, for youboth to dine with me? It would seem only natural and friendly. You'llhave to live up a little to his notion of us. " Thea seemed to considerthe suggestion favorably. "If you wish him to be easy in his mind, " Fredwent on, "that would help. I think, myself, that we are rather nicetogether. Put on one of the new dresses you got down there, and let himsee how lovely you can be. You owe him some pleasure, after all thetrouble he has taken. "

Thea laughed, and seemed to find the idea exciting and pleasant. "Oh, very well! I'll do my best. Only don't wear a dress coat, please. Hehasn't one, and he's nervous about it. "

Fred looked at his watch. "Your monument up there is fast. I'll be herewith a cab at eight. I'm anxious to meet him. You've given me thestrangest idea of his callow innocence and aged indifference. "

She shook her head. "No, he's none of that. He's very good, and he won'tadmit things. I love him for it. Now, as I look back on it, I see thatI've always, even when I was little, shielded him. "

As she laughed, Fred caught the bright spark in her eye that he knew sowell, and held it for a happy instant. Then he blew her a kiss with hisfinger-tips and fled. 

IV

AT nine o'clock that evening our three friends were seated in thebalcony of a French restaurant, much gayer and more intimate than anythat exists in New York to-day. This old restaurant was built by a loverof pleasure, who knew that to dine gayly human beings must have thereassurance of certain limitations of space and of a certain definitestyle; that the walls must be near enough to suggest shelter, theceiling high enough to give the chandeliers a setting. The place wascrowded with the kind of people who dine late and well, and Dr. Archie, as he watched the animated groups in the long room below the balcony, found this much the most festive scene he had ever looked out upon. Hesaid to himself, in a jovial mood somewhat sustained by the cheer of theboard, that this evening alone was worth his long journey. He followedattentively the orchestra, ensconced at the farther end of the balcony, and told Thea it made him feel "quite musical" to recognize "TheInvitation to the Dance" or "The Blue Danube, " and that he couldremember just what kind of day it was when he heard her practicing themat home, and lingered at the gate to listen. 

For the first few moments, when he was introduced to young Ottenburg inthe parlor of the Everett House, the doctor had been awkward andunbending. But Fred, as his father had often observed, "was not a goodmixer for nothing. " He had brought Dr. Archie around during the shortcab ride, and in an hour they had become old friends. 

From the moment when the doctor lifted his glass and, lookingconsciously at Thea, said, "To your success, " Fred liked him. He felthis quality; understood his courage in some directions and what Theacalled his timidity in others, his unspent and miraculously preservedyouthfulness. Men could never impose upon the doctor, he guessed, butwomen always could. Fred liked, too, the doctor's manner with Thea, hisbashful admiration and the little hesitancy by which he betrayed hisconsciousness of the change in her. It was just this change that, atpresent, interested Fred more than anything else. That, he felt, was his"created value, " and it was his best chance for any peace of mind. Ifthat were not real, obvious to an old friend like Archie, then he cut avery poor figure, indeed. 

Fred got a good deal, too, out of their talk about Moonstone. From herquestions and the doctor's answers he was able to form some conceptionof the little world that was almost the measure of Thea's experience, the one bit of the human drama that she had followed with sympathy andunderstanding. As the two ran over the list of their friends, the meresound of a name seemed to recall volumes to each of them, to indicatemines of knowledge and observation they had in common. At some namesthey laughed delightedly, at some indulgently and even tenderly. 

"You two young people must come out to Moonstone when Thea gets back, "the doctor said hospitably. 

"Oh, we shall!" Fred caught it up. "I'm keen to know all these people. It is very tantalizing to hear only their names. "

"Would they interest an outsider very much, do you think, Dr. Archie?"Thea leaned toward him. "Isn't it only because we've known them since Iwas little?"

The doctor glanced at her deferentially. Fred had noticed that he seemeda little afraid to look at her squarely--perhaps a trifle embarrassed bya mode of dress to which he was unaccustomed. "Well, you are practicallyan outsider yourself, Thea, now, " he observed smiling. "Oh, I know, " hewent on quickly in response to her gesture of protest, --"I know youdon't change toward your old friends, but you can see us all from adistance now. It's all to your advantage that you can still take yourold interest, isn't it, Mr. Ottenburg?"

"That's exactly one of her advantages, Dr. Archie. Nobody can ever takethat away from her, and none of us who came later can ever hope to rivalMoonstone in the impression we make. Her scale of values will always bethe Moonstone scale. And, with an artist, that IS an advantage. " Frednodded. 

Dr. Archie looked at him seriously. "You mean it keeps them from gettingaffected?"

"Yes; keeps them from getting off the track generally. "

While the waiter filled the glasses, Fred pointed out to Thea a bigblack French barytone who was eating anchovies by their tails at one ofthe tables below, and the doctor looked about and studied his fellowdiners. 

"Do you know, Mr. Ottenburg, " he said deeply, "these people all lookhappier to me than our Western people do. Is it simply good manners ontheir part, or do they get more out of life?"

Fred laughed to Thea above the glass he had just lifted. "Some of themare getting a good deal out of it now, doctor. This is the hour whenbench-joy brightens. "

Thea chuckled and darted him a quick glance. "Benchjoy! Where did youget that slang?"

"That happens to be very old slang, my dear. Older than Moonstone or thesovereign State of Colorado. Our old friend Mr. Nathanmeyer could tellus why it happens to hit you. " He leaned forward and touched Thea'swrist, "See that fur coat just coming in, Thea. It's D'Albert. He's justback from his Western tour. Fine head, hasn't he?"

"To go back, " said Dr. Archie; "I insist that people do look happierhere. I've noticed it even on the street, and especially in the hotels. "

Fred turned to him cheerfully. "New York people live a good deal in thefourth dimension, Dr. Archie. It's that you notice in their faces. "

The doctor was interested. "The fourth dimension, " he repeated slowly;"and is that slang, too?"

"No, "--Fred shook his head, --"that's merely a figure. I mean that lifeis not quite so personal here as it is in your part of the world. Peopleare more taken up by hobbies, interests that are less subject toreverses than their personal affairs. If you're interested in Thea'svoice, for instance, or in voices in general, that interest is just thesame, even if your mining stocks go down. "

The doctor looked at him narrowly. "You think that's about the principaldifference between country people and city people, don't you?"

Fred was a little disconcerted at being followed up so resolutely, andhe attempted to dismiss it with a pleasantry. "I've never thought muchabout it, doctor. But I should say, on the spur of the moment, that thatis one of the principal differences between people anywhere. It's theconsolation of fellows like me who don't accomplish much. The fourthdimension is not good for business, but we think we have a better time. "

Dr. Archie leaned back in his chair. His heavy shoulders werecontemplative. "And she, " he said slowly; "should you say that she isone of the kind you refer to?" He inclined his head toward the shimmerof the pale-green dress beside him. Thea was leaning, just then, overthe balcony rail, her head in the light from the chandeliers below. 

"Never, never!" Fred protested. "She's as hard-headed as the worst ofyou--with a difference. "

The doctor sighed. "Yes, with a difference; something that makes a goodmany revolutions to the second. When she was little I used to feel herhead to try to locate it. "

Fred laughed. "Did you, though? So you were on the track of it? Oh, it'sthere! We can't get round it, miss, " as Thea looked back inquiringly. "Dr. Archie, there's a fellow townsman of yours I feel a real kinshipfor. " He pressed a cigar upon Dr. Archie and struck a match for him. "Tell me about Spanish Johnny. "

The doctor smiled benignantly through the first waves of smoke. "Well, Johnny's an old patient of mine, and he's an old admirer of Thea's. Shewas born a cosmopolitan, and I expect she learned a good deal fromJohnny when she used to run away and go to Mexican Town. We thought it aqueer freak then. "

The doctor launched into a long story, in which he was often eagerlyinterrupted or joyously confirmed by Thea, who was drinking her coffeeand forcing open the petals of the roses with an ardent and rather rudehand. Fred settled down into enjoying his comprehension of his guests. Thea, watching Dr. Archie and interested in his presentation, wasunconsciously impersonating her suave, gold-tinted friend. It wasdelightful to see her so radiant and responsive again. She had kept herpromise about looking her best; when one could so easily get togetherthe colors of an apple branch in early spring, that was not hard to do. Even Dr. Archie felt, each time he looked at her, a fresh consciousness. He recognized the fine texture of her mother's skin, with the differencethat, when she reached across the table to give him a bunch of grapes, her arm was not only white, but somehow a little dazzling. She seemed tohim taller, and freer in all her movements. She had now a way of takinga deep breath when she was interested, that made her seem very strong, somehow, and brought her at one quite overpoweringly. If he seemed shy, it was not that he was intimidated by her worldly clothes, but that hergreater positiveness, her whole augmented self, made him feel that hisaccustomed manner toward her was inadequate. 

Fred, on his part, was reflecting that the awkward position in which hehad placed her would not confine or chafe her long. She looked about atother people, at other women, curiously. She was not quite sure ofherself, but she was not in the least afraid or apologetic. She seemedto sit there on the edge, emerging from one world into another, takingher bearings, getting an idea of the concerted movement about her, butwith absolute self-confidence. So far from shrinking, she expanded. Themere kindly effort to please Dr. Archie was enough to bring her out. 

There was much talk of aurae at that time, and Fred mused that everybeautiful, every compellingly beautiful woman, had an aura, whetherother people did or no. There was, certainly, about the woman he hadbrought up from Mexico, such an emanation. She existed in more spacethan she occupied by measurement. The enveloping air about her head andshoulders was subsidized--was more moving than she herself, for in itlived the awakenings, all the first sweetness that life kills in people. One felt in her such a wealth of JUGENDZEIT, all those flowers of themind and the blood that bloom and perish by the myriad in the fewexhaustless years when the imagination first kindles. It was in watchingher as she emerged like this, in being near and not too near, that onegot, for a moment, so much that one had lost; among other legendarythings the legendary theme of the absolutely magical power of abeautiful woman. 

After they had left Thea at her hotel, Dr. Archie admitted to Fred, asthey walked up Broadway through the rapidly chilling air, that oncebefore he had seen their young friend flash up into a more potent self, but in a darker mood. It was in his office one night, when she was athome the summer before last. "And then I got the idea, " he added simply, "that she would not live like other people: that, for better or worse, she had uncommon gifts. "

"Oh, we'll see that it's for better, you and I, " Fred reassured him. "Won't you come up to my hotel with me? I think we ought to have a longtalk. "

"Yes, indeed, " said Dr. Archie gratefully; "I think we ought. "

V

THEA was to sail on Tuesday, at noon, and on Saturday Fred Ottenburgarranged for her passage, while she and Dr. Archie went shopping. Withrugs and sea-clothes she was already provided; Fred had got everythingof that sort she needed for the voyage up from Vera Cruz. On Sundayafternoon Thea went to see the Harsanyis. When she returned to herhotel, she found a note from Ottenburg, saying that he had called andwould come again to-morrow. 

On Monday morning, while she was at breakfast, Fred came in. She knew byhis hurried, distracted air as he entered the dining-room that somethinghad gone wrong. He had just got a telegram from home. His mother hadbeen thrown from her carriage and hurt; a concussion of some sort, andshe was unconscious. He was leaving for St. Louis that night on theeleven o'clock train. He had a great deal to attend to during the day. He would come that evening, if he might, and stay with her until traintime, while she was doing her packing. Scarcely waiting for her consent, he hurried away. 

All day Thea was somewhat cast down. She was sorry for Fred, and shemissed the feeling that she was the one person in his mind. He hadscarcely looked at her when they exchanged words at the breakfast-table. She felt as if she were set aside, and she did not seem so importanteven to herself as she had yesterday. Certainly, she reflected, it washigh time that she began to take care of herself again. Dr. Archie camefor dinner, but she sent him away early, telling him that she would beready to go to the boat with him at half-past ten the next morning. Whenshe went upstairs, she looked gloomily at the open trunk in hersitting-room, and at the trays piled on the sofa. She stood at thewindow and watched a quiet snowstorm spending itself over the city. Morethan anything else, falling snow always made her think of Moonstone; ofthe Kohlers' garden, of Thor's sled, of dressing by lamplight andstarting off to school before the paths were broken. 

When Fred came, he looked tired, and he took her hand almost withoutseeing her. 

"I'm so sorry, Fred. Have you had any more word?"

"She was still unconscious at four this afternoon. It doesn't look veryencouraging. " He approached the fire and warmed his hands. He seemed tohave contracted, and he had not at all his habitual ease of manner. "Poor mother!" he exclaimed; "nothing like this should have happened toher. She has so much pride of person. She's not at all an old woman, youknow. She's never got beyond vigorous and rather dashing middle age. " Heturned abruptly to Thea and for the first time really looked at her. "How badly things come out! She'd have liked you for a daughter-in-law. Oh, you'd have fought like the devil, but you'd have respected eachother. " He sank into a chair and thrust his feet out to the fire. "Still, " he went on thoughtfully, seeming to address the ceiling, "itmight have been bad for you. Our big German houses, our good Germancooking--you might have got lost in the upholstery. That substantialcomfort might take the temper out of you, dull your edge. Yes, " hesighed, "I guess you were meant for the jolt of the breakers. "

"I guess I'll get plenty of jolt, " Thea murmured, turning to her trunk. 

"I'm rather glad I'm not staying over until to-morrow, " Fred reflected. "I think it's easier for me to glide out like this. I feel now as ifeverything were rather casual, anyhow. A thing like that dulls one'sfeelings. "

Thea, standing by her trunk, made no reply. Presently he shook himselfand rose. "Want me to put those trays in for you?"

"No, thank you. I'm not ready for them yet. "

Fred strolled over to the sofa, lifted a scarf from one of the trays andstood abstractedly drawing it through his fingers. "You've been so kindthese last few days, Thea, that I began to hope you might soften alittle; that you might ask me to come over and see you this summer. "

"If you thought that, you were mistaken, " she said slowly. "I'vehardened, if anything. But I shan't carry any grudge away with me, ifyou mean that. "

He dropped the scarf. "And there's nothing--nothing at all you'll let medo?"

"Yes, there is one thing, and it's a good deal to ask. If I get knockedout, or never get on, I'd like you to see that Dr. Archie gets his moneyback. I'm taking three thousand dollars of his. "

"Why, of course I shall. You may dismiss that from your mind. How fussyyou are about money, Thea. You make such a point of it. " He turnedsharply and walked to the windows. 

Thea sat down in the chair he had quitted. "It's only poor people whofeel that way about money, and who are really honest, " she said gravely. "Sometimes I think that to be really honest, you must have been so poorthat you've been tempted to steal. "

"To what?"

"To steal. I used to be, when I first went to Chicago and saw all thethings in the big stores there. Never anything big, but little things, the kind I'd never seen before and could never afford. I did takesomething once, before I knew it. "

Fred came toward her. For the first time she had his whole attention, inthe degree to which she was accustomed to having it. "Did you? What wasit?" he asked with interest. 

"A sachet. A little blue silk bag of orris-root powder. There was awhole counterful of them, marked down to fifty cents. I'd never seen anybefore, and they seemed irresistible. I took one up and wandered aboutthe store with it. Nobody seemed to notice, so I carried it off. "

Fred laughed. "Crazy child! Why, your things always smell of orris; isit a penance?"

"No, I love it. But I saw that the firm didn't lose anything by me. Iwent back and bought it there whenever I had a quarter to spend. I got alot to take to Arizona. I made it up to them. "

"I'll bet you did!" Fred took her hand. "Why didn't I find you thatfirst winter? I'd have loved you just as you came!"

Thea shook her head. "No, you wouldn't, but you might have found meamusing. The Harsanyis said yesterday afternoon that I wore such a funnycape and that my shoes always squeaked. They think I've improved. I toldthem it was your doing if I had, and then they looked scared. "

"Did you sing for Harsanyi?"

"Yes. He thinks I've improved there, too. He said nice things to me. Oh, he was very nice! He agrees with you about my going to Lehmann, ifshe'll take me. He came out to the elevator with me, after we had saidgood-bye. He said something nice out there, too, but he seemed sad. "

"What was it that he said?"

"He said, 'When people, serious people, believe in you, they give yousome of their best, so--take care of it, Miss Kronborg. ' Then he wavedhis hands and went back. "

"If you sang, I wish you had taken me along. Did you sing well?" Fredturned from her and went back to the window. "I wonder when I shall hearyou sing again. " He picked up a bunch of violets and smelled them. "Youknow, your leaving me like this--well, it's almost inhuman to be able todo it so kindly and unconditionally. "

"I suppose it is. It was almost inhuman to be able to leave home, too, --the last time, when I knew it was for good. But all the same, Icared a great deal more than anybody else did. I lived through it. Ihave no choice now. No matter how much it breaks me up, I have to go. DoI seem to enjoy it?"

Fred bent over her trunk and picked up something which proved to be ascore, clumsily bound. "What's this? Did you ever try to sing this?" Heopened it and on the engraved title-page read Wunsch's inscription, "EINST, O WUNDER!" He looked up sharply at Thea. 

"Wunsch gave me that when he went away. I've told you about him, my oldteacher in Moonstone. He loved that opera. "

Fred went toward the fireplace, the book under his arm, singingsoftly:--

"EINST, O WUNDER, ENTBLUHT AUF MEINEM GRABE, EINE BLUME DER ASCHE MEINES HERZENS;"

"You have no idea at all where he is, Thea?" He leaned against themantel and looked down at her. 

"No, I wish I had. He may be dead by this time. That was five years ago, and he used himself hard. Mrs. Kohler was always afraid he would die offalone somewhere and be stuck under the prairie. When we last heard ofhim, he was in Kansas. "

"If he were to be found, I'd like to do something for him. I seem to geta good deal of him from this. " He opened the book again, where he keptthe place with his finger, and scrutinized the purple ink. "How like aGerman! Had he ever sung the song for you?"

"No. I didn't know where the words were from until once, when Harsanyisang it for me, I recognized them. "

Fred closed the book. "Let me see, what was your noble brakeman's name?"

Thea looked up with surprise. "Ray, Ray Kennedy. "

"Ray Kennedy!" he laughed. "It couldn't well have been better! Wunschand Dr. Archie, and Ray, and I, "--he told them off on hisfingers, --"your whistling-posts! You haven't done so badly. We've backedyou as we could, some in our weakness and some in our might. In yourdark hours--and you'll have them--you may like to remember us. " Hesmiled whimsically and dropped the score into the trunk. "You are takingthat with you?"

"Surely I am. I haven't so many keepsakes that I can afford to leavethat. I haven't got many that I value so highly. "

"That you value so highly?" Fred echoed her gravity playfully. "You aredelicious when you fall into your vernacular. " He laughed half tohimself. 

"What's the matter with that? Isn't it perfectly good English?"

"Perfectly good Moonstone, my dear. Like the readymade clothes that hangin the windows, made to fit everybody and fit nobody, a phrase that canbe used on all occasions. Oh, "--he started across the roomagain, --"that's one of the fine things about your going! You'll be withthe right sort of people and you'll learn a good, live, warm German, that will be like yourself. You'll get a new speech full of shades andcolor like your voice; alive, like your mind. It will be almost likebeing born again, Thea. "

She was not offended. Fred had said such things to her before, and shewanted to learn. In the natural course of things she would never haveloved a man from whom she could not learn a great deal. 

"Harsanyi said once, " she remarked thoughtfully, "that if one became anartist one had to be born again, and that one owed nothing to anybody. "

"Exactly. And when I see you again I shall not see you, but yourdaughter. May I?" He held up his cigarette case questioningly and thenbegan to smoke, taking up again the song which ran in his head:--

"DEUTLICH SCHIMMERT AUF JEDEM, PURPURBLATTCHEN, ADELAIDE!"

"I have half an hour with you yet, and then, exit Fred. " He walked aboutthe room, smoking and singing the words under his breath. "You'll likethe voyage, " he said abruptly. "That first approach to a foreign shore, stealing up on it and finding it--there's nothing like it. It wakes upeverything that's asleep in you. You won't mind my writing to somepeople in Berlin? They'll be nice to you. "

"I wish you would. " Thea gave a deep sigh. "I wish one could look aheadand see what is coming to one. "

"Oh, no!" Fred was smoking nervously; "that would never do. It's theuncertainty that makes one try. You've never had any sort of chance, andnow I fancy you'll make it up to yourself. You'll find the way to letyourself out in one long flight. "

Thea put her hand on her heart. "And then drop like the rocks we used tothrow--anywhere. " She left the chair and went over to the sofa, huntingfor something in the trunk trays. When she came back she found Fredsitting in her place. "Here are some handkerchiefs of yours. I've keptone or two. They're larger than mine and useful if one has a headache. "

"Thank you. How nicely they smell of your things!" He looked at thewhite squares for a moment and then put them in his pocket. He kept thelow chair, and as she stood beside him he took her hands and sat lookingintently at them, as if he were examining them for some special purpose, tracing the long round fingers with the tips of his own. "Ordinarily, you know, there are reefs that a man catches to and keeps his nose abovewater. But this is a case by itself. There seems to be no limit as tohow much I can be in love with you. I keep going. " He did not lift hiseyes from her fingers, which he continued to study with the same fervor. "Every kind of stringed instrument there is plays in your hands, Thea, "he whispered, pressing them to his face. 

She dropped beside him and slipped into his arms, shutting her eyes andlifting her cheek to his. "Tell me one thing, " Fred whispered. "You saidthat night on the boat, when I first told you, that if you could youwould crush it all up in your hands and throw it into the sea. Wouldyou, all those weeks?"

She shook her head. 

"Answer me, would you?"

"No, I was angry then. I'm not now. I'd never give them up. Don't makeme pay too much. " In that embrace they lived over again all the others. When Thea drew away from him, she dropped her face in her hands. "Youare good to me, " she breathed, "you are!"

Rising to his feet, he put his hands under her elbows and lifted hergently. He drew her toward the door with him. "Get all you can. Begenerous with yourself. Don't stop short of splendid things. I want themfor you more than I want anything else, more than I want one splendidthing for myself. I can't help feeling that you'll gain, somehow, by mylosing so much. That you'll gain the very thing I lose. Take care ofher, as Harsanyi said. She's wonderful!" He kissed her and went out ofthe door without looking back, just as if he were coming againto-morrow. 

Thea went quickly into her bedroom. She brought out an armful of muslinthings, knelt down, and began to lay them in the trays. Suddenly shestopped, dropped forward and leaned against the open trunk, her head onher arms. The tears fell down on the dark old carpet. It came over herhow many people must have said good-bye and been unhappy in that room. Other people, before her time, had hired this room to cry in. Strangerooms and strange streets and faces, how sick at heart they made one!Why was she going so far, when what she wanted was some familiar placeto hide in?--the rock house, her little room in Moonstone, her own bed. Oh, how good it would be to lie down in that little bed, to cut thenerve that kept one struggling, that pulled one on and on, to sink intopeace there, with all the family safe and happy downstairs. After all, she was a Moonstone girl, one of the preacher's children. Everythingelse was in Fred's imagination. Why was she called upon to take suchchances? Any safe, humdrum work that did not compromise her would bebetter. But if she failed now, she would lose her soul. There wasnowhere to fall, after one took that step, except into abysses ofwretchedness. She knew what abysses, for she could still hear the oldman playing in the snowstorm, it was released in her like a passion oflonging. Every nerve in her body thrilled to it. It brought her to herfeet, carried her somehow to bed and into troubled sleep. 

That night she taught in Moonstone again: she beat her pupils in hideousrages, she kept on beating them. She sang at funerals, and struggled atthe piano with Harsanyi. In one dream she was looking into a hand-glassand thinking that she was getting better-looking, when the glass beganto grow smaller and smaller and her own reflection to shrink, until sherealized that she was looking into Ray Kennedy's eyes, seeing her facein that look of his which she could never forget. All at once the eyeswere Fred Ottenburg's, and not Ray's. All night she heard the shriekingof trains, whistling in and out of Moonstone, as she used to hear themin her sleep when they blew shrill in the winter air. But to-night theywere terrifying, --the spectral, fated trains that "raced with death, "about which the old woman from the depot used to pray. 

In the morning she wakened breathless after a struggle with Mrs. LiveryJohnson's daughter. She started up with a bound, threw the blankets backand sat on the edge of the bed, her night-dress open, her long braidshanging over her bosom, blinking at the daylight. After all, it was nottoo late. She was only twenty years old, and the boat sailed at noon. There was still time!

PART VI. KRONBORG

I

It is a glorious winter day. Denver, standing on her high plateau undera thrilling green-blue sky, is masked in snow and glittering withsunlight. The Capitol building is actually in armor, and throws off theshafts of the sun until the beholder is dazzled and the outlines of thebuilding are lost in a blaze of reflected light. The stone terrace is awhite field over which fiery reflections dance, and the trees and bushesare faithfully repeated in snow--on every black twig a soft, blurredline of white. From the terrace one looks directly over to where themountains break in their sharp, familiar lines against the sky. Snowfills the gorges, hangs in scarfs on the great slopes, and on the peaksthe fiery sunshine is gathered up as by a burning-glass. 

Howard Archie is standing at the window of his private room in theoffices of the San Felipe Mining Company, on the sixth floor of theRaton Building, looking off at the mountain glories of his State whilehe gives dictation to his secretary. He is ten years older than when wesaw him last, and emphatically ten years more prosperous. A decade ofcoming into things has not so much aged him as it has fortified, smoothed, and assured him. His sandy hair and imperial conceal whatevergray they harbor. He has not grown heavier, but more flexible, and hismassive shoulders carry fifty years and the control of his great mininginterests more lightly than they carried forty years and a countrypractice. In short, he is one of the friends to whom we feel gratefulfor having got on in the world, for helping to keep up the generaltemperature and our own confidence in life. He is an acquaintance thatone would hurry to overtake and greet among a hundred. In his warmhandshake and generous smile there is the stimulating cordiality of goodfellows come into good fortune and eager to pass it on; something thatmakes one think better of the lottery of life and resolve to try again. 

When Archie had finished his morning mail, he turned away from thewindow and faced his secretary. "Did anything come up yesterdayafternoon while I was away, T. B. ?"

Thomas Burk turned over the leaf of his calendar. "Governor Alden sentdown to say that he wanted to see you before he sends his letter to theBoard of Pardons. Asked if you could go over to the State House thismorning. "

Archie shrugged his shoulders. "I'll think about it. "

The young man grinned. 

"Anything else?" his chief continued. 

T. B. Swung round in his chair with a look of interest on his shrewd, clean-shaven face. "Old Jasper Flight was in, Dr. Archie. I neverexpected to see him alive again. Seems he's tucked away for the winterwith a sister who's a housekeeper at the Oxford. He's all crippled upwith rheumatism, but as fierce after it as ever. Wants to know if you orthe company won't grub-stake him again. Says he's sure of it this time;had located something when the snow shut down on him in December. Hewants to crawl out at the first break in the weather, with that same oldburro with the split ear. He got somebody to winter the beast for him. He's superstitious about that burro, too; thinks it's divinely guided. You ought to hear the line of talk he put up here yesterday; said whenhe rode in his carriage, that burro was a-going to ride along with him. "

Archie laughed. "Did he leave you his address?"

"He didn't neglect anything, " replied the clerk cynically. 

"Well, send him a line and tell him to come in again. I like to hearhim. Of all the crazy prospectors I've ever known, he's the mostinteresting, because he's really crazy. It's a religious conviction withhim, and with most of 'em it's a gambling fever or pure vagrancy. ButJasper Flight believes that the Almighty keeps the secret of the silverdeposits in these hills, and gives it away to the deserving. He's adownright noble figure. Of course I'll stake him! As long as he cancrawl out in the spring. He and that burro are a sight together. Thebeast is nearly as white as Jasper; must be twenty years old. "

"If you stake him this time, you won't have to again, " said T. B. Knowingly. "He'll croak up there, mark my word. Says he never ties theburro at night now, for fear he might be called sudden, and the beastwould starve. I guess that animal could eat a lariat rope, all right, and enjoy it. "

"I guess if we knew the things those two have eaten, and haven't eaten, in their time, T. B. , it would make us vegetarians. " The doctor sat downand looked thoughtful. "That's the way for the old man to go. It wouldbe pretty hard luck if he had to die in a hospital. I wish he could turnup something before he cashes in. But his kind seldom do; they'rebewitched. Still, there was Stratton. I've been meeting Jasper Flight, and his side meat and tin pans, up in the mountains for years, and I'dmiss him. I always halfway believe the fairy tales he spins me. OldJasper Flight, " Archie murmured, as if he liked the name or the pictureit called up. 

A clerk came in from the outer office and handed Archie a card. Hesprang up and exclaimed, "Mr. Ottenburg? Bring him in. "

Fred Ottenburg entered, clad in a long, fur-lined coat, holding achecked-cloth hat in his hand, his cheeks and eyes bright with theoutdoor cold. The two men met before Archie's desk and their handclaspwas longer than friendship prompts except in regions where the bloodwarms and quickens to meet the dry cold. Under the general keyingup ofthe altitude, manners take on a heartiness, a vivacity, that is oneexpression of the half-unconscious excitement which Colorado people misswhen they drop into lower strata of air. The heart, we are told, wearsout early in that high atmosphere, but while it pumps it sends out nosluggish stream. Our two friends stood gripping each other by the handand smiling. 

"When did you get in, Fred? And what have you come for?" Archie gave hima quizzical glance. 

"I've come to find out what you think you're doing out here, " theyounger man declared emphatically. "I want to get next, I do. When canyou see me?"

"Anything on to-night? Then suppose you dine with me. Where can I pickyou up at five-thirty?"

"Bixby's office, general freight agent of the Burlington. " Ottenburgbegan to button his overcoat and drew on his gloves. "I've got to haveone shot at you before I go, Archie. Didn't I tell you Pinky Alden was acheap squirt?"

Alden's backer laughed and shook his head. "Oh, he's worse than that, Fred. It isn't polite to mention what he is, outside of the ArabianNights. I guessed you'd come to rub it into me. "

Ottenburg paused, his hand on the doorknob, his high color challengingthe doctor's calm. "I'm disgusted with you, Archie, for training withsuch a pup. A man of your experience!"

"Well, he's been an experience, " Archie muttered. "I'm not coy aboutadmitting it, am I?"

Ottenburg flung open the door. "Small credit to you. Even the women areout for capital and corruption, I hear. Your Governor's done more forthe United Breweries in six months than I've been able to do in sixyears. He's the lily-livered sort we're looking for. Good-morning. "

That afternoon at five o'clock Dr. Archie emerged from the State Houseafter his talk with Governor Alden, and crossed the terrace under asaffron sky. The snow, beaten hard, was blue in the dusk; a day ofblinding sunlight had not even started a thaw. The lights of the citytwinkled pale below him in the quivering violet air, and the dome of theState House behind him was still red with the light from the west. Before he got into his car, the doctor paused to look about him at thescene of which he never tired. Archie lived in his own house on ColfaxAvenue, where he had roomy grounds and a rose garden and a conservatory. His housekeeping was done by three Japanese boys, devoted andresourceful, who were able to manage Archie's dinner parties, to seethat he kept his engagements, and to make visitors who stayed at thehouse so comfortable that they were always loath to go away. 

Archie had never known what comfort was until he became a widower, though with characteristic delicacy, or dishonesty, he insisted uponaccrediting his peace of mind to the San Felipe, to Time, to anythingbut his release from Mrs. Archie. 

Mrs. Archie died just before her husband left Moonstone and came toDenver to live, six years ago. The poor woman's fight against dust washer undoing at last. One summer day when she was rubbing the parlorupholstery with gasoline, --the doctor had often forbidden her to use iton any account, so that was one of the pleasures she seized upon in hisabsence, --an explosion occurred. Nobody ever knew exactly how ithappened, for Mrs. Archie was dead when the neighbors rushed in to saveher from the burning house. She must have inhaled the burning gas anddied instantly. 

Moonstone severity relented toward her somewhat after her death. Buteven while her old cronies at Mrs. Smiley's millinery store said that itwas a terrible thing, they added that nothing but a powerful explosiveCOULD have killed Mrs. Archie, and that it was only right the doctorshould have a chance. 

Archie's past was literally destroyed when his wife died. The houseburned to the ground, and all those material reminders which have suchpower over people disappeared in an hour. His mining interests now tookhim to Denver so often that it seemed better to make his headquartersthere. He gave up his practice and left Moonstone for good. Six monthsafterward, while Dr. Archie was living at the Brown Palace Hotel, theSan Felipe mine began to give up that silver hoard which old CaptainHarris had always accused it of concealing, and San Felipe headed thelist of mining quotations in every daily paper, East and West. In a fewyears Dr. Archie was a very rich man. His mine was such an importantitem in the mineral output of the State, and Archie had a hand in somany of the new industries of Colorado and New Mexico, that hispolitical influence was considerable. He had thrown it all, two yearsago, to the new reform party, and had brought about the election of agovernor of whose conduct he was now heartily ashamed. His friendsbelieved that Archie himself had ambitious political plans. 

II

WHEN Ottenburg and his host reached the house on Colfax Avenue, theywent directly to the library, a long double room on the second floorwhich Archie had arranged exactly to his own taste. It was full of booksand mounted specimens of wild game, with a big writing-table at eitherend, stiff, old-fashioned engravings, heavy hangings and deepupholstery. 

When one of the Japanese boys brought the cocktails, Fred turned fromthe fine specimen of peccoray he had been examining and said, "A man isan owl to live in such a place alone, Archie. Why don't you marry? Asfor me, just because I can't marry, I find the world full of charming, unattached women, any one of whom I could fit up a house for withalacrity. "

"You're more knowing than I. " Archie spoke politely. "I'm not very wideawake about women. I'd be likely to pick out one of the uncomfortableones--and there are a few of them, you know. " He drank his cocktail andrubbed his hands together in a friendly way. "My friends here havecharming wives, and they don't give me a chance to get lonely. They arevery kind to me, and I have a great many pleasant friendships. "

Fred put down his glass. "Yes, I've always noticed that women haveconfidence in you. You have the doctor's way of getting next. And youenjoy that kind of thing?"

"The friendship of attractive women? Oh, dear, yes! I depend upon it agreat deal. "

The butler announced dinner, and the two men went downstairs to thedining-room. Dr. Archie's dinners were always good and well served, andhis wines were excellent. 

"I saw the Fuel and Iron people to-day, " Ottenburg said, looking up fromhis soup. "Their heart is in the right place. I can't see why in themischief you ever got mixed up with that reform gang, Archie. You've gotnothing to reform out here. The situation has always been as simple astwo and two in Colorado; mostly a matter of a friendly understanding. "

"Well, "--Archie spoke tolerantly, --"some of the young fellows seemed tohave red-hot convictions, and I thought it was better to let them trytheir ideas out. "

Ottenburg shrugged his shoulders. "A few dull young men who haven'tability enough to play the old game the old way, so they want to put ona new game which doesn't take so much brains and gives away moreadvertising that's what your anti-saloon league and vice commissionamounts to. They provide notoriety for the fellows who can't distinguishthemselves at running a business or practicing law or developing anindustry. Here you have a mediocre lawyer with no brains and nopractice, trying to get a look-in on something. He comes up with thenovel proposition that the prostitute has a hard time of it, puts hispicture in the paper, and the first thing you know, he's a celebrity. Hegets the rake-off and she's just where she was before. How could youfall for a mouse-trap like Pink Alden, Archie?"

Dr. Archie laughed as he began to carve. "Pink seems to get under yourskin. He's not worth talking about. He's gone his limit. People won'tread about his blameless life any more. I knew those interviews he gaveout would cook him. They were a last resort. I could have stopped him, but by that time I'd come to the conclusion that I'd let the reformersdown. I'm not against a general shaking-up, but the trouble with Pinky'scrowd is they never get beyond a general writing-up. We gave them achance to do something, and they just kept on writing about each otherand what temptations they had overcome. "

While Archie and his friend were busy with Colorado politics, theimpeccable Japanese attended swiftly and intelligently to his duties, and the dinner, as Ottenburg at last remarked, was worthy of moreprofitable conversation. 

"So it is, " the doctor admitted. "Well, we'll go upstairs for our coffeeand cut this out. Bring up some cognac and arak, Tai, " he added as herose from the table. 

They stopped to examine a moose's head on the stairway, and when theyreached the library the pine logs in the fireplace had been lighted, andthe coffee was bubbling before the hearth. Tai placed two chairs beforethe fire and brought a tray of cigarettes. 

"Bring the cigars in my lower desk drawer, boy, " the doctor directed. "Too much light in here, isn't there, Fred? Light the lamp there on mydesk, Tai. " He turned off the electric glare and settled himself deepinto the chair opposite Ottenburg's. 

"To go back to our conversation, doctor, " Fred began while he waited forthe first steam to blow off his coffee; "why don't you make up your mindto go to Washington? There'd be no fight made against you. I needn't saythe United Breweries would back you. There'd be some KUDOS coming to us, too; backing a reform candidate. "

Dr. Archie measured his length in his chair and thrust his large bootstoward the crackling pitch-pine. He drank his coffee and lit a big blackcigar while his guest looked over the assortment of cigarettes on thetray. "You say why don't I, " the doctor spoke with the deliberation of aman in the position of having several courses to choose from, "but, onthe other hand, why should I?" He puffed away and seemed, through hishalf-closed eyes, to look down several long roads with the intention ofluxuriously rejecting all of them and remaining where he was. "I'm sickof politics. I'm disillusioned about serving my crowd, and I don'tparticularly want to serve yours. Nothing in it that I particularlywant; and a man's not effective in politics unless he wants somethingfor himself, and wants it hard. I can reach my ends by straighter roads. There are plenty of things to keep me busy. We haven't begun to developour resources in this State; we haven't had a look in on them yet. That's the only thing that isn't fake--making men and machines go, andactually turning out a product. "

The doctor poured himself some white cordial and looked over the littleglass into the fire with an expression which led Ottenburg to believethat he was getting at something in his own mind. Fred lit a cigaretteand let his friend grope for his idea. 

"My boys, here, " Archie went on, "have got me rather interested inJapan. Think I'll go out there in the spring, and come back the otherway, through Siberia. I've always wanted to go to Russia. " His eyesstill hunted for something in his big fireplace. With a slow turn of hishead he brought them back to his guest and fixed them upon him. "Justnow, I'm thinking of running on to New York for a few weeks, " he endedabruptly. 

Ottenburg lifted his chin. "Ah!" he exclaimed, as if he began to seeArchie's drift. "Shall you see Thea?"

"Yes. " The doctor replenished his cordial glass. "In fact, I suspect Iam going exactly TO see her. I'm getting stale on things here, Fred. Best people in the world and always doing things for me. I'm fond ofthem, too, but I've been with them too much. I'm getting ill-tempered, and the first thing I know I'll be hurting people's feelings. I snappedMrs. Dandridge up over the telephone this afternoon when she asked me togo out to Colorado Springs on Sunday to meet some English people who arestaying at the Antlers. Very nice of her to want me, and I was as souras if she'd been trying to work me for something. I've got to get outfor a while, to save my reputation. "

To this explanation Ottenburg had not paid much attention. He seemed tobe looking at a fixed point: the yellow glass eyes of a fine wildcatover one of the bookcases. "You've never heard her at all, have you?" heasked reflectively. "Curious, when this is her second season in NewYork. "

"I was going on last March. Had everything arranged. And then old CapHarris thought he could drive his car and me through a lamp-post and Iwas laid up with a compound fracture for two months. So I didn't get tosee Thea. "

Ottenburg studied the red end of his cigarette attentively. "She mighthave come out to see you. I remember you covered the distance like astreak when she wanted you. "

Archie moved uneasily. "Oh, she couldn't do that. She had to get back toVienna to work on some new parts for this year. She sailed two daysafter the New York season closed. "

"Well, then she couldn't, of course. " Fred smoked his cigarette closeand tossed the end into the fire. "I'm tremendously glad you're goingnow. If you're stale, she'll jack you up. That's one of her specialties. She got a rise out of me last December that lasted me all winter. "

"Of course, " the doctor apologized, "you know so much more about suchthings. I'm afraid it will be rather wasted on me. I'm no judge ofmusic. "

"Never mind that. " The younger man pulled himself up in his chair. "Shegets it across to people who aren't judges. That's just what she does. "He relapsed into his former lassitude. "If you were stone deaf, itwouldn't all be wasted. It's a great deal to watch her. Incidentally, you know, she is very beautiful. Photographs give you no idea. "

Dr. Archie clasped his large hands under his chin. "Oh, I'm counting onthat. I don't suppose her voice will sound natural to me. Probably Iwouldn't know it. "

Ottenburg smiled. "You'll know it, if you ever knew it. It's the samevoice, only more so. You'll know it. "

"Did you, in Germany that time, when you wrote me? Seven years ago, now. That must have been at the very beginning. "

"Yes, somewhere near the beginning. She sang one of the Rhinedaughters. " Fred paused and drew himself up again. "Sure, I knew it fromthe first note. I'd heard a good many young voices come up out of theRhine, but, by gracious, I hadn't heard one like that!" He fumbled foranother cigarette. "Mahler was conducting that night. I met him as hewas leaving the house and had a word with him. 'Interesting voice youtried out this evening, ' I said. He stopped and smiled. 'Miss Kronborg, you mean? Yes, very. She seems to sing for the idea. Unusual in a youngsinger. ' I'd never heard him admit before that a singer could have anidea. She not only had it, but she got it across. The Rhine music, thatI'd known since I was a boy, was fresh to me, vocalized for the firsttime. You realized that she was beginning that long story, adequately, with the end in view. Every phrase she sang was basic. She simply WASthe idea of the Rhine music. " Ottenburg rose and stood with his back tothe fire. "And at the end, where you don't see the maidens at all, thesame thing again: two pretty voices AND the Rhine voice. " Fred snappedhis fingers and dropped his hand. 

The doctor looked up at him enviously. "You see, all that would be loston me, " he said modestly. "I don't know the dream nor the interpretationthereof. I'm out of it. It's too bad that so few of her old friends canappreciate her. "

"Take a try at it, " Fred encouraged him. "You'll get in deeper than youcan explain to yourself. People with no personal interest do that. "

"I suppose, " said Archie diffidently, "that college German, gone toseed, wouldn't help me out much. I used to be able to make my Germanpatients understand me. "

"Sure it would!" cried Ottenburg heartily. "Don't be above knowing yourlibretto. That's all very well for musicians, but common mortals likeyou and me have got to know what she's singing about. Get out yourdictionary and go at it as you would at any other proposition. Herdiction is beautiful, and if you know the text you'll get a great deal. So long as you're going to hear her, get all that's coming to you. Youbet in Germany people know their librettos by heart! You Americans areso afraid of stooping to learn anything. "

"I AM a little ashamed, " Archie admitted. "I guess that's the way wemask our general ignorance. However, I'll stoop this time; I'm moreashamed not to be able to follow her. The papers always say she's such afine actress. " He took up the tongs and began to rearrange the logs thathad burned through and fallen apart. "I suppose she has changed a greatdeal?" he asked absently. 

"We've all changed, my dear Archie, --she more than most of us. Yes, andno. She's all there, only there's a great deal more of her. I've hadonly a few words with her in several years. It's better not, when I'mtied up this way. The laws are barbarous, Archie. "

"Your wife is--still the same?" the doctor asked sympathetically. 

"Absolutely. Hasn't been out of a sanitarium for seven years now. Noprospect of her ever being out, and as long as she's there I'm tied handand foot. What does society get out of such a state of things, I'd liketo know, except a tangle of irregularities? If you want to reform, there's an opening for you!"

"It's bad, oh, very bad; I agree with you!" Dr. Archie shook his head. "But there would be complications under another system, too. The wholequestion of a young man's marrying has looked pretty grave to me for along while. How have they the courage to keep on doing it? It depressesme now to buy wedding presents. " For some time the doctor watched hisguest, who was sunk in bitter reflections. "Such things used to gobetter than they do now, I believe. Seems to me all the married people Iknew when I was a boy were happy enough. " He paused again and bit theend off a fresh cigar. "You never saw Thea's mother, did you, Ottenburg?That's a pity. Mrs. Kronborg was a fine woman. I've always been afraidThea made a mistake, not coming home when Mrs. Kronborg was ill, nomatter what it cost her. "

Ottenburg moved about restlessly. "She couldn't, Archie, she positivelycouldn't. I felt you never understood that, but I was in Dresden at thetime, and though I wasn't seeing much of her, I could size up thesituation for myself. It was by just a lucky chance that she got to singELIZABETH that time at the Dresden Opera, a complication ofcircumstances. If she'd run away, for any reason, she might have waitedyears for such a chance to come again. She gave a wonderful performanceand made a great impression. They offered her certain terms; she had totake them and follow it up then and there. In that game you can't lose asingle trick. She was ill herself, but she sang. Her mother was ill, andshe sang. No, you mustn't hold that against her, Archie. She did theright thing there. " Ottenburg drew out his watch. "Hello! I must betraveling. You hear from her regularly?"

"More or less regularly. She was never much of a letter-writer. She tellsme about her engagements and contracts, but I know so little about thatbusiness that it doesn't mean much to me beyond the figures, which seemvery impressive. We've had a good deal of business correspondence, aboutputting up a stone to her father and mother, and, lately, about heryoungest brother, Thor. He is with me now; he drives my car. To-day he'sup at the mine. "

Ottenburg, who had picked up his overcoat, dropped it. "Drives yourcar?" he asked incredulously. 

"Yes. Thea and I have had a good deal of bother about Thor. We tried abusiness college, and an engineering school, but it was no good. Thorwas born a chauffeur before there were cars to drive. He was never goodfor anything else; lay around home and collected postage stamps and tookbicycles to pieces, waiting for the automobile to be invented. He's justas much a part of a car as the steering-gear. I can't find out whetherhe likes his job with me or not, or whether he feels any curiosity abouthis sister. You can't find anything out from a Kronborg nowadays. Themother was different. "

Fred plunged into his coat. "Well, it's a queer world, Archie. Butyou'll think better of it, if you go to New York. Wish I were going withyou. I'll drop in on you in the morning at about eleven. I want a wordwith you about this Interstate Commerce Bill. Good-night. "

Dr. Archie saw his guest to the motor which was waiting below, and thenwent back to his library, where he replenished the fire and sat down fora long smoke. A man of Archie's modest and rather credulous naturedevelops late, and makes his largest gain between forty and fifty. Atthirty, indeed, as we have seen, Archie was a soft-hearted boy under amanly exterior, still whistling to keep up his courage. Prosperity andlarge responsibilities--above all, getting free of poor Mrs. Archie--hadbrought out a good deal more than he knew was in him. He was thinkingtonight as he sat before the fire, in the comfort he liked so well, thatbut for lucky chances, and lucky holes in the ground, he would still bea country practitioner, reading his old books by his office lamp. Andyet, he was not so fresh and energetic as he ought to be. He was tiredof business and of politics. Worse than that, he was tired of the menwith whom he had to do and of the women who, as he said, had been kindto him. He felt as if he were still hunting for something, like oldJasper Flight. He knew that this was an unbecoming and ungrateful stateof mind, and he reproached himself for it. But he could not helpwondering why it was that life, even when it gave so much, after allgave so little. What was it that he had expected and missed? Why was he, more than he was anything else, disappointed?

He fell to looking back over his life and asking himself which years ofit he would like to live over again, --just as they had been, --and theywere not many. His college years he would live again, gladly. After themthere was nothing he would care to repeat until he came to TheaKronborg. There had been something stirring about those years inMoonstone, when he was a restless young man on the verge of breakinginto larger enterprises, and when she was a restless child on the vergeof growing up into something unknown. He realized now that she hadcounted for a great deal more to him than he knew at the time. It was acontinuous sort of relationship. He was always on the lookout for her ashe went about the town, always vaguely expecting her as he sat in hisoffice at night. He had never asked himself then if it was strange thathe should find a child of twelve the most interesting and companionableperson in Moonstone. It had seemed a pleasant, natural kind ofsolicitude. He explained it then by the fact that he had no children ofhis own. But now, as he looked back at those years, the other interestswere faded and inanimate. The thought of them was heavy. But whereverhis life had touched Thea Kronborg's, there was still a little warmthleft, a little sparkle. Their friendship seemed to run over thosediscontented years like a leafy pattern, still bright and fresh when theother patterns had faded into the dull background. Their walks anddrives and confidences, the night they watched the rabbit in themoonlight, --why were these things stirring to remember? Whenever hethought of them, they were distinctly different from the other memoriesof his life; always seemed humorous, gay, with a little thrill ofanticipation and mystery about them. They came nearer to being tendersecrets than any others he possessed. Nearer than anything else theycorresponded to what he had hoped to find in the world, and had notfound. It came over him now that the unexpected favors of fortune, nomatter how dazzling, do not mean very much to us. They may excite ordivert us for a time, but when we look back, the only things we cherishare those which in some way met our original want; the desire whichformed in us in early youth, undirected, and of its own accord. 

III

FOR the first four years after Thea went to Germany things went on asusual with the Kronborg family. Mrs. Kronborg's land in Nebraskaincreased in value and brought her in a good rental. The family driftedinto an easier way of living, half without realizing it, as familieswill. Then Mr. Kronborg, who had never been ill, died suddenly of cancerof the liver, and after his death Mrs. Kronborg went, as her neighborssaid, into a decline. Hearing discouraging reports of her from thephysician who had taken over his practice, Dr. Archie went up fromDenver to see her. He found her in bed, in the room where he had morethan once attended her, a handsome woman of sixty with a body still firmand white, her hair, faded now to a very pale primrose, in two thickbraids down her back, her eyes clear and calm. When the doctor arrived, she was sitting up in her bed, knitting. He felt at once how glad shewas to see him, but he soon gathered that she had made no determinationto get well. She told him, indeed, that she could not very well getalong without Mr. Kronborg. The doctor looked at her with astonishment. Was it possible that she could miss the foolish old man so much? Hereminded her of her children. 

"Yes, " she replied; "the children are all very well, but they are notfather. We were married young. "

The doctor watched her wonderingly as she went on knitting, thinking howmuch she looked like Thea. The difference was one of degree rather thanof kind. The daughter had a compelling enthusiasm, the mother had none. But their framework, their foundation, was very much the same. 

In a moment Mrs. Kronborg spoke again. "Have you heard anything fromThea lately?"

During his talk with her, the doctor gathered that what Mrs. Kronborgreally wanted was to see her daughter Thea. Lying there day after day, she wanted it calmly and continuously. He told her that, since she feltso, he thought they might ask Thea to come home. 

"I've thought a good deal about it, " said Mrs. Kronborg slowly. "I hateto interrupt her, now that she's begun to get advancement. I expectshe's seen some pretty hard times, though she was never one to complain. Perhaps she'd feel that she would like to come. It would be hard, losingboth of us while she's off there. "

When Dr. Archie got back to Denver he wrote a long letter to Thea, explaining her mother's condition and how much she wished to see her, and asking Thea to come, if only for a few weeks. Thea had repaid themoney she had borrowed from him, and he assured her that if she happenedto be short of funds for the journey, she had only to cable him. 

A month later he got a frantic sort of reply from Thea. Complications inthe opera at Dresden had given her an unhoped-for opportunity to go onin a big part. Before this letter reached the doctor, she would havemade her debut as ELIZABETH, in "Tannhauser. " She wanted to go to hermother more than she wanted anything else in the world, but, unless shefailed, --which she would not, --she absolutely could not leave Dresdenfor six months. It was not that she chose to stay; she had to stay--orlose everything. The next few months would put her five years ahead, orwould put her back so far that it would be of no use to strugglefurther. As soon as she was free, she would go to Moonstone and take hermother back to Germany with her. Her mother, she was sure, could livefor years yet, and she would like German people and German ways, andcould be hearing music all the time. Thea said she was writing hermother and begging her to help her one last time; to get strength and towait for her six months, and then she (Thea) would do everything. Hermother would never have to make an effort again. 

Dr. Archie went up to Moonstone at once. He had great confidence in Mrs. Kronborg's power of will, and if Thea's appeal took hold of her enough, he believed she might get better. But when he was shown into thefamiliar room off the parlor, his heart sank. Mrs. Kronborg was lyingserene and fateful on her pillows. On the dresser at the foot of her bedthere was a large photograph of Thea in the character in which she wasto make her debut. Mrs. Kronborg pointed to it. 

"Isn't she lovely, doctor? It's nice that she hasn't changed much. I'veseen her look like that many a time. "

They talked for a while about Thea's good fortune. Mrs. Kronborg had hada cablegram saying, "First performance well received. Great relief. " Inher letter Thea said; "If you'll only get better, dear mother, there'snothing I can't do. I will make a really great success, if you'll trywith me. You shall have everything you want, and we will always betogether. I have a little house all picked out where we are to live. "

"Bringing up a family is not all it's cracked up to be, " said Mrs. Kronborg with a flicker of irony, as she tucked the letter back underher pillow. "The children you don't especially need, you have alwayswith you, like the poor. But the bright ones get away from you. Theyhave their own way to make in the world. Seems like the brighter theyare, the farther they go. I used to feel sorry that you had no family, doctor, but maybe you're as well off. "

"Thea's plan seems sound to me, Mrs. Kronborg. There's no reason I cansee why you shouldn't pull up and live for years yet, under proper care. You'd have the best doctors in the world over there, and it would bewonderful to live with anybody who looks like that. " He nodded at thephotograph of the young woman who must have been singing "DICH, THEUREHALLE, GRUSS' ICH WIEDER, " her eyes looking up, her beautiful handsoutspread with pleasure. 

Mrs. Kronborg laughed quite cheerfully. "Yes, wouldn't it? If fatherwere here, I might rouse myself. But sometimes it's hard to come back. Or if she were in trouble, maybe I could rouse myself. "

"But, dear Mrs. Kronborg, she is in trouble, " her old friendexpostulated. "As she says, she's never needed you as she needs you now. I make my guess that she's never begged anybody to help her before. "

Mrs. Kronborg smiled. "Yes, it's pretty of her. But that will pass. Whenthese things happen far away they don't make such a mark; especially ifyour hands are full and you've duties of your own to think about. My ownfather died in Nebraska when Gunner was born, --we were living in Iowathen, --and I was sorry, but the baby made it up to me. I was father'sfavorite, too. That's the way it goes, you see. "

The doctor took out Thea's letter to him, and read it over to Mrs. Kronborg. She seemed to listen, and not to listen. 

When he finished, she said thoughtfully: "I'd counted on hearing hersing again. But I always took my pleasures as they come. I alwaysenjoyed her singing when she was here about the house. While she waspracticing I often used to leave my work and sit down in a rocker andgive myself up to it, the same as if I'd been at an entertainment. I wasnever one of these housekeepers that let their work drive them to death. And when she had the Mexicans over here, I always took it in. First andlast, "--she glanced judicially at the photograph, --"I guess I got aboutas much out of Thea's voice as anybody will ever get. "

"I guess you did!" the doctor assented heartily; "and I got a good dealmyself. You remember how she used to sing those Scotch songs for me, andlead us with her head, her hair bobbing?"

"'Flow Gently, Sweet Afton, '--I can hear it now, " said Mrs. Kronborg;"and poor father never knew when he sang sharp! He used to say, 'Mother, how do you always know when they make mistakes practicing?'" Mrs. Kronborg chuckled. 

Dr. Archie took her hand, still firm like the hand of a young woman. "Itwas lucky for her that you did know. I always thought she got more fromyou than from any of her teachers. "

"Except Wunsch; he was a real musician, " said Mrs. Kronborgrespectfully. "I gave her what chance I could, in a crowded house. Ikept the other children out of the parlor for her. That was about all Icould do. If she wasn't disturbed, she needed no watching. She wentafter it like a terrier after rats from the first, poor child. She wasdownright afraid of it. That's why I always encouraged her taking Thoroff to outlandish places. When she was out of the house, then she wasrid of it. "

After they had recalled many pleasant memories together, Mrs. Kronborgsaid suddenly: "I always understood about her going off without comingto see us that time. Oh, I know! You had to keep your own counsel. Youwere a good friend to her. I've never forgot that. " She patted thedoctor's sleeve and went on absently. "There was something she didn'twant to tell me, and that's why she didn't come. Something happened whenshe was with those people in Mexico. I worried for a good while, but Iguess she's come out of it all right. She'd had a pretty hard time, scratching along alone like that when she was so young, and my farms inNebraska were down so low that I couldn't help her none. That's no wayto send a girl out. But I guess, whatever there was, she wouldn't beafraid to tell me now. " Mrs. Kronborg looked up at the photograph with asmile. "She doesn't look like she was beholding to anybody, does she?"

"She isn't, Mrs. Kronborg. She never has been. That was why she borrowedthe money from me. "

"Oh, I knew she'd never have sent for you if she'd done anything toshame us. She was always proud. " Mrs. Kronborg paused and turned alittle on her side. "It's been quite a satisfaction to you and me, doctor, having her voice turn out so fine. The things you hope for don'talways turn out like that, by a long sight. As long as old Mrs. Kohlerlived, she used always to translate what it said about Thea in theGerman papers she sent. I could make some of it out myself, --it's notvery different from Swedish, --but it pleased the old lady. She left Theaher piece-picture of the burning of Moscow. I've got it put away inmoth-balls for her, along with the oboe her grandfather brought fromSweden. I want her to take father's oboe back there some day. " Mrs. Kronborg paused a moment and compressed her lips. "But I guess she'lltake a finer instrument than that with her, back to Sweden!" she added. 

Her tone fairly startled the doctor, it was so vibrating with a fierce, defiant kind of pride he had heard often in Thea's voice. He looked downwonderingly at his old friend and patient. After all, one never knewpeople to the core. Did she, within her, hide some of that still passionof which her daughter was all-compact?

"That last summer at home wasn't very nice for her, " Mrs. Kronborg beganas placidly as if the fire had never leaped up in her. "The otherchildren were acting-up because they thought I might make a fuss overher and give her the big-head. We gave her the dare, somehow, the lot ofus, because we couldn't understand her changing teachers and all that. That's the trouble about giving the dare to them quiet, unboastfulchildren; you never know how far it'll take 'em. Well, we ought not tocomplain, doctor; she's given us a good deal to think about. "

The next time Dr. Archie came to Moonstone, he came to be a pall-bearerat Mrs. Kronborg's funeral. When he last looked at her, she was soserene and queenly that he went back to Denver feeling almost as if hehad helped to bury Thea Kronborg herself. The handsome head in thecoffin seemed to him much more really Thea than did the radiant youngwoman in the picture, looking about at the Gothic vaultings and greetingthe Hall of Song. 

IV

ONE bright morning late in February Dr. Archie was breakfastingcomfortably at the Waldorf. He had got into Jersey City on an earlytrain, and a red, windy sunrise over the North River had given him agood appetite. He consulted the morning paper while he drank his coffeeand saw that "Lohengrin" was to be sung at the opera that evening. Inthe list of the artists who would appear was the name "Kronborg. " Suchabruptness rather startled him. "Kronborg": it was impressive and yet, somehow, disrespectful; somewhat rude and brazen, on the back page ofthe morning paper. After breakfast he went to the hotel ticket officeand asked the girl if she could give him something for "Lohengrin, ""near the front. " His manner was a trifle awkward and he wonderedwhether the girl noticed it. Even if she did, of course, she couldscarcely suspect. Before the ticket stand he saw a bunch of blue postersannouncing the opera casts for the week. There was "Lohengrin, " andunder it he saw:--

ELSA VON BRABANT. . . Thea Kronborg. 

That looked better. The girl gave him a ticket for a seat which she saidwas excellent. He paid for it and went out to the cabstand. He mentionedto the driver a number on Riverside Drive and got into a taxi. It wouldnot, of course, be the right thing to call upon Thea when she was goingto sing in the evening. He knew that much, thank goodness! FredOttenburg had hinted to him that, more than almost anything else, thatwould put one in wrong. 

When he reached the number to which he directed his letters, hedismissed the cab and got out for a walk. The house in which Thea livedwas as impersonal as the Waldorf, and quite as large. It was above 116thStreet, where the Drive narrows, and in front of it the shelving bankdropped to the North River. As Archie strolled about the paths whichtraversed this slope, below the street level, the fourteen stories ofthe apartment hotel rose above him like a perpendicular cliff. He had noidea on which floor Thea lived, but he reflected, as his eye ran overthe many windows, that the outlook would be fine from any floor. Theforbidding hugeness of the house made him feel as if he had expected tomeet Thea in a crowd and had missed her. He did not really believe thatshe was hidden away behind any of those glittering windows, or that hewas to hear her this evening. His walk was curiously uninspiring andunsuggestive. Presently remembering that Ottenburg had encouraged him tostudy his lesson, he went down to the opera house and bought a libretto. He had even brought his old "Adler's German and English" in his trunk, and after luncheon he settled down in his gilded suite at the Waldorfwith a big cigar and the text of "Lohengrin. "

The opera was announced for seven-forty-five, but at half-past sevenArchie took his seat in the right front of the orchestra circle. He hadnever been inside the Metropolitan Opera House before, and the height ofthe audience room, the rich color, and the sweep of the balconies werenot without their effect upon him. He watched the house fill with agrowing feeling of expectation. When the steel curtain rose and the menof the orchestra took their places, he felt distinctly nervous. Theburst of applause which greeted the conductor keyed him still higher. Hefound that he had taken off his gloves and twisted them to a string. When the lights went down and the violins began the overture, the placelooked larger than ever; a great pit, shadowy and solemn. The wholeatmosphere, he reflected, was somehow more serious than he hadanticipated. 

After the curtains were drawn back upon the scene beside the Scheldt, hegot readily into the swing of the story. He was so much interested inthe bass who sang KING HENRY that he had almost forgotten for what hewas waiting so nervously, when the HERALD began in stentorian tones tosummon ELSA VON BRABANT. Then he began to realize that he was ratherfrightened. There was a flutter of white at the back of the stage, andwomen began to come in: two, four, six, eight, but not the right one. Itflashed across him that this was something like buck-fever, theparalyzing moment that comes upon a man when his first elk looks at himthrough the bushes, under its great antlers; the moment when a man'smind is so full of shooting that he forgets the gun in his hand untilthe buck nods adieu to him from a distant hill. 

All at once, before the buck had left him, she was there. Yes, unquestionably it was she. Her eyes were downcast, but the head, thecheeks, the chin--there could be no mistake; she advanced slowly, as ifshe were walking in her sleep. Some one spoke to her; she only inclinedher head. He spoke again, and she bowed her head still lower. Archie hadforgotten his libretto, and he had not counted upon these long pauses. He had expected her to appear and sing and reassure him. They seemed tobe waiting for her. Did she ever forget? Why in thunder didn't she--Shemade a sound, a faint one. The people on the stage whispered togetherand seemed confounded. His nervousness was absurd. She must have donethis often before; she knew her bearings. She made another sound, but hecould make nothing of it. Then the King sang to her, and Archie began toremember where they were in the story. She came to the front of thestage, lifted her eyes for the first time, clasped her hands and began, "EINSAM IN TRUBEN TAGEN. "

Yes, it was exactly like buck-fever. Her face was there, toward thehouse now, before his eyes, and he positively could not see it. She wassinging, at last, and he positively could not hear her. He was consciousof nothing but an uncomfortable dread and a sense of crushingdisappointment. He had, after all, missed her. Whatever was there, shewas not there--for him. 

The King interrupted her. She began again, "IN LICHTER WAFFEN SCHEINE. "Archie did not know when his buckfever passed, but presently he foundthat he was sitting quietly in a darkened house, not listening to butdreaming upon a river of silver sound. He felt apart from the others, drifting alone on the melody, as if he had been alone with it for a longwhile and had known it all before. His power of attention was not greatjust then, but in so far as it went he seemed to be looking through anexalted calmness at a beautiful woman from far away, from another sortof life and feeling and understanding than his own, who had in her facesomething he had known long ago, much brightened and beautified. As alad he used to believe that the faces of people who died were like thatin the next world; the same faces, but shining with the light of a newunderstanding. No, Ottenburg had not prepared him!

What he felt was admiration and estrangement. The homely reunion, thathe had somehow expected, now seemed foolish. Instead of feeling proudthat he knew her better than all these people about him, he feltchagrined at his own ingenuousness. For he did not know her better. Thiswoman he had never known; she had somehow devoured his little friend, asthe wolf ate up Red Ridinghood. Beautiful, radiant, tender as she was, she chilled his old affection; that sort of feeling was not appropriate. She seemed much, much farther away from him than she had seemed allthose years when she was in Germany. The ocean he could cross, but therewas something here he could not cross. There was a moment, when sheturned to the King and smiled that rare, sunrise smile of her childhood, when he thought she was coming back to him. After the HERALD'S secondcall for her champion, when she knelt in her impassioned prayer, therewas again something familiar, a kind of wild wonder that she had had thepower to call up long ago. But she merely reminded him of Thea; this wasnot the girl herself. 

After the tenor came on, the doctor ceased trying to make the womanbefore him fit into any of his cherished recollections. He took her, inso far as he could, for what she was then and there. When the knightraised the kneeling girl and put his mailed hand on her hair, when shelifted to him a face full of worship and passionate humility, Archiegave up his last reservation. He knew no more about her than did thehundreds around him, who sat in the shadow and looked on, as he looked, some with more understanding, some with less. He knew as much aboutORTRUDE or LOHENGRIN as he knew about ELSA--more, because she wentfurther than they, she sustained the legendary beauty of her conceptionmore consistently. Even he could see that. Attitudes, movements, herface, her white arms and fingers, everything was suffused with a rosytenderness, a warm humility, a gracious and yet--to him--whollyestranging beauty. 

During the balcony singing in the second act the doctor's thoughts wereas far away from Moonstone as the singer's doubtless were. He had begun, indeed, to feel the exhilaration of getting free from personalities, ofbeing released from his own past as well as from Thea Kronborg's. It wasvery much, he told himself, like a military funeral, exalting andimpersonal. Something old died in one, and out of it something new wasborn. During the duet with ORTRUDE, and the splendors of the weddingprocessional, this new feeling grew and grew. At the end of the actthere were many curtain calls and ELSA acknowledged them, brilliant, gracious, spirited, with her far-breaking smile; but on the whole shewas harder and more self-contained before the curtain than she was inthe scene behind it. Archie did his part in the applause that greetedher, but it was the new and wonderful he applauded, not the old anddear. His personal, proprietary pride in her was frozen out. 

He walked about the house during the ENTR'ACTE, and here and there amongthe people in the foyer he caught the name "Kronborg. " On the staircase, in front of the coffeeroom, a long-haired youth with a fat face wasdiscoursing to a group of old women about "die Kronborg. " Dr. Archiegathered that he had crossed on the boat with her. 

After the performance was over, Archie took a taxi and started forRiverside Drive. He meant to see it through to-night. When he enteredthe reception hall of the hotel before which he had strolled thatmorning, the hall porter challenged him. He said he was waiting for MissKronborg. The porter looked at him suspiciously and asked whether he hadan appointment. He answered brazenly that he had. He was not used tobeing questioned by hall boys. Archie sat first in one tapestry chairand then in another, keeping a sharp eye on the people who came in andwent up in the elevators. He walked about and looked at his watch. Anhour dragged by. No one had come in from the street now for about twentyminutes, when two women entered, carrying a great many flowers andfollowed by a tall young man in chauffeur's uniform. Archie advancedtoward the taller of the two women, who was veiled and carried her headvery firmly. He confronted her just as she reached the elevator. Although he did not stand directly in her way, something in his attitudecompelled her to stop. She gave him a piercing, defiant glance throughthe white scarf that covered her face. Then she lifted her hand andbrushed the scarf back from her head. There was still black on her browsand lashes. She was very pale and her face was drawn and deeply lined. She looked, the doctor told himself with a sinking heart, forty yearsold. Her suspicious, mystified stare cleared slowly. 

"Pardon me, " the doctor murmured, not knowing just how to address herhere before the porters, "I came up from the opera. I merely wanted tosay good-night to you. "

Without speaking, still looking incredulous, she pushed him into theelevator. She kept her hand on his arm while the cage shot up, and shelooked away from him, frowning, as if she were trying to remember orrealize something. When the cage stopped, she pushed him out of theelevator through another door, which a maid opened, into a square hall. There she sank down on a chair and looked up at him. 

"Why didn't you let me know?" she asked in a hoarse voice. 

Archie heard himself laughing the old, embarrassed laugh that seldomhappened to him now. "Oh, I wanted to take my chance with you, likeanybody else. It's been so long, now!"

She took his hand through her thick glove and her head dropped forward. "Yes, it has been long, " she said in the same husky voice, "and so muchhas happened. "

"And you are so tired, and I am a clumsy old fellow to break in on youto-night, " the doctor added sympathetically. "Forgive me, this time. " Hebent over and put his hand soothingly on her shoulder. He felt a strongshudder run through her from head to foot. 

Still bundled in her fur coat as she was, she threw both arms about himand hugged him. "Oh, Dr. Archie, DR. ARCHIE, "--she shook him, --"don'tlet me go. Hold on, now you're here, " she laughed, breaking away fromhim at the same moment and sliding out of her fur coat. She left it forthe maid to pick up and pushed the doctor into the sitting-room, whereshe turned on the lights. "Let me LOOK at you. Yes; hands, feet, head, shoulders--just the same. You've grown no older. You can't say as muchfor me, can you?"

She was standing in the middle of the room, in a white silk shirtwaistand a short black velvet skirt, which somehow suggested that they had'cut off her petticoats all round about. ' She looked distinctly clippedand plucked. Her hair was parted in the middle and done very close toher head, as she had worn it under the wig. She looked like a fugitive, who had escaped from something in clothes caught up at hazard. Itflashed across Dr. Archie that she was running away from the other womandown at the opera house, who had used her hardly. 

He took a step toward her. "I can't tell a thing in the world about you, Thea--if I may still call you that. "

She took hold of the collar of his overcoat. "Yes, call me that. Do: Ilike to hear it. You frighten me a little, but I expect I frighten youmore. I'm always a scarecrow after I sing a long part like that--sohigh, too. " She absently pulled out the handkerchief that protruded fromhis breast pocket and began to wipe the black paint off her eyebrows andlashes. "I can't take you in much to-night, but I must see you for alittle while. " She pushed him to a chair. "I shall be more recognizableto-morrow. You mustn't think of me as you see me to-night. Come at fourto-morrow afternoon and have tea with me. Can you? That's good. "

She sat down in a low chair beside him and leaned forward, drawing hershoulders together. She seemed to him inappropriately young andinappropriately old, shorn of her long tresses at one end and of herlong robes at the other. 

"How do you happen to be here?" she asked abruptly. "How can you leave asilver mine? I couldn't! Sure nobody'll cheat you? But you can explaineverything tomorrow. " She paused. "You remember how you sewed me up in apoultice, once? I wish you could to-night. I need a poultice, from topto toe. Something very disagreeable happened down there. You said youwere out front? Oh, don't say anything about it. I always know exactlyhow it goes, unfortunately. I was rotten in the balcony. I never getthat. You didn't notice it? Probably not, but I did. "

Here the maid appeared at the door and her mistress rose. "My supper?Very well, I'll come. I'd ask you to stay, doctor, but there wouldn't beenough for two. They seldom send up enough for one, "--she spokebitterly. "I haven't got a sense of you yet, "--turning directly toArchie again. "You haven't been here. You've only announced yourself, and told me you are coming to-morrow. You haven't seen me, either. Thisis not I. But I'll be here waiting for you to-morrow, my whole works!Goodnight, till then. " She patted him absently on the sleeve and gavehim a little shove toward the door. 

V

WHEN Archie got back to his hotel at two o'clock in the morning, hefound Fred Ottenburg's card under his door, with a message scribbledacross the top: "When you come in, please call up room 811, this hotel. "A moment later Fred's voice reached him over the telephone. 

"That you, Archie? Won't you come up? I'm having some supper and I'dlike company. Late? What does that matter? I won't keep you long. "

Archie dropped his overcoat and set out for room 811. He found Ottenburgin the act of touching a match to a chafing-dish, at a table laid fortwo in his sitting-room. "I'm catering here, " he announced cheerfully. "I let the waiter off at midnight, after he'd set me up. You'll have toaccount for yourself, Archie. "

The doctor laughed, pointing to three wine-coolers under the table. "Areyou expecting guests?"

"Yes, two. " Ottenburg held up two fingers, --"you, and my higher self. He's a thirsty boy, and I don't invite him often. He has been known togive me a headache. Now, where have you been, Archie, until thisshocking hour?"

"Bah, you've been banting!" the doctor exclaimed, pulling out his whitegloves as he searched for his handkerchief and throwing them into achair. Ottenburg was in evening clothes and very pointed dress shoes. His white waistcoat, upon which the doctor had fixed a challenging eye, went down straight from the top button, and he wore a camelia. He wasconspicuously brushed and trimmed and polished. His smoothly controlledexcitement was wholly different from his usual easy cordiality, thoughhe had his face, as well as his figure, well in hand. On theserving-table there was an empty champagne pint and a glass. He had beenhaving a little starter, the doctor told himself, and would probably berunning on high gear before he got through. There was even now an air ofspeed about him. 

"Been, Freddy?"--the doctor at last took up his question. "I expect I'vebeen exactly where you have. Why didn't you tell me you were coming on?"

"I wasn't, Archie. " Fred lifted the cover of the chafingdish and stirredthe contents. He stood behind the table, holding the lid with hishandkerchief. "I had never thought of such a thing. But Landry, a youngchap who plays her accompaniments and who keeps an eye out for me, telegraphed me that Madame Rheinecker had gone to Atlantic City with abad throat, and Thea might have a chance to sing ELSA. She has sung itonly twice here before, and I missed it in Dresden. So I came on. I gotin at four this afternoon and saw you registered, but I thought I wouldn'tbutt in. How lucky you got here just when she was coming on forthis. You couldn't have hit a better time. " Ottenburg stirred thecontents of the dish faster and put in more sherry. "And where have youbeen since twelve o'clock, may I ask?"

Archie looked rather self-conscious, as he sat down on a fragile giltchair that rocked under him, and stretched out his long legs. "Well, ifyou'll believe me, I had the brutality to go to see her. I wanted toidentify her. Couldn't wait. "

Ottenburg placed the cover quickly on the chafing-dish and took a stepbackward. "You did, old sport? My word! None but the brave deserve thefair. Well, "--he stooped to turn the wine, --"and how was she?"

"She seemed rather dazed, and pretty well used up. She seemeddisappointed in herself, and said she hadn't done herself justice in thebalcony scene. "

"Well, if she didn't, she's not the first. Beastly stuff to sing rightin there; lies just on the 'break' in the voice. " Fred pulled a bottleout of the ice and drew the cork. Lifting his glass he looked meaninglyat Archie. "You know who, doctor. Here goes!" He drank off his glasswith a sigh of satisfaction. After he had turned the lamp low under thechafing-dish, he remained standing, looking pensively down at the foodon the table. "Well, she rather pulled it off! As a backer, you're awinner, Archie. I congratulate you. " Fred poured himself another glass. "Now you must eat something, and so must I. Here, get off that bird cageand find a steady chair. This stuff ought to be rather good; headwaiter's suggestion. Smells all right. " He bent over the chafing-dishand began to serve the contents. "Perfectly innocuous: mushrooms andtruffles and a little crab-meat. And now, on the level, Archie, how didit hit you?"

Archie turned a frank smile to his friend and shook his head. "It wasall miles beyond me, of course, but it gave me a pulse. The generalexcitement got hold of me, I suppose. I like your wine, Freddy. " He putdown his glass. "It goes to the spot to-night. She WAS all right, then?You weren't disappointed?"

"Disappointed? My dear Archie, that's the high voice we dream of; sopure and yet so virile and human. That combination hardly ever happenswith sopranos. " Ottenburg sat down and turned to the doctor, speakingcalmly and trying to dispel his friend's manifest bewilderment. "Yousee, Archie, there's the voice itself, so beautiful and individual, andthen there's something else; the thing in it which responds to everyshade of thought and feeling, spontaneously, almost unconsciously. Thatcolor has to be born in a singer, it can't be acquired; lots ofbeautiful voices haven't a vestige of it. It's almost like anothergift--the rarest of all. The voice simply is the mind and is the heart. It can't go wrong in interpretation, because it has in it the thing thatmakes all interpretation. That's why you feel so sure of her. Afteryou've listened to her for an hour or so, you aren't afraid of anything. All the little dreads you have with other artists vanish. You lean backand you say to yourself, 'No, THAT voice will never betray. ' TREULICHGEFUHRT, TREULICH BEWACHT. "

Archie looked envyingly at Fred's excited, triumphant face. Howsatisfactory it must be, he thought, to really know what she was doingand not to have to take it on hearsay. He took up his glass with a sigh. "I seem to need a good deal of cooling off to-night. I'd just as liefforget the Reform Party for once. 

"Yes, Fred, " he went on seriously; "I thought it sounded very beautiful, and I thought she was very beautiful, too. I never imagined she could beas beautiful as that. "

"Wasn't she? Every attitude a picture, and always the right kind ofpicture, full of that legendary, supernatural thing she gets into it. Inever heard the prayer sung like that before. That look that came in hereyes; it went right out through the back of the roof. Of course, you getan ELSA who can look through walls like that, and visions andGrail-knights happen naturally. She becomes an abbess, that girl, afterLOHENGRIN leaves her. She's made to live with ideas and enthusiasms, notwith a husband. " Fred folded his arms, leaned back in his chair, andbegan to sing softly:--

"Ein Ritter nahte da. "

"Doesn't she die, then, at the end?" the doctor asked guardedly. 

Fred smiled, reaching under the table. "Some ELSAS do; she didn't. Sheleft me with the distinct impression that she was just beginning. Now, doctor, here's a cold one. " He twirled a napkin smoothly about the greenglass, the cork gave and slipped out with a soft explosion. "And now wemust have another toast. It's up to you, this time. "

The doctor watched the agitation in his glass. "The same, " he saidwithout lifting his eyes. "That's good enough. I can't raise you. "

Fred leaned forward, and looked sharply into his face. "That's thepoint; how COULD you raise me? Once again!"

"Once again, and always the same!" The doctor put down his glass. "Thisdoesn't seem to produce any symptoms in me to-night. " He lit a cigar. "Seriously, Freddy, I wish I knew more about what she's driving at. Itmakes me jealous, when you are so in it and I'm not. "

"In it?" Fred started up. "My God, haven't you seen her this blessednight?--when she'd have kicked any other man down the elevator shaft, ifI know her. Leave me something; at least what I can pay my five bucksfor. "

"Seems to me you get a good deal for your five bucks, " said Archieruefully. "And that, after all, is what she cares about, --what peopleget. "

Fred lit a cigarette, took a puff or two, and then threw it away. He waslounging back in his chair, and his face was pale and drawn hard by thatmood of intense concentration which lurks under the sunny shallows ofthe vineyard. In his voice there was a longer perspective than usual, aslight remoteness. "You see, Archie, it's all very simple, a naturaldevelopment. It's exactly what Mahler said back there in the beginning, when she sang WOGLINDE. It's the idea, the basic idea, pulsing behindevery bar she sings. She simplifies a character down to the musical ideait's built on, and makes everything conform to that. The people whochatter about her being a great actress don't seem to get the notion ofwhere SHE gets the notion. It all goes back to her original endowment, her tremendous musical talent. Instead of inventing a lot of businessand expedients to suggest character, she knows the thing at the root, and lets the musical pattern take care of her. The score pours her intoall those lovely postures, makes the light and shadow go over her face, lifts her and drops her. She lies on it, the way she used to lie on theRhine music. Talk about rhythm!"

The doctor frowned dubiously as a third bottle made its appearance abovethe cloth. "Aren't you going in rather strong?"

Fred laughed. "No, I'm becoming too sober. You see this is breakfastnow; kind of wedding breakfast. I feel rather weddingish. I don't mind. You know, " he went on as the wine gurgled out, "I was thinking to-nightwhen they sprung the wedding music, how any fool can have that stuffplayed over him when he walks up the aisle with some dough-faced littlehussy who's hooked him. But it isn't every fellow who can see--well, what we saw tonight. There are compensations in life, Dr. Howard Archie, though they come in disguise. Did you notice her when she came down thestairs? Wonder where she gets that bright-and-morning star look? Carriesto the last row of the family circle. I moved about all over the house. I'll tell you a secret, Archie: that carrying power was one of the firstthings that put me wise. Noticed it down there in Arizona, in the open. That, I said, belongs only to the big ones. " Fred got up and began tomove rhythmically about the room, his hands in his pockets. The doctorwas astonished at his ease and steadiness, for there were slight lapsesin his speech. "You see, Archie, ELSA isn't a part that's particularlysuited to Thea's voice at all, as I see her voice. It's over-lyrical forher. She makes it, but there's nothing in it that fits her like a glove, except, maybe, that long duet in the third act. There, of course, "--heheld out his hands as if he were measuring something, --"we know exactlywhere we are. But wait until they give her a chance at something thatlies properly in her voice, and you'll see me rosier than I amto-night. "

Archie smoothed the tablecloth with his hand. "I am sure I don't want tosee you any rosier, Fred. "

Ottenburg threw back his head and laughed. "It's enthusiasm, doctor. It's not the wine. I've got as much inflated as this for a dozen trashythings: brewers' dinners and political orgies. You, too, have yourextravagances, Archie. And what I like best in you is this particularenthusiasm, which is not at all practical or sensible, which isdownright Quixotic. You are not altogether what you seem, and you haveyour reservations. Living among the wolves, you have not become one. LUPIBUS VIVENDI NON LUPUS SUM. "

The doctor seemed embarrassed. "I was just thinking how tired shelooked, plucked of all her fine feathers, while we get all the fun. Instead of sitting here carousing, we ought to go solemnly to bed. "

"I get your idea. " Ottenburg crossed to the window and threw it open. "Fine night outside; a hag of a moon just setting. It begins to smelllike morning. After all, Archie, think of the lonely and rather solemnhours we've spent waiting for all this, while she's been--reveling. "

Archie lifted his brows. "I somehow didn't get the idea to-night thatshe revels much. "

"I don't mean this sort of thing. " Fred turned toward the light andstood with his back to the window. "That, " with a nod toward thewine-cooler, "is only a cheap imitation, that any poor stiff-fingeredfool can buy and feel his shell grow thinner. But take it from me, nomatter what she pays, or how much she may see fit to lie about it, thereal, the master revel is hers. " He leaned back against the window silland crossed his arms. "Anybody with all that voice and all that talentand all that beauty, has her hour. Her hour, " he went on deliberately, "when she can say, 'there it is, at last, WIE IM TRAUM ICH. As in mydream I dreamed it, as in my will it was. '"

He stood silent a moment, twisting the flower from his coat by the stemand staring at the blank wall with haggard abstraction. "Even I cansay to-night, Archie, " he brought out slowly, "'As in my dream I dreamedit, as in my will it was. ' Now, doctor, you may leave me. I'm beautifullydrunk, but not with anything that ever grew in France. "

The doctor rose. Fred tossed his flower out of the window behind him andcame toward the door. "I say, " he called, "have you a date withanybody?"

The doctor paused, his hand on the knob. "With Thea, you mean? Yes. I'mto go to her at four this afternoon--if you haven't paralyzed me. "

"Well, you won't eat me, will you, if I break in and send up my card?She'll probably turn me down cold, but that won't hurt my feelings. Ifshe ducks me, you tell her for me, that to spite me now she'd have tocut off more than she can spare. Good-night, Archie. "

VI

IT was late on the morning after the night she sang ELSA, when TheaKronborg stirred uneasily in her bed. The room was darkened by two setsof window shades, and the day outside was thick and cloudy. She turnedand tried to recapture unconsciousness, knowing that she would not beable to do so. She dreaded waking stale and disappointed after a greateffort. The first thing that came was always the sense of the futilityof such endeavor, and of the absurdity of trying too hard. Up to acertain point, say eighty degrees, artistic endeavor could be fat andcomfortable, methodical and prudent. But if you went further than that, if you drew yourself up toward ninety degrees, you parted with yourdefenses and left yourself exposed to mischance. The legend was that inthose upper reaches you might be divine; but you were much likelier tobe ridiculous. Your public wanted just about eighty degrees; if you gaveit more it blew its nose and put a crimp in you. In the morning, especially, it seemed to her very probable that whatever struggled abovethe good average was not quite sound. Certainly very little of thatsuperfluous ardor, which cost so dear, ever got across the footlights. These misgivings waited to pounce upon her when she wakened. Theyhovered about her bed like vultures. 

She reached under her pillow for her handkerchief, without opening hereyes. She had a shadowy memory that there was to be something unusual, that this day held more disquieting possibilities than days commonlyheld. There was something she dreaded; what was it? Oh, yes, Dr. Archiewas to come at four. 

A reality like Dr. Archie, poking up out of the past, reminded oneof disappointments and losses, of a freedom that was no more:reminded her of blue, golden mornings long ago, when she used to wakenwith a burst of joy at recovering her precious self and her preciousworld; when she never lay on her pillows at eleven o'clock likesomething the waves had washed up. After all, why had he come? It hadbeen so long, and so much had happened. The things she had lost, hewould miss readily enough. What she had gained, he would scarcelyperceive. He, and all that he recalled, lived for her as memories. Insleep, and in hours of illness or exhaustion, she went back to them andheld them to her heart. But they were better as memories. They hadnothing to do with the struggle that made up her actual life. She feltdrearily that she was not flexible enough to be the person her oldfriend expected her to be, the person she herself wished to be with him. 

Thea reached for the bell and rang twice, --a signal to her maid to orderher breakfast. She rose and ran up the window shades and turned on thewater in her bathroom, glancing into the mirror apprehensively as shepassed it. Her bath usually cheered her, even on low mornings like this. Her white bathroom, almost as large as her sleeping-room, she regarded asa refuge. When she turned the key behind her, she left care and vexationon the other side of the door. Neither her maid nor the management norher letters nor her accompanist could get at her now. 

When she pinned her braids about her head, dropped her nightgown andstepped out to begin her Swedish movements, she was a natural creatureagain, and it was so that she liked herself best. She slid into the tubwith anticipation and splashed and tumbled about a good deal. Whateverelse she hurried, she never hurried her bath. She used her brushes andsponges and soaps like toys, fairly playing in the water. Her own bodywas always a cheering sight to her. When she was careworn, when her mindfelt old and tired, the freshness of her physical self, her long, firmlines, the smoothness of her skin, reassured her. This morning, becauseof awakened memories, she looked at herself more carefully than usual, and was not discouraged. While she was in the tub she began to whistlesoftly the tenor aria, "AH! FUYEZ, DOUCE IMAGE, " somehow appropriate tothe bath. After a noisy moment under the cold shower, she stepped out onthe rug flushed and glowing, threw her arms above her head, and rose onher toes, keeping the elevation as long as she could. When she droppedback on her heels and began to rub herself with the towels, she took upthe aria again, and felt quite in the humor for seeing Dr. Archie. Aftershe had returned to her bed, the maid brought her letters and themorning papers with her breakfast. 

"Telephone Mr. Landry and ask him if he can come at half-past three, Theresa, and order tea to be brought up at five. "

When Howard Archie was admitted to Thea's apartment that afternoon, hewas shown into the music-room back of the little reception room. Theawas sitting in a davenport behind the piano, talking to a young man whomshe later introduced as her friend Mr. Landry. As she rose, and came tomeet him, Archie felt a deep relief, a sudden thankfulness. She nolonger looked clipped and plucked, or dazed and fleeing. 

Dr. Archie neglected to take account of the young man to whom he waspresented. He kept Thea's hands and held her where he met her, taking inthe light, lively sweep of her hair, her clear green eyes and her throatthat came up strong and dazzlingly white from her green velvet gown. Thechin was as lovely as ever, the cheeks as smooth. All the lines of lastnight had disappeared. Only at the outer corners of her eyes, betweenthe eye and the temple, were the faintest indications of a futureattack--mere kitten scratches that playfully hinted where one day thecat would claw her. He studied her without any embarrassment. Last nighteverything had been awkward; but now, as he held her hands, a kind ofharmony came between them, a reestablishment of confidence. 

"After all, Thea, --in spite of all, I still know you, " he murmured. 

She took his arm and led him up to the young man who was standing besidethe piano. "Mr. Landry knows all about you, Dr. Archie. He has knownabout you for many years. " While the two men shook hands she stoodbetween them, drawing them together by her presence and her glances. "When I first went to Germany, Landry was studying there. He used to begood enough to work with me when I could not afford to have anaccompanist for more than two hours a day. We got into the way ofworking together. He is a singer, too, and has his own career to lookafter, but he still manages to give me some time. I want you to befriends. " She smiled from one to the other. 

The rooms, Archie noticed, full of last night's flowers, were furnishedin light colors, the hotel bleakness of them a little softened by amagnificent Steinway piano, white bookshelves full of books and scores, some drawings of ballet dancers, and the very deep sofa behind thepiano. 

"Of course, " Archie asked apologetically, "you have seen the papers?"

"Very cordial, aren't they? They evidently did not expect as much as Idid. ELSA is not really in my voice. I can sing the music, but I have togo after it. "

"That is exactly, " the doctor came out boldly, "what Fred Ottenburg saidthis morning. "

They had remained standing, the three of them, by the piano, where thegray afternoon light was strongest. Thea turned to the doctor withinterest. "Is Fred in town? They were from him, then--some flowers thatcame last night without a card. " She indicated the white lilacs on thewindow sill. "Yes, he would know, certainly, " she said thoughtfully. "Why don't we sit down? There will be some tea for you in a minute, Landry. He's very dependent upon it, " disapprovingly to Archie. "Nowtell me, Doctor, did you really have a good time last night, or were youuncomfortable? Did you feel as if I were trying to hold my hat on by myeyebrows?"

He smiled. "I had all kinds of a time. But I had no feeling of thatsort. I couldn't be quite sure that it was you at all. That was why Icame up here last night. I felt as if I'd lost you. "

She leaned toward him and brushed his sleeve reassuringly. "Then Ididn't give you an impression of painful struggle? Landry was singing atWeber and Fields' last night. He didn't get in until the performance washalf over. But I see the TRIBUNE man felt that I was working prettyhard. Did you see that notice, Oliver?"

Dr. Archie looked closely at the red-headed young man for the firsttime, and met his lively brown eyes, full of a droll, confiding sort ofhumor. Mr. Landry was not prepossessing. He was undersized and clumsilymade, with a red, shiny face and a sharp little nose that looked as ifit had been whittled out of wood and was always in the air, on the scentof something. Yet it was this queer little beak, with his eyes, thatmade his countenance anything of a face at all. From a distance helooked like the groceryman's delivery boy in a small town. His dressseemed an acknowledgment of his grotesqueness: a short coat, like alittle boys' roundabout, and a vest fantastically sprigged and dotted, over a lavender shirt. 

At the sound of a muffled buzz, Mr. Landry sprang up. 

"May I answer the telephone for you?" He went to the writing-table andtook up the receiver. "Mr. Ottenburg is downstairs, " he said, turning toThea and holding the mouthpiece against his coat. 

"Tell him to come up, " she replied without hesitation. "How long are yougoing to be in town, Dr. Archie?"

"Oh, several weeks, if you'll let me stay. I won't hang around and be aburden to you, but I want to try to get educated up to you, though Iexpect it's late to begin. "

Thea rose and touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Well, you'll neverbe any younger, will you?"

"I'm not so sure about that, " the doctor replied gallantly. 

The maid appeared at the door and announced Mr. Frederick Ottenburg. Fred came in, very much got up, the doctor reflected, as he watched himbending over Thea's hand. He was still pale and looked somewhatchastened, and the lock of hair that hung down over his forehead wasdistinctly moist. But his black afternoon coat, his gray tie and gaiterswere of a correctness that Dr. Archie could never attain for all theefforts of his faithful slave, Van Deusen, the Denver haberdasher. To beproperly up to those tricks, the doctor supposed, you had to learn themyoung. If he were to buy a silk hat that was the twin of Ottenburg's, itwould be shaggy in a week, and he could never carry it as Fred held his. 

Ottenburg had greeted Thea in German, and as she replied in the samelanguage, Archie joined Mr. Landry at the window. "You know Mr. Ottenburg, he tells me?"

Mr. Landry's eyes twinkled. "Yes, I regularly follow him about, whenhe's in town. I would, even if he didn't send me such wonderfulChristmas presents: Russian vodka by the half-dozen!"

Thea called to them, "Come, Mr. Ottenburg is calling on all of us. Here's the tea. "

The maid opened the door and two waiters from downstairs appeared withcovered trays. The tea-table was in the parlor. Thea drew Ottenburg withher and went to inspect it. "Where's the rum? Oh, yes, in that thing!Everything seems to be here, but send up some currant preserves andcream cheese for Mr. Ottenburg. And in about fifteen minutes, bring somefresh toast. That's all, thank you. "

For the next few minutes there was a clatter of teacups and responsesabout sugar. "Landry always takes rum. I'm glad the rest of you don't. I'm sure it's bad. " Thea poured the tea standing and got through with itas quickly as possible, as if it were a refreshment snatched betweentrains. The tea-table and the little room in which it stood seemed to beout of scale with her long step, her long reach, and the energy of hermovements. Dr. Archie, standing near her, was pleasantly aware of theanimation of her figure. Under the clinging velvet, her body seemedindependent and unsubdued. 

They drifted, with their plates and cups, back to the music-room. WhenThea followed them, Ottenburg put down his tea suddenly. "Aren't youtaking anything? Please let me. " He started back to the table. 

"No, thank you, nothing. I'm going to run over that aria for youpresently, to convince you that I can do it. How did the duet go, withSchlag?"

She was standing in the doorway and Fred came up to her: "That you'llnever do any better. You've worked your voice into it perfectly. EveryNUANCE--wonderful!"

"Think so?" She gave him a sidelong glance and spoke with a certaingruff shyness which did not deceive anybody, and was not meant todeceive. The tone was equivalent to "Keep it up. I like it, but I'mawkward with it. "

Fred held her by the door and did keep it up, furiously, for full fiveminutes. She took it with some confusion, seeming all the while to behesitating, to be arrested in her course and trying to pass him. But shedid not really try to pass, and her color deepened. Fred spoke inGerman, and Archie caught from her an occasional JA? SO? muttered ratherthan spoken. 

When they rejoined Landry and Dr. Archie, Fred took up his tea again. "Isee you're singing VENUS Saturday night. Will they never let you have achance at ELIZABETH?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Not here. There are so many singers here, and they try us out in such a stingy way. Think of it, last year I cameover in October, and it was the first of December before I went on atall! I'm often sorry I left Dresden. "

"Still, " Fred argued, "Dresden is limited. "

"Just so, and I've begun to sigh for those very limitations. In New Yorkeverything is impersonal. Your audience never knows its own mind, andits mind is never twice the same. I'd rather sing where the people arepig-headed and throw carrots at you if you don't do it the way they likeit. The house here is splendid, and the night audiences are exciting. Ihate the matinees; like singing at a KAFFEKLATSCH. " She rose and turnedon the lights. 

"Ah!" Fred exclaimed, "why do you do that? That is a signal that tea isover. " He got up and drew out his gloves. 

"Not at all. Shall you be here Saturday night?" She sat down on thepiano bench and leaned her elbow back on the keyboard. "Necker singsELIZABETH. Make Dr. Archie go. Everything she sings is worth hearing. "

"But she's failing so. The last time I heard her she had no voice atall. She IS a poor vocalist!"

Thea cut him off. "She's a great artist, whether she's in voice or not, and she's the only one here. If you want a big voice, you can take myORTRUDE of last night; that's big enough, and vulgar enough. "

Fred laughed and turned away, this time with decision. "I don't wanther!" he protested energetically. "I only wanted to get a rise out ofyou. I like Necker's ELIZABETH well enough. I like your VENUS wellenough, too. "

"It's a beautiful part, and it's often dreadfully sung. It's very hardto sing, of course. "

Ottenburg bent over the hand she held out to him. "For an uninvitedguest, I've fared very well. You were nice to let me come up. I'd havebeen terribly cut up if you'd sent me away. May I?" He kissed her handlightly and backed toward the door, still smiling, and promising to keepan eye on Archie. "He can't be trusted at all, Thea. One of the waitersat Martin's worked a Tourainian hare off on him at luncheon yesterday, for seven twenty-five. "

Thea broke into a laugh, the deep one he recognized. "Did he have aribbon on, this hare? Did they bring him in a gilt cage?"

"No, "--Archie spoke up for himself, --"they brought him in a brown sauce, which was very good. He didn't taste very different from any rabbit. "

"Probably came from a push-cart on the East Side. " Thea looked at herold friend commiseratingly. "Yes, DO keep an eye on him, Fred. I had noidea, " shaking her head. "Yes, I'll be obliged to you. "

"Count on me!" Their eyes met in a gay smile, and Fred bowed himselfout. 

VII

ON Saturday night Dr. Archie went with Fred Ottenburg to hear"Tannhauser. " Thea had a rehearsal on Sunday afternoon, but as she wasnot on the bill again until Wednesday, she promised to dine with Archieand Ottenburg on Monday, if they could make the dinner early. 

At a little after eight on Monday evening, the three friends returned toThea's apartment and seated themselves for an hour of quiet talk. 

"I'm sorry we couldn't have had Landry with us tonight, " Thea said, "buthe's on at Weber and Fields' every night now. You ought to hear him, Dr. Archie. He often sings the old Scotch airs you used to love. "

"Why not go down this evening?" Fred suggested hopefully, glancing athis watch. "That is, if you'd like to go. I can telephone and find whattime he comes on. "

Thea hesitated. "No, I think not. I took a long walk this afternoon andI'm rather tired. I think I can get to sleep early and be so much ahead. I don't mean at once, however, " seeing Dr. Archie's disappointed look. "I always like to hear Landry, " she added. "He never had much voice, andit's worn, but there's a sweetness about it, and he sings with suchtaste. "

"Yes, doesn't he? May I?" Fred took out his cigarette case. "It reallydoesn't bother your throat?"

"A little doesn't. But cigar smoke does. Poor Dr. Archie! Can you dowith one of those?"

"I'm learning to like them, " the doctor declared, taking one from thecase Fred proffered him. 

"Landry's the only fellow I know in this country who can do that sort ofthing, " Fred went on. "Like the best English ballad singers. He can singeven popular stuff by higher lights, as it were. "

Thea nodded. "Yes; sometimes I make him sing his most foolish things forme. It's restful, as he does it. That's when I'm homesick, Dr. Archie. "

"You knew him in Germany, Thea?" Dr. Archie had quietly abandoned hiscigarette as a comfortless article. "When you first went over?"

"Yes. He was a good friend to a green girl. He helped me with my Germanand my music and my general discouragement. Seemed to care more about mygetting on than about himself. He had no money, either. An old aunt hadloaned him a little to study on. --Will you answer that, Fred?"

Fred caught up the telephone and stopped the buzz while Thea went ontalking to Dr. Archie about Landry. Telling some one to hold the wire, he presently put down the instrument and approached Thea with a startledexpression on his face. 

"It's the management, " he said quietly. "Gloeckler has broken down:fainting fits. Madame Rheinecker is in Atlantic City and Schramm issinging in Philadelphia tonight. They want to know whether you can comedown and finish SIEGLINDE. "

"What time is it?"

"Eight fifty-five. The first act is just over. They can hold the curtaintwenty-five minutes. "

Thea did not move. "Twenty-five and thirty-five makes sixty, " shemuttered. "Tell them I'll come if they hold the curtain till I am in thedressing-room. Say I'll have to wear her costumes, and the dresser musthave everything ready. Then call a taxi, please. "

Thea had not changed her position since he first interrupted her, butshe had grown pale and was opening and shutting her hands rapidly. Shelooked, Fred thought, terrified. He half turned toward the telephone, but hung on one foot. 

"Have you ever sung the part?" he asked. 

"No, but I've rehearsed it. That's all right. Get the cab. " Still shemade no move. She merely turned perfectly blank eyes to Dr. Archie andsaid absently, "It's curious, but just at this minute I can't remember abar of 'Walkure' after the first act. And I let my maid go out. " Shesprang up and beckoned Archie without so much, he felt sure, as knowingwho he was. "Come with me. " She went quickly into her sleeping-chamberand threw open a door into a trunk-room. "See that white trunk? It's notlocked. It's full of wigs, in boxes. Look until you find one marked'Ring 2. ' Bring it quick!" While she directed him, she threw open asquare trunk and began tossing out shoes of every shape and color. 

Ottenburg appeared at the door. "Can I help you?"

She threw him some white sandals with long laces and silk stockingspinned to them. "Put those in something, and then go to the piano andgive me a few measures in there--you know. " She was behaving somewhatlike a cyclone now, and while she wrenched open drawers and closetdoors, Ottenburg got to the piano as quickly as possible and began toherald the reappearance of the Volsung pair, trusting to memory. 

In a few moments Thea came out enveloped in her long fur coat with ascarf over her head and knitted woolen gloves on her hands. Her glassyeye took in the fact that Fred was playing from memory, and even in herdistracted state, a faint smile flickered over her colorless lips. Shestretched out a woolly hand, "The score, please. Behind you, there. "

Dr. Archie followed with a canvas box and a satchel. As they wentthrough the hall, the men caught up their hats and coats. They left themusic-room, Fred noticed, just seven minutes after he got the telephonemessage. In the elevator Thea said in that husky whisper which had soperplexed Dr. Archie when he first heard it, "Tell the driver he must doit in twenty minutes, less if he can. He must leave the light on in thecab. I can do a good deal in twenty minutes. If only you hadn't made meeat--Damn that duck!" she broke out bitterly; "why did you?"

"Wish I had it back! But it won't bother you, to-night. You needstrength, " he pleaded consolingly. 

But she only muttered angrily under her breath, "Idiot, idiot!"

Ottenburg shot ahead and instructed the driver, while the doctor putThea into the cab and shut the door. She did not speak to either of themagain. As the driver scrambled into his seat she opened the score andfixed her eyes upon it. Her face, in the white light, looked as bleak asa stone quarry. 

As her cab slid away, Ottenburg shoved Archie into a second taxi thatwaited by the curb. "We'd better trail her, " he explained. "There mightbe a hold-up of some kind. " As the cab whizzed off he broke into aneruption of profanity. 

"What's the matter, Fred?" the doctor asked. He was a good deal dazed bythe rapid evolutions of the last ten minutes. 

"Matter enough!" Fred growled, buttoning his overcoat with a shiver. "What a way to sing a part for the first time! That duck really is on myconscience. It will be a wonder if she can do anything but quack!Scrambling on in the middle of a performance like this, with norehearsal! The stuff she has to sing in there is a fright--rhythm, pitch, --and terribly difficult intervals. "

"She looked frightened, " Dr. Archie said thoughtfully, "but I thoughtshe looked--determined. "

Fred sniffed. "Oh, determined! That's the kind of rough deal that makessavages of singers. Here's a part she's worked on and got ready for foryears, and now they give her a chance to go on and butcher it. Goodnessknows when she's looked at the score last, or whether she can use thebusiness she's studied with this cast. Necker's singing BRUNNHILDE; shemay help her, if it's not one of her sore nights. "

"Is she sore at Thea?" Dr. Archie asked wonderingly. 

"My dear man, Necker's sore at everything. She's breaking up; too early;just when she ought to be at her best. There's one story that she isstruggling under some serious malady, another that she learned a badmethod at the Prague Conservatory and has ruined her organ. She's thesorest thing in the world. If she weathers this winter through, it'll beher last. She's paying for it with the last rags of her voice. Andthen--" Fred whistled softly. 

"Well, what then?"

"Then our girl may come in for some of it. It's dog eat dog, in thisgame as in every other. "

The cab stopped and Fred and Dr. Archie hurried to the box office. TheMonday-night house was sold out. They bought standing room and enteredthe auditorium just as the press representative of the house wasthanking the audience for their patience and telling them that althoughMadame Gloeckler was too ill to sing, Miss Kronborg had kindly consentedto finish her part. This announcement was met with vehement applausefrom the upper circles of the house. 

"She has her--constituents, " Dr. Archie murmured. 

"Yes, up there, where they're young and hungry. These people down herehave dined too well. They won't mind, however. They like fires andaccidents and DIVERTISSEMENTS. Two SIEGLINDES are more unusual than one, so they'll be satisfied. "

After the final disappearance of the mother of Siegfried, Ottenburg andthe doctor slipped out through the crowd and left the house. Near thestage entrance Fred found the driver who had brought Thea down. Hedismissed him and got a larger car. He and Archie waited on thesidewalk, and when Kronborg came out alone they gathered her into thecab and sprang in after her. 

Thea sank back into a corner of the back seat and yawned. "Well, I gotthrough, eh?" Her tone was reassuring. "On the whole, I think I've givenyou gentlemen a pretty lively evening, for one who has no socialaccomplishments. "

"Rather! There was something like a popular uprising at the end of thesecond act. Archie and I couldn't keep it up as long as the rest of themdid. A howl like that ought to show the management which way the wind isblowing. You probably know you were magnificent. "

"I thought it went pretty well, " she spoke impartially. "I was rathersmart to catch his tempo there, at the beginning of the firstrecitative, when he came in too soon, don't you think? It's tricky inthere, without a rehearsal. Oh, I was all right! He took thatsyncopation too fast in the beginning. Some singers take it fastthere--think it sounds more impassioned. That's one way!" She sniffed, and Fred shot a mirthful glance at Archie. Her boastfulness would havebeen childish in a schoolboy. In the light of what she had done, of thestrain they had lived through during the last two hours, it made onelaugh, --almost cry. She went on, robustly: "And I didn't feel my dinner, really, Fred. I am hungry again, I'm ashamed to say, --and I forgot toorder anything at my hotel. "

Fred put his hand on the door. "Where to? You must have food. "

"Do you know any quiet place, where I won't be stared at? I've still gotmake-up on. "

"I do. Nice English chop-house on Forty-fourth Street. Nobody there atnight but theater people after the show, and a few bachelors. " He openedthe door and spoke to the driver. 

As the car turned, Thea reached across to the front seat and drew Dr. Archie's handkerchief out of his breast pocket. 

"This comes to me naturally, " she said, rubbing her cheeks and eyebrows. "When I was little I always loved your handkerchiefs because they weresilk and smelled of Cologne water. I think they must have been the onlyreally clean handkerchiefs in Moonstone. You were always wiping my facewith them, when you met me out in the dust, I remember. Did I never haveany?"

"I think you'd nearly always used yours up on your baby brother. "

Thea sighed. "Yes, Thor had such a way of getting messy. You say he's agood chauffeur?" She closed her eyes for a moment as if they were tired. Suddenly she looked up. "Isn't it funny, how we travel in circles? Hereyou are, still getting me clean, and Fred is still feeding me. I wouldhave died of starvation at that boarding-house on Indiana Avenue if hehadn't taken me out to the Buckingham and filled me up once in a while. What a cavern I was to fill, too. The waiters used to look astonished. I'm still singing on that food. "

Fred alighted and gave Thea his arm as they crossed the icy sidewalk. They were taken upstairs in an antiquated lift and found the cheerfulchop-room half full of supper parties. An English company playing at theEmpire had just come in. The waiters, in red waistcoats, were hurryingabout. Fred got a table at the back of the room, in a corner, and urgedhis waiter to get the oysters on at once. 

"Takes a few minutes to open them, sir, " the man expostulated. 

"Yes, but make it as few as possible, and bring the lady's first. Thengrilled chops with kidneys, and salad. "

Thea began eating celery stalks at once, from the base to the foliage. "Necker said something nice to me tonight. You might have thought themanagement would say something, but not they. " She looked at Fred fromunder her blackened lashes. "It WAS a stunt, to jump in and sing thatsecond act without rehearsal. It doesn't sing itself. "

Ottenburg was watching her brilliant eyes and her face. She was muchhandsomer than she had been early in the evening. Excitement of thissort enriched her. It was only under such excitement, he reflected, thatshe was entirely illuminated, or wholly present. At other times therewas something a little cold and empty, like a big room with no people init. Even in her most genial moods there was a shadow of restlessness, asif she were waiting for something and were exercising the virtue ofpatience. During dinner she had been as kind as she knew how to be, tohim and to Archie, and had given them as much of herself as she could. But, clearly, she knew only one way of being really kind, from the coreof her heart out; and there was but one way in which she could giveherself to people largely and gladly, spontaneously. Even as a girl shehad been at her best in vigorous effort, he remembered; physical effort, when there was no other kind at hand. She could be expansive only inexplosions. Old Nathanmeyer had seen it. In the very first song Fred hadever heard her sing, she had unconsciously declared it. 

Thea Kronborg turned suddenly from her talk with Archie and peeredsuspiciously into the corner where Ottenburg sat with folded arms, observing her. "What's the matter with you, Fred? I'm afraid of you whenyou're quiet, --fortunately you almost never are. What are you thinkingabout?"

"I was wondering how you got right with the orchestra so quickly, thereat first. I had a flash of terror, " he replied easily. 

She bolted her last oyster and ducked her head. "So had I! I don't knowhow I did catch it. Desperation, I suppose; same way the Indian babiesswim when they're thrown into the river. I HAD to. Now it's over, I'mglad I had to. I learned a whole lot to-night. "

Archie, who usually felt that it behooved him to be silent during suchdiscussions, was encouraged by her geniality to venture, "I don't seehow you can learn anything in such a turmoil; or how you can keep yourmind on it, for that matter. "

Thea glanced about the room and suddenly put her hand up to her hair. "Mercy, I've no hat on! Why didn't you tell me? And I seem to be wearinga rumpled dinner dress, with all this paint on my face! I must look likesomething you picked up on Second Avenue. I hope there are no Coloradoreformers about, Dr. Archie. What a dreadful old pair these people mustbe thinking you! Well, I had to eat. " She sniffed the savor of the grillas the waiter uncovered it. "Yes, draught beer, please. No, thank you, Fred, NO champagne. --To go back to your question, Dr. Archie, you canbelieve I keep my mind on it. That's the whole trick, in so far as stageexperience goes; keeping right there every second. If I think ofanything else for a flash, I'm gone, done for. But at the same time, onecan take things in--with another part of your brain, maybe. It'sdifferent from what you get in study, more practical and conclusive. There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm. Youlearn the delivery of a part only before an audience. "

"Heaven help us, " gasped Ottenburg. "Weren't you hungry, though! It'sbeautiful to see you eat. "

"Glad you like it. Of course I'm hungry. Are you staying over for'Rheingold' Friday afternoon?"

"My dear Thea, "--Fred lit a cigarette, --"I'm a serious business man now. I have to sell beer. I'm due in Chicago on Wednesday. I'd come back tohear you, but FRICKA is not an alluring part. "

"Then you've never heard it well done. " She spoke up hotly. "Fat Germanwoman scolding her husband, eh? That's not my idea. Wait till you hearmy FRICKA. It's a beautiful part. " Thea leaned forward on the table andtouched Archie's arm. "You remember, Dr. Archie, how my mother alwayswore her hair, parted in the middle and done low on her neck behind, soyou got the shape of her head and such a calm, white forehead? I wearmine like that for FRICKA. A little more coronet effect, built up alittle higher at the sides, but the idea's the same. I think you'llnotice it. " She turned to Ottenburg reproachfully: "It's noble music, Fred, from the first measure. There's nothing lovelier than the WONNIGERHAUSRATH. It's all such comprehensive sort of music--fateful. Of course, FRICKA KNOWS, " Thea ended quietly. 

Fred sighed. "There, you've spoiled my itinerary. Now I'll have to comeback, of course. Archie, you'd better get busy about seats to-morrow. "

"I can get you box seats, somewhere. I know nobody here, and I never askfor any. " Thea began hunting among her wraps. "Oh, how funny! I've onlythese short woolen gloves, and no sleeves. Put on my coat first. ThoseEnglish people can't make out where you got your lady, she's so made upof contradictions. " She rose laughing and plunged her arms into the coatDr. Archie held for her. As she settled herself into it and buttoned itunder her chin, she gave him an old signal with her eyelid. "I'd like tosing another part to-night. This is the sort of evening I fancy, whenthere's something to do. Let me see: I have to sing in 'Trovatore'Wednesday night, and there are rehearsals for the 'Ring' every day thisweek. Consider me dead until Saturday, Dr. Archie. I invite you both todine with me on Saturday night, the day after 'Rheingold. ' And Fred mustleave early, for I want to talk to you alone. You've been here nearly aweek, and I haven't had a serious word with you. TAK FOR MAD, Fred, asthe Norwegians say. "

VIII

THE "Ring of the Niebelungs" was to be given at the Metropolitan on foursuccessive Friday afternoons. After the first of these performances, Fred Ottenburg went home with Landry for tea. Landry was one of the fewpublic entertainers who own real estate in New York. He lived in alittle three-story brick house on Jane Street, in Greenwich Village, which had been left to him by the same aunt who paid for his musicaleducation. 

Landry was born, and spent the first fifteen years of his life, on arocky Connecticut farm not far from Cos Cob. His father was an ignorant, violent man, a bungling farmer and a brutal husband. The farmhouse, dilapidated and damp, stood in a hollow beside a marshy pond. Oliver hadworked hard while he lived at home, although he was never clean or warmin winter and had wretched food all the year round. His spare, dryfigure, his prominent larynx, and the peculiar red of his face and handsbelonged to the choreboy he had never outgrown. It was as if the farm, knowing he would escape from it as early as he could, had ground itsmark on him deep. When he was fifteen Oliver ran away and went to livewith his Catholic aunt, on Jane Street, whom his mother was neverallowed to visit. The priest of St. Joseph's Parish discovered that hehad a voice. 

Landry had an affection for the house on Jane Street, where he had firstlearned what cleanliness and order and courtesy were. When his aunt diedhe had the place done over, got an Irish housekeeper, and lived therewith a great many beautiful things he had collected. His living expenseswere never large, but he could not restrain himself from buying gracefuland useless objects. He was a collector for much the same reason that hewas a Catholic, and he was a Catholic chiefly because his father used tosit in the kitchen and read aloud to his hired men disgusting"exposures" of the Roman Church, enjoying equally the hideous storiesand the outrage to his wife's feelings. 

At first Landry bought books; then rugs, drawings, china. He had abeautiful collection of old French and Spanish fans. He kept them in anescritoire he had brought from Spain, but there were always a few ofthem lying about in his sitting-room. 

While Landry and his guest were waiting for the tea to be brought, Ottenburg took up one of these fans from the low marble mantel-shelf andopened it in the firelight. One side was painted with a pearly sky andfloating clouds. On the other was a formal garden where an elegantshepherdess with a mask and crook was fleeing on high heels from asatin-coated shepherd. 

"You ought not to keep these things about, like this, Oliver. The dustfrom your grate must get at them. "

"It does, but I get them to enjoy them, not to have them. They'repleasant to glance at and to play with at odd times like this, when oneis waiting for tea or something. "

Fred smiled. The idea of Landry stretched out before his fire playingwith his fans, amused him. Mrs. McGinnis brought the tea and put itbefore the hearth: old teacups that were velvety to the touch and apot-bellied silver cream pitcher of an Early Georgian pattern, which wasalways brought, though Landry took rum. 

Fred drank his tea walking about, examining Landry's sumptuouswriting-table in the alcove and the Boucher drawing in red chalk overthe mantel. "I don't see how you can stand this place without a heroine. It would give me a raging thirst for gallantries. "

Landry was helping himself to a second cup of tea. "Works quite theother way with me. It consoles me for the lack of her. It's justfeminine enough to be pleasant to return to. Not any more tea? Then sitdown and play for me. I'm always playing for other people, and I neverhave a chance to sit here quietly and listen. "

Ottenburg opened the piano and began softly to boom forth the shadowyintroduction to the opera they had just heard. "Will that do?" he askedjokingly. "I can't seem to get it out of my head. "

"Oh, excellently! Thea told me it was quite wonderful, the way you cando Wagner scores on the piano. So few people can give one any idea ofthe music. Go ahead, as long as you like. I can smoke, too. " Landryflattened himself out on his cushions and abandoned himself to ease withthe circumstance of one who has never grown quite accustomed to ease. 

Ottenburg played on, as he happened to remember. He understood now whyThea wished him to hear her in "Rheingold. " It had been clear to him assoon as FRICKA rose from sleep and looked out over the young world, stretching one white arm toward the new Gotterburg shining on theheights. "WOTAN! GEMAHL! ERWACHE!" She was pure Scandinavian, thisFRICKA: "Swedish summer"! he remembered old Mr. Nathanmeyer's phrase. She had wished him to see her because she had a distinct kind ofloveliness for this part, a shining beauty like the light of sunset ondistant sails. She seemed to take on the look of immortal loveliness, the youth of the golden apples, the shining body and the shining mind. FRICKA had been a jealous spouse to him for so long that he had forgotshe meant wisdom before she meant domestic order, and that, in anyevent, she was always a goddess. The FRICKA of that afternoon was soclear and sunny, so nobly conceived, that she made a whole atmosphereabout herself and quite redeemed from shabbiness the helplessness andunscrupulousness of the gods. Her reproaches to WOTAN were the pleadingsof a tempered mind, a consistent sense of beauty. In the long silencesof her part, her shining presence was a visible complement to thediscussion of the orchestra. As the themes which were to help in weavingthe drama to its end first came vaguely upon the ear, one saw theirimport and tendency in the face of this clearest-visioned of the gods. 

In the scene between FRICKA and WOTAN, Ottenburg stopped. "I can't seemto get the voices, in there. "

Landry chuckled. "Don't try. I know it well enough. I expect I've beenover that with her a thousand times. I was playing for her almost everyday when she was first working on it. When she begins with a part she'shard to work with: so slow you'd think she was stupid if you didn't knowher. Of course she blames it all on her accompanist. It goes on likethat for weeks sometimes. This did. She kept shaking her head andstaring and looking gloomy. All at once, she got her line--it usuallycomes suddenly, after stretches of not getting anywhere at all--andafter that it kept changing and clearing. As she worked her voice intoit, it got more and more of that 'gold' quality that makes her FRICKA sodifferent. "

Fred began FRICKA'S first aria again. "It's certainly different. Curioushow she does it. Such a beautiful idea, out of a part that's always beenso ungrateful. She's a lovely thing, but she was never so beautiful asthat, really. Nobody is. " He repeated the loveliest phrase. "How doesshe manage it, Landry? You've worked with her. "

Landry drew cherishingly on the last cigarette he meant to permithimself before singing. "Oh, it's a question of a big personality--andall that goes with it. Brains, of course. Imagination, of course. Butthe important thing is that she was born full of color, with a richpersonality. That's a gift of the gods, like a fine nose. You have it, or you haven't. Against it, intelligence and musicianship and habits ofindustry don't count at all. Singers are a conventional race. When Theawas studying in Berlin the other girls were mortally afraid of her. Shehas a pretty rough hand with women, dull ones, and she could be rude, too! The girls used to call her DIE WOLFIN. "

Fred thrust his hands into his pockets and leaned back against thepiano. "Of course, even a stupid woman could get effects with suchmachinery: such a voice and body and face. But they couldn't possiblybelong to a stupid woman, could they?"

Landry shook his head. "It's personality; that's as near as you can cometo it. That's what constitutes real equipment. What she does isinteresting because she does it. Even the things she discards aresuggestive. I regret some of them. Her conceptions are colored in somany different ways. You've heard her ELIZABETH? Wonderful, isn't it?She was working on that part years ago when her mother was ill. I couldsee her anxiety and grief getting more and more into the part. The lastact is heart-breaking. It's as homely as a country prayer meeting: mightbe any lonely woman getting ready to die. It's full of the thing everyplain creature finds out for himself, but that never gets written down. It's unconscious memory, maybe; inherited memory, like folk-music. Icall it personality. "

Fred laughed, and turning to the piano began coaxing the FRICKA musicagain. "Call it anything you like, my boy. I have a name for it myself, but I shan't tell you. " He looked over his shoulder at Landry, stretchedout by the fire. "You have a great time watching her, don't you?"

"Oh, yes!" replied Landry simply. "I'm not interested in much that goeson in New York. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll have to dress. " He rosewith a reluctant sigh. "Can I get you anything? Some whiskey?"

"Thank you, no. I'll amuse myself here. I don't often get a chance at agood piano when I'm away from home. You haven't had this one long, haveyou? Action's a bit stiff. I say, " he stopped Landry in the doorway, "has Thea ever been down here?"

Landry turned back. "Yes. She came several times when I had erysipelas. I was a nice mess, with two nurses. She brought down some insidewindow-boxes, planted with crocuses and things. Very cheering, only Icouldn't see them or her. "

"Didn't she like your place?"

"She thought she did, but I fancy it was a good deal cluttered up forher taste. I could hear her pacing about like something in a cage. Shepushed the piano back against the wall and the chairs into corners, andshe broke my amber elephant. " Landry took a yellow object some fourinches high from one of his low bookcases. "You can see where his leg isglued on, --a souvenir. Yes, he's lemon amber, very fine. "

Landry disappeared behind the curtains and in a moment Fred heard thewheeze of an atomizer. He put the amber elephant on the piano beside himand seemed to get a great deal of amusement out of the beast. 

IX

WHEN Archie and Ottenburg dined with Thea on Saturday evening, they wereserved downstairs in the hotel dining-room, but they were to have theircoffee in her own apartment. As they were going up in the elevator afterdinner, Fred turned suddenly to Thea. "And why, please, did you breakLandry's amber elephant?"

She looked guilty and began to laugh. "Hasn't he got over that yet? Ididn't really mean to break it. I was perhaps careless. His things areso over-petted that I was tempted to be careless with a lot of them. "

"How can you be so heartless, when they're all he has in the world?"

"He has me. I'm a great deal of diversion for him; all he needs. There, "she said as she opened the door into her own hall, "I shouldn't havesaid that before the elevator boy. "

"Even an elevator boy couldn't make a scandal about Oliver. He's such acatnip man. "

Dr. Archie laughed, but Thea, who seemed suddenly to have thought ofsomething annoying, repeated blankly, "Catnip man?"

"Yes, he lives on catnip, and rum tea. But he's not the only one. Youare like an eccentric old woman I know in Boston, who goes about in thespring feeding catnip to street cats. You dispense it to a lot offellows. Your pull seems to be more with men than with women, you know;with seasoned men, about my age, or older. Even on Friday afternoon Ikept running into them, old boys I hadn't seen for years, thin at thepart and thick at the girth, until I stood still in the draft and heldmy hair on. They're always there; I hear them talking about you in thesmoking room. Probably we don't get to the point of apprehendinganything good until we're about forty. Then, in the light of what isgoing, and of what, God help us! is coming, we arrive at understanding. "

"I don't see why people go to the opera, anyway, --serious people. " Shespoke discontentedly. "I suppose they get something, or think they do. Here's the coffee. There, please, " she directed the waiter. Going to thetable she began to pour the coffee, standing. She wore a white dresstrimmed with crystals which had rattled a good deal during dinner, asall her movements had been impatient and nervous, and she had twistedthe dark velvet rose at her girdle until it looked rumpled and weary. She poured the coffee as if it were a ceremony in which she did notbelieve. "Can you make anything of Fred's nonsense, Dr. Archie?" sheasked, as he came to take his cup. 

Fred approached her. "My nonsense is all right. The same brand has gonewith you before. It's you who won't be jollied. What's the matter? Youhave something on your mind. "

"I've a good deal. Too much to be an agreeable hostess. " She turnedquickly away from the coffee and sat down on the piano bench, facing thetwo men. "For one thing, there's a change in the cast for Fridayafternoon. They're going to let me sing SIEGLINDE. " Her frown did notconceal the pleasure with which she made this announcement. 

"Are you going to keep us dangling about here forever, Thea? Archie andI are supposed to have other things to do. " Fred looked at her with anexcitement quite as apparent as her own. 

"Here I've been ready to sing SIEGLINDE for two years, kept in torment, and now it comes off within two weeks, just when I want to be seeingsomething of Dr. Archie. I don't know what their plans are down there. After Friday they may let me cool for several weeks, and they may rushme. I suppose it depends somewhat on how things go Friday afternoon. "

"Oh, they'll go fast enough! That's better suited to your voice thananything you've sung here. That gives you every opportunity I've waitedfor. " Ottenburg crossed the room and standing beside her began to play"DU BIST DER LENZ. "

With a violent movement Thea caught his wrists and pushed his hands awayfrom the keys. 

"Fred, can't you be serious? A thousand things may happen between thisand Friday to put me out. Something will happen. If that part were sungwell, as well as it ought to be, it would be one of the most beautifulthings in the world. That's why it never is sung right, and never willbe. " She clenched her hands and opened them despairingly, looking out ofthe open window. "It's inaccessibly beautiful!" she brought out sharply. 

Fred and Dr. Archie watched her. In a moment she turned back to them. "It's impossible to sing a part like that well for the first time, except for the sort who will never sing it any better. Everything hangson that first night, and that's bound to be bad. There you are, " sheshrugged impatiently. "For one thing, they change the cast at theeleventh hour and then rehearse the life out of me. "

Ottenburg put down his cup with exaggerated care. "Still, you reallywant to do it, you know. "

"Want to?" she repeated indignantly; "of course I want to! If this wereonly next Thursday night--But between now and Friday I'll do nothing butfret away my strength. Oh, I'm not saying I don't need the rehearsals!But I don't need them strung out through a week. That system's wellenough for phlegmatic singers; it only drains me. Every single featureof operatic routine is detrimental to me. I usually go on like a horsethat's been fixed to lose a race. I have to work hard to do my worst, let alone my best. I wish you could hear me sing well, once, " she turnedto Fred defiantly; "I have, a few times in my life, when there wasnothing to gain by it. "

Fred approached her again and held out his hand. "I recall myinstructions, and now I'll leave you to fight it out with Archie. Hecan't possibly represent managerial stupidity to you as I seem to have agift for doing. "

As he smiled down at her, his good humor, his good wishes, hisunderstanding, embarrassed her and recalled her to herself. She kept herseat, still holding his hand. "All the same, Fred, isn't it too bad, that there are so many things--" She broke off with a shake of the head. 

"My dear girl, if I could bridge over the agony between now and Fridayfor you--But you know the rules of the game; why torment yourself? Yousaw the other night that you had the part under your thumb. Now walk, sleep, play with Archie, keep your tiger hungry, and she'll spring allright on Friday. I'll be there to see her, and there'll be more than I, I suspect. Harsanyi's on the Wilhelm der Grosse; gets in on Thursday. "

"Harsanyi?" Thea's eye lighted. "I haven't seen him for years. We alwaysmiss each other. " She paused, hesitating. "Yes, I should like that. Buthe'll be busy, maybe?"

"He gives his first concert at Carnegie Hall, week after next. Bettersend him a box if you can. "

"Yes, I'll manage it. " Thea took his hand again. "Oh, I should likethat, Fred!" she added impulsively. "Even if I were put out, he'd getthe idea, "--she threw back her head, --"for there is an idea!"

"Which won't penetrate here, " he tapped his brow and began to laugh. "You are an ungrateful huzzy, COMME LES AUTRES!"

Thea detained him as he turned away. She pulled a flower out of abouquet on the piano and absently drew the stem through the lapel of hiscoat. "I shall be walking in the Park to-morrow afternoon, on thereservoir path, between four and five, if you care to join me. You knowthat after Harsanyi I'd rather please you than anyone else. You know alot, but he knows even more than you. "

"Thank you. Don't try to analyze it. SCHLAFEN SIE WOHL!" he kissed herfingers and waved from the door, closing it behind him. 

"He's the right sort, Thea. " Dr. Archie looked warmly after hisdisappearing friend. "I've always hoped you'd make it up with Fred. "

"Well, haven't I? Oh, marry him, you mean! Perhaps it may come about, some day. Just at present he's not in the marriage market any more thanI am, is he?"

"No, I suppose not. It's a damned shame that a man like Ottenburg shouldbe tied up as he is, wasting all the best years of his life. A womanwith general paresis ought to be legally dead. "

"Don't let us talk about Fred's wife, please. He had no business to getinto such a mess, and he had no business to stay in it. He's always beena softy where women were concerned. "

"Most of us are, I'm afraid, " Dr. Archie admitted meekly. 

"Too much light in here, isn't there? Tires one's eyes. The stage lightsare hard on mine. " Thea began turning them out. "We'll leave the littleone, over the piano. " She sank down by Archie on the deep sofa. "We twohave so much to talk about that we keep away from it altogether; haveyou noticed? We don't even nibble the edges. I wish we had Landry hereto-night to play for us. He's very comforting. "

"I'm afraid you don't have enough personal life, outside your work, Thea. " The doctor looked at her anxiously. 

She smiled at him with her eyes half closed. "My dear doctor, I don'thave any. Your work becomes your personal life. You are not much gooduntil it does. It's like being woven into a big web. You can't pullaway, because all your little tendrils are woven into the picture. Ittakes you up, and uses you, and spins you out; and that is your life. Not much else can happen to you. "

"Didn't you think of marrying, several years ago?"

"You mean Nordquist? Yes; but I changed my mind. We had been singing agood deal together. He's a splendid creature. "

"Were you much in love with him, Thea?" the doctor asked hopefully. 

She smiled again. "I don't think I know just what that expression means. I've never been able to find out. I think I was in love with you when Iwas little, but not with any one since then. There are a great many waysof caring for people. It's not, after all, a simple state, like measlesor tonsilitis. Nordquist is a taking sort of man. He and I were out in arowboat once in a terrible storm. The lake was fed by glaciers, --icewater, --and we couldn't have swum a stroke if the boat had filled. If wehadn't both been strong and kept our heads, we'd have gone down. Wepulled for every ounce there was in us, and we just got off with ourlives. We were always being thrown together like that, under some kindof pressure. Yes, for a while I thought he would make everything right. "She paused and sank back, resting her head on a cushion, pressing hereyelids down with her fingers. "You see, " she went on abruptly, "he hada wife and two children. He hadn't lived with her for several years, butwhen she heard that he wanted to marry again, she began to make trouble. He earned a good deal of money, but he was careless and alwayswretchedly in debt. He came to me one day and told me he thought hiswife would settle for a hundred thousand marks and consent to a divorce. I got very angry and sent him away. Next day he came back and said hethought she'd take fifty thousand. "

Dr. Archie drew away from her, to the end of the sofa. 

"Good God, Thea, "--He ran his handkerchief over his forehead. "What sortof people--" He stopped and shook his head. 

Thea rose and stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder. "That'sexactly how it struck me, " she said quietly. "Oh, we have things incommon, things that go away back, under everything. You understand, ofcourse. Nordquist didn't. He thought I wasn't willing to part with themoney. I couldn't let myself buy him from Fru Nordquist, and he couldn'tsee why. He had always thought I was close about money, so he attributedit to that. I am careful, "--she ran her arm through Archie's and when herose began to walk about the room with him. "I can't be careless withmoney. I began the world on six hundred dollars, and it was the price ofa man's life. Ray Kennedy had worked hard and been sober and deniedhimself, and when he died he had six hundred dollars to show for it. Ialways measure things by that six hundred dollars, just as I measurehigh buildings by the Moonstone standpipe. There are standards we can'tget away from. "

Dr. Archie took her hand. "I don't believe we should be any happier ifwe did get away from them. I think it gives you some of your poise, having that anchor. You look, " glancing down at her head and shoulders, "sometimes so like your mother. "

"Thank you. You couldn't say anything nicer to me than that. On Fridayafternoon, didn't you think?"

"Yes, but at other times, too. I love to see it. Do you know what Ithought about that first night when I heard you sing? I kept rememberingthe night I took care of you when you had pneumonia, when you were tenyears old. You were a terribly sick child, and I was a country doctorwithout much experience. There were no oxygen tanks about then. Youpretty nearly slipped away from me. If you had--"

Thea dropped her head on his shoulder. "I'd have saved myself and you alot of trouble, wouldn't I? Dear Dr. Archie!" she murmured. 

"As for me, life would have been a pretty bleak stretch, with you leftout. " The doctor took one of the crystal pendants that hung from hershoulder and looked into it thoughtfully. "I guess I'm a romantic oldfellow, underneath. And you've always been my romance. Those years whenyou were growing up were my happiest. When I dream about you, I alwayssee you as a little girl. "

They paused by the open window. "Do you? Nearly all my dreams, exceptthose about breaking down on the stage or missing trains, are aboutMoonstone. You tell me the old house has been pulled down, but it standsin my mind, every stick and timber. In my sleep I go all about it, andlook in the right drawers and cupboards for everything. I often dreamthat I'm hunting for my rubbers in that pile of overshoes that wasalways under the hatrack in the hall. I pick up every overshoe and knowwhose it is, but I can't find my own. Then the school bell begins toring and I begin to cry. That's the house I rest in when I'm tired. Allthe old furniture and the worn spots in the carpet--it rests my mind togo over them. "

They were looking out of the window. Thea kept his arm. Down on theriver four battleships were anchored in line, brilliantly lighted, andlaunches were coming and going, bringing the men ashore. A searchlightfrom one of the ironclads was playing on the great headland up theriver, where it makes its first resolute turn. Overhead the night-bluesky was intense and clear. 

"There's so much that I want to tell you, " she said at last, "and it'shard to explain. My life is full of jealousies and disappointments, youknow. You get to hating people who do contemptible work and who get onjust as well as you do. There are many disappointments in my profession, and bitter, bitter contempts!" Her face hardened, and looked much older. "If you love the good thing vitally, enough to give up for it all thatone must give up for it, then you must hate the cheap thing just ashard. I tell you, there is such a thing as creative hate! A contemptthat drives you through fire, makes you risk everything and loseeverything, makes you a long sight better than you ever knew you couldbe. " As she glanced at Dr. Archie's face, Thea stopped short and turnedher own face away. Her eyes followed the path of the searchlight up theriver and rested upon the illumined headland. 

"You see, " she went on more calmly, "voices are accidental things. Youfind plenty of good voices in common women, with common minds and commonhearts. Look at that woman who sang ORTRUDE with me last week. She's newhere and the people are wild about her. 'Such a beautiful volume oftone!' they say. I give you my word she's as stupid as an owl and ascoarse as a pig, and any one who knows anything about singing would seethat in an instant. Yet she's quite as popular as Necker, who's a greatartist. How can I get much satisfaction out of the enthusiasm of a housethat likes her atrociously bad performance at the same time that itpretends to like mine? If they like her, then they ought to hiss me offthe stage. We stand for things that are irreconcilable, absolutely. Youcan't try to do things right and not despise the people who do themwrong. How can I be indifferent? If that doesn't matter, then nothingmatters. Well, sometimes I've come home as I did the other night whenyou first saw me, so full of bitterness that it was as if my mind werefull of daggers. And I've gone to sleep and wakened up in the Kohlers'garden, with the pigeons and the white rabbits, so happy! And that savesme. " She sat down on the piano bench. Archie thought she had forgottenall about him, until she called his name. Her voice was soft now, andwonderfully sweet. It seemed to come from somewhere deep within her, there were such strong vibrations in it. "You see, Dr. Archie, what onereally strives for in art is not the sort of thing you are likely tofind when you drop in for a performance at the opera. What one strivesfor is so far away, so deep, so beautiful"--she lifted her shoulderswith a long breath, folded her hands in her lap and sat looking at himwith a resignation that made her face noble, --"that there's nothing onecan say about it, Dr. Archie. "

Without knowing very well what it was all about, Archie was passionatelystirred for her. "I've always believed in you, Thea; always believed, "he muttered. 

She smiled and closed her eyes. "They save me: the old things, thingslike the Kohlers' garden. They are in everything I do. "

"In what you sing, you mean?"

"Yes. Not in any direct way, "--she spoke hurriedly, --"the light, thecolor, the feeling. Most of all the feeling. It comes in when I'mworking on a part, like the smell of a garden coming in at the window. Itry all the new things, and then go back to the old. Perhaps my feelingswere stronger then. A child's attitude toward everything is an artist'sattitude. I am more or less of an artist now, but then I was nothingelse. When I went with you to Chicago that first time, I carried with methe essentials, the foundation of all I do now. The point to which Icould go was scratched in me then. I haven't reached it yet, by a longway. "

Archie had a swift flash of memory. Pictures passed before him. "Youmean, " he asked wonderingly, "that you knew then that you were sogifted?"

Thea looked up at him and smiled. "Oh, I didn't know anything! Notenough to ask you for my trunk when I needed it. But you see, when I setout from Moonstone with you, I had had a rich, romantic past. I hadlived a long, eventful life, and an artist's life, every hour of it. Wagner says, in his most beautiful opera, that art is only a way ofremembering youth. And the older we grow the more precious it seems tous, and the more richly we can present that memory. When we've got itall out, --the last, the finest thrill of it, the brightest hope ofit, "--she lifted her hand above her head and dropped it, --"then we stop. We do nothing but repeat after that. The stream has reached the level ofits source. That's our measure. "

There was a long, warm silence. Thea was looking hard at the floor, asif she were seeing down through years and years, and her old friendstood watching her bent head. His look was one with which he used towatch her long ago, and which, even in thinking about her, had become ahabit of his face. It was full of solicitude, and a kind of secretgratitude, as if to thank her for some inexpressible pleasure of theheart. Thea turned presently toward the piano and began softly to wakenan old air:--

 "Ca' the yowes to the knowes, Ca' them where the heather grows, Ca' them where the burnie rowes, My bonnie dear-ie. "

Archie sat down and shaded his eyes with his hand. She turned her headand spoke to him over her shoulder. "Come on, you know the words betterthan I. That's right. "

"We'll gae down by Clouden's side, Through the hazels spreading wide, O'er the waves that sweetly glide, To the moon sae clearly. Ghaist norbogle shalt thou fear, Thou'rt to love and Heav'n sae dear, Nocht of illmay come thee near, My bonnie dear-ie!"

"We can get on without Landry. Let's try it again, I have all the wordsnow. Then we'll have 'Sweet Afton. ' Come: 'CA' THE YOWES TO THEKNOWES'--"

X

OTTENBURG dismissed his taxicab at the 91st Street entrance of the Parkand floundered across the drive through a wild spring snowstorm. When hereached the reservoir path he saw Thea ahead of him, walking rapidlyagainst the wind. Except for that one figure, the path was deserted. Aflock of gulls were hovering over the reservoir, seeming bewildered bythe driving currents of snow that whirled above the black water and thendisappeared within it. When he had almost overtaken Thea, Fred called toher, and she turned and waited for him with her back to the wind. Herhair and furs were powdered with snowflakes, and she looked like somerich-pelted animal, with warm blood, that had run in out of the woods. Fred laughed as he took her hand. 

"No use asking how you do. You surely needn't feel much anxiety aboutFriday, when you can look like this. "

She moved close to the iron fence to make room for him beside her, andfaced the wind again. "Oh, I'm WELL enough, in so far as that goes. ButI'm not lucky about stage appearances. I'm easily upset, and the mostperverse things happen. "

"What's the matter? Do you still get nervous?"

"Of course I do. I don't mind nerves so much as getting numbed, " Theamuttered, sheltering her face for a moment with her muff. "I'm under aspell, you know, hoodooed. It's the thing I WANT to do that I can neverdo. Any other effects I can get easily enough. "

"Yes, you get effects, and not only with your voice. That's where youhave it over all the rest of them; you're as much at home on the stageas you were down in Panther Canyon--as if you'd just been let out of acage. Didn't you get some of your ideas down there?"

Thea nodded. "Oh, yes! For heroic parts, at least. Out of the rocks, outof the dead people. You mean the idea of standing up under things, don'tyou, meeting catastrophe? No fussiness. Seems to me they must have beena reserved, somber people, with only a muscular language, all theirmovements for a purpose; simple, strong, as if they were dealing withfate bare-handed. " She put her gloved fingers on Fred's arm. "I don'tknow how I can ever thank you enough. I don't know if I'd ever have gotanywhere without Panther Canyon. How did you know that was the one thingto do for me? It's the sort of thing nobody ever helps one to, in thisworld. One can learn how to sing, but no singing teacher can giveanybody what I got down there. How did you know?"

"I didn't know. Anything else would have done as well. It was yourcreative hour. I knew you were getting a lot, but I didn't realize howmuch. "

Thea walked on in silence. She seemed to be thinking. 

"Do you know what they really taught me?" she came out suddenly. "Theytaught me the inevitable hardness of human life. No artist gets far whodoesn't know that. And you can't know it with your mind. You have torealize it in your body, somehow; deep. It's an animal sort of feeling. I sometimes think it's the strongest of all. Do you know what I'mdriving at?"

"I think so. Even your audiences feel it, vaguely: that you've sometimeor other faced things that make you different. "

Thea turned her back to the wind, wiping away the snow that clung to herbrows and lashes. "Ugh!" she exclaimed; "no matter how long a breath youhave, the storm has a longer. I haven't signed for next season, yet, Fred. I'm holding out for a big contract: forty performances. Neckerwon't be able to do much next winter. It's going to be one of thosebetween seasons; the old singers are too old, and the new ones are toonew. They might as well risk me as anybody. So I want good terms. Thenext five or six years are going to be my best. "

"You'll get what you demand, if you are uncompromising. I'm safe incongratulating you now. "

Thea laughed. "It's a little early. I may not get it at all. They don'tseem to be breaking their necks to meet me. I can go back to Dresden. "

As they turned the curve and walked westward they got the wind from theside, and talking was easier. 

Fred lowered his collar and shook the snow from his shoulders. "Oh, Idon't mean on the contract particularly. I congratulate you on what youcan do, Thea, and on all that lies behind what you do. On the lifethat's led up to it, and on being able to care so much. That, after all, is the unusual thing. "

She looked at him sharply, with a certain apprehension. "Care? Whyshouldn't I care? If I didn't, I'd be in a bad way. What else have Igot?" She stopped with a challenging interrogation, but Ottenburg didnot reply. "You mean, " she persisted, "that you don't care as much asyou used to?"

"I care about your success, of course. " Fred fell into a slower pace. Thea felt at once that he was talking seriously and had dropped the toneof half-ironical exaggeration he had used with her of late years. "AndI'm grateful to you for what you demand from yourself, when you mightget off so easily. You demand more and more all the time, and you'll domore and more. One is grateful to anybody for that; it makes life ingeneral a little less sordid. But as a matter of fact, I'm not muchinterested in how anybody sings anything. "

"That's too bad of you, when I'm just beginning to see what is worthdoing, and how I want to do it!" Thea spoke in an injured tone. 

"That's what I congratulate you on. That's the great difference betweenyour kind and the rest of us. It's how long you're able to keep it upthat tells the story. When you needed enthusiasm from the outside, I wasable to give it to you. Now you must let me withdraw. "

"I'm not tying you, am I?" she flashed out. "But withdraw to what? Whatdo you want?"

Fred shrugged. "I might ask you, What have I got? I want things thatwouldn't interest you; that you probably wouldn't understand. For onething, I want a son to bring up. "

"I can understand that. It seems to me reasonable. Have you also foundsomebody you want to marry?"

"Not particularly. " They turned another curve, which brought the wind totheir backs, and they walked on in comparative calm, with the snowblowing past them. "It's not your fault, Thea, but I've had you too muchin my mind. I've not given myself a fair chance in other directions. Iwas in Rome when you and Nordquist were there. If that had kept up, itmight have cured me. "

"It might have cured a good many things, " remarked Thea grimly. 

Fred nodded sympathetically and went on. "In my library in St. Louis, over the fireplace, I have a property spear I had copied from one inVenice, --oh, years ago, after you first went abroad, while you werestudying. You'll probably be singing BRUNNHILDE pretty soon now, andI'll send it on to you, if I may. You can take it and its history forwhat they're worth. But I'm nearly forty years old, and I've served myturn. You've done what I hoped for you, what I was honestly willing tolose you for--then. I'm older now, and I think I was an ass. I wouldn'tdo it again if I had the chance, not much! But I'm not sorry. It takes agreat many people to make one--BRUNNHILDE. "

Thea stopped by the fence and looked over into the black choppiness onwhich the snowflakes fell and disappeared with magical rapidity. Herface was both angry and troubled. "So you really feel I've beenungrateful. I thought you sent me out to get something. I didn't knowyou wanted me to bring in something easy. I thought you wantedsomething--" She took a deep breath and shrugged her shoulders. "Butthere! nobody on God's earth wants it, REALLY! If one other personwanted it, "--she thrust her hand out before him and clenched it, --"myGod, what I could do!"

Fred laughed dismally. "Even in my ashes I feel myself pushing you! Howcan anybody help it? My dear girl, can't you see that anybody else whowanted it as you do would be your rival, your deadliest danger? Can'tyou see that it's your great good fortune that other people can't careabout it so much?"

But Thea seemed not to take in his protest at all. She went onvindicating herself. "It's taken me a long while to do anything, ofcourse, and I've only begun to see daylight. But anything goodis--expensive. It hasn't seemed long. I've always felt responsible toyou. "

Fred looked at her face intently, through the veil of snowflakes, andshook his head. "To me? You are a truthful woman, and you don't mean tolie to me. But after the one responsibility you do feel, I doubt ifyou've enough left to feel responsible to God! Still, if you've ever inan idle hour fooled yourself with thinking I had anything to do with it, Heaven knows I'm grateful. "

"Even if I'd married Nordquist, " Thea went on, turning down the pathagain, "there would have been something left out. There always is. In away, I've always been married to you. I'm not very flexible; never wasand never shall be. You caught me young. I could never have that overagain. One can't, after one begins to know anything. But I look back onit. My life hasn't been a gay one, any more than yours. If I shut thingsout from you, you shut them out from me. We've been a help and ahindrance to each other. I guess it's always that way, the good and thebad all mixed up. There's only one thing that's all beautiful--andalways beautiful! That's why my interest keeps up. "

"Yes, I know. " Fred looked sidewise at the outline of her head againstthe thickening atmosphere. "And you give one the impression that that isenough. I've gradually, gradually given you up. "

"See, the lights are coming out. " Thea pointed to where they flickered, flashes of violet through the gray tree-tops. Lower down the globesalong the drives were becoming a pale lemon color. "Yes, I don't see whyanybody wants to marry an artist, anyhow. I remember Ray Kennedy used tosay he didn't see how any woman could marry a gambler, for she wouldonly be marrying what the game left. " She shook her shouldersimpatiently. "Who marries who is a small matter, after all. But I hope Ican bring back your interest in my work. You've cared longer and morethan anybody else, and I'd like to have somebody human to make a reportto once in a while. You can send me your spear. I'll do my best. Ifyou're not interested, I'll do my best anyhow. I've only a few friends, but I can lose every one of them, if it has to be. I learned how to losewhen my mother died. --We must hurry now. My taxi must be waiting. "

The blue light about them was growing deeper and darker, and the fallingsnow and the faint trees had become violet. To the south, over Broadway, there was an orange reflection in the clouds. Motors and carriage lightsflashed by on the drive below the reservoir path, and the air wasstrident with horns and shrieks from the whistles of the mountedpolicemen. 

Fred gave Thea his arm as they descended from the embankment. "I guessyou'll never manage to lose me or Archie, Thea. You do pick up queerones. But loving you is a heroic discipline. It wears a man out. Tell meone thing: could I have kept you, once, if I'd put on every screw?"

Thea hurried him along, talking rapidly, as if to get it over. "Youmight have kept me in misery for a while, perhaps. I don't know. I haveto think well of myself, to work. You could have made it hard. I'm notungrateful. I was a difficult proposition to deal with. I understandnow, of course. Since you didn't tell me the truth in the beginning, youcouldn't very well turn back after I'd set my head. At least, if you'dbeen the sort who could, you wouldn't have had to, --for I'd not havecared a button for that sort, even then. " She stopped beside a car thatwaited at the curb and gave him her hand. "There. We part friends?"

Fred looked at her. "You know. Ten years. "

"I'm not ungrateful, " Thea repeated as she got into her cab. 

"Yes, " she reflected, as the taxi cut into the Park carriage road, "wedon't get fairy tales in this world, and he has, after all, cared moreand longer than anybody else. " It was dark outside now, and the lightfrom the lamps along the drive flashed into the cab. The snowflakeshovered like swarms of white bees about the globes. 

Thea sat motionless in one corner staring out of the window at the cablights that wove in and out among the trees, all seeming to be bent uponjoyous courses. Taxicabs were still new in New York, and the theme ofpopular minstrelsy. Landry had sung her a ditty he heard in some theateron Third Avenue, about:

"But there passed him a bright-eyed taxiWith the girl of his heart inside. "

Almost inaudibly Thea began to hum the air, though she was thinking ofsomething serious, something that had touched her deeply. At thebeginning of the season, when she was not singing often, she had goneone afternoon to hear Paderewski's recital. In front of her sat an oldGerman couple, evidently poor people who had made sacrifices to pay fortheir excellent seats. Their intelligent enjoyment of the music, andtheir friendliness with each other, had interested her more thananything on the programme. When the pianist began a lovely melody in thefirst movement of the Beethoven D minor sonata, the old lady put out herplump hand and touched her husband's sleeve and they looked at eachother in recognition. They both wore glasses, but such a look! Likeforget-menots, and so full of happy recollections. Thea wanted to puther arms around them and ask them how they had been able to keep afeeling like that, like a nosegay in a glass of water. 

XI

DR. ARCHIE saw nothing of Thea during the following week. After severalfruitless efforts, he succeeded in getting a word with her over thetelephone, but she sounded so distracted and driven that he was glad tosay good-night and hang up the instrument. There were, she told him, rehearsals not only for "Walkure, " but also for "Gotterdammerung, " inwhich she was to sing WALTRAUTE two weeks later. 

On Thursday afternoon Thea got home late, after an exhausting rehearsal. She was in no happy frame of mind. Madame Necker, who had been verygracious to her that night when she went on to complete Gloeckler'sperformance of SIEGLINDE, had, since Thea was cast to sing the partinstead of Gloeckler in the production of the "Ring, " been chilly anddisapproving, distinctly hostile. Thea had always felt that she andNecker stood for the same sort of endeavor, and that Necker recognizedit and had a cordial feeling for her. In Germany she had several timessung BRANGAENA to Necker's ISOLDE, and the older artist had let her knowthat she thought she sang it beautifully. It was a bitter disappointmentto find that the approval of so honest an artist as Necker could notstand the test of any significant recognition by the management. MadameNecker was forty, and her voice was failing just when her powers were attheir height. Every fresh young voice was an enemy, and this one wasaccompanied by gifts which she could not fail to recognize. 

Thea had her dinner sent up to her apartment, and it was a very poorone. She tasted the soup and then indignantly put on her wraps to go outand hunt a dinner. As she was going to the elevator, she had to admitthat she was behaving foolishly. She took off her hat and coat andordered another dinner. When it arrived, it was no better than thefirst. There was even a burnt match under the milk toast. She had a sorethroat, which made swallowing painful and boded ill for the morrow. Although she had been speaking in whispers all day to save her throat, she now perversely summoned the housekeeper and demanded an account ofsome laundry that had been lost. The housekeeper was indifferent andimpertinent, and Thea got angry and scolded violently. She knew it wasvery bad for her to get into a rage just before bedtime, and after thehousekeeper left she realized that for ten dollars' worth ofunderclothing she had been unfitting herself for a performance whichmight eventually mean many thousands. The best thing now was to stopreproaching herself for her lack of sense, but she was too tired tocontrol her thoughts. 

While she was undressing--Therese was brushing out her SIEGLINDE wig inthe trunk-room--she went on chiding herself bitterly. "And how am I evergoing to get to sleep in this state?" she kept asking herself. "If Idon't sleep, I'll be perfectly worthless to-morrow. I'll go down thereto-morrow and make a fool of myself. If I'd let that laundry alone withwhatever nigger has stolen it--WHY did I undertake to reform themanagement of this hotel to-night? After to-morrow I could pack up andleave the place. There's the Phillamon--I liked the rooms there better, anyhow--and the Umberto--" She began going over the advantages anddisadvantages of different apartment hotels. Suddenly she checkedherself. "What AM I doing this for? I can't move into another hotelto-night. I'll keep this up till morning. I shan't sleep a wink. "

Should she take a hot bath, or shouldn't she? Sometimes it relaxed her, and sometimes it roused her and fairly put her beside herself. Betweenthe conviction that she must sleep and the fear that she couldn't, shehung paralyzed. When she looked at her bed, she shrank from it in everynerve. She was much more afraid of it than she had ever been of thestage of any opera house. It yawned before her like the sunken road atWaterloo. 

She rushed into her bathroom and locked the door. She would risk thebath, and defer the encounter with the bed a little longer. She lay inthe bath half an hour. The warmth of the water penetrated to her bones, induced pleasant reflections and a feeling of well-being. It was verynice to have Dr. Archie in New York, after all, and to see him get somuch satisfaction out of the little companionship she was able to givehim. She liked people who got on, and who became more interesting asthey grew older. There was Fred; he was much more interesting now thanhe had been at thirty. He was intelligent about music, and he must bevery intelligent in his business, or he would not be at the head of theBrewers' Trust. She respected that kind of intelligence and success. Anysuccess was good. She herself had made a good start, at any rate, andnow, if she could get to sleep--Yes, they were all more interesting thanthey used to be. Look at Harsanyi, who had been so long retarded; what aplace he had made for himself in Vienna. If she could get to sleep, shewould show him something to-morrow that he would understand. 

She got quickly into bed and moved about freely between the sheets. Yes, she was warm all over. A cold, dry breeze was coming in from the river, thank goodness! She tried to think about her little rock house and theArizona sun and the blue sky. But that led to memories which were stilltoo disturbing. She turned on her side, closed her eyes, and tried anold device. 

She entered her father's front door, hung her hat and coat on the rack, and stopped in the parlor to warm her hands at the stove. Then she wentout through the diningroom, where the boys were getting their lessons atthe long table; through the sitting-room, where Thor was asleep in hiscot bed, his dress and stocking hanging on a chair. In the kitchen shestopped for her lantern and her hot brick. She hurried up the backstairs and through the windy loft to her own glacial room. The illusionwas marred only by the consciousness that she ought to brush her teethbefore she went to bed, and that she never used to do it. Why--? Thewater was frozen solid in the pitcher, so she got over that. Oncebetween the red blankets there was a short, fierce battle with the cold;then, warmer--warmer. She could hear her father shaking down thehard-coal burner for the night, and the wind rushing and banging downthe village street. The boughs of the cottonwood, hard as bone, rattledagainst her gable. The bed grew softer and warmer. Everybody was warmand well downstairs. The sprawling old house had gathered them all in, like a hen, and had settled down over its brood. They were all warm inher father's house. Softer and softer. She was asleep. She slept tenhours without turning over. From sleep like that, one awakes in shiningarmor. 

On Friday afternoon there was an inspiring audience; there was not anempty chair in the house. Ottenburg and Dr. Archie had seats in theorchestra circle, got from a ticket broker. Landry had not been able toget a seat, so he roamed about in the back of the house, where heusually stood when he dropped in after his own turn in vaudeville wasover. He was there so often and at such irregular hours that the ushersthought he was a singer's husband, or had something to do with theelectrical plant. 

Harsanyi and his wife were in a box, near the stage, in the secondcircle. Mrs. Harsanyi's hair was noticeably gray, but her face wasfuller and handsomer than in those early years of struggle, and she wasbeautifully dressed. Harsanyi himself had changed very little. He hadput on his best afternoon coat in honor of his pupil, and wore a pearlin his black ascot. His hair was longer and more bushy than he used towear it, and there was now one gray lock on the right side. He hadalways been an elegant figure, even when he went about in shabby clothesand was crushed with work. Before the curtain rose he was restless andnervous, and kept looking at his watch and wishing he had got a few moreletters off before he left his hotel. He had not been in New York sincethe advent of the taxicab, and had allowed himself too much time. Hiswife knew that he was afraid of being disappointed this afternoon. Hedid not often go to the opera because the stupid things that singers didvexed him so, and it always put him in a rage if the conductor held thetempo or in any way accommodated the score to the singer. 

When the lights went out and the violins began to quaver their long Dagainst the rude figure of the basses, Mrs. Harsanyi saw her husband'sfingers fluttering on his knee in a rapid tattoo. At the moment whenSIEGLINDE entered from the side door, she leaned toward him andwhispered in his ear, "Oh, the lovely creature!" But he made noresponse, either by voice or gesture. Throughout the first scene he satsunk in his chair, his head forward and his one yellow eye rollingrestlessly and shining like a tiger's in the dark. His eye followedSIEGLINDE about the stage like a satellite, and as she sat at the tablelistening to SIEGMUND'S long narrative, it never left her. When sheprepared the sleeping draught and disappeared after HUNDING, Harsanyibowed his head still lower and put his hand over his eye to rest it. Thetenor, --a young man who sang with great vigor, went on:--

"WALSE! WALSE! WO IST DEIN SCHWERT?"

Harsanyi smiled, but he did not look forth again until SIEGLINDEreappeared. She went through the story of her shameful bridal feast andinto the Walhall' music, which she always sang so nobly, and theentrance of the one-eyed stranger:--

"MIR ALLEIN WECKTE DAS AUGE. "

Mrs. Harsanyi glanced at her husband, wondering whether the singer onthe stage could not feel his commanding glance. On came the CRESCENDO:--

"WAS JE ICH VERLOR, WAS JE ICH BEWEINT WAR' MIR GEWONNEN. "

(All that I have lost, All that I have mourned, Would I then have won. )

Harsanyi touched his wife's arm softly. 

Seated in the moonlight, the VOLSUNG pair began their loving inspectionof each other's beauties, and the music born of murmuring sound passedinto her face, as the old poet said, --and into her body as well. Intoone lovely attitude after another the music swept her, love impelledher. And the voice gave out all that was best in it. Like the spring, indeed, it blossomed into memories and prophecies, it recounted and itforetold, as she sang the story of her friendless life, and of how thething which was truly herself, "bright as the day, rose to the surface"when in the hostile world she for the first time beheld her Friend. Fervently she rose into the hardier feeling of action and daring, thepride in hero-strength and hero-blood, until in a splendid burst, talland shining like a Victory, she christened him:--

"SIEGMUND--SO NENN ICH DICH!"

Her impatience for the sword swelled with her anticipation of his act, and throwing her arms above her head, she fairly tore a sword out of theempty air for him, before NOTHUNG had left the tree. IN HOCHSTERTRUNKENHEIT, indeed, she burst out with the flaming cry of theirkinship: "If you are SIEGMUND, I am SIEGLINDE!" Laughing, singing, bounding, exulting, --with their passion and their sword, --the VOLSUNGSran out into the spring night. 

As the curtain fell, Harsanyi turned to his wife. "At last, " he sighed, "somebody with ENOUGH! Enough voice and talent and beauty, enoughphysical power. And such a noble, noble style!"

"I can scarcely believe it, Andor. I can see her now, that clumsy girl, hunched up over your piano. I can see her shoulders. She always seemedto labor so with her back. And I shall never forget that night when youfound her voice. "

The audience kept up its clamor until, after many reappearances with thetenor, Kronborg came before the curtain alone. The house met her with aroar, a greeting that was almost savage in its fierceness. The singer'seyes, sweeping the house, rested for a moment on Harsanyi, and she wavedher long sleeve toward his box. 

"She OUGHT to be pleased that you are here, " said Mrs. Harsanyi. "Iwonder if she knows how much she owes to you. "

"She owes me nothing, " replied her husband quickly. "She paid her way. She always gave something back, even then. "

"I remember you said once that she would do nothing common, " said Mrs. Harsanyi thoughtfully. 

"Just so. She might fail, die, get lost in the pack. But if sheachieved, it would be nothing common. There are people whom one cantrust for that. There is one way in which they will never fail. "Harsanyi retired into his own reflections. 

After the second act Fred Ottenburg brought Archie to the Harsanyis' boxand introduced him as an old friend of Miss Kronborg. The head of amusical publishing house joined them, bringing with him a journalist andthe president of a German singing society. The conversation was chieflyabout the new SIEGLINDE. Mrs. Harsanyi was gracious and enthusiastic, her husband nervous and uncommunicative. He smiled mechanically, andpolitely answered questions addressed to him. "Yes, quite so. " "Oh, certainly. " Every one, of course, said very usual things with greatconviction. Mrs. Harsanyi was used to hearing and uttering thecommonplaces which such occasions demanded. When her husband withdrewinto the shadow, she covered his retreat by her sympathy and cordiality. In reply to a direct question from Ottenburg, Harsanyi said, flinching, "ISOLDE? Yes, why not? She will sing all the great roles, I shouldthink. "

The chorus director said something about "dramatic temperament. " Thejournalist insisted that it was "explosive force, " "projecting power. "

Ottenburg turned to Harsanyi. "What is it, Mr. Harsanyi? Miss Kronborgsays if there is anything in her, you are the man who can say what itis. "

The journalist scented copy and was eager. "Yes, Harsanyi. You know allabout her. What's her secret?"

Harsanyi rumpled his hair irritably and shrugged his shoulders. "Hersecret? It is every artist's secret, "--he waved his hand, --"passion. That is all. It is an open secret, and perfectly safe. Like heroism, itis inimitable in cheap materials. "

The lights went out. Fred and Archie left the box as the second act cameon. 

Artistic growth is, more than it is anything else, a refining of thesense of truthfulness. The stupid believe that to be truthful is easy;only the artist, the great artist, knows how difficult it is. Thatafternoon nothing new came to Thea Kronborg, no enlightenment, noinspiration. She merely came into full possession of things she had beenrefining and perfecting for so long. Her inhibitions chanced to be fewerthan usual, and, within herself, she entered into the inheritance thatshe herself had laid up, into the fullness of the faith she had keptbefore she knew its name or its meaning. 

Often when she sang, the best she had was unavailable; she could notbreak through to it, and every sort of distraction and mischance camebetween it and her. But this afternoon the closed roads opened, thegates dropped. What she had so often tried to reach, lay under her hand. She had only to touch an idea to make it live. 

While she was on the stage she was conscious that every movement was theright movement, that her body was absolutely the instrument of her idea. Not for nothing had she kept it so severely, kept it filled with suchenergy and fire. All that deep-rooted vitality flowered in her voice, her face, in her very finger-tips. She felt like a tree bursting intobloom. And her voice was as flexible as her body; equal to any demand, capable of every NUANCE. With the sense of its perfect companionship, its entire trustworthiness, she had been able to throw herself into thedramatic exigencies of the part, everything in her at its best andeverything working together. 

The third act came on, and the afternoon slipped by. Thea Kronborg'sfriends, old and new, seated about the house on different floors andlevels, enjoyed her triumph according to their natures. There was onethere, whom nobody knew, who perhaps got greater pleasure out of thatafternoon than Harsanyi himself. Up in the top gallery a gray-hairedlittle Mexican, withered and bright as a string of peppers beside a'dobedoor, kept praying and cursing under his breath, beating on the brassrailing and shouting "Bravo! Bravo!" until he was repressed by hisneighbors. 

He happened to be there because a Mexican band was to be a feature ofBarnum and Bailey's circus that year. One of the managers of the showhad traveled about the Southwest, signing up a lot of Mexican musiciansat low wages, and had brought them to New York. Among them was SpanishJohnny. After Mrs. Tellamantez died, Johnny abandoned his trade and wentout with his mandolin to pick up a living for one. His irregularitieshad become his regular mode of life. 

When Thea Kronborg came out of the stage entrance on Fortieth Street, the sky was still flaming with the last rays of the sun that was sinkingoff behind the North River. A little crowd of people was lingering aboutthe door--musicians from the orchestra who were waiting for theircomrades, curious young men, and some poorly dressed girls who werehoping to get a glimpse of the singer. She bowed graciously to thegroup, through her veil, but she did not look to the right or left asshe crossed the sidewalk to her cab. Had she lifted her eyes an instantand glanced out through her white scarf, she must have seen the only manin the crowd who had removed his hat when she emerged, and who stoodwith it crushed up in his hand. And she would have known him, changed ashe was. His lustrous black hair was full of gray, and his face was agood deal worn by the EXTASI, so that it seemed to have shrunk away fromhis shining eyes and teeth and left them too prominent. But she wouldhave known him. She passed so near that he could have touched her, andhe did not put on his hat until her taxi had snorted away. Then hewalked down Broadway with his hands in his overcoat pockets, wearing asmile which embraced all the stream of life that passed him and thelighted towers that rose into the limpid blue of the evening sky. If thesinger, going home exhausted in her cab, was wondering what was the goodof it all, that smile, could she have seen it, would have answered her. It is the only commensurate answer. 

Here we must leave Thea Kronborg. From this time on the story of herlife is the story of her achievement. The growth of an artist is anintellectual and spiritual development which can scarcely be followed ina personal narrative. This story attempts to deal only with the simpleand concrete beginnings which color and accent an artist's work, and togive some account of how a Moonstone girl found her way out of a vague, easy-going world into a life of disciplined endeavor. Any account of theloyalty of young hearts to some exalted ideal, and the passion withwhich they strive, will always, in some of us, rekindle generousemotions. 

EPILOGUE

MOONSTONE again, in the year 1909. The Methodists are giving anice-cream sociable in the grove about the new court-house. It is a warmsummer night of full moon. The paper lanterns which hang among the treesare foolish toys, only dimming, in little lurid circles, the greatsoftness of the lunar light that floods the blue heavens and the highplateau. To the east the sand hills shine white as of old, but theempire of the sand is gradually diminishing. The grass grows thickerover the dunes than it used to, and the streets of the town are harderand firmer than they were twenty-five years ago. The old inhabitantswill tell you that sandstorms are infrequent now, that the wind blowsless persistently in the spring and plays a milder tune. Cultivation hasmodified the soil and the climate, as it modifies human life. 

The people seated about under the cottonwoods are much smarter than theMethodists we used to know. The interior of the new Methodist Churchlooks like a theater, with a sloping floor, and as the congregationproudly say, "opera chairs. " The matrons who attend to serving therefreshments to-night look younger for their years than did the women ofMrs. Kronborg's time, and the children all look like city children. Thelittle boys wear "Buster Browns" and the little girls Russian blouses. The country child, in made-overs and cut-downs, seems to have vanishedfrom the face of the earth. 

At one of the tables, with her Dutch-cut twin boys, sits a fair-haired, dimpled matron who was once Lily Fisher. Her husband is president of thenew bank, and she "goes East for her summers, " a practice which causesenvy and discontent among her neighbors. The twins are well-behavedchildren, biddable, meek, neat about their clothes, and always mindfulof the proprieties they have learned at summer hotels. While they areeating their icecream and trying not to twist the spoon in their mouths, a little shriek of laughter breaks from an adjacent table. The twinslook up. There sits a spry little old spinster whom they know well. Shehas a long chin, a long nose, and she is dressed like a young girl, witha pink sash and a lace garden hat with pink rosebuds. She is surroundedby a crowd of boys, --loose and lanky, short and thick, --who are jokingwith her roughly, but not unkindly. 

"Mamma, " one of the twins comes out in a shrill treble, "why is TillieKronborg always talking about a thousand dollars?"

The boys, hearing this question, break into a roar of laughter, thewomen titter behind their paper napkins, and even from Tillie there is alittle shriek of appreciation. The observing child's remark had madeevery one suddenly realize that Tillie never stopped talking about thatparticular sum of money. In the spring, when she went to buy earlystrawberries, and was told that they were thirty cents a box, she wassure to remind the grocer that though her name was Kronborg she didn'tget a thousand dollars a night. In the autumn, when she went to buy hercoal for the winter, she expressed amazement at the price quoted her, and told the dealer he must have got her mixed up with her niece tothink she could pay such a sum. When she was making her Christmaspresents, she never failed to ask the women who came into her shop whatyou COULD make for anybody who got a thousand dollars a night. When theDenver papers announced that Thea Kronborg had married FrederickOttenburg, the head of the Brewers' Trust, Moonstone people expectedthat Tillie's vain-gloriousness would take another form. But Tillie hadhoped that Thea would marry a title, and she did not boast much aboutOttenburg, --at least not until after her memorable trip to Kansas Cityto hear Thea sing. 

Tillie is the last Kronborg left in Moonstone. She lives alone in alittle house with a green yard, and keeps a fancywork and millinerystore. Her business methods are informal, and she would never come outeven at the end of the year, if she did not receive a draft for a goodround sum from her niece at Christmas time. The arrival of this draftalways renews the discussion as to what Thea would do for her aunt ifshe really did the right thing. Most of the Moonstone people think Theaought to take Tillie to New York and keep her as a companion. While theyare feeling sorry for Tillie because she does not live at the Plaza, Tillie is trying not to hurt their feelings by showing too plainly howmuch she realizes the superiority of her position. She tries to bemodest when she complains to the postmaster that her New York paper ismore than three days late. It means enough, surely, on the face of it, that she is the only person in Moonstone who takes a New York paper orwho has any reason for taking one. A foolish young girl, Tillie lived inthe splendid sorrows of "Wanda" and "Strathmore"; a foolish old girl, she lives in her niece's triumphs. As she often says, she just missedgoing on the stage herself. 

That night after the sociable, as Tillie tripped home with a crowd ofnoisy boys and girls, she was perhaps a shade troubled. The twin'squestion rather lingered in her ears. Did she, perhaps, insist too muchon that thousand dollars? Surely, people didn't for a minute think itwas the money she cared about? As for that, Tillie tossed her head, shedidn't care a rap. They must understand that this money was different. 

When the laughing little group that brought her home had gone weavingdown the sidewalk through the leafy shadows and had disappeared, Tilliebrought out a rocking chair and sat down on her porch. On glorious, softsummer nights like this, when the moon is opulent and full, the daysubmerged and forgotten, she loves to sit there behind her rose-vine andlet her fancy wander where it will. If you chanced to be passing downthat Moonstone street and saw that alert white figure rocking therebehind the screen of roses and lingering late into the night, you mightfeel sorry for her, and how mistaken you would be! Tillie lives in alittle magic world, full of secret satisfactions. Thea Kronborg hasgiven much noble pleasure to a world that needs all it can get, but tono individual has she given more than to her queer old aunt inMoonstone. The legend of Kronborg, the artist, fills Tillie's life; shefeels rich and exalted in it. What delightful things happen in her mindas she sits there rocking! She goes back to those early days of sand andsun, when Thea was a child and Tillie was herself, so it seems to her, "young. " When she used to hurry to church to hear Mr. Kronborg'swonderful sermons, and when Thea used to stand up by the organ of abright Sunday morning and sing "Come, Ye Disconsolate. " Or she thinksabout that wonderful time when the Metropolitan Opera Company sang aweek's engagement in Kansas City, and Thea sent for her and had her staywith her at the Coates House and go to every performance at ConventionHall. Thea let Tillie go through her costume trunks and try on her wigsand jewels. And the kindness of Mr. Ottenburg! When Thea dined in herown room, he went down to dinner with Tillie, and never looked bored orabsent-minded when she chattered. He took her to the hall the first timeThea sang there, and sat in the box with her and helped her through"Lohengrin. " After the first act, when Tillie turned tearful eyes to himand burst out, "I don't care, she always seemed grand like that, evenwhen she was a girl. I expect I'm crazy, but she just seems to me fullof all them old times!"--Ottenburg was so sympathetic and patted herhand and said, "But that's just what she is, full of the old times, andyou are a wise woman to see it. " Yes, he said that to her. Tillie oftenwondered how she had been able to bear it when Thea came down the stairsin the wedding robe embroidered in silver, with a train so long it tooksix women to carry it. 

Tillie had lived fifty-odd years for that week, but she got it, and nomiracle was ever more miraculous than that. When she used to be workingin the fields on her father's Minnesota farm, she couldn't helpbelieving that she would some day have to do with the "wonderful, "though her chances for it had then looked so slender. 

The morning after the sociable, Tillie, curled up in bed, was roused bythe rattle of the milk cart down the street. Then a neighbor boy camedown the sidewalk outside her window, singing "Casey Jones" as if hehadn't a care in the world. By this time Tillie was wide awake. Thetwin's question, and the subsequent laughter, came back with a fainttwinge. Tillie knew she was short-sighted about facts, but thistime--Why, there were her scrapbooks, full of newspaper and magazinearticles about Thea, and half-tone cuts, snap-shots of her on land andsea, and photographs of her in all her parts. There, in her parlor, wasthe phonograph that had come from Mr. Ottenburg last June, on Thea'sbirthday; she had only to go in there and turn it on, and let Thea speakfor herself. Tillie finished brushing her white hair and laughed as shegave it a smart turn and brought it into her usual French twist. IfMoonstone doubted, she had evidence enough: in black and white, infigures and photographs, evidence in hair lines on metal disks. For onewho had so often seen two and two as making six, who had so oftenstretched a point, added a touch, in the good game of trying to make theworld brighter than it is, there was positive bliss in having such deepfoundations of support. She need never tremble in secret lest she mightsometime stretch a point in Thea's favor. --Oh, the comfort, to a soultoo zealous, of having at last a rose so red it could not be furtherpainted, a lily so truly auriferous that no amount of gilding couldexceed the fact!

Tillie hurried from her bedroom, threw open the doors and windows, andlet the morning breeze blow through her little house. 

In two minutes a cob fire was roaring in her kitchen stove, in five shehad set the table. At her household work Tillie was always bursting outwith shrill snatches of song, and as suddenly stopping, right in themiddle of a phrase, as if she had been struck dumb. She emerged upon theback porch with one of these bursts, and bent down to get her butter andcream out of the ice-box. The cat was purring on the bench and themorning-glories were thrusting their purple trumpets in through thelattice-work in a friendly way. They reminded Tillie that while she waswaiting for the coffee to boil she could get some flowers for herbreakfast table. She looked out uncertainly at a bush of sweet-briarthat grew at the edge of her yard, off across the long grass and thetomato vines. The front porch, to be sure, was dripping with crimsonramblers that ought to be cut for the good of the vines; but never therose in the hand for Tillie! She caught up the kitchen shears and offshe dashed through grass and drenching dew. Snip, snip; theshort-stemmed sweet-briars, salmon-pink and golden-hearted, with theirunique and inimitable woody perfume, fell into her apron. 

After she put the eggs and toast on the table, Tillie took last Sunday'sNew York paper from the rack beside the cupboard and sat down, with itfor company. In the Sunday paper there was always a page about singers, even in summer, and that week the musical page began with a sympatheticaccount of Madame Kronborg's first performance of ISOLDE in London. Atthe end of the notice, there was a short paragraph about her having sungfor the King at Buckingham Palace and having been presented with a jewelby His Majesty. 

Singing for the King; but Goodness! she was always doing things likethat! Tillie tossed her head. All through breakfast she kept stickingher sharp nose down into the glass of sweet-briar, with the oldincredible lightness of heart, like a child's balloon tugging at itsstring. She had always insisted, against all evidence, that life wasfull of fairy tales, and it was! She had been feeling a little down, perhaps, and Thea had answered her, from so far. From a common person, now, if you were troubled, you might get a letter. But Thea almost neverwrote letters. She answered every one, friends and foes alike, in oneway, her own way, her only way. Once more Tillie has to remind herselfthat it is all true, and is not something she has "made up. " Like allromancers, she is a little terrified at seeing one of her wildestconceits admitted by the hardheaded world. If our dream comes true, weare almost afraid to believe it; for that is the best of all goodfortune, and nothing better can happen to any of us. 

When the people on Sylvester Street tire of Tillie's stories, she goesover to the east part of town, where her legends are always welcome. Thehumbler people of Moonstone still live there. The same little houses situnder the cottonwoods; the men smoke their pipes in the front doorways, and the women do their washing in the back yard. The older womenremember Thea, and how she used to come kicking her express wagon alongthe sidewalk, steering by the tongue and holding Thor in her lap. Notmuch happens in that part of town, and the people have long memories. Aboy grew up on one of those streets who went to Omaha and built up agreat business, and is now very rich. Moonstone people always speak ofhim and Thea together, as examples of Moonstone enterprise. They do, however, talk oftener of Thea. A voice has even a wider appeal than afortune. It is the one gift that all creatures would possess if theycould. Dreary Maggie Evans, dead nearly twenty years, is stillremembered because Thea sang at her funeral "after she had studied inChicago. "

However much they may smile at her, the old inhabitants would missTillie. Her stories give them something to talk about and to conjectureabout, cut off as they are from the restless currents of the world. Themany naked little sandbars which lie between Venice and the mainland, inthe seemingly stagnant water of the lagoons, are made habitable andwholesome only because, every night, a foot and a half of tide creeps infrom the sea and winds its fresh brine up through all that network ofshining waterways. So, into all the little settlements of quiet people, tidings of what their boys and girls are doing in the world bring realrefreshment; bring to the old, memories, and to the young, dreams. 

THE END