THE WHOLE FAMILY, A NOVEL BY TWELVE AUTHORS

By William Dean Howells, Mary E. Wilkins Freeman, Mary Heaton Vorse, Mary Stewart Cutting, Elizabeth Jordan, John Kendrick Bangs, HenryJames, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, Edith Wyatt, Mary Raymond ShipmanAndrews, Alice Brown, Henry Van Dyke

CONTENTS

 I. The Father by William Dean Howells II. The Old-Maid Aunt by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman III. The Grandmother by Mary Heaton Vorse IV. The Daughter-in-Law by Mary Stewart Cutting V. The School-Girl by Elizabeth Jordan VI. The Son-in-Law by John Kendrick Bangs VII. The Married Son by Henry James VIII. The Married Daughter by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps IX. The Mother by Edith Wyatt X. The School-Boy by Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews XI. Peggy by Alice Brown XII. The Friend of the Family by Henry Van Dyke

THE WHOLE FAMILY

I. THE FATHER, by William Dean Howells

As soon as we heard the pleasant news--I suppose the news of anengagement ought always to be called pleasant--it was decided that Iought to speak first about it, and speak to the father. We had not beena great while in the neighborhood, and it would look less like a bidfor the familiar acquaintance of people living on a larger scale thanourselves, and less of an opening for our own intimacy if they turnedout to be not quite so desirable in other ways as they were in theworldly way. For the ladies of the respective families first to offerand receive congratulations would be very much more committing on bothsides; at the same time, to avoid the appearance of stiffness, some oneought to speak, and speak promptly. The news had not come to us directlyfrom our neighbors, but authoritatively from a friend of theirs, who wasalso a friend of ours, and we could not very well hold back. So, in thecool of the early evening, when I had quite finished rasping my lawnwith the new mower, I left it at the end of the swath, which had broughtme near the fence, and said across it, "Good-evening!"

My neighbor turned from making his man pour a pail of water on the earthround a freshly planted tree, and said, "Oh, good-evening! How d'ye do?Glad to see you!" and offered his hand over the low coping so cordiallythat I felt warranted in holding it a moment. 

"I hope it's in order for me to say how very much my wife and I areinterested in the news we've heard about one of your daughters? May Ioffer our best wishes for her happiness?"

"Oh, thank you, " my neighbor said. "You're very good indeed. Yes, it'srather exciting--for us. I guess that's all for to-night, Al, " he said, in dismissal of his man, before turning to lay his arms comfortablyon the fence top. Then he laughed, before he added, to me, "And rathersurprising, too. "

"Those things are always rather surprising, aren't they?" I suggested. 

"Well, yes, I suppose they are. It oughtn't be so in our case, though, as we've been through it twice before: once with my son--he oughtn'tto have counted, but he did--and once with my eldest daughter. Yes, you might say you never do quite expect it, though everybody else does. Then, in this case, she was the baby so long, that we always thought ofher as a little girl. Yes, she's kept on being the pet, I guess, and wecouldn't realize what was in the air. "

I had thought, from the first sight of him, that there was somethingvery charming in my neighbor's looks. He had a large, round head, whichhad once been red, but was now a russet silvered, and was not too largefor his manly frame, swaying amply outward, but not too amply, at thegirth. He had blue, kind eyes, and a face fully freckled, and the girlhe was speaking of with a tenderness in his tones rather than his words, was a young feminine copy of him; only, her head was little, under itsload of red hair, and her figure, which we had lately noticed flittingin and out, as with a shy consciousness of being stared at on account ofher engagement, was as light as his was heavy on its feet. 

I said, "Naturally, " and he seemed glad of the chance to laugh again. 

"Well, of course! And her being away at school made it all the more so. If we'd had her under our eye, here--Well, we shouldn't have had herunder our eye if she had BEEN here; or if we had, we shouldn't have seenwhat was going on; at least _I_ shouldn't; maybe her mother would. Soit's just as well it happened as it did happen, I guess. We shouldn'thave been any the wiser if we'd known all about it. " I joined him in hislaugh at his paradox, and he began again. "What's that about being theunexpected that happens? I guess what happens is what ought to havebeen expected. We might have known when we let her go to a coeducationalcollege that we were taking a risk of losing her; but we lost our otherdaughter that way, and SHE never went to ANY kind of college. I guess wecounted the chances before we let her go. What's the use? Of coursewe did, and I remember saying to my wife, who's more anxious than I amabout most things--women are, I guess--that if the worst came to theworst, it might not be such a bad thing. I always thought it wasn'tsuch an objectionable feature, in the coeducational system, if the youngpeople did get acquainted under it, and maybe so well acquainted thatthey didn't want to part enemies in the end. I said to my wife that Ididn't see how, if a girl was going to get married, she could have abetter basis than knowing the fellow through three or four years' hardwork together. When you think of the sort of hit-or-miss affairs mostmarriages are that young people make after a few parties and picnics, coeducation as a preliminary to domestic happiness doesn't seem a badnotion. "

"There's something in what you say, " I assented. 

"Of course there is, " my neighbor insisted. "I couldn't help laughing, though, " and he laughed, as if to show how helpless he had been, "atwhat my wife said. She said she guessed if it came to that they wouldget to know more of each other's looks than they did of their minds. Shehad me there, but I don't think my girl has made out so very poorly evenas far as books are concerned. "

Upon this invitation to praise her, I ventured to say, "A young lady ofMiss Talbert's looks doesn't need much help from books. "

I could see that what I had said pleased him to the core, though he puton a frown of disclaimer in replying, "I don't know about her looks. She's a GOOD girl, though, and that's the main thing, I guess. "

"For her father, yes, but other people don't mind her being pretty, " Ipersisted. "My wife says when Miss Talbert comes out into the garden, the other flowers have no chance. "

"Good for Mrs. Temple!" my neighbor shouted, joyously giving himselfaway. 

I have always noticed that when you praise a girl's beauty to herfather, though he makes a point of turning it off in the direction ofher goodness, he likes so well to believe she is pretty that he cannothold out against any persistence in the admirer of her beauty. Myneighbor now said with the effect of tasting a peculiar sweetness in mywords, "I guess I shall have to tell my wife, that. " Then he added, witha rush of hospitality, "Won't you come in and tell her yourself?"

"Not now, thank you. It's about our tea-time. "

"Glad it isn't your DINNER-time!" he said, heartily. 

"Well, yes. We don't see the sense of dining late in a place like this. The fact is, we're both village-bred, and we like the mid-day dinner. Wemake rather a high tea, though. "

"So do we. I always want a dish of something hot. My wife thinks cake islight, but I think meat is. "

"Well, cake is the New England superstition, " I observed. "And I supposeYork State, too. "

"Yes, more than pie is, " he agreed. "For supper, anyway. You may havepie at any or all of the three meals, but you have GOT to have cakeat tea, if you are anybody at all. In the place where my wife lived, awoman's social standing was measured by the number of kinds of cake shehad. "

We laughed at that, too, and then there came a little interval and Isaid, "Your place is looking fine. "

He turned his head and gave it a comprehensive stare. "Yes, it is, " headmitted. "They tell me it's an ugly old house, and I guess if my girls, counting my daughter-in-law, had their way, they would have that Frenchroof off, and something Georgian--that's what they call it--on, about asquick as the carpenter could do it. They want a kind of classic front, with pillars and a pediment; or more the Mount Vernon style, bodyyellow, with white trim. They call it Georgian after Washington?" Thiswas obviously a joke. 

"No, I believe it was another George, or four others. But I don'twonder you want to keep your house as it is. It expresses somethingcharacteristic. " I saved myself by forbearing to say it was handsome. Itwas, in fact, a vast, gray-green wooden edifice, with a mansard-roof cutup into many angles, tipped at the gables with rockets and finials, andwith a square tower in front, ending in a sort of lookout at the top, with a fence of iron filigree round it. The taste of 1875 could not gofurther; it must have cost a heap of money in the depreciated paper ofthe day. 

I suggested something of the kind to my neighbor, and he laughed. "Iguess it cost all we had at the time. We had been saving along up, andin those days it used to be thought that the best investment you couldmake was to put your money in a house of your own. That's what we did, anyway. I had just got to be superintendent of the Works, and I don'tsay but what we felt my position a little. Well, we felt it more than wedid when I got to be owner. " He laughed in good-humored self-satire. "Mywife used to say we wanted a large house so as to have it big enough tohold me, when I was feeling my best, and we built the largest we couldfor all the money we had. She had a plan of her own, which she tookpartly from the house of a girl friend of hers where she had beenvisiting, and we got a builder to carry out her idea. We did havesome talk about an architect, but the builder said he didn't want anyarchitect bothering around HIM, and I don't know as SHE did, either. Her idea was plenty of chambers and plenty of room in them, and two bigparlors one side of the front door, and a library and dining-room onthe other; kitchen in the L part, and girl's room over that; widefront hall, and black-walnut finish all through the first floor. It wasconsidered the best house at the time in Eastridge, and I guess it was. But now, I don't say but what it's old-fashioned. I have to own up tothat with the girls, but I tell them so are we, and that seems to makeit all right for a while. I guess we sha'n't change. "

He continued to stare at the simple-hearted edifice, so simple-heartedin its out-dated pretentiousness, and then he turned and leaned over thetop of the fence where he had left his arms lying, while contemplatingthe early monument of his success. In making my journalistic study, moreor less involuntary, of Eastridge, I had put him down as materially thefirst man of the place; I might have gone farther and put him down asthe first man intellectually. We folk who have to do more constantlywith reading and writing are apt to think that the other folk who havemore to do with making and marketing have not so much mind, but I fancywe make a mistake in that now and then. It is only another kind of mindwhich they have quite as much of as we have of ours. It was intellectualforce that built up the Plated-Ware Works of Eastridge, where therewas no other reason for their being, and it was mental grip that heldconstantly to the management, and finally grasped the ownership. Nobodyever said that Talbert had come unfairly into that, or that he hadmisused his money in buying men after he began to come into it inquantity. He was felt in a great many ways, though he made something ofa point of not being prominent in politics, after being president ofthe village two terms. The minister of his church was certainly such apreacher as he liked; and nothing was done in the church society withouthim; he gave the town a library building, and a soldier's monument; hewas foremost in getting the water brought in, which was natural enoughsince he needed it the most; he took a great interest in school matters, and had a fight to keep himself off the board of education; he went intohis pocket for village improvements whenever he was asked, and he wasthe chief contributor to the public fountain under the big elm. If hecarefully, or even jealously guarded his own interests, and held theleading law firm in the hollow of his hand, he was not oppressive, tothe general knowledge. He was a despot, perhaps, but he was Blackstone'sideal of the head of a state, a good despot. In all his family relationshe was of the exemplary perfection which most other men attain only ontheir tombstones, and I had found him the best of neighbors. There weresome shadows of diffidence between the ladies of our families, mainly onthe part of my wife, but none between Talbert and me. He showed me, asa newspaper man with ideals if not abilities rather above the average, adeference which pleased my wife, even more than me. 

It was the married daughter whom she most feared might, if occasionoffered, give herself more consequence than her due. She had tried torule her own family while in her father's house, and now though shehad a house of her own, my wife believed that she had not whollyrelinquished her dominion there. Her husband was the junior member ofthe law firm which Talbert kept in his pay, to the exclusion of mostother clients, and he was a very good fellow, so far as I knew, withthe modern conception of his profession which, in our smaller towns andcities, has resulted in corporation lawyers and criminal lawyers, andhas left to a few aging attorneys the faded traditions and the scantyaffairs of the profession. My wife does not mind his standing somewhatin awe of his father-in-law, but she thinks poorly of his spirit inrelation to that managing girl he has married. Talbert's son is in thebusiness with him, and will probably succeed him in it; but it is wellknown in the place that he will never be the man his father is, notmerely on account of his college education, but also on account of theeasy temperament, which if he had indulged it to the full would haveleft him no better than some kind of artist. As it is, he seems to leaveall the push to his father; he still does some sketching outside, andputters over the aesthetic details in the business, the new designsfor the plated ware, and the illustrated catalogues which the housepublishes every year; I am in hopes that we shall get the printing, after we have got the facilities. It would be all right with the youngman in the opinion of his censors if he had married a different kind ofwoman, but young Mrs. Talbert is popularly held just such another as herhusband, and easy-going to the last degree. She was two or three yearsat the Art Students' League, and it was there that her husband met herbefore they both decided to give up painting and get married. 

The two youngest children, or the fall chickens as they are called inrecognition of the wide interval between their ages and those of theother children, are probably of the indeterminate character proper totheir years. We think the girl rather inclines to a hauteur based uponthe general neglect of that quality in the family, where even theeldest sister is too much engaged in ruling to have much force left forsnubbing. The child carries herself with a vague loftiness, which hasapparently not awaited the moment of long skirts for keeping pretendersto her favor at a distance. In the default of other impertinents tokeep in abeyance we fancy that she exercises her gift upon her youngerbrother, who, so far as we have been able to note, is of a dispositionwhich would be entirely sweet if it were not for the exasperations hesuffers from her. I like to put myself in his place, and to hold thathe believes himself a better judge than she of the sort of companions hechooses, she being disabled by the mental constitution of her sex, andthe defects of a girl's training, from knowing the rare quality of boyswho present themselves even to my friendly eyes as dirty, and, when notpatched, ragged. I please myself in my guesses at her character with theconjecture that she is not satisfied with her sister's engagement to afellow-student in a co-educational college, who is looking forward to aprofessorship. 

In spite of her injustice in regard to his own companions, thisimaginable attitude of hers impresses the boy, if I understand boys. Ihave no doubt he reasons that she must be right about something, and asshe is never right about boys, she must be right about brothers-in-law, potential if not actual. This one may be, for all the boy knows, asissy; he inclines to believe, from what he understands of the matter, that he is indeed a sissy, or he would never have gone to a collegewhere half the students are girls. He himself, as I have heard, intendsto go to a college, but whether Harvard, or Bryant's Business College, he has not yet decided. One thing he does know, though, and that isthere are not going to be any girls in it. We have not allowed ourinvention so great play in regard to the elder members of our neighbor'sfamily perhaps because we really know something more about them. Mrs. Talbert duly called after We came to Eastridge, and when my wife hadself-respectfully waited a proper time, which she made a little morethan a week lest she should feel that she had been too eager for theacquaintance, she returned the call. Then she met not only Mrs. Talbert, but Mrs. Talbert's mother, who lives with them, in an anxiety for theirhealth which would impair her own if she were not of a constitutionsuch as you do not find in these days of unladylike athletics. She wasinclined to be rather strict with my wife about her own health, and minetoo, and told her she must be careful not to let me work too hard, orovereat, or leave off my flannels before the weather was settled in thespring. She said she had heard that I had left a very good position ona Buffalo paper when I bought the Eastridge Banner, and that the townought to feel very much honored. My wife suppressed her conviction thatthis was the correct view of the case, in a deprecatory expressionof our happiness in finding ourselves in Eastridge, and our entiresatisfaction with our prospects and surroundings. Then Mrs. Talbert'smother inquired, as delicately as possible, what denominations, religious and medical, we were of, how many children we had, and whethermostly boys or girls, and where and how long we had been married. Shewas glad, she said, that we had taken the place next them, after ourbrief sojourn in the furnished house where we had first lived, andsaid that there was only one objection to the locality, which wasthe prevalence of moths; they obliged you to put away your things innaphtha-balls almost the moment the spring opened. She wished to knowwhat books my wife was presently reading, and whether she approved ofwomen's clubs to the extent that they were carried to in some places. She believed in book clubs, but to her mind it was very questionablewhether the time that ladies gave to writing papers on so many differentsubjects was well spent. She thought it a pity that so many things werecanned, nowadays, and so well canned that the old arts of pickling andpreserving were almost entirely lost. In the conversation, where shebore a leading part as long as she remained in the room, her mind tooka wide range, and visited more human interests than my wife was at firstable to mention, though afterward she remembered so many that I formedthe notion of something encyclopedic in its compass. When she reachedthe letter Z, she rose and took leave of my wife, saying that now shemust go and lie down, as it appeared to be her invariable custom to do(in behalf of the robust health which she had inherited unimpaired froma New England ancestry), at exactly half-past four every afternoon. It was this, she said, more than any one thing that enabled her to gothrough so much as she did; but through the door which she left openbehind her my wife heard Talbert's voice saying, in mixed mockery andtenderness, "Don't forget your tonic, mother, " and hers saying, "No, Iwon't, Cyrus. I never forget it, and it's a great pity you don't takeit, too. "

It was our conclusion from all the facts of this call, when we cameto discuss them in the light of some friendly gossip which we hadpreviously heard, that the eldest daughter of the Talberts came honestlyby her love of ruling if she got it from her grandmother, but that shewas able to indulge it oftener, and yet not so often as might have beensupposed from the mild reticence of her mother. Older if not shrewderobservers than ourselves declared that what went in that house was whatMrs. Talbert said, and that it went all the more effectively becausewhat she said Talbert said too. 

That might have been because she said so little. When her mother leftthe room she let a silence follow in which she seemed too embarrassedto speak for a while on finding herself alone with my wife, and my wifedecided that the shyness of the girl whose engagement was soon afterwardreported, as well as the easy-goingness of the eldest son, had come fromtheir mother. As soon as Mrs. Talbert could command herself, she beganto talk, and every word she said was full of sense, with a little gustof humor in the sense which was perfectly charming. Absolutely unworldlyas she was, she had very good manners; in her evasive way she wascertainly qualified to be the leader of society in Eastridge, andsocially Eastridge thought fairly well of itself. She did not obviouslypretend to so much literature as her mother, but she showed an evennicer intelligence of our own situation in Eastridge. She spoke with aquiet appreciation of the improvement in the Banner, which, although shequoted Mr. Talbert, seemed to be the result of her personal acquaintancewith the paper in the past as well as the present. My wife pronouncedher the ideal mother of a family, and just what the wife of such aman as Cyrus Talbert ought to be, but no doubt because Mrs. Talbert'scharacteristics were not so salient as her mother's, my wife was lessdefinitely descriptive of her. 

From time to time, it seemed that there was a sister of Mr. Talbert'swho visited in the family, but was now away on one of the many othervisits in which she passed her life. She was always going or comingsomewhere, but at the moment she was gone. My wife inferred from thegeneration to which her brother belonged that she had long been a ladyof that age when ladies begin to be spoken of as maiden. Mrs. Talbertspoke of her as if they were better friends than sisters-in-law are aptto be, and said that she was to be with them soon, and she wouldbring her with her when she returned my wife's call. From the generalimpression in Eastridge we gathered that Miss Talbert was not withoutthe disappointment which endears maiden ladies to the imagination, butthe disappointment was of a date so remote that it was only matter ofpathetic hearsay, now. Miss Talbert, in her much going and coming, hadnot failed of being several times in Europe. She especially affectedFlorence, where she was believed to have studied the Tuscan School tounusual purpose, though this was not apparent in any work of her own. Weformed the notion that she might be uncomfortably cultured, but whenshe came to call with Mrs. Talbert afterward, my wife reported that youwould not have thought, except for a remark she dropped now and then, that she had ever been out of her central New York village, and so farfrom putting on airs of art, she did not speak of any gallery abroad, orof the pensions in which she stayed in Florence, or the hotels in othercities of Italy where she had stopped to visit the local schools ofpainting. 

In this somewhat protracted excursion I have not forgotten that I leftMr. Talbert leaning against our party fence, with his arms resting onthe top, after a keen if not critical survey of his dwelling. He did nottake up our talk at just the point where we had been in it, but after areflective moment, he said, "I don't remember just whether Mrs. Templetold my mother-in-law you were homoeopaths or allopaths. "

"Well, " I said, "that depends. I rather think we are homoeopaths ofa low-potency type. " My neighbor's face confessed a certaindisappointment. "But we are not bigoted, even in the article ofappreciable doses. Our own family doctor in our old place always advisedus, in stress of absence from him, to get the best doctor whereverwe happened to be, so far as we could make him out, and not mind whatschool he was of. I suppose we have been treated by as many allopaths ashomoeopaths, but we're rather a healthy family, and put it all togetherwe have not been treated a great deal by either. "

Mr. Talbert looked relieved. "Oh, then you will have Dr. Denbigh. Heputs your rule the other way, and gets the best patient he can, nomatter whether he is a homoeopath or an allopath. We have him, in allour branches; he is the best doctor in Eastridge, and he is the bestman. I want you to know him, and you can't know a doctor the way youought to, unless he's your family physician. "

"You're quite right, I think, but that's a matter I should have to leavetwo-thirds of to my wife: women are two-thirds of the patients inevery healthy family, and they ought to have the ruling voice about thedoctor. " We had formed the habit already of laughing at any appearanceof joke in each other, and my neighbor now rolled his large head inmirth, and said:

"That's so, I guess. But I guess there won't be any trouble about Mrs. Temple's vote when she sees Denbigh. His specialty is the capture ofsensible women. They all swear by him. You met him, didn't you, at myoffice, the other day?"

"Oh yes, and I liked him so much that I wished I was sick on the spot!"

"That's good!" my neighbor said, joyfully. 

"Well, you could meet the doctor there almost any afternoon of the week, toward closing-up hours, and almost any evening at our house here, whenhe isn't off on duty. It's a generally understood thing that if he isn'tat home, or making a professional visit, he's at one place or the other. The farmers round stop for him with their buggies, when they're in ahurry, and half our calls over the 'phone are for Dr. Denbigh. The factis he likes to talk, and if there's any sort of man that _I_ like totalk with better than another, it's a doctor. I never knew one yet thatdidn't say something worth while within five minutes' time. Then, youknow that you can be free with them, be yourself, and that's alwaysworth while, whether you're worth while yourself or not. You can sayjust what you think about anybody or anything, and you know it won'tgo farther. You may not be a patient, but they've always got theirHippocratic oath with them, and they're safe. That so?"

My neighbor wished the pleasure of my explicit assent; my tacit assenthe must have read in my smile. "Yes, " I said, "and they're always sotolerant and compassionate. I don't want to say anything against thereverend clergy; they're oftener saints upon earth than we allow; but adoctor is more solid comfort; he seems to understand you exponentially. "

"That's it! You've hit it! He's seen lots of other cases like yours, andnext to a man's feeling that he's a peculiar sufferer, he likes to knowthat there are other fellows in the same box. "

We both laughed at this; it was, in fact, a joke we were the jointauthors of. 

"Well, we don't often talk about my ailments; I haven't got a greatmany; and generally we get on some abstract topic. Just now we'rerunning the question of female education, perhaps because it'simpersonal, and we can both treat of it without prejudice. "

"The doctor isn't married, I believe?"

"He's a widower of long standing, and that's the best kind of doctor tohave: then he's a kind of a bachelor with practical wisdom added. Yousee, I've always had the idea that women, beginning with little girlsand ending with grandmothers, ought to be brought up as nearly liketheir brothers as can be--that is, if they are to be the wives of otherwomen's brothers. It don't so much matter how an old maid is brought up, but you can't have her destiny in view, though I believe if an oldmaid could be brought up more like an old bachelor she would be morecomfortable to herself, anyway. "

"And what does Dr. Denbigh say?"

"Well, you must hear him talk. I guess he rather wants to draw me out, for the most part. "

"I don't wonder at that. I wish you'd draw yourself out. I've thoughtsomething in the direction of your opinion myself. "

"Have you? That's good! We'll tackle the doctor together sometime. Thedifficulty about putting a thing like that in practice is that you haveto co-operate in it with women who have been brought up in the old way. A man's wife is a woman--"

"Generally, " I assented, as if for argument's sake. 

He gave himself time to laugh. "And she has the charge of the childrenas long as they're young, and she's a good deal more likely to bringup the boys like girls than the girls like boys. But the boys takethemselves out of her hands pretty soon, while the girls have to stayunder her thumb till they come out just the kind of women we've alwayshad. "

"We've managed to worry along with them. "

"Yes, we have. And I don't say but what we fancy them as they are whenwe first begin to 'take notice. ' One trouble is that children are sickso much, and their mothers scare you with that, and you haven't thecourage to put your theories into practice. I can't say that any of mygirls have inherited my constitution but this one. " I knew he meantthe one whose engagement was the origin of our conversation. "If you'veheard my mother-in-law talk about her constitution you would thinkshe belonged to the healthiest family that ever got out of New Englandalive, but the fact is there's always something the matter with her, orshe thinks there is, and she's taking medicine for it, anyway. I can'tsay but what my wife has always been strong enough, and I've beensatisfied to have the children take after her; but when I saw this one'ssorrel-top as we used to call it before we admired red hair, I knew shewas a Talbert, and I made up my mind to begin my system with her. "He laughed as with a sense of agreeable discomfiture. "I can't say itworked very well, or rather that it had a chance. You see, her motherhad to apply it; I was always too busy. And a curious thing was thatthough the girl looked like me, she was a good deal more like her motherin temperament and character. "

"Perhaps, " I ventured, "that's the reason why she was your favorite. "

He dropped his head in rather a shamefaced way, but lifted it withanother laugh. "Well, there may be something in that. Not, " he gravelyretrieved himself, "that we have ever distinguished between ourchildren. "

"No, neither have we. But one can't help liking the ways of one childbetter than another; one will rather take the fancy more than the rest. "

"Well, " my neighbor owned, "I don't know but it's that kind of shynessin them both. I suppose one likes to think his girl looks like him, but doesn't mind her being like her mother. I'm glad she's got myconstitution, though. My eldest daughter is more like her grandmother inlooks, and I guess she's got her disposition too, more. I don't know, "he said, vaguely, "what the last one is going to be like. She seems tobe more worldly. But, " he resumed, strenuously, as if the remembrance ofold opposition remained in his nerves, "when it came to this going offto school, or college, or whatever, I put my foot down, and kept itdown. I guess her mother was willing enough to do my way, but her sisterwas all for some of those colleges where girls are educated with othergirls and not with young men. She said they were more ladylike, and alot more stuff and nonsense, and were more likely to be fit for society. She said this one would meet a lot of jays, and very likely fall inlove with one; and when we first heard of this affair of Peggy's I don'tbelieve but what her sister got more satisfaction out of it than I did. She's quick enough! And a woman likes to feel that she's a prophetess atany time of her life. That's about all that seems to keep some of themgoing when they get old. " I knew that here he had his mother-in-lawrather than his daughter in mind, and I didn't interrupt the sarcasticsilence into which he fell. "You've never met the young man, I believe?"he asked, at quite another point, and to the negation of my look headded, "To be sure! We've hardly met him ourselves; he's only been hereonce; but you'll see him--you and Mrs. Temple. Well!" He lifted hishead, as if he were going away, but he did not lift his arms from thefence, and so I knew that he had not emptied the bag of his unexpectedconfidences; I did not know why he was making them to me, but I likedhim the better for them, and tried to feel that I was worthy of them. Hebegan with a laugh, "They both paid it into me so, " and now I knew thathe meant his eldest daughter as well as her grandmother, "that my wifeturned round and took my part, and said it was the very best thing thatcould happen; and she used all the arguments that I had used with her, when she had her misgivings about it, and she didn't leave them a wordto say. A curious thing about it was, that though my arguments seemedto convince them, they didn't convince me. Ever notice, how when anotherperson repeats what you've said, it sounds kind of weak and foolish?" Iowned that my reasons had at times some such way of turning against mefrom the mouths of others, and he went on: "But they seemed to silenceher own misgivings, and she's been enthusiastic for the engagementever since. What's the reason, " he asked, "why a man, if he's any wayimpetuous, wants to back out of a situation just about the time a womanhas got set in it like the everlasting hills? Is it because she feelsthe need of holding fast for both, or is it because she knows she hasn'tthe strength to keep to her conclusion, if she wavers at all, while aman can let himself play back and forth, and still stay put. "

"Well, in a question like that, " I said, and I won my neighbor's easylaugh, "I always like to give my own sex the benefit of the doubt, andI haven't any question but man's inconsistency is always attributable tohis magnanimity. "

"I guess I shall have to put that up on the doctor, " my neighbor said, as he lifted his arms from the fence at last, and backed away from it. I knew that he was really going in-doors now, and that I must come outwith what was in my mind, if I meant to say it at all, and so I said, "By-the-way, there's something. You know I don't go in much for what'scalled society journalism, especially in the country press, where itmostly takes the form of 'Miss Sadie Myers is visiting with Miss MamiePeters, ' but I realize that a country paper nowadays must be a kind ofopen letter to the neighborhood, and I suppose you have no objection tomy mentioning the engagement?"

This made Mr. Talbert look serious; and I fancy my proposition madehim realize the affair as he had not before, perhaps. After a moment'spause, he said, "Well! That's something I should like to talk with mywife about. "

"Do so!" I applauded. "I only suggest it--or chiefly, or partly--becauseyou can have it reach our public in just the form you want, and theRochester and Syracuse papers will copy my paragraph; but if you leaveit to their Eastridge correspondents--"

"That's true, " he assented. "I'll speak to Mrs. Talbert--" He walked soinconclusively away that I was not surprised to have him turn and comeback before I left my place. "Why, certainly! Make the announcement!It's got to come out. It's a kind of a wrench, thinking of it as apublic affair; because a man's daughter is always a little girl to him, and he can't realize--And this one--But of course!"

"Would you like to suggest any particular form of words?" I hesitated. 

"Oh no! Leave that to you entirely. I know we can trust you not to makeany blare about it. Just say that they were fellow-students--I shouldlike that to be known, so that people sha'n't think I don't like to haveit known--and that he's looking forward to a professorship in the samecollege--How queer it all seems!"

"Very well, then, I'll announce it in our next. There's time to send meword if Mrs. Talbert has any suggestions. "

"All right. But she won't have any. Well, good-evening. "

"Good-evening, " I said from my side of the fence; and when I had watchedhim definitively in-doors, I turned and walked into my own house. 

The first thing my wife said was, "You haven't asked him to let youannounce it in the Banner?"

"But I have, though!"

"Well!" she gasped. 

"What is the matter?" I demanded. "It's a public affair, isn't it?"

"It's a family affair--"

"Well, I consider the readers of the Banner a part of the family. "

II. THE OLD-MAID AUNT, by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

I am relegated here in Eastridge to the position in which I suppose Iproperly belong, and I dare say it is for my best spiritual and temporalgood. Here I am the old-maid aunt. Not a day, not an hour, not a minute, when I am with other people, passes that I do not see myself intheir estimation playing that role as plainly as if I saw myself in alooking-glass. It is a moral lesson which I presume I need. I have justreturned from my visit at the Pollards' country-house in Lancaster, where I most assuredly did not have it. I do not think I deceive myself. I know it is the popular opinion that old maids are exceedingly prone todeceive themselves concerning the endurance of their youth and charms, and the views of other people with regard to them. But I am willing, even anxious, to be quite frank with myself. Since--well, never mindsince what time--I have not cared an iota whether I was considered anold maid or not. The situation has seemed to me rather amusing, inasmuchas it has involved a secret willingness to be what everybody hasconsidered me as very unwilling to be. I have regarded it as a sort ofjoke upon other people. 

But I think I am honest--I really mean to be, and I think I am--when Isay that outside Eastridge the role of an old-maid aunt is the very lastone which I can take to any advantage. Here I am estimated accordingto what people think I am, rather than what I actually am. In the firstplace, I am only fifteen years older than Peggy, who has just becomeengaged, but those fifteen years seem countless aeons to the childherself and the other members of the family. I am ten years younger thanmy brother's wife, but she and my brother regard me as old enough to beher mother. As for Grandmother Evarts, she fairly looks up to me as hersuperior in age, although she DOES patronize me. She would patronizethe prophets of old. I don't believe she ever says her prayerswithout infusing a little patronage into her petitions. The otherday Grandmother Evarts actually inquired of me, of ME! concerning aknitting-stitch. I had half a mind to retort, "Would you like a lessonin bridge, dear old soul?" She never heard of bridge, and I suppose shewould have thought I meant bridge-building. I sometimes wonder why itis that all my brother's family are so singularly unsophisticated, evenCyrus himself, able as he is and dear as he is. 

Sometimes I speculate as to whether it can be due to the mansard-roofof their house. I have always had a theory that inanimate things exertedmore of an influence over people than they dreamed, and a mansard-roof, to my mind, belongs to a period which was most unsophisticated andfatuous, not merely concerning aesthetics, but simple comfort. Thosebedrooms under the mansard-roof are miracles not only of ugliness, butdiscomfort, and there is no attic. I think that a house without a goodroomy attic is like a man without brains. Possibly living in a brainlesshouse has affected the mental outlook of my relatives, although theirbrains are well enough. Peggy is not exactly remarkable for hers, butshe is charmingly pretty, and has a wonderful knack at putting onher clothes, which might be esteemed a purely feminine brain, in herfingers. Charles Edward really has brains, although he is a round pegin a square hole, and as for Alice, her brains are above the normal, although she unfortunately knows it, and Billy, if he ever gets awayfrom Alice, will show what he is made of. Maria's intellect is allright, although cast in a petty mould. She repeats Grandmother Evarts, which is a pity, because there are types not worth repeating. Maria ifshe had not her husband Tom to manage, would simply fall on her face. Itgoes hard with a purely patronizing soul when there is nobody to manage;there is apt to be an explosion. However, Maria HAS Tom. But none of mybrother's family, not even my dear sister-in-law, Cyrus's wife, have theright point of view with regard to the present, possibly on accountof the mansard-roof which has overshadowed them. They do not know thattoday an old-maid aunt is as much of an anomaly as a spinning-wheel, that she has ceased to exist, that she is prehistoric, that evengrandmothers have almost disappeared from off the face of the earth. Inshort, they do not know that I am not an old-maid aunt except under thisblessed mansard-roof, and some other roofs of Eastridge, many of whichare also mansard, where the influence of their fixed belief prevails. For instance, they told the people next door, who have moved hererecently, that the old-maid aunt was coming, and so, when I went to callwith my sister-in-law, Mrs. Temple saw her quite distinctly. To think ofNed Temple being married to a woman like that, who takes things on trustand does not use her own eyes! Her two little girls are exactly likeher. I wonder what Ned himself will think. I wonder if he will see thatmy hair is as red-gold as Peggy's, that I am quite as slim, that thereis not a line on my face, that I still keep my girl color with no aid, that I wear frills of the latest fashion, and look no older than when hefirst saw me. I really do not know myself how I have managed to remainso intact; possibly because I have always grasped all the minor sweetsof life, even if I could not have the really big worth-while ones. Ihonestly do not think that I have had the latter. But I have not takenthe position of some people, that if I cannot have what I want most Iwill have nothing. I have taken whatever Providence chose to give me inthe way of small sweets, and made the most of them. Then I have had muchwomanly pride, and that is a powerful tonic. 

For instance, years ago, when my best lamp of life went out, so tospeak, I lit all my candles and kept my path. I took just as muchpains with my hair and my dress, and if I was unhappy I kept it out ofevidence on my face. I let my heart ache and bleed, but I would havedied before I wrinkled my forehead and dimmed my eyes with tears and leteverybody else know. That was about the time when I met Ned Temple, andhe fell so madly in love with me, and threatened to shoot himself if Iwould not marry him. He did not. Most men do not. I wonder if he placedme when he heard of my anticipated coming. Probably he did not. Theyhave probably alluded to me as dear old Aunt Elizabeth, and when he metme (I was staying at Harriet Munroe's before she was married) nobodycalled me Elizabeth, but Lily. Miss Elizabeth Talbert, instead ofLily Talbert, might naturally set him wrong. Everybody here calls meElizabeth. Outside Eastridge I am Lily. I dare say Ned Temple has notdreamed who I am. I hear that he is quite brilliant, although the poorfellow must be limited as to his income. However, in some respects itmust be just as well. It would be a great trial to a man with a largeincome to have a wife like Mrs. Temple, who could make no good use ofit. You might load that poor soul with crown jewels and she wouldmake them look as if she had bought them at a department store forninety-eight cents. And the way she keeps her house must be maddening, Ishould think, to a brilliant man. Fancy the books on the table beingall arranged with the large ones under the small ones in perfectly evenpiles! I am sure that he has his meals on time, and I am equally surethat the principal dishes are preserves and hot biscuits and cake. Thatsort of diet simply shows forth in Mrs. Temple and her children. I amsure that his socks are always mended, but I know that he always wipeshis feet before he enters the house, that it has become a matter ofconscience with him; and those exactions are to me pathetic. Thesereflections are uncommonly like the popular conception as to how anold-maid aunt should reflect, had she not ceased to exist. Sometimes Iwish she were still existing and that I carried out her character to thefull. I am not at all sure but she, as she once was, coming here, wouldnot have brought more happiness than I have. I must say I thought sowhen I saw poor Harry Goward turn so pale when he first saw me after myarrival. Why, in the name of common-sense, Ada, my sister-in-law, whenshe wrote to me at the Pollards', announcing Peggy's engagement, couldnot have mentioned who the man was, I cannot see. 

Sometimes it seems to me that only the girl and the engagement figure atall in such matters. I suppose Peggy always alluded to me as "dear AuntElizabeth, " when that poor young fellow knew me at the Abercrombies', where we were staying a year ago, as Miss Lily Talbert. The situationwith regard to him and Peggy fairly puzzles me. I simply do not knowwhat to do. Goodness knows I never lifted my finger to attract him. Flirtations between older women and boys always have seemed to mecontemptible. I never particularly noticed him, although he is acharming young fellow, and there is not as much difference in our agesas in those of Harriet Munroe and her husband, and if I am not mistakenthere is more difference between the ages of Ned Temple and his wife. Poor soul! she looks old enough to be his mother, as I remember him, butthat may be partly due to the way she arranges her hair. However, Nedhimself may have changed; there must be considerable wear and tear aboutmatrimony, taken in connection with editing a country newspaper. If Ihad married Ned I might have looked as old as Mrs. Temple does. I wonderwhat Ned will do when he sees me. I know he will not turn white, as poorHarry Goward did. That really worries me. I am fond of little Peggy, and the situation is really rather awful. She is engaged to a man whois fond of her aunt and cannot conceal it. Still, the affection of mostmale things is curable. If Peggy has sense enough to retain her love forfrills and bows, and puts on her clothes as well, and arranges her hairas prettily, after she has been married a year--no, ten years (it willtake at least ten years to make a proper old-maid aunt of me)--she mayhave the innings. But Peggy has no brains, and it really takes a womanwith brains to keep her looks after matrimony. 

Of course, the poor little soul has no danger to fear from me; itis lucky for her that her fiance fell in love with me; but it is theprinciple of the thing which worries me. Harry Goward must be as fickleas a honey-bee. There is no assurance whatever for Peggy that he willnot fall headlong in love--and headlong is just the word for it--withany other woman after he has married her. I did not want the poor fellowto stick to me, but when I come to think of it that is the trouble. How short-sighted I am! It is his perverted fickleness rather than hisactual fickleness which worries me. He has proposed to Peggy when he wasin love with another woman, probably because he was in love withanother woman. Now Peggy, although she is not brilliant, in spite of herco-education (perhaps because of it), is a darling, and she deservesa good husband. She loves this man with her whole heart, poor littlething! that is easy enough to be seen, and he does not care for her, atleast not when I am around or when I am in his mind. The question is, is this marriage going to make the child happy? My first impulse, whenI saw Harry Goward and knew that he was poor Peggy's lover, wasimmediately to pack up and leave. Then I really wondered if that wasthe wisest thing to do. I wanted to see for myself if Harry Goward werereally in earnest about poor little Peggy and had gotten over his madinfatuation for her aunt and would make her a good husband. PerhapsI ought to leave, and yet I wonder if I ought. Harry Goward may haveturned pale simply from his memory of what an uncommon fool he had been, and the consideration of the embarrassing position in which his pastfolly has placed him, if I chose to make revelations. He might haveknown that I would not; still, men know so little of women. I think thatpossibly I am worrying myself needlessly, and that he is really in lovewith Peggy. She is quite a little beauty, and she does know how to puther clothes on so charmingly. The adjustments of her shirt-waists aresimply perfection. I may be very foolish to go away; I may be eveninsufferably conceited in assuming that Harry's change of colorsignified anything which could make it necessary. But, after all, hemust be fickle and ready to turn from one to another, or deceitful, andI must admit that if Peggy were my daughter, and Harry had never beenmad about me six weeks ago, but about some other woman, I should stillfeel the same way. 

Sometimes I wonder if I ought to tell Ada. She is the girl's mother. Imight shift the responsibility on to her. I almost think I will. She isalone in her room now, I know. Peggy and Harry have gone for a drive, and the rest have scattered. It is a good chance. I really don't feel asif I ought to bear the whole responsibility alone. I will go this minuteand tell Ada. 

Well, I have told Ada, and here I am back in my room, laughing over theresult. I might as well have told the flour-barrel. Anything like Ada'sease of character and inability to worry or even face a disturbingsituation I have never seen. I laugh, although her method of receivingmy tale was not, so to speak, flattering to me. Ada was in her loosewhite kimono, and she was sitting at her shady window darning stockingsin very much the same way that a cow chews her cud; and when I told her, under promise of the strictest secrecy, she just laughed that placidlittle laugh of hers and said, taking another stitch, "Oh, well, boysare always falling in love with older women. " And when I asked if shethought seriously that Peggy might not be running a risk, she said: "Ohdear, no; Harry is devoted to the child. You can't be foolish enough. Aunt Elizabeth, to think that he is in love with you NOW?"

I said, "Certainly not. " It was only the principle involved; that theyoung man must be very changeable, and that Peggy might run a risk inthe future if Harry were thrown in much with other women. 

Ada only laughed again, and kept on with her darning, and said sheguessed there was no need to worry. Harry seemed to her very much likeCyrus, and she was sure that Cyrus had never thought of another womanbesides herself (Ada). 

I wonder if another woman would have said what I might have said, especially after that imputation of the idiocy of my thinking that ayoung man could possibly fancy ME. I said nothing, but I wondered whatAda would say if she knew what I knew, if she would continue to chew hercud, that Cyrus had been simply mad over another girl, and only marriedher because he could not get the other one, and when the other died, five years after he was married to Ada, he sent flowers, and I shouldnot to this day venture to speak that girl's name to the man. She was agreat beauty, and she had a wonderful witchery about her. I was onlya child, but I remember how she looked. Why, I fell in love with hermyself! Cyrus can never forget a woman like that for a cud-chewingcreature like Ada, even if she does keep his house in order and make agood mother to his children. The other would not have kept the housein order at all, but it would have been a shrine. Cyrus worshipped thatgirl, and love may supplant love, but not worship. Ada does not know, and she never will through me, but I declare I was almost wicked enoughto tell her when I saw her placidly darning away, without the slightestconception, any more than a feather pillow would have, of what thisridiculous affair with me might mean in future consequences to poor, innocent little Peggy. But I can only hope the boy has gotten over hisfeeling for me, that he has been really changeable, for that would beinfinitely better than the other thing. 

Well, I shall not need to go away. Harry Goward has himself solved thatproblem. He goes himself to-morrow. He has invented a telegram about asick uncle, all according to the very best melodrama. But what Ifeared is true--he is still as mad as ever about me. I went down tothe post-office for the evening mail, and was coming home by moonlight, unattended, as any undesirable maiden aunt may safely do, when the boyovertook me. I had heard his hurried steps behind me for some time. Uphe rushed just as we reached the vacant lot before the Temple house, andcaught my arm and poured forth a volume of confessions and avowals, and, in short, told me he did not love Peggy, but me, and he never would loveanybody but me. I actually felt faint for a second. Then I talked. Itold him what a dishonorable wretch he was, and said he might as wellhave plunged a knife into an innocent, confiding girl at once as tohave treated Peggy so. I told him to go away and let me alone and writefriendly letters to Peggy, and see if he would not recover his senses, if he had any to recover, which I thought doubtful; and then when hesaid he would not budge a step, that he would remain in Eastridge, ifonly for the sake of breathing the same air I did, that he would tellPeggy the whole truth at once, and bear all the blame which he deservedfor being so dishonorable, I arose to the occasion. I said, "Very well, remain, but you may have to breathe not only the same air that I do, butalso the same air that the man whom I am to marry does. " I declare thatI had no man whatever in mind. I said it in sheer desperation. Then theboy burst forth with another torrent, and the secret was out. 

My brother and my sister-in-law and Grandmother Evarts and the children, for all I know, have all been match-making for me. I did not suspect itof them. I supposed they esteemed my case as utterly hopeless, and thenI knew that Cyrus knew about--well, never mind; I don't often mentionhim to myself. I certainly thought that they all would have as soonendeavored to raise the dead as to marry me, but it seems that they havebeen thinking that while there is life there is hope, or rather, while there are widowers there is hope. And there is a widower inEastridge--Dr. Denbigh. He is the candle about which the mothlike dreamsof ancient maidens and widows have fluttered, to their futile singeing, for the last twenty years. I really did not dream that they would thinkI would flutter, even if I was an old-maid aunt. But Harry cried outthat if I were going to marry Dr. Denbigh he would go away. He neverwould stay and be a witness to such sacrilege. "That OLD man!" he raved. And when I said I was not a young girl myself he got all the madder. Well, I allowed him to think I was going to marry Dr. Denbigh (Iwonder what the doctor would say), and as a consequence Harry will flitto-morrow, and he is with poor little Peggy out in the grape-arbor, andshe is crying her eyes out. If he dares tell her what a fool he is Icould kill him. I am horribly afraid that he will let it out, for Inever saw such an alarmingly impetuous youth. Young Lochinvar out of thewest was mere cambric tea to him. I am really thankful that he has nota gallant steed, nor even an automobile, for the old-maid aunt might yetbe captured as the Sabine women were. 

Well, thank fortune, Harry has left, and he cannot have told, for poorlittle Peggy has been sitting with me for a solid hour, sniffing, andsounding his praises. Somehow the child made me think of myself ather age. I was about a year older when my tragedy came and was neverrighted. Hers, I think, will be, since Harry was not such an ass as toconfess before he went away. But all the same, I am concerned for herhappiness, for Harry is either fickle or deceitful. Sometimes I wonderwhat my duty is, but I can't tell the child. It would do no more goodfor me to consult my brother Cyrus than it did to consult Ada. I know ofno one whom I can consult. Charles Edward and his wife, who is justlike Ada, pretty, but always with her shirt-waist hunching in the back, sitting wrong, and standing lopsided, and not worrying enough to giveher character salt and pepper, are there. (I should think she woulddrive Charles Edward, who is really an artist, only out of his propersphere, mad. ) Tom and Maria are down there, too, on the piazza, and Adaat her everlasting darning, and Alice bossing Billy as usual. I can hearher voice. I think I will put on another gown and go for a walk. 

I think I will put on my pink linen, and my hat lined with pink chiffonand trimmed with shaded roses. That particular shade of pink is justright for my hair. I know quite well how I look in that gown and hat, and I know, also, quite well how I shall look to the members of myfamily assembled below. They all unanimously consider that I shoulddress always in black silk, and a bonnet with a neat little tuft ofmiddle-aged violets, and black ribbons tied under my chin. I know I amwicked to put on that pink gown and hat, but I shall do it. I wonder whyit amuses me to be made fun of. Thank fortune, I have a sense of humor. If I did not have that it might have come to the black silk and thebonnet with the tuft of violets, for the Lord knows I have not, afterall, so very much compared with what some women have. It troubles me tothink of that young fool rushing away and poor, dear little Peggy; butwhat can I do? This pink gown is fetching, and how they will stare whenI go down!

Well, they did stare. How pretty this street is, with the elms archingover it. I made quite a commotion, and they all saw me through theireyeglasses of prejudice, except, possibly, Tom Price, Maria's husband. Iam certain I heard him say, as I marched away, "Well, I don't care; shedoes look stunning, anyhow, " but Maria hushed him up. I heard her say, "Pink at her age, and a pink hat, and a parasol lined with pink!" Adareally looked more disturbed than I have ever seen her. If I had beenGodiva, going for my sacrificial ride through the town, it could nothave been much worse. She made her eyes round and big, and asked, in avoice which was really agitated, "Are you going out in that dress. AuntElizabeth?" And Aunt Elizabeth replied that she certainly was, andshe went after she had exchanged greetings with the family and kissedPeggy's tear-stained little face. Charles Edward's wife actuallystraightened her spinal column, she was so amazed at the sight of me inmy rose-colored array. Charles Edward, to do him justice, stared at mewith a bewildered air, as if he were trying to reconcile his senseswith his traditions. He is an artist, but he will always be hampered bythinking he sees what he has been brought up to think he sees. That isthe reason why he has settled down uncomplainingly in Cyrus's "Works, "as he calls them, doing the very slight aesthetics possible in such aconnection. Now Charles Edward would think that sunburned grass over inthat field is green, when it is pink, because he has been taught thatgrass is green. If poor Charles Edward only knew that grass was greennot of itself, but because of occasional conditions, and knew that hisaunt looked--well, as she does look--he would flee for his life, andthat which is better than his life, from the "Works, " and be an artist, but he never will know or know that he knows, which comes to the samething. 

Well, what does it matter to me? I have just met a woman who stared atme, and spoke as if she thought I were a lunatic to be afield in thisarray. What does anything matter? Sometimes, when I am with people whosee straight, I do take a certain pleasure in looking well, because I ama woman, and nothing can quite take away that pleasure from me; but allthe time I know it does not matter, that nothing has really matteredsince I was about Peggy's age and Lyman Wilde quarrelled with me overnothing and vanished into thin air, so far as I was concerned. I supposehe is comfortably settled with a wife and family somewhere. It is ratherodd, though, that with all my wandering on this side of the water andthe other I have never once crossed his tracks. He may be in the FarEast, with a harem. I never have been in the Far East. Well, it does notmatter to me where he is. That is ancient history. On the whole, though, I like the harem idea better than the single wife. I have what is leftto me--the little things of life, the pretty effects which go to make mepretty (outside Eastridge); the comforts of civilization, travellingand seeing beautiful things, also seeing ugly things to enhance thebeautiful. I have pleasant days in beautiful Florence. I have friends. Ihave everything except--well, except everything. That I must do without. But I will do without it gracefully, with never a whimper, or I don'tknow myself. But now I AM worried over Peggy. I wish I could consultwith somebody with sense. What a woman I am! I mean, how feminine Iam! I wish I could cure myself of the habit of being feminine. It isa horrible nuisance; this wishing to consult with somebody when I amworried is so disgustingly feminine. 

Well, I have consulted. I am back in my own room. It is after supper. We had three kinds of cake, hot biscuits, and raspberries, and--aconcession to Cyrus--a platter of cold ham and an egg salad. He willhave something hearty, as he calls it (bless him! he is a good-fellow), for supper. I am glad, for I should starve on Ada's New England menus. Ifeel better, now that I have consulted, although, when I really considerthe matter, I can't see that I have arrived at any very definite issue. But I have consulted, and, above all things, with Ned Temple! I waswalking down the street, and I reached his newspaper building. It is afunny little affair; looks like a toy house. It is all given up to themighty affairs of the Eastridge Banner. In front there is a piazza, andon this piazza sat Ned Temple. Changed? Well, yes, poor fellow! He isthin. I am so glad he is thin instead of fat; thinness is not nearlyso disillusioning. His hair is iron-gray, but he is, after all, distinguished-looking, and his manners are entirely sophisticated. Heshows at a glance, at a word, that he is a brilliant man, although he isstranded upon such a petty little editorial island. And--and he saw MEas I am. He did not change color. He is too self-poised; besides, he istoo honorable. But he saw ME. He rose immediately and came to speak tome. He shook hands. He looked at my face under my pink-lined hat. He sawit as it was; but bless him! that stupid wife of his holds him fast withhis own honor. Ned Temple is a good man. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldnot have been better if he, instead of Lyman--Well, that is idiotic. 

He said he had to go to the post-office, and then it was time for himto go home to supper (to the cake and sauce, I suppose), and withmy permission he would walk with me. So he did. I don't know howit happened that I consulted with him. I think he spoke of Peggy'sengagement, and that led up to it. But I could speak to him, because Iknew that he, seeing me as I really am, would view the matter seriously. I told him about the miserable affair, and he said that I had doneexactly right. I can't remember that he offered any actual solution, butit was something to be told that I had done exactly right. And then hespoke of his wife, and in such a faithful fashion, and so lovinglyof his two commonplace little girls. Ned Temple is as good as he isbrilliant. It is really rather astonishing that such a brilliant man canbe so good. He told me that I had not changed at all, but all the timethat look of faithfulness for his wife never left his handsome face, bless him! I believe I am nearer loving him for his love for anotherwoman than I ever was to loving him for himself. 

And then the inconceivable happened. I did what I never thought I shouldbe capable of doing, and did it easily, too, without, I am sure, achange of color or any perturbation. I think I could do it, becausefaithfulness had become so a matter of course with the man that I wasnot ashamed should he have any suspicion of me also. He and Lyman usedto be warm friends. I asked if he knew anything about him. He met myquestion as if I had asked what o'clock it was, just the way I knew hewould meet it. He knows no more than I do. But he said somethingwhich has comforted me, although comfort at this stage of affairs is adangerous indulgence. He said, very much as if he had been speaking ofthe weather, "He worshipped you, Lily, and wherever he is, in this worldor the next, he worships you now. " Then he added: "You know how I feltabout you. Lily. If I had not found out about him, that he had comefirst, I know how it would have been with me, so I know how it is withhim. We had the same views about matters of that kind. After I did findout, why, of course, I felt different--although always, as long as Ilive, I shall be a dear friend to you. Lily. But a man is unfaithful tohimself who is faithful to a woman whom another man loves and whom sheloves. "

"Yes, that is true, " I agreed, and said something about the hours forthe mails in Eastridge. Lyman Wilde dropped out of Ned's life as hedropped out of mine, it seems. I shall simply have to lean back uponthe minor joys of life for mental and physical support, as I did before. Nothing is different, but I am glad that I have seen Ned Temple again, and realize what a good man he is. 

Well, it seems that even minor pleasures have dangers, and that I do notalways read characters rightly. The very evening after my little strolland renewal of friendship with Ned Temple I was sitting in my room, reading a new book for which the author should have capital punishment, when I heard excited voices, or rather an excited voice, below. I didnot pay much attention at first. I supposed the excited voice mustbelong to either Maria or Alice, for no others of my brother's familyever seem in the least excited, not to the extent of raising theirvoices to a hysterical pitch. But after a few minutes Cyrus came tothe foot of the stairs and called. He called Aunt Elizabeth, and AuntElizabeth, in her same pink frock, went down. Cyrus met me at thefoot of the stairs, and he looked fairly wild. "What on earth, AuntElizabeth!" said he, and I stared at him in a daze. 

"The deuce is to pay, " said he. "Aunt Elizabeth, did you ever know ournext-door neighbor before his marriage?"

"Certainly, " said I; "when we were both infants. I believe they hadgotten him out of petticoats and into trousers, but much as ever, and myskirts were still abbreviated. It was at Harriet Munroe's before she wasmarried. "

"Have you been to walk with him?" gasped poor Cyrus. 

"I met him on my way to the post-office last night, and he walked alongwith me, and then as far as his house on the way home, if you call thatwalking out, " said I. "You sound like the paragraphs in a daily paper. Now, what on earth do you mean, if I may ask, Cyrus?"

"Nothing, except Mrs. Temple is in there raising a devil of a row, " saidCyrus. He gazed at me in a bewildered fashion. "If it were Peggy I couldunderstand it, " he said, helplessly, and I knew how distinctly he sawthe old-maid aunt as he gazed at me. "She's jealous of you, Elizabeth, "he went on in the same dazed fashion. "She's jealous of you because herhusband walked home with you. She's a dreadfully nervous woman, and, Iguess, none too well. She's fairly wild. It seems Temple let on how heused to know you before he was married, and said something in praiseof your looks, and she made a regular header into conclusions. You haveheld your own remarkably well, Elizabeth, but I declare--" And againpoor Cyrus gazed at me. 

"Well, for goodness' sake, let me go in and see what I can do, " said I, and with that I went into the parlor. 

I was taken aback. Nobody, not even another woman, can tell what a womanreally is. I thought I had estimated Ned Temple's wife correctly. Ihad taken her for a monotonous, orderly, dull sort of creature, quiteincapable of extremes; but in reality she has in her rather large, flabby body the characteristics of a kitten, with the possibilities ofa tigress. The tigress was uppermost when I entered the room. The womanwas as irresponsible as a savage. I was disgusted and sorry and furiousat the same time. I cannot imagine myself making such a spectacle overany mortal man. She was weeping frantically into a mussy little ball ofhandkerchief, and when she saw me she rushed at me and gripped me by thearm like a mad thing. 

"If you can't get a husband for yourself, " said she, "you might at leastlet other women's husbands alone!"

She was vulgar, but she was so wild with jealousy that I supposevulgarity ought to be forgiven her. I hardly know myself how I managedit, but, somehow, I got the poor thing out of the room and the house andinto the cool night air, and then I talked to her, and fairly made herbe quiet and listen. I told her that Ned Temple had made love to me whenhe was just out of petticoats and I was in short dresses. I stretchedor shortened the truth a little, but it was a case of necessity. Then Iintimated that I never would have married Ned Temple, anyway, andTHAT worked beautifully. She turned upon me in such a delightfullyinconsequent fashion and demanded to know what I expected, and declaredher husband was good enough for any woman. Then I said I did not doubtthat, and hinted that other women might have had their romances, even ifthey did not marry. That immediately interested her. She stared at me, and said, with the most innocent impertinence, that my brother's wifehad intimated that I had had an unhappy love-affair when I was a girl. I did not think that Cyrus had told Ada, but I suppose a man HAS to tellhis wife everything. 

I hedged about the unhappy love-affair, but the first thing I knew thepoor, distracted woman was sobbing on my shoulder as we stood in frontof her gate, and saying that she was so sorry, but her whole life wasbound up in her husband, and I was so beautiful and had so much style, and she knew what a dowdy she was, and she could not blame poor Nedif--But I hushed her. 

"Your husband has no more idea of caring for another woman besides youthan that moon has of travelling around another world, " said I; "and youare a fool if you think so; and if you are dowdy it is your own fault. If you have such a good husband you owe it to him not to be dowdy. Iknow you keep his house beautifully, but any man would rather have hiswife look well than his house, if he is worth anything at all. "

Then she gasped out that she wished she knew how to do up her hair likemine. It was all highly ridiculous, but it actually ended in my goinginto the Temple house and showing Ned's wife how to do up her hair likemine. She looked like another woman when it was puffed softly over herforehead--she has quite pretty brown hair. Then I taught her how toput on her corset and pin her shirt-waist taut in front and her skirtbehind. Ned was not to be home until late, and there was plenty of time. It ended in her fairly purring around me, and saying how sorry she was, and ashamed, that she had been so foolish, and all the time castinglittle covert, conceited glances at herself in the looking-glass. Finally I kissed her and she kissed me, and I went home. I don't reallysee what more a woman could have done for a rival who had supplantedher. But this revelation makes me more sorry than ever for poor Ned. Idon't know, though; she may be more interesting than I thought. Anythingis better than the dead level of small books on large ones, and mealson time. It cannot be exactly monotonous never to know whether you willfind a sleek, purry cat, or an absurd kitten, or a tigress, when youcome home. Luckily, she did not tell Ned of her jealousy, and I havecautioned all in my family to hold their tongues, and I think theywill. I infer that they suspect that I must have been guilty of someunbecoming elderly prank to bring about such a state of affairs, unless, possibly, Maria's husband and Billy are exceptions. I find that Billy, when Alice lets him alone, is a boy who sees with his own eyes. He toldme yesterday that I was handsomer in my pink dress than any girl in hisschool. 

"Why, Billy Talbert!" I said, "talking that way to your old aunt!"

"I suppose you ARE awful old, " said Billy, bless him! "but you areenough-sight prettier than a girl. I hate girls. I hope I can get awayfrom girls when I am a man. "

I wanted to tell the dear boy that was exactly the time when he wouldnot get away from girls, but I thought I would not frighten him, but lethim find it out for himself. 

Well, now the deluge! It is a week since Harry Goward went away, andPeggy has not had a letter, although she has haunted the post-office, poor child! and this morning she brought home a letter for me from thatcrazy boy. She was white as chalk when she handed it to me. 

"It's Harry's writing, " said she, and she could barely whisper. "I havenot had a word from him since he went away, and now he has written toyou instead of me. What has he written to you for, Aunt Elizabeth?"

She looked at me so piteously, poor, dear little girl! that if I couldhave gotten hold of Harry Goward that moment I would have shaken him. Itried to speak, soothingly. I said:

"My dear Peggy, I know no more than you do why he has written to me. Perhaps his uncle is dead and he thought I would break it to you. "

That was rank idiocy. Generally I can rise to the occasion with moresuccess. 

"What do I care about his old uncle?" cried poor Peggy. "I never evensaw his uncle. I don't care if he is dead. Something has happened toHarry. Oh, Aunt Elizabeth, what is it?"

I was never in such a strait in my life. There was that poor childstaring at the letter as if she could eat it, and then at me. I darednot open the letter before her. We were out on the porch. I said:

"Now, Peggy Talbert, you keep quiet, and don't make a little fool ofyourself until you know you have some reason for it. I am going up to myown room, and you sit in that chair, and when I have read this letter Iwill come down and tell you about it. "

"I know he is dead!" gasped Peggy, but she sat down. 

"Dead!" said I. "You just said yourself it was his handwriting. Do havea little sense, Peggy. " With that I was off with my letter, and I lockedmy door before I read it. 

Of all the insane ravings! I put it on my hearth and struck a match, andthe thing went up in flame and smoke. Then I went down to poor littlePeggy and patched up a story. I have always been averse to lying, andI did not lie then, although I must admit that what I said was open tocriticism when it comes to exact verity. I told Peggy that Harry thoughtthat he had done something to make her angry (that was undeniably true)and did not dare write her. I refused utterly to tell her just what wasin the letter, but I did succeed in quieting her and making her thinkthat Harry had not broken faith with her, but was blaming himselffor some unknown and imaginary wrong he had done her. Peggy rushedimmediately up to her room to write reassuring pages to Harry, and herold-maid aunt had the horse put in the runabout and was driven over toWhitman, where nobody knows her--at least the telegraph operator doesnot. Then I sent a telegram to Mr. Harry Goward to the effect that if hedid not keep his promise with regard to writing F. L. To P. Her A. Wouldnever speak to him again; that A. Was about to send L. , but he must keephis promise with regard to P. By next M. 

It looked like the most melodramatic Sunday personal ever invented. Itmight have meant burglary or murder or a snare for innocence, but I sentit. Now I have written. My letter went in the same mail as poor Peggy's, but what will be the outcome of it all I cannot say. Sometimes I catchPeggy looking at me with a curious awakened expression, and then Iwonder if she has begun to suspect. I cannot tell how it will end. 

III. THE GRANDMOTHER, by Mary Heaton Vorse

The position of an older woman in her daughter's house is oftendifficult. It makes no difference to me that Ada is a mother herself;she might be even a great-grandmother, and yet in my eyes she wouldstill be Ada, my little girl. I feel the need of guiding her andprotecting her just as much this minute as when she was a baby in thenursery; only now the task is much more difficult. That is why I saythat the position of women placed as I am is often hard, harder than ifI lived somewhere else, because although I am with Ada I can no longerprotect her from anything--not even from myself, my illnesses andweaknesses. It sometimes seems to me, so eagerly do I follow thelights and shadows of my daughter's life, as if I were living a secondexistence together with my own. Only as I grow older I am less fittedphysically to bear things, even though I take them philosophically. 

When Ada and the rest of my children were little, I could guard againstthe menaces to their happiness; I could keep them out of danger; iftheir little friends didn't behave, I sent them home. When it wasneeded, I didn't hesitate to administer a good wholesome spanking to mychildren. There isn't one of these various things but needs doing nowin Ada's house. I can't, however, very well spank Cyrus, nor can I sendElizabeth home. All I CAN do is to sit still and hold my tongue, thoughI don't know, I'm sure, what the end of it all is to be. 

Life brings new lessons at every turn in the road, and one of thehardest of all is the one we older people have to learn--to sit stillwhile our children hurt themselves, or, what is worse, to sit stillwhile other people hurt our children. It is especially hard for meto bear, when life is made difficult for my Ada, for if ever any onedeserved happiness my daughter does. I try to do justice to every one, and I hope I am not unfair when I say that the best of men, and Cyrus isone of them, are sometimes blind and obstinate. Of all my children, Adagave me the least trouble, and was always the most loving and tender andconsiderate. Indeed, if Ada has a fault, it is being too considerate. Icould, if she only would let me, help her a great deal more around thehouse; although Ada is a very good housekeeper, I am constantly seeinglittle things that need doing. I do my best to prevent the awful wasteof soap that goes on, and there are a great many little ways Ada couldlet me save for her if she would. When I suggest this to her she laughsand says, "Wait till we need to save as badly as that, mother, " whichdoesn't seem to me good reasoning at all. "Waste not, want not, " sayI, and when it comes to throwing out perfectly good glass jars, as thegirls would do if I didn't see to it they saved them, why, I put my footdown. If Ada doesn't want them herself to put things up in, why, somepoor woman will. I don't believe in throwing things away that may comein handy sometime. When I kept house nobody ever went lacking strings ora box of whatever size, to send things away in, or paper in which todo it up, and I can remember in mother's day there was never a time shehadn't pieces put by for a handsome quilt. Machinery has put a stop tomany of our old occupations, and the result is a generation of nervouswomen who haven't a single thing in life to occupy themselves with buttheir own feelings, while girls like Peggy, who are active and useful, have nothing to do but to go to school and keep on going to school. Ifone wanted to dig into the remote cause of things, one might find theroot of our present trouble in these changed conditions, for Cyrus'ssister, Elizabeth, is one of these unoccupied women. Formerly in afamily like ours there would have been so much to do that, whether sheliked it or not, and whether she had married or not, Elizabeth wouldhave had to be a useful woman--and now the less said the better. 

It is hard, I say, to see the causes for unhappiness set in action andyet do nothing, or, if one speaks, to speak to deaf ears. Oh, it is veryhard to do this, and this has been the portion of older women always. Our children sometimes won't even let us dry their tears for them, butcry by themselves, as I know Ada has been doing lately--though in theend she came to me, or rather I went to her, for, after all, I am livingin the same world with the rest of them. I have not passed over to theother side yet, and while I stay I am not going to be treated as if Iwere a disembodied spirit. I have eyes of my own, and ears too, and Ican see as well as the next man when things go wrong. 

I have always known that no good would come of sending Peggy to acoeducational college. I urged Ada to set her foot down, for Ada didn'twish to send Peggy there, naturally enough, but she wouldn't. 

"Well, " said I, "I'M not afraid to speak my mind to your husband. " NowI very seldom open my mouth to Cyrus, or to any one else in this house, for it is more than ever the fashion for people to disregard the adviceof others, and the older I get the more I find it wise to save my breathto cool my porridge--there come times, however, when I feel it my dutyto speak. 

"Mark my words, Cyrus, " I said. "You'll be sorry you sent Peggy off toa boys' school. Girls at her age are impressionable, and if they aren'tunder their mothers' roofs, where they can be protected and sheltered, why, then send them to a seminary where they will see as few young menas possible. "

Cyrus only laughed and said:

"Well, mother, you can say 'I told you so' if anything bad comes of it. "

"It's all very well to laugh, Cyrus, " I answered, "but _I_ don't believein putting difficulties into life that aren't there already, and that'swhat sending young men and young women off to the same college seems toME!"

When Peggy came home engaged, after her last year, everybody wassurprised. 

"I'm sure I don't know what Cyrus expected, " I said to Ada. "You can'tgo out in the rain without getting wet. Let us pray that this young manwill turn out to be all right, though we know so little about him. "For all we knew was what Peggy told us, and you know the kind of thingsyoung girls have to tell one about their sweethearts. Peggy didn't evenknow what church his people went to! I couldn't bear the thought ofthat dear child setting out on the long journey of marriage in such afashion. I looked forward with fear to what Ada might have to go throughif it didn't turn out all right. For one's daughter's sorrows are one'sown; what she suffers one must suffer, too. It is hard for a mother tosee a care-free, happy young girl turn into a woman before her eyes. Even if a woman is very happy, marriage brings many responsibilities, and a woman who has known the terror of watching beside a sick child cannever be quite the same, I think. We ourselves grew and deepenedunder such trials, and we wouldn't wish our daughters to be less thanourselves; but, oh, how glad I should be to have Peggy spared somethings! How happy I should be to know that she was to have for her lotonly the trials we all must have! I do not want to see my Ada having tobear the unhappiness of seeing Peggy unhappy. Even if Peggy puts up abrave face, Ada will know--she will know just as I have known things inmy own children's lives; and I shall know, too. This young man has it inhis hands to trouble my old age. 

No mother and daughter can live together as Ada and I have without whataffects one of us affecting the other. When her babies were born I waswith her; I helped her bring them up; as I have grown older, thoughshe comes to me less and less, wishing to spare me, I seem to need lesstelling; for I know myself when anything ails her. 

It amazed me to see how Ada took Peggy's engagement, and when youngHenry Goward came to visit, I made up my mind that he should not goaway again without our finding out a little, at any rate, of what hissurroundings had been, and what his own principles were. As we growolder we see more and more that character is the main thing in life, and I would rather have a child of mine marry a young man of soundprinciples whom she respected than one of undisciplined character andlax ideas whom she loved. When I said things like this to Ada, shereplied:

"I'm afraid you're prejudiced against that poor boy because he and Peggyhappened to meet at college. "

I answered: "I am not prejudiced at all, Ada, but I feel that all of us, you especially, should keep our eyes and ears open. Wait! is all I say. "

I know my own faults, for I have always believed that one is never tooold for character-building, and I know that being prejudiced is not oneof them. I realize too keenly that as women advance in years theyare very apt to get set in their ways unless they take care, and I amnaturally too fair-minded to judge a man before I have seen him. Mariaand Alice were prejudiced, if you like. Maria, indeed, had so much tosay to Ada that I interfered, though it is contrary to my custom. 

"I should think, Maria, " I said, "that however old you are, you wouldrealize that your father and mother are EVEN better able to judge thanyou as to their children's affairs. " I cannot imagine where Maria getsher dominant disposition. It is very unlike the women of our family. 

When he came, however, Mr. Goward's manners and appearance impressed mefavorably. Neither Ada nor Cyrus, as far as I could see, tried in theleast to draw him out. I sat quiet for a while, but at last for Peggy'ssake I felt I would do what I could to find out his views on importantthings. I was considerably relieved to hear that his mother was a VanHorn, a very good Troy family and distant connection of mother's. 

When I asked him what he was, "My PEOPLE are Episcopalians, " he replied. 

"I suppose that means YOU are something else?" I asked him. 

"I'm afraid it means I'm nothing else, " he answered; and while I wasglad he was so honest, I couldn't help feeling anxious at having Peggyengaged to a man so unformed in his beliefs. I do not care so muchWHAT people believe, for I am not bigoted, as that they should believeSOMETHING, and that with their whole hearts. There are a great manyyoung men like Henry Goward, to-day, who have no fixed beliefs andno established principles beyond a vague desire to be what they call"decent fellows. " One needs more than that in this world. 

However, I found the boy likable, and everything went smoothly for atime, when all at once I felt something had gone wrong--what, I didn'tknow. Mr. Goward received a telegram and left suddenly. Ada, I couldsee, was anxious; Peggy, tearful; and, as if this wasn't enough, Mrs. Temple, our new neighbor, who had seemed a sensible body to me, hadsome sort of a falling-out with Aunt Elizabeth, who pretended that Mrs. Temple was jealous of her! After Mrs. Temple had gone home, ElizabethTalbert went around pleased as Punch and swore us all to solemn secrecynever to tell any one about "Mrs. Temple's absurd jealousy. "

"You needn't worry about me, Aunt Elizabeth, " I said. "I'm not likely togo around proclaiming that ANOTHER woman has made a fool of herself. "

Elizabeth Talbert is one of those women who live on a false basis. Sheis a case of arrested development. She enjoys the same amusements thatshe did fifteen years ago. She is like a young fruit that has been putup in a preserving fluid and gives the illusion of youth; the preservingfluid in her case is the disappointment she suffered as a girl. I likeuseful women--women who, whether married or unmarried, bring things topass in this world, and Elizabeth does not. Still, I can't help feelingsorry for her, poor thing; in the end our own shortcomings and vanitieshurt us more than they hurt any one else. I heartily wish she would getmarried--I have known women older than Elizabeth, and worse-looking, tofind husbands--both for her own sake and for Ada's, for her comingsand goings complicate life for my daughter. She diffuses around her anatmosphere of criticism--I do not think she ever returns from a visit tothe city without wishing that we should have dinner at night, and Aliceis beginning to prick up her ears and listen to her. She spends a greatdeal of time over her dress, and, if she has grown no older, neitherhave her clothes--not a particle. She dresses in gowns suitable forPeggy, but which Maria, who is years younger than her aunt, would notthink of wearing. Elizabeth is the kind of woman who is a changed beingat the approach of a man; she is even different when Cyrus or Billy isaround; she brightens up and exerts herself to please them; but whenshe is alone with Ada and me she is frankly bored and looks out ofthe window in a sad, far-away manner. The presence of men has a mostrejuvenating effect on Aunt Elizabeth, although she pretends she hasnever been interested in any man since her disappointment years ago. When she got back and found Harry Goward here, instead of relapsing intoher lack-lustre ways, as she generally does, she kept on her interestedair. 

I have always thought that houses have their atmosphere, like people, and this house lately has seemed bewitched. After Mr. Goward left, although every one tried to pretend things were as they should be, thesituation grew more and more uncomfortable. I felt it, though no onetold me a thing. I fancy that most older people have the same experienceoften that I have had lately. All at once you are aware something iswrong. You can't tell why you feel this; you only know that you areliving in the cold shadow of some invisible unhappiness. You see notears in the eyes of the people you love, but tears have been shed justthe same. Why? You don't know, and no one thinks of telling you. Itis like seeing life from so far off that you cannot make out what hashappened. I have sometimes leaned out of a window and have seen down thestreet a crowd of gesticulating people, but I was too far off to knowwhether some one was hurt or whether it was only people gathered arounda man selling something. When I see such things my heart beats, for I amalways afraid it is an accident, and so with the things I don't know inmy own household. I always fancy them worse than they are. There areso many things one can imagine when one doesn't KNOW, and now I fanciedeverything. Such things, I think, tell on older people more than onyounger ones, and at last I went to my room and kept there most of thetime, reading William James's Varieties of Religious Experience. It isan excellent work in many ways. I am told it is given in sanitariumsfor nervous people to read, for the purpose of getting their minds offthemselves. I found it useful to get my mind off others, for of late Ihave gotten to an almost morbid alertness, and I know by the very wayPeggy ran up the stairs that something ailed her even before I caught aglimpse of her face, which showed me that she was going straight to herroom to cry. 

This sort of thing had happened too often, and I made up my mind I wouldnot live in this moral fog another moment. So I went to Ada. 

"Ada, " I said, "I am your mother, and I think I have a right to ask youa question. I want to know this: what has that young man been doing?"

"I suppose you mean Harry, " Ada answered. "He hasn't been doinganything. Peggy's a little upset because he isn't a good correspondent. You know how girls feel--"

"Don't tell ME, Ada, " said I. "I know better. There's more in it thanthat. Peggy's a sensible girl. There's something wrong, and I want youto tell me what it is. " Younger people don't realize how bad it can beto be left to worry alone in the dark. 

Ada sat down with a discouraged air such as I have seldom seen her with. I went over to her and took her hand in mine. 

"Tell mother what's worrying you, dear, " I said, gently. 

"Why, it's all so absurd, " Ada answered. "I can't make head or tail ofit. Aunt Elizabeth came to me full of mystery soon after she came back, and told me that Harry Goward had become infatuated with her when shewas off on one of her visits--"

I couldn't help exclaiming, "Well, of all things!"

"That's not the queerest part, " Ada went on. "She told me as confidentlyas could be that he is still in love with her. "

"Ada, " said I, "Elizabeth Talbert must be daft! Does she think that allthe men in the world are in love with her--at her age? First Mrs. Templemaking such a rumpus, and now this--"

"At first I thought just as you do, " Ada said, helplessly. "Of coursethere can't be anything in it--and yet--I'm sure I don't understand thesituation at all. You know Harry left quite unexpectedly--soon afterElizabeth came; he didn't write for a week--and then to her, and Peggy'sonly had one short note from him--"

I can see through a hole in a millstone as well as any one, and a lightdawned on me. 

"You can depend upon it, Ada, " I said, "Aunt Elizabeth has been makingtrouble! I don't know what she's been up to, but she's been up tosomething! I wondered why she had been having such a contented looklately--and now I know. "

"Oh, mother, I can't believe that!" Ada protested. "I thoughtElizabeth was a little vain and silly, and, though everything is soincomprehensible, I don't believe for a moment that Aunt Elizabeth woulddo anything to hurt Peggy. "

My Ada is a truly good woman--so good that it is almost impossible forher to believe ill of any one, and she was profoundly shocked at what Isuggested. 

"I don't think in the beginning Elizabeth intended to hurt Peggy, " Ianswered her, gently, "but when you've lived as long in the world as Ihave you'll realize to what lengths a woman will go to show the worldshe's still young. Just look at it for yourself. Everything was goingsmoothly until Elizabeth came. Now it's not. Elizabeth has told youshe's had goings-on with Harry Goward. I don't see, Ada, how you can beso blind as not to be willing to look the truth in the face. If it'snot Elizabeth's fault, whose is it? I don't suppose you believe HenryGoward's dying for love of Aunt Elizabeth when he can look at Peggy! Oh, I'd like to hear his side of the story! For you may be sure that thereis one!"

"Mother, " said Ada, "if I believed Elizabeth had done anything to marthat child's happiness--"

She stopped for fear, I suppose, of what she might be led to say. "Wemustn't judge before we know, " she finished. But I knew by the lookon her face that, if Aunt Elizabeth has made trouble, Ada will neverforgive her. 

"What does Cyrus say to all this?" I asked, by way of diversion. 

"Oh, I haven't told Cyrus anything about it. I didn't intend to tell anyone--about Aunt Elizabeth's part in it. I think Cyrus is a little uneasyhimself, but he's been so busy lately--"

"Well, " I said, "_I_ think Cyrus ought to be told! And you're the one todo it. Don't let's judge, to be sure, before we know everything, but Ithink Cyrus ought to know the mischief his sister is making! Elizabethsimply makes a convenience of this house. It's her basis of departureto pack her trunk from, that's all your home means to her. She's neverlifted a finger to be useful beyond rearranging the furniture in adifferent way from what you'd arranged it. She acts exactly as if shewere a young lady boarder. She's nothing whatever to do in this worldexcept make trouble for others. I think Cyrus should know, and then ifhe prefers his sister's convenience to his wife's happiness, well andgood!" It's not often I speak out, but now and then things happen whichI can't very well keep silent about. It did me good to ease my mindabout Elizabeth Talbert for once. 

Ada only said, "Elizabeth and I have always been such good friends, andshe's so fond of Peggy. "

Ada doesn't realize that with some women vanity is stronger thanloyalty. She kissed me. "It's done me good to talk to you, mother, " shesaid, "because now it doesn't seem, when I put it outside myself, thatthere's very much of anything to worry about. "

Ada has always been like that--she seems to get rid of her troubles justby telling them. Now she had passed her riddle on to me, and I could notkeep Peggy and her affairs from my mind. I tried to tell myself that itwould be better for every one to find out now than later if Henry Gowardwas not worthy to be Peggy's husband. But, oh, for all their sakes, howI hoped this cloud, whatever it was, would blow over! I have a very goodconstitution and I know how to take care of it, but when several moredays passed without Peggy's hearing from Henry again I gave way, but Itried to keep up on Ada's account. I began to see how much this youngman's honor and faithfulness meant to Peggy, and I took long excursionsback into the past to remember how I felt at her age. Mail-time was thedifficult time for all three of us. Before the postman came Peggy wouldbrighten up; not that she was drooping at any time, only I knew howtensely she waited, because Ada and I waited with her. When the mancame, and again no letters, Peggy held up her head bravely as could be, but I could see, all the same, how the light had gone out. The worst ofit was, everybody knew about it. It would have been twice as easyfor the child if she could have borne it alone, but Elizabeth Talbertwatched the mail like a cat, and even manoeuvred to try and get theletters before Peggy, while Alice went around with her nose in the air, and I heard Maria saying to Ada:

"What's all this about Harry Goward's not writing?"

To escape it all I took to my room, coming down only for meals. Icouldn't eat a thing, and Cyrus noticed it--it is queer how observantmen are about some things and how unobservant about others. He didn'ttell me what he was going to do, but in the afternoon Dr. Denbigh cameto see me. That's the way they do--I'm liable to have the doctor sent into look me over any time, whether I want him or not. Dr. Denbigh is anexcellent friend and a good doctor, but at my time of life I should belacking in intelligence if I didn't understand my constitution betterthan any doctor can. They seem to think that there's more virtue in apill or a powder because a doctor gives it to one than because one'scommon-sense tells one to take it. That afternoon I didn't need him anymore than a squirrel needs a pocket, and I told him so. He laughed, andthen grew serious. 

"You're not looking as well as you did, Mrs. Evarts, " he said, "andTalbert told me that you had all the preliminary symptoms of one of yourattacks and wanted me to 'nip it in the bud, ' he said. "

"Dr. Denbigh, " said I, "if the matter with me could be cured by thethings you know, there are other people in this house who need yourattention more than I. " I wanted to add that if Cyrus would always beas far-sighted as he has been about me there wouldn't be anything thematter to-day, but I held my tongue. 

"I see you're worried about something, " the doctor said, very kindly. "Mental anxiety pulls you down quicker than anything. "

Then as he sat chatting with me so kind and good--there's somethingabout Dr. Denbigh that makes me think of my own father, although he isyoung enough to be my son--I told him the whole thing, all except AuntElizabeth's share in it. I merely told him that Henry Goward had writtento her and not to Peggy. 

I felt very much better. He took what I told him seriously, and yetnot in the tragic way we did. He has a way of listening that is verycomforting. 

"It seems absurd, I know, for an old woman like me to get upset justbecause her grandchild does not get letters from her sweetheart, " I toldhim. "But you see, doctor, no one suffers alone in a family like ours. An event like this is like a wave that disturbs the whole surface of thewater. Every one of us feels anything that happens, each in his separateway. Why, I can't be sick without its causing inconvenience to Billy. "And it is true; people in this world are bound up together in anextraordinary fashion; and I wondered if Henry Goward's mother wasunhappy too, and was wondering what it was Peggy had done to her boy, for she, of course, will think whatever happens is Peggy's fault. Theengagement of these two young people has been like a stone thrown into apond, and it takes only a very little pebble to ruffle the water fartherthan one would believe it possible. 

After the doctor left, Ada came to sit with me. We were sewing quietlywhen I heard voices in the hall. I heard Peggy say, "I want you to tellmother. " Then Billy growled:

"I don't see what you're making such a kick for. I wouldn't have toldyou if I'd known you'd be so silly. "

And I heard Peggy say again:

"I want you to tell mother. " Her tone was perfectly even, but it soundedlike Cyrus when he is angry. They both came in. Peggy was flushed, andher lips were pressed firmly together. She looked older than I have everseen her. 

"What's the matter?" Ada asked them. 

"Tell her, " Peggy commanded. Billy didn't know what it all was about. 

"Why, I just said I wondered what Aunt Elizabeth was telegraphing HarryGoward about, and now she drags me in here and makes a fuss, " he said, in an aggrieved tone. 

"He was over at Whitman playing around the telegraph-office--he haddriven over on the express-wagon--and when Aunt Elizabeth drove up hehid because he didn't want her to see him. Then he heard the operatorread the address aloud, " Peggy explained, evenly. 

"Is this so?" Ada asked. 

"Sure, " Billy answered, disgustedly, and made off as fast as he could. 

"Now, " said Peggy, "I want to know why Harry wrote to Aunt Elizabeth, and why she telegraphed him--over there where no one could see her!" Shestood up very straight. "I think I ought to know, " she said, gently. 

"Yes, dear, " Ada answered, "I think you ought. "

I shall be sorry for Elizabeth Talbert if she has been making mischief. 

IV. THE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW, by Mary Stewart Cutting

I have never identified myself with my husband's family, and CharlesEdward, who is the best sort ever, doesn't expect me to. Of course, Iwant to be decent to them, though I know they talk about me, but youcan't make oil and water mix, and I don't see the use of pretending thatyou can. I know they never can understand how Charles Edward marriedme, and they never can get used to my being such a different type fromtheirs. The Talberts are all blue-eyed, fair-haired, and rosy, and I'mdark, thin, and pale, and Grandmother Evarts always thinks I can't bewell, and wants me to take the medicine she takes. 

But, really, I see very little of the family, except Alice and Billy, who don't count. Billy comes in at any time he feels like it to get abook and something to eat, though the others don't know it, and Alicehas fits of stopping in every afternoon on her way from school, and thenperhaps doesn't come near me for weeks. Alice is terribly discontentedat home, and I think it's a very good thing that she is; anything isbetter than sinking to that dreadful dead level. She doesn't quite knowwhether to take up the artistic life or be a society queen, and shefeels that nobody understands her at home. It makes her nearly wild whenAunt Elizabeth comes back from one of her grand visits and acts as ifSHE wasn't anything. She came over right after the row, of course, andtold me all about it--she had on her new white China silk and her hatwith the feathers. She said she was so excited about everything thatshe couldn't stop to think about what she put on; she looked terriblydressed up, but she had come all through the village with her waistunfastened in the middle of the back--she said she couldn't reach thehooks. Aunt Elizabeth had gone away that morning for overnight, sonobody could get at her to find out about her actions with Mr. Goward, and the telegram she had sent to him, until the next day, and every onewas nearly crazy. They talked about it for two hours before Maria wenthome. Then Peggy had locked herself in her room, and her mother hadgone out, and her grandmother was sitting now on the piazza, rocking andsighing, with her eyes shut. Alice said each person had got dreadfullyworked up, not only about Aunt Elizabeth, but about all the ways everyother member of the family had hurt that person at some time. Maria saidthat Peggy never would take HER advice, and Peggy returned that Mariahad hurt her more than any one by her attitude toward Harry Goward, thatshe was so suspicious of him that it had made him act unnaturally fromthe first--that nothing had hurt her so much since the time Maria tookaway Peggy's doll on purpose when she was a little girl--the doll sheused to sleep with--and burned it; it was something she had NEVER gotover. 

Then her mother, who hadn't been talking very much, said that Peggydidn't realize the depth of Maria's affection for her, and what a goodsister she had been, and how she had taken care of Peggy the winter thatPeggy was ill--and then she couldn't help saying that, bad as was thisaffair about Harry Goward, it wasn't like the anxiety one felt about asick child; there were times when she felt that she could bear anythingif Charles Edward's health were only properly looked after. Of courseLorraine was young and inexperienced, but if she would only use herinfluence with him--

Alice broke off suddenly, and said she had to go--it was just as Dr. Denbigh's little auto was coming down the street. She dashed out of thedoor and bowed to him from the crossing, quite like a young lady, forall her short skirts--she really did look fetching! Dr. Denbigh smiledat her, but not the way he used to smile at Peggy. I really thought hecared for Peggy once, though he's so much older that nobody else seemedto dream of such a thing. 

Of course, after Alice went, I just sat there in the chair all humpedup, thinking of her last words. 

The family are always harping on "Lorraine's influence. " If they wantedtheir dear Charles Edward made different from the way he is, why onearth didn't they do it themselves, when they had the chance? That'swhat I want to know! I know they mean to be nice to me, but they takeit for granted that every habit Charles Edward has or hasn't, andeverything he does or doesn't, is because I didn't do something that Iought to have done, or condoned something that I ought not. They seem tothink that a man is made of soft, kindergarten clay, and all a wife hasto do is to sit down and mould him as she pleases. Well, some men may belike that, but Peter isn't. The family never really have forgiven me forcalling their darling "Charles Edward" Peter. I perfectly loathe thatlong-winded Walter-Scotty name, and I don't care how many grandfathersit's descended from. I'm sorry, of course, if it hurts their feelings, but as long as _I_ don't object to their calling him what THEY like, I don't see why they mind. And as for my managing Peter, they knowperfectly well that, though he's a darling, he's just mulishlyobstinate. He's had his own way ever since he was born; the whole familysimply adore him. His mother has always waited on him hand and foot, though she's sensible enough with the other children. If he lookssulky she is perfectly miserable. I am really very fond of mymother-in-law--that is, I am fond of her IN SPOTS. There are times whenshe understands how I feel about Peter better than any one else--likethat dreadful spring when he had pneumonia and I was nearly wild. Iknow she is dreadfully unselfish and kind, but she WILL think--they alldo--that they know what Peter needs better than I do, and whenever theysee me alone it's to hint that I ought to keep him from smoking too muchand being extravagant, and that I should make him wear his overcoatand go to bed early and take medicine when he has a cold. And througheverything else they hark back to that everlasting, "If you'd only exertyour influence, Lorraine dear, to make Charles Edward take more interestin the business--his father thinks so much of that. "

If I were to tell them that Charles Edward perfectly detests thebusiness, and will NEVER be interested in it and never make anything outof it, they'd all go straight off the handle; yet they all know it justas well as I do. That's the trouble--you simply can't tell them thetruth about anything; they don't want to hear it. I never talk at allany more when I go over to the big house, for I can't seem to withouthorrifying somebody. 

I thought I should die when I first came here; it was so differentfrom the way it is at home, where you can say or do anything you pleasewithout caring what anybody thinks. Dad has always believed in notrestricting individuality, and that girls have just as much right tolive their own lives as boys--which is a fortunate thing, for, countingMomsey, there are four of us. 

We never had any system about anything at home, thank goodness! We justhad atmosphere. Dad was an artist, you know, and he does paint suchlovely pictures; but he gave it up as a profession when we were little, and went into business, because, he said, he couldn't let his familystarve--and we all think it was so perfectly noble of him! I couldn'tgive up being an artist for anybody, no matter WHO starved, and Peterfeels that way, too. Of course we both realize that we're not LIVINGhere in this hole, we're simply existing, and nothing matters verymuch until we get out of it. In six months, when Charles Edward istwenty-five, there's a little money coming to him--three thousanddollars--and then we're going to Paris to live our own lives; but nobodyknows anything about that. One day I said something, without thinking, to my mother-in-law about that money; I've forgotten what it was, butshe looked so horrified and actually gasped:

"You wouldn't think of Charles Edward's using his PRINCIPAL, Lorraine?"

And I said: "Why not? It's his own principal. "

Well, I just made up my mind afterward that I'd never open my mouthagain, while I live here, about ANYTHING I was interested in, even aboutPeter!

His father might have let him go to Paris that year before we met, when he was in New York at the Art League, just as well as not, butthe family all consulted about it, Peter says, and concluded it wasn't"necessary. " That is the blight that is always put on everything we wantto do--it isn't necessary. Oh, how Alice hates that word! She says shesupposes it's never "necessary" to be happy. 

Well, Peter heard that when the Paris scheme came up--he'd written homethat he couldn't work without the art atmosphere--Grandmother Evartssaid:

"Why, I'm sure he has the Metropolitan Museum to go to; and there'sWanamaker's picture-gallery, too. Has he been to Wanamaker's?"

I thought I should throw a fit when Peter told me that!

I know, of course, that the family pity Peter for living in a housethat's all at sixes and sevens, and for not having everything the way hehas been used to having it; and I know they think I keep him from goingto see them all at home, when the truth is--although, as usual, I can'tsay it--sometimes I absolutely have to HOUND him to go there; though, ofcourse, he's awfully fond of them all, and his mother especially; buthe gets dreadfully lazy, and says they're his own people, anyway, andhe can do as he pleases about it. It's their own fault, because they'vealways spoiled him. And if they only knew how he hates just that way ofliving he's been always used to, with its little, petty cast-ironrules and regulations, and the stupid family meals, where everybody isexpected to be on time to the minute! My father-in-law pulls out hischair at the dinner-table exactly as the clock is striking one, and ifany member of the family is a fraction late all the rest are solemn andstrained and nervous until the culprit appears. Peter says the way heused to suffer--he was NEVER on time. 

The menu for each day of the week is as fixed as fate, no matter whatthe season of the year: hot roast beef, Sunday; cold roast beef, Monday;beef-steak, Tuesday; roast mutton, Wednesday; mutton pot-pie, Thursday;corned beef, Friday; and beef-steak again on Saturday. My father-in-lawnever eats fish or poultry, so they only have either if there isstate company. There's one sacred apple pudding that's been made everyWednesday for nineteen years, and if you can imagine anything morepositively dreadful than that, _I_ can't. 

Every time, as soon as we sit down to the table, Grandmother Evartsalways begins, officially:

"Well, Charles Edward, my dear boy, we don't have you here very oftennowadays. I said to your mother yesterday that it was two whole weekssince you had been to see her. What have you been doing with yourselflately?"

And when he says, as he always does, "Nothing, grandmother, " I knowshe's disappointed, and then she starts in and tells what she has beendoing, and Maria--Maria always manages to be there when we are--Mariatells what SHE has been doing, with little side digs at me because Ihaven't been pickling or preserving or cleaning. Once, when I firstwent there, Maria asked me at dinner what days I had for cleaning. AndI said, as innocently as possible, that I hadn't any; that I perfectlyloathed cleaning, and that we never cleaned at home! Of course it wasn'ttrue, but we never talk about it, anyway. Peter said he nearly shriekedwith joy to hear me come out like that. 

It was almost as bad as the time I wore that sweet little yellow Empiregown. It's a dear, and Lyman Wilde simply raved over it when hepainted me in it (not that he can really paint, but he has a TOUCH witheverything he does). I noticed that everybody seemed solemn and queer, but I never dreamed that I was the cause until my mother-in-law came tome afterward, blushing, and told me that Mr. Talbert never allowed anyof the family to wear Mother Hubbards around the house. MOTHER HUBBARDS!I could have moaned. Well, when I go around there now I never care whatI have on, and I never pretend to talk at meals; I just sit and try andmake my mind a blank until it's over. You HAVE to make your mind a blankif you don't want to be driven raving crazy by that dining-room. It hasa hideous black-walnut sideboard, an "oil-painting" of pale, bloatedfruit on one side, and pale, bloated fish on the other, and a strip ofblack-and-white marbled oil-cloth below. 

I feel sometimes as if I could hardly live until my father-in-law risesfrom his chair and kisses his wife good-bye before going off to thefactory. She always blushes so prettily when he kisses her--as if itwere for the first time. Then everybody looks pained when Peter and Ijust nod at each other as he goes out--I cannot be affectionate to himbefore them--and then, thank Heaven! the rest of us escape from thedining-room. 

How Peggy, who has been away from home and seen and done things, canstand it there now as it is, is a continual wonder to me. 

Peggy is a dear little thing. Peter has always been awfully fond of her, but she doesn't seem to have an idea in her head beyond her clothes andHarry Goward, though she'll HAVE to have something more to her if she'sgoing to keep HIM. The moment I saw that boy, of course I knew that hehad the artistic temperament; I've seen so much of it. He's the kindthat's always awfully gloomy until eleven o'clock in the morning, andhas to make love intensely to somebody every evening. What it must havebeen to that boy, after indulging in a romantic dream with poor littleearnest, downright Peggy, to wake up and find the engagement takenseriously not only by her, but by all her relatives--find himselfbeing welcomed into the family, introduced to them all as a futuremember--what it must have been to him I can't imagine! Peggy has nomore temperament than a cow--the combination of Maria and Tom, andGrandmother Evarts, and Billy with his face washed clean, and Alice withthree enormous bows on her hair, all waiting to welcome him, standing bythe pictorial lamp on the brown worsted mat on the centre-table, mademe fairly howl when I sat at home and thought of it--and that was beforeI'd SEEN Harry. 

The family were, of course, quite "hurt" that Peter and I wouldn'tassist at the celebration. I cannot see why people WILL want you to dothings when they KNOW you don't care to!

The next evening, however, we had to go, when Peggy herself came aroundand asked us. Of course Mr. Goward was with Peggy most of the time. They certainly looked charming together, but rather conscious and stiff. Every member of the family was watching his every motion. Oh, I've beenthere! I know what it is!

Some of the neighbors were there, too. Peter hardly ever plays on thebig, old-fashioned grand-piano, but that night he was so bored he hadto. The family always THINK they're very musical--you can know the stylewhen I tell you that after Peter has been rambling through bits fromSchumann and Richard Strauss they always ask him if he won't "playsomething. " Well, after Peggy had gone into the other room with hermother to do the polite to Mrs. Temple, Mr. Goward gravitated overto where I sat in the big bay-window behind the piano; he had that"be-good-to-me, -won't-you?" air that I know so well! Then we got totalking and listening in between whiles--he knows lots of girls in theArt League--till Peter began playing that heart-breaking "Im Herbst"from the Franz Songs, and then he said:

"You're going to be my sister, aren't you? Won't you let me hold yourhand while your husband's playing that? It makes me feel so lonely!"

I answered, promptly, "Certainly; hold both hands if you like!"

And we laughed, and Peter turned around for a moment and smiled, too. Oh, it WAS nice to meet somebody of one's own kind! You get so sick ofhaving everything taken seriously. 

That night, after we'd left the house, Harry caught up with us at thecorner on his way to the hotel, and went home with us, and we alltalked until three o'clock in the morning. We simply ate all over thehouse--goodness! how hungry we were! At Peter's home it's an unheard-ofthing to eat anything after half-past six--almost a crime, unless it's awedding or state reception. We began now with coffee in the dining-room, and jam and cheese, and ended by gradual stages at hot lobster in thechafing-dish in the studio--the darky was out all night, as usual. 

Then Harry and Peter concluded that it was too late to go to bed atall--it was really daylight--so they took bath-towels and went down tothe river and had a swim, and Harry slipped back to the house at sixo'clock. He said we'd repeat it all the next night, but of course wedidn't. He's the kind that, as soon as he's promised to do a thing, feels at once that he doesn't really want to do it. 

The next day Peter's Aunt Elizabeth came on the scene, and of course westayed away as much as we could. She loves Peter--they all do--but shehasn't any use for me, and shows it. She thinks I'm perfectly dumband stupid. I simply don't exist, and I've never tried to undeceiveher--it's too much trouble. She always wants to tell people how to dotheir hair and put on their clothes. 

Miss Elizabeth Talbert is a howling swell; she only just endures ithere. I've heard lots of things about her from Bell Pickering, who knowsthe Munroes--Lily Talbert, they call her there. She thinks she's fond ofArt, but she really doesn't know the first thing about it--she doesn'tlike anything that isn't expensive and elegant and a la mode. 

The only time she ever came to see me she actually PICKED her wayaround the house when I was showing it to her--there's no other wordto use--just because there was a glass of jelly on the sofa, andthe painting things were all over the studio with Peter's clothes. Iperfectly hated her that day, yet I do love to look at her, and I cansee how she might be terribly nice if you were any one she thought worthcaring for. There have been times when I've seen a look on her face, like the clear ethereal light beyond the sunset, that just PULLED at me. She is very fond of Peggy; I know she would never do anything to injurePeggy. 

Poor little Peggy! When I think of this affair about Harry Goward Idon't believe she ever felt sure of him; that is why she is so workedup over this matter now. I know there was something that I felt from thefirst through all her excitement, something that wasn't quite happy inher happiness. I feel atmospheres at once; I just can't help it. Andwhen I get feeling other people's atmospheres too much I lose my own, and then I can't paint. I began so well the other day with the pictureof that Armenian peddler, and now since Alice left I can't do a thingwith it; his bare yellow knees look just like ugly grape-fruit. I wishSally was in. She can't cook, but she can do a song-and-dance that'sworth its weight in gold when you're down in the mouth. 

--Just then I looked out of the window and saw my mother-in-law comingin. For a minute I was frightened. I'd never seen her look like thatbefore--so white and almost OLD; she seemed hardly able to walk, and Iran to the door and helped her in, and put her in a chair and herfeet on a footstool, and got her my dear little Venetian bottle ofsmelling-salts with the long silver chain; it's so beautiful it makesyou feel better just to look at it. I whisked Peter's shoes out into thehall, and when I sat down by her she put her hand out to me and said, "Dear child, " and I got all throaty, the way I do when any one speakslike that to me, for, oh, I HAVE been lonesome for Dad and Momsey and myown dear home! though no one ever seems to imagine it, and I said:

"Oh, can't I do something for you, Madonna?" I usually just call her"you, " but once in a great while, when there's nobody else around, Icall her Madonna, and I know she likes it, even if she does think it alittle Romish or sacrilegious or something queer. 

But she said she didn't want anything, only to rest a few minutes, andthat there was something she wanted me to tell Peter. She couldn't comein the evening to see him without every one wanting to know why shecame. There was some terrible trouble about Peggy's engagement. Sheflushed up and hesitated, and when I broke in to say, "You needn'tbother to explain, I know all about the whole thing, " she didn't seem atall surprised or ask how I knew--she only seemed relieved to findthat she could go right on. I never can be demonstrative to her beforepeople, but I just put my arms around her now when she said:

"It's a great comfort to be able to come to you, Lorraine, and speakout. At home your dear grandmother considers me so much--she only thinksof everything as it affects me, but it makes it so that I can't alwaysshow what I feel, for if I do she gets ill. All _I_ can think of isPeggy. If you knew what it was to me just now when my little Peggy wentaway from me and locked herself in her room--Peggy, who all her life hasalways come to me for comfort--"

She stopped for a minute, and I patted her. It was so unlike mymother-in-law to speak in this way; she's usually so self-contained thatit made me sort of awestruck. After a moment she went on in a differentvoice:

"They all want me to tell Cyrus--your father--that Aunt Elizabeth hasbeen trying to take Mr. Goward's affections away from Peggy. I'm afraidit's just what she has been doing, though it seems incredible that sheshould have any attraction for a young man. I was glad Elizabeth hadgone away overnight, for Maria is in such a state I don't know whatmight have happened. "

"And don't you want to tell--father?" I gulped, but I knew I must sayit. "Why not, Madonna?"

She shook her head, with that look that makes you feel sometimes thatshe isn't just the gentle and placid person that she appears to be. Iseemed to catch a glimpse of something very clear and strong. If I couldpaint her with an expression like that I'd make my fortune. 

"No, Lorraine. If it was about anybody but your aunt Elizabeth I would, but I can't speak against her. It's her home as well as mine; I'vealways realized that. I made up my mind, when I married, that I neverwould come between brother and sister, and I never have. Aunt Elizabethdoesn't know how many times I have smoothed matters over for her, howmany times Cyrus has been provoked because he thought she didn't showenough consideration for me. I have always loved Aunt Elizabeth, andI believed she loved us--but when I saw my Peggy to-day, Lorraine, Icouldn't go and tell your father about Aunt Elizabeth while I feel as Ido now! I couldn't be just. If I made him angry with her--"

She stopped, and I didn't need to have her go on. My father-in-law isone of those big, kind, sensible, good-natured men who, when they doget angry, go clear off the handle, and are so absolutely furious andunreasonable you can't do anything with them. He got that way at Peteronce--but it makes me so furious myself when I think of it that I neverdo. 

"And, Lorraine, " Madonna went on, quite simply, "bringing all this hometo Aunt Elizabeth and making her pay up for it really has nothing todo with Peggy's happiness. It is my child's happiness that Iwant, Lorraine. There may be a misunderstanding of somekind--misunderstandings are very cruel things sometimes, Lorraine. Icannot believe that boy doesn't care for her--why, he loved her dearly!It seems to me far the best and most dignified thing to just write toMr. Goward himself and find out the truth. "

"I think so, too!" said I. "Oh, Madonna, you're a Jim Dandy!"

"And so, " she went on, "I want you to ask Charles Edward to writeto-night. I'll leave the address with you. As Peggy's brother, it willbe more suitable for him to attend to the matter. "

Charles Edward! I simply gasped. The idea of Peter's writing to HarryGoward to ask him the state of his affections! If Peter's mothercouldn't realize how perfectly impossible it was for even ME to makePeter do a thing that--Well--I was knocked silly. 

Dear Madonna is the survival of a period when a woman always expectedsome man to face any crisis for her. All I could do was to say, resignedly:

"I'll give him the address. " And when she got up I went to the gatewith her. She was as dear as she could be; I just loved her until shehappened to say:

"When I came in I thought you might be lying down, for I looked up andsaw the shades were pulled down in your room, as they are now. "

"Oh, " I said, "I don't suppose anybody has been back in the room sincewe got up. " And I was downright scared, she looked at me so strangelyand began to tremble all over. "What IS the matter?" I cried. "Do comeinto the house again!" But she only grasped my arm and said, tragically:

"Lorraine, it isn't POSSIBLE that you haven't made your bed at fouro'clock in the afternoon!" And I answered:

"Oh, I always make it up before I sleep in it. " And then I knew that I'dsaid just the wrong thing. What difference it can make to ANYBODY whattime you make your OWN bed I can't see! She tried to make me promiseI'd always make it up before ten o'clock in the morning. Why, I wouldn'teven promise to always feel fond of Peter at ten o'clock in the morning!I NEVER have anything to do with the family without always feeling onedge afterward. Why, when she was so sweet and strong about Peggy andAunt Elizabeth and all the rest of it, WHY should she get upset aboutsuch a trifle?

I stood there by the gate just glowering as she went off. I knew shethought I was going to perdition. I was sick of "the engagement. " Whatbusiness was it of Peter's and mine, anyhow? It had nothing to do withus, really. Then I thought of the time Peter and I quarrelled, and howDEAR Lyman Wilde was about it, and how he brought Peter back to me--justto say the name of Lyman Wilde always makes me feel better. I adore him, and always shall, and Peter knows it. If I could only go back to theSettlement and hear him say, "Little girl, " in that coaxing voice ofhis! He is one of those men who are always working so hard for otherpeople that you forget he hasn't anything for himself. 

Thinking of him made me quite chipper again, and I went in and got hispicture and stuck it up in the mantel-piece and put flowers in frontof it. When Peter came in I told him about everything, and of course herefused to write to Harry Goward, as I knew he would. He said it was allrot, anyway, and that Harry was a nice boy, but not worth making sucha fuss over. He didn't know that he was particularly stuck on Peggy'smarrying Harry Goward, anyway--but there was no use in any one'sinterfering. Peggy was the person to write. Finally he said he'dtelephone to Harry the next day to come out and stay at our house overSunday, and then he and Peggy could have a chance to settle it. 

But Peter didn't telephone. He was late at the Works the nextday--though not nearly so late as he often is; but Mr. Talbert has aperfect fad about every one's getting there on time; it's one of thethings there's always been a tug about between him and Peter. I shouldthink he'd have realized long ago that Peter NEVER will be on time, andjust make up his mind to it, but he won't. Well, Peter came back againto the house a little after nine, perfectly white; he said he'd neverenter the factory again. . . . 

His father was in a towering rage when Peter went in; he spoke toPeter so that every one could hear him, and then--Oh, it was a dreadfultime!. . . 

Alice told me afterward that Maria had found her father in the gardenbefore breakfast. She insinuated, in HER way, all kinds of dreadfulthings about Harry Goward and Aunt Elizabeth, and there was a scene atthe breakfast-table--and Peggy was taken so ill that they had to sendfor Dr. Denbigh. I don't know what will happen when Aunt Elizabeth comeshome. 

V. THE SCHOOL-GIRL, by Elizabeth Jordan

Except for Billy, who is a boy and does not count, I am the youngestperson in our family; and when I tell you that there are eleven ofus--well, you can dimly imagine the kind of a time I have. Two or threedays ago I heard Grandma Evarts say something to the minister about "thedown-trodden and oppressed of foreign lands, " and after he had gone Iasked her what they were. For a wonder, she told me; usually when Billyand I ask questions you would think the whole family had been struckdumb. But this time she answered and I remember every word--for if everanything sounded like a description of Billy and me it was what GrandmaEvarts said that day. I told her so, too; but, of course, she onlylooked at me over her spectacles and didn't understand what I meant. Nobody ever does except Billy and Aunt Elizabeth, and they're not muchcomfort. Billy is always so busy getting into trouble and having me gethim out of it, and feeling sorry for himself, that he hasn't time tosympathize with me. Besides, as I've said before, he's only a boy, andyou know what boys are and how they lack the delicate feelings girlshave, and how their minds never work when you want them to. As for AuntElizabeth, she is lovely sometimes, and the way she remembers thingsthat happened when she was young is simply wonderful. She knows howgirls feel, too, and how they suffer when they are like Dr. Denbigh saysI am--very nervous and sensitive and high-strung. But she admitted tome to-day that she had never before really made up her mind whether I amthe "sweet, unsophisticated child" she calls me, or what Tom Price saysI am, The Eastridge Animated and Undaunted Daily Bugle and Clarion Call. He calls me that because I know so much about what is going on; and hesays if Mr. Temple could get me on his paper as a regular contributorthere wouldn't be a domestic hearth-stone left in Eastridge. He says thethings I drop will break every last one of them, anyhow, beginning withthe one at home. That's the way he talks, and though I don't always knowexactly what he means I can tell by his expression that it is not verycomplimentary. 

Aunt Elizabeth is different from the others, and she and I haveinspiring conversations sometimes--serious ones, you know, about lifeand responsibility and careers; and then, at other times, just whenI'm revealing my young heart to her the way girls do in books, she getsabsent-minded or laughs at me, or stares and says, "You extraordinaryinfant, " and changes the subject. At first it used to hurt medreadfully, but now I'm beginning to think she does it when she can'tanswer my questions. I've asked her lots and lots of things that havemade her sit up and gasp, I can tell you, and I have more all ready assoon as I get the chance. 

There is another thing I will mention while I think of it. GrandmaEvarts is always talking about "rules of life, " but the only rule oflife I'm perfectly sure I have is to always mention things when I thinkof them. Even that doesn't please the family, though, because sometimesI mention things they thought I didn't know, and then they are annoyedand cross instead of learning a lesson by it and realizing how silly itis to try to keep secrets from me. If they'd TELL me, and put me onmy honor, I could keep their old secrets as well as anybody. I've keptBilly's for years and years. But when they all stop talking the minuteI come into a room, and when mamma and Peggy go around with red eyes andwon't say why, you'd better believe I don't like it. It fills me withthe "intelligent discontent" Tom is always talking about. Then I don'trest until I know what there is to know, and usually when I get throughI know more than anybody else does, because I've got all the differentsides--Maria's and Tom's and Lorraine's and Charles Edward's and mamma'sand papa's and grandma's and Peggy's and Aunt Elizabeth's. It isn't thatthey intend to tell me things, either; they all try not to. Every one ofthem keeps her own secrets beautifully, but she drops things about theothers. Then all I have to do is to put them together like a patch-workquilt. 

You needn't think it's easy, though, for the very minute I get near anyof the family they waste most of the time we're together by trying toimprove me. You see, they are all so dreadfully old that they have hadtime to find out their faults and youthful errors, and every single oneof them thinks she sees ALL her faults in me, and that she must helpme to conquer them ere it is too late. Aunt Elizabeth says they mean itkindly, and perhaps they do. But if you have ever had ten men and womentrying to improve you, you will know what my life is. Tom Price, whomarried my sister Maria, told Dr. Denbigh once that "every time aTalbert is unoccupied he or she puts Alice or Billy, or both, on thefamily moulding-board and kneads awhile. " I heard him say it and it'strue. All _I_ can say is that if they keep on kneading and moulding memuch longer there won't be anything left but a kind of a pulpy mass. Ican see what they have done to Billy already; he's getting pulpier everyday, and I don't believe his brain would ever work if I didn't keepstirring it up. 

However, the thing I want to say while I think of it is this. It is aquestion, and I will ask it here because there is no use of asking it athome: Why is it that grown-up men and women never have anything reallyinteresting to say to a girl fifteen years old? Then, if you can answerthat, I wish you would answer another: Why don't they ever listen orunderstand what a girl means when she talks to them? Billy and I haveone rule now when we want to say something serious. We get right infront of them and fix them with a glittering eye, the way the AncientMariner did, you know, and speak as slowly as we can, in little bitsof words, to show them it's very important. Then, sometimes, they payattention and answer us, but usually they act as if we were babiesgurgling in cunning little cribs. And the rude way they interrupt usoften and go on talking about their own affairs--well, I will not saymore, for dear mamma has taught me not to criticise my elders, and Inever do. But I watch them pretty closely, just the same, and when I seethem doing something that is not right my brain works so hard it keepsme awake nights. If it's anything very dreadful, like Peggy's going andgetting engaged, I point out the error, the way they're always pointingerrors out to me. Of course it doesn't do any good, but that isn't myfault. It's because they haven't got what my teacher calls "receptiveminds. "

I'm telling you all this before I tell you what has happened, so youwill be sorry for Billy and me. If you are sorry already, as well indeedyou may be, you will be a great deal more sorry before I get through. For if ever any two persons were "downtrodden and oppressed" and"struggling in darkness" and "feeling the chill waters of affliction, "it's Billy and me to-night--all because we tried to help Peggy andLorraine and Aunt Elizabeth after they had got everything mixed up! Itold them I was just trying to help, and Tom Price said right off thatthere was only one thing for Billy and me to do in future whenever the"philanthropic spirit began to stir" in us, and that was to get on boardthe suburban trolley-car and go as far away from home as our nickelswould take us, and not hurry back. So you see he is not a bit gratefulfor the interesting things I told Maria. 

I will now tell what happened. It began the day Billy heard the stationagent at Whitman read Aunt Elizabeth's telegram to Harry Goward. Thetelegram had a lot of silly letters and words in it, so Billy didn'tknow what it meant, and, of course, he didn't care. The careless childwould have forgotten all about it if I hadn't happened to meet himat Lorraine's after he got back from Whitman. He is always going toLorraine's for some of Sallie's cookies--she makes perfectly deliciousones, round and fat and crumbly, with currants on the top. Billy hadtaken so many that his pockets bulged out on the sides, and his mouthwas so full he only nodded when he saw me. So, of course, I stopped totell him how vulgar that was, and piggish, and to see if he had left anyfor me, and he was so anxious to divert my mind that as soon as he couldspeak he began to talk about seeing Aunt Elizabeth over in Whitman. Thatinterested me, so I got the whole thing out of him, and the very minutehe had finished telling it I made him go straight and tell Peggy. I toldhim to do it delicately, and not yell it out. I thought it would cheerand comfort Peggy to know that some one was doing something, insteadof standing around and looking solemn, but, alas! it did not, and Billytold me with his own lips that it was simply awful to see Peggy's face. Even he noticed it, so it must have been pretty bad. He said her eyesgot so big it made him think of the times she used to imitate the wolfin Red Riding-Hood and scare us 'most to death when we were young. 

When Billy told me that, I saw that perhaps we shouldn't have toldPeggy, so the next day I went over to Lorraine's again to ask her whatshe thought about it. I stopped at noon on my way home from school, andI didn't ring the bell, because I never do. I walked right in as usual, falling over the books and teacups and magazines on the floor, and Ifound Lorraine sitting at the tea-table with her head down among thelittle cakes and bits of toast left over from the afternoon before. Shedidn't look up, so I knew she hadn't heard me, and I saw her shouldersshake, and then I knew that she was crying. I had never seen Lorrainecry before, and I felt dreadfully, but I didn't know just what to do orwhat to say, and while I stood staring at her I noticed that there wasa photograph on the table with a lot of faded flowers. The face of thephotograph was up and I saw that it was a picture of Mr. Wilde--theone that usually stands on the mantel-piece. Lorraine is always talkingabout him, and she has told me ever and ever so much about how niceand kind he was to her when she was studying art in New York. But, ofcourse, I didn't know she cared enough for him to cry over his picture, and it gave me the queerest feelings to see her do it--kind of wabblyones in my legs, and strange, sinking ones in my stomach. You see, I hadjust finished reading Lady Hermione's Terrible Secret. A girl at schoollent it to me. So when I saw Lorraine crying over a photograph and fadedflowers I knew it must mean that she had learned to love Mr. Wilde witha love that was her doom, or would be if she didn't hurry and get overit. Finally I crept out of the house without saying a word to her orletting her know I was there, and I leaned on the gate to think it overand try to imagine what a girl in a book would do. In Lady Hermione hersister discovered the truth and tried to save the rash woman from thesad consequences of her love, so I knew that was what I must do, but Ididn't know how to begin. While I was standing there with my brain goinground like one of Billy's paper pinwheels some one stopped in frontof me and said, "Hello, Alice, " in a sick kind of a way, like a boybeginning to recite a piece at school. I looked up. It was Harry Goward!

You'd better believe I was surprised, for, of course, when he went awaynobody expected he would come back so soon; and after all the fuss andthe red eyes and the mystery _I_ hoped he wouldn't come back at all. Buthere he was in three days, so I said, very coldly, "How do you do, Mr. Goward, " and bowed in a distant way; and he took his hat off quickly andheld it in his hand, and I waited for him to say something else. Allhe did for a minute was to look over my head. Then he said, in the samequeer voice: "Is Mrs. Peter in? I wanted to have a little talk withher, " and he put his hand on the gate to open it. I suppose it wasdreadfully rude, but I stayed just where I was and said, very slowly, in icy tones, that he must kindly excuse my sister-in-law, as I was sureshe wouldn't be able to receive him. Of course I knew she wouldn't wanthim or any one else to come in and see her cry, and besides I neverliked Harry Goward and I never expect to. He looked very much surprisedat first, and then his face got as red as a baby's does when there's apin in it somewhere, and he asked if she was ill. I said, "No, she isnot ill, " and then I sighed and looked off down the street as if I wouldI were alone. He began to speak very quickly, but stopped and bit hislip. Then he turned away and hesitated, and finally he came back andtook a thick letter from his pocket and held it out to me. He wassmiling now, and for a minute he really looked nice and sweet andfriendly. 

"Say, Alice, " he said, in the most coaxing way, "don't YOU get down onme, too. Do me a good turn--that's a dear. Take this letter home anddeliver it. Will you? And say I'm at the hotel waiting for an answer. "

Now, you can see yourself that this was thrilling. The whole familywas watching every mail for a letter from Harry Goward and here he wasoffering me one! I didn't show how excited I was; I just took the letterand turned it over so I couldn't see the address and slipped it into mypocket, and said, coldly, that I would deliver it with pleasure. HarryGoward was looking quite cheerful again, but he said, in a worried tone, that he hoped I wouldn't forget, because it was very, very important. Then I dismissed him with a haughty bow, the way they do on the stage, and this time he put his hat on and really went. 

Of course after that I wanted to go straight home with the letter, butI knew it wouldn't do to leave Lorraine bearing her terrible burdenwithout some one to comfort her. While I was trying to decide what todo I saw Billy a block away with Sidney Tracy, and I whistled to himto come, and beckoned with both hands at the same time to show it wasimportant. I had a beautiful idea. In that very instant I "planned mycourse of action, " as they say in books. I made up my mind that I wouldsend the letter home by Billy, and that would give me time to run overto Maria's and get something to eat and ask Maria to go and comfortLorraine. Maria and Lorraine don't like each other very much, but I knewtrouble might bring them closer, for Grandma Evarts says it always does. Besides, Maria is dreadfully old and knows everything and is the one thefamily always sends for when things happen. If they don't send she comesanyhow and tells everybody what to do. So I pinned the letter in Billy'spocket, so he couldn't lose it, and I ordered him to go straight homewith it. He said he would. He looked queer and I thought I saw him dropsomething near a fence before he came to me, but I was so excited Ididn't pay close attention. As soon as Billy started off I went toMaria's. 

She was all alone, for Tom was lunching with some one at the hotel. Whenwe were at the table I told her about Lorraine, and if ever any one wasexcited and really listened this time it was sister Maria. She pushedback her chair, and spoke right out before she thought, I guess. "Charles Edward's wife crying over another man's picture!" she said. "Well, I like that! But I'm not surprised. I always said no good wouldcome of THAT match!"

Then she stopped and made herself quiet down, but I could see how hardit was, and she added: "So THAT was the matter with Charles Edward whenI met him this morning rushing along the street like a cyclone. "

I got dreadfully worried then and begged her to go to Lorraine at once, for I saw things were even more terrible than I had thought. But Mariasaid: "Certainly not! I must consult with father and mother first. Thisis something that affects us all. After I have seen them I will go toLorraine's. " Then she told me not to worry about it, and not to speakof it to any one else. I didn't, either, except to Billy and AuntElizabeth; and when I told Aunt Elizabeth the man's name I thought shewould go up into the air like one of Billy's skyrockets. But that partdoes not belong here, and I'm afraid if I stop to talk about it I'llforget about Billy and the letter. 

After luncheon Maria put her hat on and went straight to our house tosee mother, and I went back to school. When I got home I asked, thefirst thing, if Billy had delivered the letter from Harry Goward, andfor the next fifteen minutes you would have thought every one in ourhouse had gone crazy. That wretched boy had not delivered it at all!They had not even seen him, and they didn't know anything about theletter. After they had let me get enough breath to tell just how I hadmet Harry and exactly what he had said and done, mother rushed off totelephone to father, and Aunt Elizabeth came down-stairs with a wild, eager face, and Grandma Evarts actually shook me when she found I didn'teven know whom the letter was for. I hadn't looked, because I had beenso excited. Finally, after everybody had talked at once for a while. Grandma Evans told me mamma had said Billy could go fishing thatafternoon, because the weather was so hot and she thought he looked paleand overworked. The idea of Billy Talbert being overworked! I could havetold mamma something about THAT. 

Well, I saw through the whole thing then. Billy hadn't told me, for fearI would want to go along; so he had sneaked off with Sidney Tracy, andif he hadn't forgotten all about the letter he had made up his mind itwould do as well to deliver it when he came home. That's the way Billy'smind works--like Tom Price's stop-watch. It goes up to a certain instantand then it stops short. You'd better believe I was angry. And it didn'tmake it any easier for me to remember that while I was having thisdreadful time at home, and being reproached by everybody. Billy andSidney Tracy were sitting comfortably under the willows on the edge ofthe river pulling little minnows out of the water. I knew exactly wherethey would be--I'd been there with Billy often enough. Just as I thoughtof that I looked at poor Peggy, sitting in her wrapper in papa's bigeasy-chair, leaning against a pillow Grandma Evarts had put behind herback, and trying to be calm. She looked so pale and worn and worried andsick that I made up my mind I'd follow those boys to the river and getthat letter and bring it home to Peggy--for, of course, I was sure itwas for her. I wish you could have seen her face when I said I'd do it, and the way she jumped up from the chair and then blushed and sank backand tried to look as if it didn't matter--with her eyes shining all thetime with excitement and hope. 

I got on my bicycle and rode off, and I made good time until I crossedthe bridge. Then I had to walk along the river, pushing the bicycle, andI came to those two boys so quietly that they never saw me until Iwas right behind them. They were fishing still, but they had both beenswimming--I could tell that by their wet hair and by the damp, mussylook of their clothes. When Billy saw me he turned red and began to makea great fuss over his line. He didn't say a word; he never does whenhe's surprised or ashamed, so he doesn't speak very often, anyhow; but Ibroke the painful silence by saying a few words myself. I told Billy howdreadful he had made everybody feel and how they were all blamingme, and I said I'd thank him for that letter to take home to his poorsuffering sister. Billy put down his rod, and all the time I talked hewas going through his pockets one after the other and getting redderand redder. I was so busy talking that I didn't understand at first justwhat this meant, but when I stopped and held out my hand and looked athim hard I saw in his guilty face the terrible, terrible fear that hehad lost that letter; and I was so frightened that my legs gave wayunder me, and I sat down on the grass in my fresh blue linen dress, justwhere they had dripped and made it wet. 

All this time Sidney Tracy was going through HIS pockets, too, and justas I was getting up again in a hurry he took off his cap and emptiedhis pockets into it. I wish you could have seen what that cap heldthen--worms, and sticky chewing-gum, and tops, and strings, and hooks, and marbles, and two pieces of molasses candy all soft and messy, anda little bit of a turtle, and a green toad, and a slice ofbread-and-butter, and a dirty, soaking, handkerchief that he and Billyhad used for a towel. There was something else there, too--a dark, wet, pulpy, soggy-looking thing with pieces of gum and molasses candy andother things sticking to it. Sidney took it out and held it toward me ina proud, light-hearted way:

"There's your letter, all right, " he said, and Billy gave a whoop of joyand called out, "Good-bye, Alice, " as a hint for me to hurry home. Iwas so anxious to get the letter that I almost took it, but I stopped intime. I hadn't any gloves on, and it was just too dreadful. If you couldhave seen it you would never have touched it in the world. I got nearenough to look at it, though, and then I saw that the address was sodirty and so covered with gum and bait and candy that all I could readwas a capital "M" and a small "s" at the beginning and an "ert" at theend; the name between was hidden. I covered my eyes with my hand andgasped out to the boys that I wanted the things taken off it that didn'tbelong there, and when I looked again Sidney had scraped off the worstof it and was scrubbing the envelope with his wet handkerchief to makeit look cleaner. After that you couldn't tell what ANY letter was, so Ijust groaned and snatched it from his hands and left those two boys intheir disgusting dirt and degradation and went home. 

When I got back mamma and Grandma Evarts and Tom Price and Peggy andAunt Elizabeth were in the parlor, looking more excited than ever, because Maria had been there telling the family about Lorraine. Then shehad gone on to Lorraine's and Tom had dropped in to call for her and waswaiting to hear about the letter. They were all watching the door whenI came in, and Peggy and Aunt Elizabeth started to get up, but sat downagain. I stood there hesitating because, of course, I didn't know who togive it to, and Grandma Evarts shot out, "Well, Alice! Well, Well!"as if she was blowing the words at me from a little peashooter. Then Ibegan to explain about the address, but before I could say more than twoor three words mamma motioned to me and I gave the letter to her. 

You could have heard an autumn leaf fall in that room. Mamma put on herglasses and puzzled over the smear on the envelope, and Peggy drew along breath and jumped up and walked over to mamma and held out herhand. Mamma didn't hesitate a minute. "Certainly it must be for you, mydear, " she said, and then she added, in a very cold, positive way, "Forwhom else could it possibly be intended?" No one spoke; but just asPeggy had put her finger under the flap to tear it open, Aunt Elizabethgot up and crossed the room to where mamma and Peggy stood. She spokevery softly and quietly, but she looked queer and excited. 

"Wait one moment, my dear, " she said to Peggy. "Very probably the letterIS for you, but it is just possible that it may be for some one else. Wouldn't it be safer--wiser--for ME to open it?"

Then Peggy cried out, "Oh, Aunt Elizabeth, how dreadful! How can yousay such a thing!" Mother had hesitated an instant when Aunt Elizabethspoke, but now she drew Peggy's head down to her dear, comfy shoulder, and Peggy stayed right there and cried as hard as she could--with littlegasps and moans as if she felt dreadfully nervous. Then, for once inmy life, I saw my mother angry. She looked over Peggy's head at AuntElizabeth, and her face was so dreadful it made me shiver. 

"Elizabeth, " she said, and she brought her teeth right down hard on theword, "this is the climax of your idiocy. Have you the audacity to claimhere, before me, that this letter from my child's affianced husband isaddressed to you?"

Aunt Elizabeth looked very pale now, but when she answered she spoke asquietly as before. 

"If it is, Ada, " she said, "it is against my wish and my command. But--it may be. " Then her voice changed as if she were really beggingfor something. 

"Let me open it, " she said. "If it is for Peggy I can tell by the firstline or two, even if he does not use the name. Surely it will do no harmif I glance at it. "

Mother looked even angrier than before. 

"Well, " she said, "it could do no harm, you think, if you read a letterintended for Peggy, but you don't dare to risk letting Peggy read aletter addressed by Harry Goward to you. This is intolerable, Elizabeth Talbert. You have passed the limit of my endurance--and of myhusband's. "

She brought out the last words very slowly, looking Aunt Elizabethstraight in the eyes, and Aunt Elizabeth looked back with her head veryhigh. She has a lovely way of using such expressions as "For the rest"and "As to that, " and she did it now. 

"As to that, " she said, "my brother must speak for himself. No oneregrets more bitterly than I do this whole most unpleasant affair. I canonly say that with all my heart I am trying to straighten it out. "

Grandma Evarts sniffed just then so loudly that we all looked at her, and then, of course, mamma suddenly remembered that I was still there, regarding the scene with wide, intelligent young eyes, and she noddedtoward the door, meaning for me to go out. My, but I hated to! I pickedup grandma's ball of wool and drew the footstool close to her feet, andlooked around to see if I couldn't show her some other delicate girlishattention such as old ladies love, but there wasn't anything, especiallyas grandma kept motioning for me to leave. So I walked toward the doorvery slowly, and before I got there I heard Tom Price say:

"Oh, come now; we're making a lot of fuss about nothing. There's a verysimple way out of all this. Alice says Goward's still at the hotel. I'll just run down there and explain, and ask him to whom that letterbelongs. "

Then I was at the door, and I HAD to open it and go out. The voices wenton inside for a few minutes, but soon I saw Tom come out and I went tohim and slipped my arm inside of his and walked with him across the lawnand out to the sidewalk. I don't very often like the things Tom says, but I thought it was clever of him to think of going to ask Harry Gowardabout the letter, and I told him so to encourage him. He thanked me verypolitely, and then he stopped and braced his back against the lamp-poston the corner and "fixed me with a stern gaze, " as writers say. 

"Look here, Clarry, " he said ("Clarry" is short, he says, for DailyBugle and Clarion Call, which is "too lengthy for frequent use"), "you're doing a lot of mischief to-day with your rural deliverysystem for Goward and your news extras about Lorraine. What's thiscock-and-bull story you've got up about her, anyway?"

I told him just what I had seen. When I got through he said there was"nothing in it. "

"That bit about her head being among the toast and cake, " he went on, "would be convincing circumstantial evidence of a tragedy if it had beenany other woman's head, but it doesn't count with Lorraine--I meanit doesn't represent the complete abandonment to grief which would beimplied if it happened in the case of any one else. You must rememberthat when Lorraine wants to have a comfortable cry she's got to choosebetween putting her head in the jam on the sofa, or among the wet paintand brushes in the easy-chair, or among the crumbs on the tea-table. As for that photograph, it probably fell off the mantel-piece to thetea-table, instead of falling, as usual, into the coal-hod. To sum up, my dear Clarry, if you had remembered the extreme emotionalism ofyour sister Lorraine's temperament and the--er--eccentricity of herhousekeeping, you would not have permitted yourself to be so sadlymisled. Not remembering it, you've done a lot of mischief. All thesethings being so, no one will believe them. And to-night, when you aresafely tucked into your little bed, if you hear the tramping of manyfeet on the asphalt walks you may know what it will mean. It will meanthat your mother and father, and Elizabeth, and Grandma Evarts andMaria and Peggy will be dropping in on Lorraine, each alone and quitecasually, of course, to find out what there really is in this terriblerumor. And some of them will believe to their dying day that there wassomething in it. "

Well, that made me feel very unhappy. For I could see that under Tom'sgay exterior and funny way of saying things he really meant everyword. Of course I told him that I had wanted to help Lorraine and Peggybecause they were so wretched, and he made me promise on the spot thatif ever I wanted to help him I'd tell him about it first. Then he wentoff to the hotel looking more cheerful, and I was left alone with my sadthoughts. 

When I got into the house the first thing I saw was Billy sneaking outof the back door. I had meant to have a long and earnest talk with Billythe minute he got home, and point out some of his serious faults, butwhen I looked at him I saw that mamma or grandma had just done it. Helooked red eyed and miserable, and the minute he saw me he beganto whistle. Billy never whistles except just before or just aftera whipping, so my heart sank, and I was dreadfully sorry for him. Istarted after him to tell him so, but he made a face at me and ran; andjust then Aunt Elizabeth came along the hall and dragged me up to herroom and began to ask me all over again about Mr. Goward and all thathe said--whether I was perfectly SURE he didn't mention any name. Shelooked worried and unhappy. Then she asked about Lorraine, but in anindifferent voice, as if she was really thinking about something else. I told her all I knew, but she didn't say a word or pay much attentionuntil I mentioned that the man in the photograph was Mr. Lyman Wilde. Then--well, I wish you had seen Aunt Elizabeth! She made me promiseafterwards that I'd never tell a single soul what happened, and I won't. But I do wish sometimes that Billy and I lived on a desert island, wherethere wasn't anybody else. I just can't bear being home when everybodyis so unhappy, and when not a single thing I do helps the least littlebit!

VI. THE SON-IN-LAW, by John Kendrick Bangs

On the whole I am glad our family is no larger than it is. It is avery excellent family as families go, but the infinite capacity of eachindividual in it for making trouble, and adding to complications alreadysufficiently complex, surpasses anything that has ever before comeinto my personal or professional experience. If I handle my end of thismiserable affair without making a break of some kind or other, I shallapply to the Secretary of State for a high place in the diplomaticservice, for mere international complications are child's-play comparedto this embroglio in which Goward and Aunt Elizabeth have landed us all. I think I shall take up politics and try to get myself elected to thelegislature, anyhow, and see if I can't get a bill through providingthat when a man marries it is distinctly understood that he marries hiswife and not the whole of his wife's family, from her grandmother downthrough her maiden aunts, sisters, cousins, little brothers, et al. , including the latest arrivals in kittens. In my judgment it ought to bemade a penal offence for any member of a man's wife's family to live onthe same continent with him, and if I had to get married all over againto Maria--and I'd do it with as much delighted happiness as ever--Ishould insist upon the interpolation of a line in the marriage ceremony, "Do you promise to love, honor, and obey your wife's relatives, " andwhen I came to it I'd turn and face the congregation and answer "No, "through a megaphone, so loud that there could be no possibility of amisunderstanding as to precisely where I stood. 

If anybody thinks I speak with an unusual degree of feeling, I beg toinform him or her, as the case may be, that in the matter of wife'srelations I have an unusually full set, and, as my small brother-in-lawsays when he orates about his postage-stamp collection, they're alluncancelled. Into all lives a certain amount of mother-in-law mustfall, but I not only have that, but a grandmother-in-law as well, andmaiden-aunt-in-law, and the Lord knows what else-in-law besides. I mustsay that as far as my mother-in-law is concerned I've had more luckthan most men, because Mrs. Talbert comes pretty close to the idealin mother-in-legal matters. She is gentle and unoffending. She prefersminding her own business to assuming a trust control of other people'saffairs, but HER mother--well, I don't wish any ill to Mrs. Evarts, butif anybody is ambitious to adopt an orphan lady, with advice on tap atall hours in all matters from winter flannels to the conversion of theHottentots, I will cheerfully lead him to the goal of his desires, andwith alacrity surrender to him all my right, title, and interest inher. At the same time I will give him a quit-claim deed to mymaiden-aunt-in-law--not that Aunt Elizabeth isn't good fun, for she is, and I enjoy talking to her, and wondering what she will do next fills mydays with a living interest, but I'd like her better if she belonged insome other fellow's family. 

I don't suppose I can blame Maria under all the circumstances forstanding up for the various members of her family when they areattacked, which she does with much vigorous and at times aggressiveloyalty. We cannot always help ourselves in the matter of our relations. Some are born relatives, some achieve relatives, and others haverelatives thrust upon them. Maria was born to hers, and according toall the rules of the game she's got to like them, nay, even cherish andprotect them against the slings and arrows of outrageous criticism. But, on the other hand, I think she ought to remember that while I achievedsome of them with my eyes open, the rest were thrust upon me when Iwas defenceless, and when I find some difficulty in adapting myself tocircumstances, as is frequently the case, she should be more lenient tomy incapacity. The fact that I am a lawyer makes it necessary for me totoe the mark of respect for the authority of the courts all day, whetherI am filled with contempt for the court or not, and it is pretty hard tofind, when I return home at night, that another set of the judiciary inthe form of Maria's family, a sort of domestic supreme court, controlsall my private life, so that except when I am rambling through thefields alone, or am taking my bath in the morning, I cannot give myfeelings full and free expression without disturbing the family entente;and there isn't much satisfaction in skinning people to a lonesome cow, or whispering your indignant sentiments into the ear of a sponge alreadysoaked to the full with cold water. I have tried all my married life toagree with every member of the family in everything he, she, or it hassaid, but, now that this Goward business has come up, I can't do that, because every time anybody says "Booh" to anybody else in the familycircle, regarding this duplex love-affair, a family council isimmediately called and "Booh" is discussed, not only from every possiblestand-point, but from several impossible ones as well. 

When that letter of Goward's was rescued from the chewing-gumcontingent, with its address left behind upon the pulpy surface ofSidney Tracy's daily portion of peptonized-paste, it was thought bestthat I should call upon the writer at his hotel and find out to whom theletter was really written. 

My own first thought was to seek out Sidney Tracy and see if thesuperscription still remained on the chewing-gum, and I had thegood-fortune to meet the boy on my way to the hotel, but on questioninghim I learned that in the excitement of catching a catfish, shortlyafter Alice had left the lads, Sidney had incontinently swallowedthe rubber-like substance, and nothing short of an operation forappendicitis was likely to put me in possession of the missing exhibit. So I went on to the hotel, and ten minutes later found myself in thepresence of an interesting case of nervous prostration. Poor Goward!When I observed the wrought-up condition of his nerves, I wasimmediately so filled with pity for him that if it hadn't been for MariaI think I should at once have assumed charge of his case, and, as hispersonal counsel, sued the family for damages on his behalf. He did notstrike me as being either old enough, or sufficiently gifted in the artsof philandery, to be taken seriously as a professional heart-breaker, and to tell the truth I had to restrain myself several times fromtelling him that I thought the whole affair a tempest in a teapot, because, in wanting consciously to marry two members of the family, hehad only attempted to do what I had done unconsciously when I and thewhole tribe of Talberts, remotely and immediately connected, became one. Nevertheless, I addressed him coldly. 

"Mr. Goward, " I said, when the first greetings were over, "this is amost unfortunate affair. "

"It is terrible, " he groaned, pacing the thin-carpeted floor like a poorcaged beast in the narrow confines of the Zoo. "You don't need to tellme how unfortunate it all is. "

"As a matter of fact, " I went on, "I don't exactly recall a similar casein my experience. You will doubtless admit yourself that it is a bitunusual for a man even of your age to flirt with the maiden aunt ofhis fiancee, and possibly you realize that we would all be very muchrelieved if you could give us some reasonable explanation of yourconduct. "

"I'll be only too glad to explain, " said Goward, "if you will onlylisten. "

"In my own judgment the best solution of the tangle would be for youto elope with a third party at your earliest convenience, " I continued, "but inasmuch as you have come here it is evident that you mean topursue some course of action in respect to one of the two ladies--mysister or my aunt. Now what IS that course? and which of the two ladiesmay we regard as the real object of your vagrom affections? I tell youfrankly, before you begin, that I shall permit no trifling with Peggy. As to Aunt Elizabeth, she is quite able to take care of herself. "

"It's--it's Peggy, of course, " said Goward. "I admire Miss ElizabethTalbert very much indeed, but I never really thought of--being seriouslyengaged to her. "

"Ah!" said I, icily. "And did you think of being frivolously engaged toher?"

"I not only thought of it, " said Goward, "but I was. It was at theAbercrombies', Mr. Price. Lily--that is to say, Aunt Elizabeth--"

"Excuse me, Mr. Goward, " I interrupted. "As yet the lady is not yourAunt Elizabeth, and the way things look now I have my doubts if she everis your Aunt Elizabeth. "

"Miss Talbert, then, " said Goward, with a heart-rending sigh. "MissTalbert and I were guests at the Abercrombies' last October--maybe she'stold you--and on Hallowe'en we had a party--apple-bobbing and the mirrortrick and all that, and somehow or other Miss Talbert and I were throwntogether a great deal, and before I really knew how, or why, we--well, we became engaged for--for the week, anyhow. "

"I see, " said I, dryly. "You played the farce for a limited engagement. "

"We joked about it a great deal, and I--well, I got into the spirit ofit--one must at house-parties, you know, " said Goward, deprecatingly. 

"I suppose so, " said I. 

"I got into the spirit of it, and Miss Talbert christened me YoungLochinvar, Junior, " Goward went on, "and I did my best to live up tothe title. Then at the end of the week I was suddenly called home, andI didn't have any chance to see Miss Talbert alone before leaving, and--well, the engagement wasn't broken off. That's all. I never sawher again until I came here to meet the family. I didn't know she wasPeggy's aunt. "

"So that in reality you WERE engaged to both Peggy and Miss Talbert atthe same time, " I suggested. "That much seems to be admitted. "

"I suppose so, " groaned Goward. "But not seriously engaged, Mr. Price. Ididn't suppose she would think it was serious--just a lark--but when sheappeared that night and fixed me with her eye I suddenly realized whathad happened. "

"It was another case of 'the woman tempted me and I did eat, ' was it, Goward?" I asked. 

Goward's pale face Hushed, and he turned angrily. 

"I haven't said anything of the sort, " he retorted. "Of all the unmanly, sneaking excuses that ever were offered for wrong-doing, that first ofAdam's has never been beaten. "

"You evidently don't think that Adam was a gentleman, " I put in, with afeeling of relief at the boy's attitude toward my suggestion. 

"Not according to my standards, " he said, with warmth. 

"Well, " I ventured, "he hadn't had many opportunities, Adam hadn't. Hisoutlook was rather provincial, and his associations not broadening. You wouldn't have been much better yourself brought up in a zoo. Nevertheless, I don't think myself that he toed the mark as straight ashe might have. "

"He was a coward, " said Goward, with a positiveness born of conviction. And with that remark Goward took his place in my affections. Whateverthe degree of his seeming offence, he was at least a gentleman himself, and his unwillingness to place any part of the blame for his conductupon Aunt Elizabeth showed me that he was not a cad, and I began tofeel pretty confident that some reasonable way out of our troubles waslooming into sight. 

"How old are you, Goward?" I asked. 

"Twenty-one, " he answered, "counting the years. If you count the lastweek by the awful hours it has contained I am older than Methuselah. "

At last I thought I had it, and a feeling of wrath against AuntElizabeth began to surge up within me. It was another case of thatintolerable "only a boy" habit that so many women of uncertain age andcharacter, married and single, seem nowadays to find so much pleasurein. We find it too often in our complex modern society, and I am notsure that it is not responsible for more deviations from the path ofrectitude than even the offenders themselves imagine. Callow youth justfrom college is susceptible to many kinds of flattery, and at the ageof adolescence the appeal which lovely woman makes to inexperience isirresistible. 

I know whereof I speak, for I have been there myself. I always tellMaria everything that I conveniently can--it is not well for a man tohave secrets from his wife--and when I occasionally refer to my pastflames I find myself often growing more than pridefully loquacious overmy early affairs of the heart, but when I thought of the seriousstudy that I once made in my twentieth year of the dozen easiest, mostpainless methods of committing suicide because Miss Mehitabel Flanders, aetat thirty-eight, whom I had chosen for my life's companion, hadannounced her intention of marrying old Colonel Barrington--one of thewisest matches ever as I see it now--I drew the line at letting Mariainto that particular secret of my career. Miss Mehitabel was indeed abeautiful woman, and she took a very deep and possibly maternal interestin callow youth. She invited confidence and managed in many ways to makea strong appeal to youthful affections, but I don't think she was alwayscareful to draw the line nicely between maternal love and that otherwhich is neither maternal, fraternal, paternal, nor even filial. To myeye she was no older than I, and to my way of thinking nothing couldhave been more eminently fitting than that we should walk the PrimroseWay hand in hand forever. 

While I will not say that the fair Mehitabel trifled with my youngaffections, I will say that she let me believe--nay, induced me tobelieve by her manner--that even as I regarded her she regarded me, andwhen at the end she disclaimed any intention to smash my heart into themyriad atoms into which it flew--which have since most happily reunitedupon Maria--and asserted that she had let me play in the rose-gardenof my exuberant fancy because I was "only a boy, " my bump upon the hardworld of fact was an atrociously hard one. Some women pour passer letemps find pleasure in playing thus with young hopes and hearts ascarelessly as though they were mere tennis-balls, to be whacked aboutand rallied, and volleyed hither and yon, without regard to theirconstituent ingredients, and then when trouble comes, and a catastropheis imminent, the refuge of "only a boy" is sought as though it reallyafforded a sufficient protection against "responsibility. " The most ofus would regard the hopeless infatuation of a young girl committed toour care, either as parents or as guardians, for a middle-aged man ofthe world with such horror that drastic steps would be taken to stop it, but we are not so careful of the love-affairs of our sons, and view withcomplaisance their devotion to some blessed damozel of uncertain age, comforting ourselves with the reflection that he is "only a boy"and will outgrow it all in good time. (There's another mem. Formy legislative career--a Bill for the Protection of Boys, and theSuppression of Old Maids Who Don't Mean Anything By It. )

I don't mean, in saying all this, to reflect in any way upon the manyhelpful friendships that exist between youngsters developing intomanhood and their elders among women who are not related to them. Therehave been thousands of such friendships, no doubt, that have workedfor the upbuilding of character; for the inspiring in the unfoldingconsciousness of what life means in the young boy's being of a deeper, more lasting, respect for womanhood than would have been attained tounder any other circumstances, but that has been the result only whenthe woman has taken care to maintain her own dignity always, andto regard her course as one wherein she has accepted a degree ofresponsibility second only to a mother's, and not a by-path leadingmerely to pleasure and for the idling away of an unoccupied hour. Potential manhood is a difficult force to handle, and none should embarkupon the parlous enterprise of arousing it without due regard for theconsequences. We may not let loose a young lion from its leash, and, when dire consequences follow, excuse ourselves on the score that wethought the devastating feature was "only a cub. "

These things flashed across my mind as I sat in Goward's room watchingthe poor youth in his nerve-distracting struggles, and, when I thoughtof the tangible evidence in hand against Aunt Elizabeth, I must confessif I had been juryman sitting in judgment of the case I should haveconvicted her of kidnapping without leaving the box. To begin with, there was the case of Ned Temple. I haven't quite been able to get awayfrom the notion that however short-sighted and gauche poor Mrs. Temple'sperformance was in going over to the Talberts' to make a scene becauseof Aunt Elizabeth's attentions to Temple, she thought she was justifiedin doing so, and Elizabeth's entire innocence in the premises, in viewof her record as a man-snatcher, has not been proven to my satisfaction. Then there was that Lyman Wilde business, which I never understoodand haven't wanted to until they tried to mix poor Lorraine up in it. Certain it is that Elizabeth and Wilde were victims of an affair of theheart, but what Lorraine has had to do with it I don't know, and I hopethe whole matter will be dropped at least until we have settled poorPeggy's affair. Then came Goward and this complication, and throughit all Elizabeth has had a weather-eye open for Dr. Denbigh. A rathersuggestive chain of evidence that, proving that Elizabeth seems toregard all men as her own individual property. As Mrs. Evarts says, sheperks up even when Billie comes into the room--or Mr. Talbert, either;and as for me--well, in the strictest confidence, if Aunt Elizabethhasn't tried to flirt even with me, then I don't know what flirtationis, and there was a time--long before I was married, of course--when Ipossessed certain well-developed gifts in that line. I know this, that when I was first paying my addresses to Maria, Aunt Elizabeth wasstaying at the Talberts' as usual, and Maria and I had all we could doto get rid of her. She seemed to be possessed with the idea that I camethere every night to see her, and not a hint in the whole category ofpolite intimations seemed capable of conveying any other idea to hermind, although she showed at times that even a chance remark fell uponheeding ears, for once when I observed that pink was my favoritecolor, she blossomed out in it the next day and met me looking like apeach-tree in full bloom, on Main Street as I walked from my office uphome. And while we are discussing other people's weaknesses I may aswell confess my own, and say that I was so pleased at this unexpectedrevelation of interest in my tastes that when I called that eveningI felt vaguely disappointed to learn that Aunt Elizabeth was diningout--and I was twenty-seven at the time, too, and loved Maria into thebargain! And after the wedding, when we came to say good-bye, and Ikissed Aunt Elizabeth--I kissed everybody that day in the hurry to getaway, even the hired man at the door--and said, "Good-bye, Aunty, " shepouted and said she didn't like the title "a little bit. "

Now, of course, I wouldn't have anybody think that I think AuntElizabeth was ever in love with me, but I mention these things to showher general attitude toward members of the so-called stronger sex. Thechances are that she does not realize what she is doing, and assumesthis coy method with the whole masculine contingent as a matter ofthoughtless habit. What she wants to be to man I couldn't for the lifeof me even guess--mother, sister, daughter, or general manager. But thatshe does wish to grab every male being in sight, and attach them to hertrain, is pretty evident to me, and I have no doubt that this is whathappened in poor Harry Goward's case. She has a bright way of sayingthings, is unmistakably pretty, and has an unhappy knack of makingherself appear ten or fifteen years younger than she is if she needs to. She is chameleonic as to age, and takes on always something of theyears of the particular man she is talking to. I saw her talking tothe dominie the other night, and a more spiritual-looking bit of demuremiddle-aged piety you never saw in a nunnery, and the very next day whenshe was conversing with young George Harris, a Freshman at Yale, atthe Barbers' reception, you'd have thought she was herself a Vassarundergraduate. So there you are. With Goward she had assumed that sameyouthful manner, and backed by all the power other thirty-seven years ofexperience he was mere putty in her hands, and she played with him andhe lost, just as any other man, from St. Anthony down to the boniestossified man of to-day would have lost, and it wasn't until he sawPeggy again and realized the difference between the real thing and thespurious that he waked up. 

With all these facts marshalled and flashing through my brain much morerapidly than I can tell them, like the quick succession of pictures inthe cinematograph, I made up my mind to become Goward's friend in sofar as circumstances would permit. With Aunt Elizabeth out of the way itseemed to me that we would find all plain sailing again, but how to getrid other was the awful question. Poor Peggy could hardly be happywith such a Richmond in the field, and nothing short of Elizabeth'sengagement to some other man would help matters any. She had been toolong unmarried, anyhow. Maiden aunthood is an unhappy estate, and growsworse with habit. If I could only find Lyman Wilde and bring him back toher, or, perhaps, Dr. Denbigh--that was the more immediate resource, andsurely no sacrifice should be too great for a family physician to makefor the welfare of his patients. Maria and I would invite Dr. Denbigh todinner and have Aunt Elizabeth as the only other guest. We could leavethem alone on some pretext or other after dinner, and leave the rest tofate--aided and abetted by Elizabeth herself. 

Meanwhile there was Goward still on my hands. 

"Well, my boy, " I said, patting him kindly on the shoulder, "I hardlyknow what to say to you about this thing. You've got yourself in thedickens of a box, but I don't mind telling you I think your heart is inthe right place, and, whatever has happened, I don't believe you haveintentionally done wrong. Maybe at your age you do not realize that itis not safe to be engaged to two people at the same time, especiallywhen they belong to the same family. Scientific heart-breakers, as arule, take care that their fiancees are not only not related, butlive in different sections of the country, and as I have no liking forpreaching I shall not dwell further upon the subject. "

"I think I realize my position keenly enough without putting you to thetrouble, " said Goward, gazing gloomily out of the window. 

"What I will say, however, " said I, "is that I'll do all I can to helpyou out of your trouble. As one son-in-law to another, eh?"

"You are very kind, " said he, gripping me by the hand. 

"I will go to Mrs. Talbert--she is the best one to talk to--first, andtell her just what you have told me, and it is just possible that shecan explain it to Peggy, " I went on. 

"I--I think I could do that myself if I only had the chance, " he said, ruefully. 

"Well, then--I'll try to make the chance. I won't promise that I willmake it, because I can't answer for anybody but myself. Some day youwill find out that women are peculiar. But what I can do I will, " saidI. "And, furthermore, as the general attorney for the family I willcross-examine Aunt Elizabeth--put her through the third degree, as itwere, and try to show her how foolish it is for her to make so serious amatter of a trifling flirtation. "

"I wouldn't, if I were you, " said Goward, with a frown. "She needn't beinvolved in the affair any more than she already is. She is not in theleast to blame. "

"Nevertheless, " said I, "she may be able to help us to an easy wayout--"

"She can't, " said Goward, positively. 

"Excuse me, Mr. Goward, " said I, chilling a trifle in my newly acquiredfriendliness, "but is there any real reason why I should not questionMiss Talbert--"

"Oh no, none at all, " he hastened to reply. "Only I--I see no particularobject in vexing her further in a matter that must have already annoyedher sufficiently. It is very good of you to take all this trouble onmy account, and I don't wish you to add further to your difficulties, either, " he added. 

I appreciated his consideration, with certain reservations. However, thelatter were not of such character as to make me doubt the advisabilityof standing his friend, and when we parted a few minutes later I lefthim with the intention of becoming his advocate with Peggy and hermother, and at the same time of having it out with Aunt Elizabeth. 

I was detained at my office by other matters, which our family troubleshad caused me to neglect, until supper-time, and then I returned to myown home, expecting to have a little chat over the affair with Mariabefore acquainting the rest of the family with my impressions of Gowardand his responsibility for our woe. Maria is always so full of goodideas, but at half-past six she had not come in, and at six-forty-fiveshe 'phoned me that she was at her father's and would I not better gothere for tea. In the Talbert family a suggestion of that sort is theequivalent of a royal command in Great Britain, and I at once proceededto accept it. As I was leaving the house, however, the thought flashedacross my mind that in my sympathy for Harry Goward I had neglectedto ask him the question I had sought him out to ask, "To whom was theletter addressed?" So I returned to the 'phone, and ringing up the EagleHotel, inquired for Mr. Goward. 

"Mr. Goward!" came the answer. 

"Yes, " said I. "Mr. Henry Goward. "

"Mr. Goward left for New York on the 5. 40 train this afternoon, " was thereply. 

The answer, so unexpected and unsettling to all my plans, stunned mefirst and then angered me. 

"Bah!" I cried, impatiently. "The little fool! An attack of cold feet, Iguess--he ought to spell his name with a C. "

I hung up the receiver with a cold chill, for frankly I hated to goto the Talberts' with the news. Moreover, it would be a humiliatingconfession to make that I had forgotten to ask Goward about the letter, when everybody knew that that was what I had called upon him for, andwhen I thought of all the various expressions in the very expressiveTalbert eyes that would fix themselves upon me as I mumbled out myconfession, I would have given much to be well out of it. Nevertheless, since there was no avoiding the ordeal, I resolved to face the music, and five minutes later entered the dining-room at my father-in-law'shouse with as stiff an upper lip as I could summon to my aid inthe brief time at my disposal. They were all seated at the tablealready--supper is not a movable feast in that well-regulatedestablishment--save Aunt Elizabeth. Her place was vacant. 

"Sorry to be late, " said I, after respectfully saluting mymother-in-law, "but I couldn't help it. Things turned up at the lastminute and they had to be attended to. Where's Aunt Elizabeth?"

"She went to New York, " said my mother-in-law, "on the 5. 40 train. "

VII. THE MARRIED SON, by Henry James

It's evidently a great thing in life to have got hold of a convenientexpression, and a sign of our inordinate habit of living by words. Ihave sometimes flattered myself that I live less exclusively by themthan the people about me; paying with them, paying with them only, asthe phrase is (there I am at it, exactly, again!) rather less than mycompanions, who, with the exception, perhaps, a little--sometimes!--ofpoor Mother, succeed by their aid in keeping away from every truth, inignoring every reality, as comfortably as possible. Poor Mother, who isworth all the rest of us put together, and is really worth two or threeof poor Father, deadly decent as I admit poor Father mainly to be, sometimes meets me with a look, in some connection, suggesting that, deep within, she dimly understands, and would really understand alittle better if she weren't afraid to: for, like all of us, she livessurrounded by the black forest of the "facts of life" very much asthe people in the heart of Africa live in their dense wilderness ofnocturnal terrors, the mysteries and monstrosities that make them sealthemselves up in the huts as soon as it gets dark. She, quite exquisitelittle Mother, would often understand, I believe, if she dared, if sheknew how to dare; and the vague, dumb interchange then taking placebetween us, and from the silence of which we have never for an instantdeviated, represents perhaps her wonder as to whether I mayn't on somegreat occasion show her how. 

The difficulty is that, alas, mere intelligent useless wretch as I am, I've never hitherto been sure of knowing how myself; for am I too not assteeped in fears as any of them? My fears, mostly, are different, and ofdifferent dangers--also I hate having them, whereas they love themand hug them to their hearts; but the fact remains that, save in thisprivate precinct of my overflow, which contains, under a strong littlebrass lock, several bad words and many good resolutions, I have nevereither said or done a bold thing in my life. What I seem always to feel, doubtless cravenly enough, under her almost pathetic appeal, has beenthat it isn't yet the occasion, the really good and right one, forbreaking out; than which nothing could more resemble of course theinveterate argument of the helpless. ANY occasion is good enough for thehelpful; since there's never any that hasn't weak sides for their ownstrength to make up. However, if there COULD be conceivably a good one, I'll be hanged if I don't seem to see it gather now, and if I sha'n'twrite myself here "poor" Charles Edward in all truth by failing to takeadvantage of it, (They have in fact, I should note, one superiorityof courage to my own: this habit of their so constantly casting up mypoverty at me--poverty of character, of course I mean, for they don't, to do them justice, taunt me with having "made" so little. They don't, I admit, take their lives in their hands when they perform that act; theproposition itself being that I haven't the spirit of a fished-out fly. )

My point is, at any rate, that I designate THEM as Poor only in theabysmal confidence of these occult pages: into which I really believeeven my poor wife--for it's universal!--has never succeeded inpeeping. It will be a shock to me if I some day find she has so faradventured--and this not on account of the curiosity felt or the libertytaken, but on account of her having successfully disguised it. She knowsI keep an intermittent diary--I've confessed to her it's the wayin which I work things in general, my feelings and impatiences anddifficulties, off. It's the way I work off my nerves--that luxury inwhich poor Charles Edward's natural narrow means--narrow so far as everacknowledged--don't permit him to indulge. No one for a moment suspectsI have any nerves, and least of all what they themselves do to them; noone, that is, but poor little Mother again--who, however, again, in herway, all timorously and tenderly, has never mentioned it: any more thanshe has ever mentioned her own, which she would think quite indecent. This is precisely one of the things that, while it passes between us asa mute assurance, makes me feel myself more than the others verily HERchild: more even than poor little Peg at the present strained juncture. 

But what I was going to say above all is that I don't care that poorLorraine--since that's my wife's inimitable name, which I feel everytime I write it I must apologize even to myself for!--should quitediscover the moments at which, first and last, I've worked HER off. YetI've made no secret of my cultivating it as a resource that helps meto hold out; this idea of our "holding out, " separately and together, having become for us--and quite comically, as I see--the very basis oflife. What does it mean, and how and why and to what end are we holding?I ask myself that even while I feel how much we achieve even by justhugging each other over the general intensity of it. This is what I havein mind as to our living to that extent by the vain phrase; as to ourreally from time to time winding ourselves up by the use of it, andwinding each other. What should we do if we didn't hold out, and ofwhat romantic, dramatic, or simply perhaps quite prosaic, collapse wouldgiving in, in contradistinction, consist for us? We haven't in the leastformulated that--though it perhaps may but be one of the thousand thingswe are afraid of. 

At any rate we don't, I think, ever so much as ask ourselves, and muchless each other: we're so quite sufficiently sustained and inflamed bythe sense that we're just doing it, and that in the sublime effortour union is our strength. There must be something in it, for the moreintense we make the consciousness--and haven't we brought it to as finea point as our frequently triumphant partnership at bridge?--the more itpositively does support us. Poor Lorraine doesn't really at all need tounderstand in order to believe; she believes that, failing our exquisiteand intimate combined effort of resistance, we should be capabletogether of something--well, "desperate. " It's in fact in this beautifuldesperation that we spend our days, that we face the pretty grimprospect of new ones, that we go and come and talk and pretend, that weconsort, so far as in our deep-dyed hypocrisy we do consort, with therest of the Family, that we have Sunday supper with the Parents andemerge, modestly yet virtuously shining, from the ordeal; that we put inour daily appearance at the Works--for a utility nowadays so vague thatI'm fully aware (Lorraine isn't so much) of the deep amusement I excitethere, though I also recognize how wonderfully, how quite charitably, they manage not to break out with it: bless, for the most part, theirdear simple hearts! It is in this privately exalted way that we bearin short the burden of our obloquy, our failure, our resignation, oursacrifice of what we should have liked, even if it be a matter we scarcedare to so much as name to each other; and above all of our insufferablereputation for an abject meekness. We're really not meek a bit--we'resecretly quite ferocious; but we're held to be ashamed of ourselvesnot only for our proved business incompetence, but for our lack offirst-rate artistic power as well: it being now definitely on recordthat we've never yet designed a single type of ice-pitcher--since that'sthe damnable form Father's production more and more runs to; his uncannyideal is to turn out more ice-pitchers than any firm in the world--thathas "taken" with their awful public. We've tried again and again tostrike off something hideous enough, but it has always in these casesappeared to us quite beautiful compared to the object finally turnedout, on their improved lines, for the unspeakable market; so that we'veonly been able to be publicly rueful and depressed about it, and toplead practically, in extenuation of all the extra trouble we saddlethem with, that such things are, alas, the worst we can do. 

We so far succeed in our plea that we're held at least to sit, as Isay, in contrition, and to understand how little, when it comes to areckoning, we really pay our way. This actually passes, I think for themain basis of our humility, as it's certainly the basis of what I feelto be poor Mother's unuttered yearning. It almost broke her heart thatwe SHOULD have to live in such shame--she has only got so far as thatyet. But it's a beginning; and I seem to make out that if I don't spoilit by any wrong word, if I don't in fact break the spell by any wrongbreath, she'll probably come on further. It will glimmer upon her--someday when she looks at me in her uncomfortable bewildered tenderness, andI almost hypnotize her by just smiling inscrutably back--that she isn'tgetting all the moral benefit she somehow ought out of my being sopathetically wrong; and then she'll begin to wonder and wonder, all toherself, if there mayn't be something to be said for me. She has limpedalong, in her more or less dissimulated pain, on this apparently firmground that I'm so wrong that nothing will do for either of us but asweet, solemn, tactful agreement between us never to mention it. Itfalls in so richly with all the other things, all the "real" things, wenever mention. 

Well, it's doubtless an odd fact to be setting down even here; but ISHALL be sorry for her on the day when her glimmer, as I have called it, broadens--when it breaks on her that if I'm as wrong as this comes to, why the others must be actively and absolutely right. She has never hadto take it quite THAT way--so women, even mothers, wondrously geton; and heaven help her, as I say, when she shall. She'll beimmense--"tactfully" immense, with Father about it--she'll manage that, for herself and for him, all right; but where the iron will enter intoher will be at the thought of her having for so long given raison, asthey say in Paris--or as poor Lorraine at least says they say--to acouple like Maria and Tom Price. It comes over her that she has takenit largely from THEM (and she HAS) that we're living in immorality, Lorraine and I: ah THEN, poor dear little Mother--! Upon my word Ibelieve I'd go on lying low to this positive pitch of grovelling--andLorraine, charming, absurd creature, would back me up in it too--inorder precisely to save Mother such a revulsion. It will be really moretrouble than it will be worth to her; since it isn't as if our relationweren't, of its kind, just as we are, about as "dear" as it can be. 

I'd literally much rather help her not to see than to see; I'd muchrather help her to get on with the others (yes, even including poorFather, the fine damp plaster of whose composition, renewed from week toweek, can't be touched anywhere without letting your finger in, withoutperil of its coming to pieces) in the way easiest for her--if noteasiest TO her. She couldn't live with the others an hour--no, not withone of them, unless with poor little Peg--save by accepting all theirpremises, save by making in other words all the concessions and havingall the imagination. I ask from her nothing of this--I do the wholething with her, as she has to do it with them; and of this, au fond, asLorraine again says, she is ever so subtly aware--just as, FOR it, she'sever so dumbly grateful. Let these notes stand at any rate for my fondfancy of that, and write it here to my credit in letters as big andblack as the tearful alphabet of my childhood; let them do this evenif everything else registers meaner things. I'm perfectly willing torecognize, as grovellingly as any one likes, that, as grown-up and asmarried and as preoccupied and as disillusioned, or at least as batteredand seasoned (by adversity) as possible, I'm in respect to HER asachingly filial and as feelingly dependent, all the time, as when Iused, in the far-off years, to wake up, a small blubbering idiot, fromfrightening dreams, and refuse to go to sleep again, in the dark, till Iclutched her hands or her dress and felt her bend over me. 

She used to protect me then from domestic derision--for she somehowkept such passages quiet; but she can't (it's where HER ache comes in!)protect me now from a more insidious kind. Well, now I don't care!I feel it in Maria and Tom, constantly, who offer themselves as thepattern of success in comparison with which poor Lorraine and I arenowhere. I don't say they do it with malice prepense, or that they plotagainst us to our ruin; the thing operates rather as an extraordinaryeffect of their mere successful blatancy. They're blatant, truly, inthe superlative degree, and I call them successfully so for just thisreason, that poor Mother is to all appearance perfectly unaware of it. Maria is the one member of all her circle that has got her really, notonly just ostensibly, into training; and it's a part of the generalirony of fate that neither she nor my terrible sister herself recognizesthe truth of this. The others, even to poor Father, think theymanage and manipulate her, and she can afford to let them think it, ridiculously, since they don't come anywhere near it. She knows theydon't and is easy with them; playing over Father in especial withfinger-tips so lightly resting and yet so effectively tickling, thathe has never known at a given moment either where they were or, in theleast, what they were doing to him. That's enough for Mother, who keepsby it the freedom other soul; yet whose fundamental humility comes outin its being so hidden from her that her eldest daughter, to whom sheallows the benefit of every doubt, does damnably boss her. 

This is the one case in which she's not lucid; and, to make it perfect, Maria, whose humility is neither fundamental nor superficial, but whoseavidity is both, comfortably cherishes, as a ground of complaint--nursesin fact, beatifically, as a wrong--the belief that she's the one personwithout influence. Influence?--why she has so much on ME that sheabsolutely coerces me into making here these dark and dreadful remarksabout her! Let my record establish, in this fashion, that if I'ma clinging son I'm, in that quarter, to make up for it, a detachedbrother. Deadly virtuous and deadly hard and deadly charmless--also, more than anything, deadly sure I--how does Maria fit on, byconsanguinity, to such amiable characters, such REAL social values, as Mother and me at all? If that question ceases to matter, sometimes, during the week, it flares up, on the other hand, at Sunday supper, down the street, where Tom and his wife, overwhelmingly cheerfuland facetious, contrast so favorably with poor gentle sickly (as wedoubtless appear) Lorraine and me. We can't meet them--that is I can'tmeet Tom--on that ground, the furious football-field to which he reducesconversation, making it echo as with the roar of the arena--one littlebit. 

Of course, with such deep diversity of feeling, we simply loathe eachother, he and I; but the sad thing is that we get no good of it, noneof the TRUE joy of life, the joy of our passions and perceptions anddesires, by reason of our awful predetermined geniality and the strangeabysmal necessity of our having so eternally to put up with each other. If we could intermit that vain superstition somehow, for about threeminutes, I often think the air might clear (as by the scramble of thegame of General Post, or whatever they call it) and we should all getout of our wrong corners and find ourselves in our right, glaring fromthese positions a happy and natural defiance. Then I shouldn't be thusnominally and pretendedly (it's too ignoble!) on the same side or inthe same air as my brother-in-law; whose value is that he has thirty"business ideas" a day, while I shall never have had the thirtiethfraction of one in my whole life. He just hums, Tom Price, with businessideas, whereas I just gape with the impossibility of them; he moves inthe densest we carry our heads here on August evenings, each with itsown thick nimbus of mosquitoes. I'm but too conscious of how, on theother hand, I'm desolately outlined to all eyes, in an air as pure andempty as that of a fine Polar sunset. 

It was Lorraine, dear quaint thing, who some time ago made the remark(on our leaving one of those weekly banquets at which we figurepositively as a pair of social skeletons) that Tom's facetae multiply, evidently, in direct proportion to his wealth of business ideas; so thatwhenever he's enormously funny we may take it that he's "on" somethingtremendous. He's sprightly in proportion as he's in earnest, andinnocent in proportion as he's going to be dangerous; dangerous, I mean, to the competitor and the victim. Indeed when I reflect that his jokesare probably each going to cost certain people, wretched helpless peoplelike myself, hundreds and thousands of dollars, their abundant flowaffects me as one of the most lurid of exhibitions. I've sometimesrather wondered that Father can stand so much of him. Father who hasafter all a sharp nerve or two in him, like a razor gone astray in avalise of thick Jager underclothing; though of course Maria, pullingwith Tom shoulder to shoulder, would like to see any one NOT stand herhusband. 

The explanation has struck me as, mostly, that business genial andcheerful and even obstreperous, without detriment to its BEING business, has been poor Father's ideal for his own terrible kind. This ideal is, further, that his home-life shall attest that prosperity. I think ithas even been his conception that our family tone shall by its sweetinnocence fairly register the pace at which the Works keep ahead: sothat he has the pleasure of feeling us as funny and slangy here aspeople can only be who have had the best of the bargains other peopleare having occasion to rue. We of course don't know--that is Mother andGrandmamma don't, in any definite way (any more than I do, thanks tomy careful stupidity) how exceeding small some of the material isconsciously ground in the great grim, thrifty mill of industrialsuccess; and indeed we grow about as many cheap illusions and easycomforts in the faintly fenced garden of our little life as could verywell be crammed into the space. 

Poor Grandmamma--since I've mentioned her--appears to me always the agedwan Flora of our paradise; the presiding divinity, seated in the centre, under whose pious traditions, REALLY quite dim and outlived, our fondsacrifices are offered. Queer enough the superstition that Granny isa very solid and strenuous and rather grim person, with a capacity forfacing the world, that we, a relaxed generation, have weakly lost. She knows as much about the world as a tin jelly-mould knows about thedinner, and is the oddest mixture of brooding anxieties over things thatdon't in the least matter and of bland failure to suspect things thatintensely do. She lives in short in a weird little waste of words--overthe moral earnestness we none of us cultivate; yet hasn't a notionof any effective earnestness herself except on the subject of emptybottles, which have, it would appear, noble neglected uses. At this timeof day it doesn't matter, but if there could have been dropped into herempty bottles, at an earlier stage, something to strengthen a little anywine of life they were likely to contain, she wouldn't have figured soas the head and front of all our sentimentality. 

I judge it, for that matter, a proof of our flat "modernity" in thisorder that the scant starch holding her together is felt to give heramong us this antique and austere consistency. I don't talk thingsover with Lorraine for nothing, and she does keep for me the flashes ofperception we neither of us waste on the others. It's the "antiquityof the age of crinoline, " she said the other day a propos of a littlecarte-de-visite photograph of my ancestress as a young woman of the timeof the War; looking as if she had been violently inflated from below, but had succeeded in resisting at any cost, and with a strange intensityof expression, from her waist up. Mother, however, I must say, is aswonderful about her as about everything else, and arranges herself, exactly, to appear a mere contemporary illustration (being all the whilethree times the true picture) in order that her parent shall have theimportance of the Family Portrait. I don't mean of course that she hastold me so; but she cannot see that if she hasn't that importance Grannyhas none other; and it's therefore as if she pretended she had a ruff, a stomacher, a farthingale and all the rest--grand old angles andeccentricities and fine absurdities: the hard white face, if necessary, of one who has seen witches burned. 

She hasn't any more than any one else among us a gleam of fineabsurdity: that's a product that seems unable, for the life of it, andthough so indispensable (say) for literary material, to grow here; but, exquisitely determined she shall have Character lest she perish--whileit's assumed we still need her--Mother makes it up for her, with a turnof the hand, out of bits left over from her own, far from economicallyas her own was originally planned; scraps of spiritual silk and velvetthat no one takes notice of missing. And Granny, as in the dignity ofher legend, imposes, ridiculous old woman, on every one--Granny passesfor one of the finest old figures in the place, while Mother is neverdiscovered. So is history always written, and so is truth mostlyworshipped. There's indeed one thing, I'll do her the justice to say, asto which she has a glimmer of vision--as to which she had it a couple ofyears ago; I was thoroughly with her in her deprecation of the idea thatPeggy should be sent, to crown her culture, to that horrid co-educativecollege from which the poor child returned the other day sopreposterously engaged to be married; and, if she had only been a littlemore actively with me we might perhaps between us have done somethingabout it. But she has a way of deprecating with her long, knobby, mittened hand over her mouth, and of looking at the same time, in amysterious manner, down into one of the angles of the room--it reducesher protest to a feebleness: she's incapable of seeing in it herselfmore than a fraction of what it has for her, and really thinks it wouldbe wicked and abandoned, would savor of Criticism, which is the cardinalsin with her, to see all, or to follow any premise to it in the rightdirection. 

Still, there was the happy chance, at the time the question came up, that she had retained, on the subject of promiscuous colleges, themistrust of the age of crinoline: as to which in fact that little oldphotograph, with its balloon petticoat and its astonishingly flat, stiff "torso, " might have imaged some failure of the attempt to blow theheresy into her. The true inwardness of the history, at the crisis, wasthat our fell Maria had made up her mind that Peg should go--and that, as I have noted, the thing our fell Maria makes up her mind to among usis in nine cases out of ten the thing that is done. Maria still takes, in spite of her partial removal to a wider sphere, the most insidiousinterest in us, and the beauty of her affectionate concern for thewelfare of her younger sisters is the theme of every tongue. Sheobserved to Lorraine, in a moment of rare expansion, more than a yearago, that she had got their two futures perfectly fixed, and that asPeggy appeared to have "some mind, " though how much she wasn't yet sure, it should be developed, what there was of it, on the highest modernlines: Peggy would never be thought generally, that is physically, attractive anyway. She would see about Alice, the brat, later on, thoughmeantime she had her idea--the idea that Alice was really going to havethe looks and would at a given moment break out into beauty: in whichevent she should be run for that, and for all it might be worth, andshe, Maria, would be ready to take the contract. 

This is the kind of patronage of us that passes, I believe, among hermore particular intimates, for "so sweet" of her; it being of courseMaria all over to think herself subtle for just reversing, with a"There--see how original I am?" any benighted conviction usuallyentertained. I don't know that any one has ever thought Alice, the brat, intellectual; but certainly no one has ever judged her even potentiallyhandsome, in the light of no matter which of those staggeringgirl-processes that suddenly produce features, in flat faces, and"figure, " in the void of space, as a conjurer pulls rabbits out of asheet of paper and yards of ribbon out of nothing. Moreover, if any oneSHOULD know, Lorraine and I, with our trained sense for form and for"values, " certainly would. However, it doesn't matter; the whole thingbeing but a bit of Maria's system of bluffing in order to boss. Peggyhasn't more than the brain, in proportion to the rest of her, of asmall swelling dove on a window-sill; but she's extremely pretty andabsolutely nice, a little rounded pink-billed presence that pecks upgratefully any grain of appreciation. 

I said to Mother, I remember, at the time--I took that plunge: "I hopeto goodness you're not going to pitch that defenceless child into anysuch bear garden!" and she replied that to make a bear-garden you firsthad to have bears, and she didn't suppose the co-educative young mencould be so described. "Well then, " said I, "would you rather I shouldcall them donkeys, or even monkeys? What I mean is that the poor girl--aperfect little DECORATIVE person, who ought to have iridescent-grayplumage and pink-shod feet to match the rest of her--shouldn't be thrustinto any general menagerie-cage, but be kept for the dovecote and thegarden, kept where we may still hear her coo. That's what, at college, they'll make her unlearn; she'll learn to roar and snarl with the otheranimals. Think of the vocal sounds with which she may come back to us!"Mother appeared to think, but asked me, after a moment, as a resultof it, in which of the cages of the New York Art League menagerie, andamong what sort of sounds, I had found Lorraine--who was a product ofco-education if there ever had been one, just as our marriage itself hadbeen such a product. 

I replied to this--well, what I could easily reply; but I asked, Irecollect, in the very forefront, if she were sending Peg to collegeto get married. She declared it was the last thing she was in a hurryabout, and that she believed there was no danger, but her great argumentlet the cat out of the bag. "Maria feels the want of it--of a collegeeducation; she feels it would have given her more confidence"; and Ishall in fact never forget the little look of strange supplication thatshe gave me with these words. What it meant was: "Now don't ask me togo into the question, for the moment, any further: it's in the acutestage--and you know how soon Maria can BRING a question to a head. Shehas settled it with your Father--in other words has settled it FOR him:settled it in the sense that we didn't give HER, at the right time, the advantage she ought to have had. It would have given herconfidence--from the want of which, acquired at that age, she feelsshe so suffers; and your Father thinks it fine of her to urge that herlittle sister shall profit by her warning. Nothing works on him, youknow, so much as to hear it hinted that we've failed of our duty to anyof you; and you can see how it must work when he can be persuaded thatMaria--!"

"Hasn't colossal cheek?"--I took the words out of her mouth. "Withsuch colossal cheek what NEED have you of confidence, which is such aninferior form--?"

The long and short was of course that Peggy went; believing on herside, poor dear, that it might for future relations give her the pullof Maria. This represents, really, I think, the one spark of guile inPeggy's breast: the smart of a small grievance suffered at her sister'shands in the dim long-ago. Maria slapped her face, or ate up herchocolates, or smeared her copy-book, or something of that sort; and thesound of the slap still reverberates in Peg's consciousness, the missedsweetness still haunts her palate, the smutch of the fair page (Pegwrites an immaculate little hand and Maria a wretched one--the onlything she can't swagger about) still affronts her sight. Maria also, todo her justice, has a vague hankering, under which she has always beenrestive, to make up for the outrage; and the form the compunction nowtakes is to get her away. It's one of the facts of our situation allround, I may thus add, that every one wants to get some one else away, and that there are indeed one or two of us upon whom, to that end, couldthe conspiracy only be occult enough--which it can never!--all the restwould effectively concentrate. 

Father would like to shunt Granny--it IS monstrous his having hismother-in-law a fixture under his roof; though, after all, I'm not surethis patience doesn't rank for him as one of those domestic genialitiesthat allow his conscience a bolder and tighter business hand; a curiousservice, this sort of thing, I note, rendered to the business consciencethroughout our community. Mother, at any rate, and small blame toher, would like to "shoo" off Eliza, as Lorraine and I, in our deepestprivacy, call Aunt Elizabeth; the Tom Prices would like to extirpate US, of course; we would give our most immediate jewel to clear the sky ofthe Tom Prices; und so weiter. And I think we should really all bandtogether, for once in our lives, in an unnatural alliance to get rid ofEliza. The beauty as to THIS is, moreover, that I make out the richif dim, dawn of that last-named possibility (which I've been secretlyinvoking, all this year, for poor Mother's sake); and as the act of mineown right hand, moreover, without other human help. But of that anon;the IMMEDIATELY striking thing being meanwhile again the strangestultification of the passions in us, which prevents anything ever fromcoming to an admitted and avowed head. 

Maria can be trusted, as I have said, to bring on the small crisis, every time; but she's as afraid as any one else of the great one, andshe's moreover, I write it with rapture, afraid of Eliza. Eliza isthe one person in our whole community she does fear--and for reasons Iperfectly grasp; to which moreover, this extraordinary oddity attaches, that I positively feel I don't fear Eliza in the least (and in factpromise myself before long to show it) and yet don't at all avail bythat show of my indifference to danger to inspire my sister with theleast terror in respect to myself. It's very funny, the DEGREE ofher dread of Eliza, who affects her, evidently, as a person of lurid"worldly" possibilities--the one innocent light in which poor Mariawears for me what Lorraine calls a weird pathos; and perhaps, after all, on the day I shall have justified my futile passage across this agitatedscene, and my questionable utility here below every way, by convertingour aunt's lively presence into a lively absence, it may come overher that I AM to be recognized. I in fact dream at times, with highintensity, that I see the Prices some day quite turn pale as they lookat each other and find themselves taking me in. 

I've made up my mind at any rate that poor Mother shall within theyear be relieved in one way or another of her constant liability toher sister-in-law's visitations. It isn't to be endured that her houseshould be so little her own house as I've known Granny and Eliza, between them, though after a different fashion, succeed in making itappear; and yet the action to take will, I perfectly see, never by anypossibility come from poor Father. He accepts his sister's perpetualre-arrivals, under the law of her own convenience, with a broad-backedserenity which I find distinctly irritating (if I may use the impiousexpression) and which makes me ask myself how he sees poor Mother's"position" at all. The truth is poor Father never does "see" anythingof that sort, in the sense of conceiving it in its relations; he doesn'tknow, I guess, but what the prowling Eliza HAS a position (since this isa superstition that I observe even my acute little Lorraine can't quiteshake off). He takes refuge about it, as about everything, truly, in thecheerful vagueness of that general consciousness on which I have alreadytouched: he likes to come home from the Works every day to see howgood he really is, after all--and it's what poor Mother thus has todemonstrate for him by translating his benevolence, translating it tohimself and to others, into "housekeeping. " If he were only good to HERhe mightn't be good enough; but the more we pig together round about himthe more blandly patriarchal we make him feel. 

Eliza meanwhile, at any rate, is spoiling for a dose--if ever a womanrequired one; and I seem already to feel in the air the gatheringelements of the occasion that awaits me for administering it. All ofwhich it is a comfort somehow to maunder away on here. As I read overwhat I have written the aspects of our situation multiply so in factthat I note again how one has only to look at any human thing verystraight (that is with the minimum of intelligence) to see it shine outin as many aspects as the hues of the prism; or place itself, in otherwords, in relations that positively stop nowhere. I've often thought Ishould like some day to write a novel; but what would become of me inthat case--delivered over, I mean, before my subject, to my extravagantsense that everything is a part of something else? When you paint apicture with a brush and pigments, that is on a single plane, it canstop at your gilt frame; but when you paint one with a pen and words, that is in ALL the dimensions, how are you to stop? Of course, asLorraine says, "Stopping, that's art; and what are we artists like, my dear, but those drivers of trolley-cars, in New York, who, by somedivine instinct, recognize in the forest of pillars and posts thewhite-striped columns at which they may pull up? Yes, we're drivers oftrolley-cars charged with electric force and prepared to go any distancefrom which the consideration of a probable smash ahead doesn't deterus. "

That consideration deters me doubtless even a little here--in spite ofmy seeing the track, to the next bend, so temptingly clear. I shouldlike to note for instance, for my own satisfaction (though no fellow, thank God, was ever less a prey to the ignoble fear of inconsistency)that poor Mother's impugnment of my acquisition of Lorraine didn't inthe least disconcert me. I did pick Lorraine--then a little bleatingstray lamb collared with a blue ribbon and a tinkling silver bell--outof our New York bear-garden; but it interests me awfully to recognizethat, whereas the kind of association is one I hate for my smallPhilistine sister, who probably has the makings of a nice, dull, dressed, amiable, insignificant woman, I recognize it perfectly asLorraine's native element and my own; or at least don't at all mind herhaving been dipped in it. It has tempered and plated us for the rest oflife, and to an effect different enough from the awful metallic wash ofour Company's admired ice-pitchers. We artists are at the best childrenof despair--a certain divine despair, as Lorraine naturally says; andwhat jollier place for laying it in abundantly than the Art League? Asfor Peg, however, I won't hear of her having anything to do with this;she shall despair of nothing worse than the "hang" of her skirt or themoderation other hat--and not often, if I can help her, even of those. 

That small vow I'm glad to register here: it helps somehow, at thejuncture I seem to feel rapidly approaching, to do the indispensablething Lorraine is always talking about--to define my position. She'salways insisting that we've never sufficiently defined it--as if I'veever for a moment pretended we have! We've REfined it, to the lastintensity--and of course, now, shall have to do so still more; whichwill leave them all even more bewildered than the boldest definitionwould have done. But that's quite a different thing. The furthest wehave gone in the way of definition--unless indeed this too belongs butto our invincible tendency to refine--is by the happy rule we've madethat Lorraine shall walk with me every morning to the Works, and I shallfind her there when I come out to walk home with me. I see, on readingover, that this is what I meant by "our" in speaking above of our littledaily heroism in that direction. The heroism is easier, and becomesquite sweet, I find, when she comes so far on the way with me and whenwe linger outside for a little more last talk before I go in. 

It's the drollest thing in the world, and really the most preciousnote of the mystic influence known in the place as "the force of publicopinion"--which is in other words but the incubus of small domesticconformity; I really believe there's nothing we do, or don't do, thatexcites in the bosom of our circle a subtler sense that we're "au fond"uncanny. And it's amusing to think that this is our sole tiny touch ofindependence! That she should come forth with me at those hours, thatshe should hang about with me, and that we should have last (and, whenshe meets me again, first) small sweet things to say to each other, asif we were figures in a chromo or a tableau vwant keeping our tryst at astile--no, this, quite inexplicably, transcends their scheme and bafflestheir imagination. They can't conceive how or why Lorraine gets out, orshould wish to, at such hours; there's a feeling that she must violateevery domestic duty to do it; yes, at bottom, really, the act wears forthem, I discern, an insidious immorality, and it wouldn't take much tobring "public opinion" down on us in some scandalized way. 

The funniest thing of all, moreover, is that that effect resides largelyin our being husband and wife--it would be absent, wholly, if we wereengaged or lovers; a publicly parading gentleman friend and lady friend. What is it we CAN have to say to each other, in that exclusive manner, so particularly, so frequently, so flagrantly, and as if we hadn'tchances enough at home? I see it's a thing Mother might accidentally dowith Father, or Maria with Tom Price; but I can imagine the shouts ofhilarity, the resounding public comedy, with which Tom and Maria wouldseparate; and also how scantly poor little Mother would permit herselfwith poor big Father any appearance of a grave leave-taking. I've quiteexpected her--yes, literally poor little Mother herself--to ask me, a bit anxiously, any time these six months, what it is that at suchextraordinary moments passes between us. So much, at any rate, for thetruth of this cluster of documentary impressions, to which there maysome day attach the value as of a direct contemporary record of strangeand remote things, so much I here super-add; and verily with regret, aswell, on behalf of my picture, for two or three other touches from whichI must forbear. 

There has lately turned up, on our scene, one person with whom, doorsand windows closed, curtains drawn, secrecy sworn, the whole town asleepand something amber-colored a-brewing--there has recently joined us oneperson, I say, with whom we might really pass the time of day, to whomwe might, after due deliberation, tip the wink. I allude to the Parents'new neighbor, the odd fellow Temple, who, for reasons mysterious andwhich his ostensible undertaking of the native newspaper don't at allmake plausible, has elected, as they say, fondly to sojourn among us. Ajournalist, a rolling stone, a man who has seen other life, how can onenot suspect him of some deeper game than he avows--some such studious, surreptitious, "sociological" intent as alone, it would seem, couldsustain him through the practice of leaning on his fence at eventideto converse for long periods with poor Father? Poor Father indeed, if areal remorseless sociologist were once to get well hold of him! Lorrainefreely maintains that there's more in the Temples than meets the eye;that they're up to something, at least that HE is, that he kind of feelsus in the air, just as we feel him, and that he would sort of reach outto us, by the same token, if we would in any way give the first sign. This, however, Lorraine contends, his wife won't let him do; his wife, according to mine, is quite a different proposition (much more REALLYhatted and gloved, she notes, than any one here, even than the beltedand trinketed Eliza) and with a conviction of her own as to whattheir stay is going to amount to. On the basis of Lorraine's similarconviction about ours it would seem then that we ought to meet for anesoteric revel; yet somehow it doesn't come off. Sometimes I think I'mquite wrong and that he can't really be a child of light: we should inthis case either have seen him collapse or have discovered what inwardlysustains him. We ARE ourselves inwardly collapsing--there's no doubt ofthat: in spite of the central fires, as Lorraine says somebody in Bostonused to say somebody said, from which we're fed. From what central firesis Temple nourished? I give it up; for, on the point, again and again, of desperately stopping him in the street to ask him, I recoil as oftenin terror. He may be only plotting to MAKE me do it--so that he may giveme away in his paper!

"Remember, he's a mere little frisking prize ass; stick to that, clingto it, make it your answer to everything: it's all you now know and allyou need to know, and you'll be as firm on it as on a rock!" Thisis what I said to poor Peg, on the subject of Harry Goward, before Istarted, in the glorious impulse of the moment, five nights ago, for NewYork; and, with no moment now to spare, yet wishing not to lose mysmall silver clue, I just put it here for one of the white pebbles, orwhatever they were, that Hop o' my Thumb, carried off to the forest, dropped, as he went, to know his way back. I was carried off the otherevening in a whirlwind, which has not even yet quite gone down, thoughI am now at home and recovering my breath; and it will interest mevividly, when I have more freedom of mind, to live over again thesestrange, these wild successions. But a few rude notes, and only of thefirst few hours of my adventure, must for the present suffice. The mot, of the whole thing, as Lorraine calls it, was that at last, in a flash, we recognized what we had so long been wondering about--what supremeadvantage we've been, all this latter time in particular, "holding out"for. 

Lorraine had put it once again in her happy way only a few weeksprevious; we were "saving up, " she said--and not meaning at all ourpoor scant dollars and cents, though we've also kept hold of some ofTHEM--for an exercise of strength and a show of character that wouldmake us of a sudden some unmistakable sign. We should just meet itrounding a corner as with the rush of an automobile--a chariot of firethat would stop but long enough to take us in, when we should know itimmediately for the vehicle of our fate. That conviction had somehowbeen with us, and I had really heard our hour begin to strike on Peg'scoming back to us from her co-educative adventure so preposterously"engaged. " I didn't believe in it, in such a manner of becoming so, onelittle bit, and I took on myself to hate the same; though that indeedseemed the last thing to trouble any one else. Her turning up in such afashion with the whole thing settled before Father or Mother or Maria orany of us had so much as heard of the young man, much less seen thetip of his nose, had too much in common, for my taste, with the rudebetrothals of the people, with some maid-servant's announcement to heremployer that she has exchanged vows with the butcher-boy. 

I was indignant, quite artlessly indignant I fear, with the collegeauthorities, barbarously irresponsible, as it struck me; for when Ibroke out about them to poor Mother she surprised me (though I confessshe had sometimes surprised me before), by her deep fatalism. "Oh, I suppose they don't pretend not to take their students at theyoung people's own risk: they can scarcely pretend to control theiraffections!" she wonderfully said; she seemed almost shocked, moreover, that I could impute either to Father or to herself any disposition tocontrol Peggy's. It was one of the few occasions of my life on whichI've suffered irritation from poor Mother; and yet I'm now not sure, after all, that she wasn't again but at her old game (even then, for shehas certainly been so since) of protecting poor Father, by feigning alike flaccidity, from the full appearance, not to say the full dishonor, of his failure ever to meet a domestic responsibility. It came overme that there would be absolutely nobody to meet this one, and my ownpeculiar chance glimmered upon me therefore on the spot. I can'tretrace steps and stages; suffice it that my opportunity developed andbroadened, to my watching eyes, with each precipitated consequence ofthe wretched youth's arrival. 

He proved, without delay, an infant in arms; an infant, either, according to circumstances, crowing and kicking and clamoring forsustenance, or wailing and choking and refusing even the bottle, to thepoint even, as I've just seen in New York, of imminent convulsions. The"arms" most appropriate to his case suddenly announced themselves, in fine, to our general consternation, as Eliza's: but it was at thisunnatural vision that my heart indeed leaped up. I was beforehand evenwith Lorraine; she was still gaping while, in three bold strokes, Isketched to her our campaign. "I take command--the others are flat ontheir backs. I save little pathetic Peg, even in spite of herself;though her just resentment is really much greater than she dares, poormite, recognize (amazing scruple!). By which I mean I guard her againsta possible relapse. I save poor Mother--that is I rid her of thedeadly Eliza--forever and a day! Despised, rejected, misunderstood, Inevertheless intervene, in its hour of dire need, as the good genius ofthe family; and you, dear little quaint thing, I take advantage of theprecious psychological moment to whisk YOU off to Europe. We'll takePeg with us for a year's true culture; she wants a year's true culturepretty badly, but she doesn't, as it turns out, want Mr. Goward a'speck. ' And I'll do it all in my own way, before they can recoverbreath; they'll recover it--if we but give them time--to bless our name;but by that moment we shall have struck for freedom!"

Well, then, my own way--it was "given me, " as Lorraine says--was, taking the night express, without a word to any one but Peg, whom it wascharming, at the supreme hour, to feel glimmeringly, all-wonderingly, with us: my own way, I say, was to go, the next morning, as soon as Ihad breakfasted, to the address Lorraine had been able, by animmense piece of luck, to suggest to me as a possible clue to Eliza'swhereabouts. "She'll either be with her friends the Chataways, in EastSeventy-third Street--she's always swaggering about the Chataways, whoby her account are tremendous 'smarts, ' as she has told Lorraine theright term is in London, leading a life that is a burden to them withouther; or else they'll know where she is. That's at least what I HOPE!"said my wife with infinite feminine subtlety. The Chataways as a subjectof swagger presented themselves, even to my rustic vision, oddly; I maybe mistaken about New York "values, " but the grandeur of this connectionwas brought home to me neither by the high lopsided stoop of its very, very East Side setting, nor by the appearance of a terrible massive ladywho came to the door while I was in quite unproductive parley with anunmistakably, a hopelessly mystified menial, an outlandish young womanwith a face of dark despair and an intelligence closed to any mereindigenous appeal. I was to learn later in the day that she's aMacedonian Christian whom the Chataways harbor against the cruel Turk inreturn for domestic service; a romantic item that Eliza named to me inrueful correction of the absence of several indeed that are apparentlyprosaic enough. 

The powder on the massive lady's face indeed transcended, I ratherthought, the bounds of prose, did much to refer her to the realm offantasy, some fairy-land forlorn; an effect the more marked as thewrapper she appeared hastily to have caught up, and which was somehowboth voluminous and tense (flowing like a cataract in some places, yetin others exposing, or at least denning, the ample bed of the stream)reminded me of the big cloth spread in a room when any mess is tobe made. She apologized when I said I had come to inquire for MissTalbert--mentioned (with play of a wonderfully fine fat hand) that sheherself was "just being manicured in the parlor"; but was evidentlysurprised at my asking about Eliza, which plunged her into thequestion--it suffused her extravagant blondness with a troubled light, struggling there like a sunrise over snow--of whether she had better, confessing to ignorance, relieve her curiosity or, pretending toknowledge, baffle mine. But mine of course carried the day, for mineshowed it could wait, while hers couldn't; the final superiority ofwomen to men being in fact, I think, that we are more PATIENTLY curious. 

"Why, is she in the city?"

"If she isn't, dear madam, " I replied, "she ought to be. She leftEastridge last evening for parts unknown, and should have got here bymidnight. " Oh, how glad I was to let them both in as far as I possiblycould! And clearly now I had let Mrs. Chataway, if such she was, in veryfar indeed. 

She stared, but then airily considered. "Oh, well--I guess she'ssomewheres. "

"I guess she is!" I replied. 

"She hasn't got here yet--she has so many friends in the city. But shealways wants US, and when she does come--!" With which my friend, nowso far relieved and agreeably smiling, rubbed together conspicuously thepair of plump subjects of her "cure. "

"You feel then, " I inquired, "that she will come?"

"Oh, I guess she'll be round this afternoon. We wouldn't forgive her--!"

"Ah, I'm afraid we MUST forgive her!" I was careful to declare. "ButI'll come back on the chance. "

"Any message then?"

"Yes, please say her nephew from Eastridge--!"

"Oh, her nephew--!"

"Her nephew. She'll understand. I'll come back, " I repeated. "But I'vegot to find her!"

And, as in the fever of my need, I turned and sped away. 

I roamed, I quite careered about, in those uptown streets, butinstinctively and confidently westward. I felt, I don't know why, miraculously sure of some favoring chance and as if I were floating inthe current of success. I was on the way to our reward, I was positivelyon the way to Paris, and New York itself, vast and glittering androaring, much noisier even than the Works at their noisiest, but withits old rich thrill of the Art League days again in the air, was alreadyalmost Paris for me--so that when I at last fidgeted into the Park, where you get so beautifully away from the town, it was surely the nextthing to Europe, and in fact HAD to be, since it's the very antithesisof Eastridge. I regularly revelled in that sense that Eliza couldn'thave done a better thing for us than just not be, that morning, where itwas supremely advisable she should have been. If she had had two grainsof sense she would have put in an appearance at the Chataways' with thelark, or at least with the manicure, who seems there almost as earlystirring. Or rather, really, she would have reported herself as soon astheir train, that of the "guilty couple, " got in; no matter how late inthe evening. It was at any rate actually uplifting to realize that I hadgot thus, in three minutes, the pull of her in regard to her great NewYork friends. My eye, as Lorraine says, how she HAS, on all this groundof those people, been piling it on! If Maria, who has so bowed herhead, gets any such glimpse of what her aunt has been making her bow itto--well, I think I shall then entertain something of the human pity forEliza, that I found myself, while I walked about, fairly entertainingfor my sister. 

What were they, what ARE they, the Chataways, anyhow? I don't even yetknow, I confess; but now I don't want to--I don't care a hang, havingno further use for them whatever. But on one of the Park benches, inthe golden morning, the wonderment added, I remember, to my joy, forwe hadn't, Lorraine and I, been the least bit overwhelmed about them:Lorraine only pretending a little, with her charming elfish art, thatshe occasionally was, in order to see how far Eliza would go. Well, thatbrilliant woman HAD gone pretty far for us, truly, if, after all, theywere only in the manicure line. She was a-doing of it, as Lorraine says, my massive lady was, in the "parlor" where I don't suppose it's usuallydone; and aren't there such places, precisely, AS Manicure Parlors, where they do nothing else, or at least are supposed to? Oh, I do hope, for the perfection of it, that this may be what Eliza has kept fromus! Otherwise, by all the gods, it's just a boarding-house: there wasexactly the smell in the hall, THE boarding-house smell, that pervadedmy old greasy haunt of the League days: that boiled atmosphere thatseems to belong at once, confusedly, to a domestic "wash" and toinferior food--as if the former were perhaps being prepared in thesaucepan and the latter in the tubs. 

There also came back to me, I recollect, that note of Mrs. Chataway'squeer look at me on my saying I was Eliza's nephew--the droll effect ofher making on her side a discovery about ME. Yes, she made it, and asagainst me, of course, against all of us, at sight of me; so that ifEliza has bragged at Eastridge about New York, she has at least braggedin New York about Eastridge. I didn't clearly, for Mrs. Chataway, comeup to the brag--or perhaps rather didn't come down to it: since Idare say the poor lady's consternation meant simply that my aunt hasconfessed to me but as an unconsidered trifle, a gifted child atthe most; or as young and handsome and dashing at the most, and notas--well, as what I am. Whatever I am, in any case, and however awkwarda document as nephew to a girlish aunt, I believe I really tasted of thejoy of life in its highest intensity when, at the end of twentyminutes of the Park, I suddenly saw my absurd presentiment of a miraclejustified. 

I could of course scarce believe my eyes when, at the turn of a quietalley, pulling up to gape, I recognized in a young man brooding on abench ten yards off the precious personality of Harry Goward! Therehe languished alone, our feebler fugitive, handed over to me by amysterious fate and a well-nigh incredible hazard. There is certainlybut one place in all New York where the stricken deer may weep--or even, for that matter, the hart ungalled play; the wonder of my coincidenceshrank a little, that is, before the fact that when young ardor or youngdespair wishes to commune with immensity it can ONLY do so either in ahall bedroom or in just this corner, practically, where I pounced onmy prey. To sit down, in short, you've GOT to sit there; there isn'tanother square inch of the whole place over which you haven't got, aseverything shrieks at you, to step lively. Poor Goward, I could see ata glance, wanted very much to sit down--looked indeed very much as if hewanted never, NEVER again to get up. 

I hovered there--I couldn't help it, a bit gloatingly--before I pounced;and yet even when he became aware of me, as he did in a minute, hedidn't shift his position by an inch, but only took me and my dreadfulmeaning, with his wan stare, as a part of the strange burden ofhis fate. He didn't seem even surprised to speak of; he had wakedup--premising his brief, bewildered delirium--to the sense thatsomething NATURAL must happen, and even to the fond hope that somethingnatural WOULD; and I was simply the form in which it was happening. I came nearer, I stood before him; and he kept up at me the oddeststare--which was plainly but the dumb yearning that I would explain, explain! He wanted everything told him--but every single thing; as if, after a tremendous fall, or some wild parabola through the air, theeffect of a violent explosion under his feet, he had landed at a vastdistance from his starting-point and required to know where he was. Well, the charming thing was that this affected me as giving the verysharpest point to the idea that, in asking myself how I should deal withhim, I had already so vividly entertained. 

VIII. THE MARRIED DAUGHTER, By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps

We start in life with the most preposterous of all human claims--thatone should be understood. We get bravely over that after awhile; butnot until the idea has been knocked out of us by the hardest. I used toworry a good deal, myself, because nobody--distinctly not one person--inour family understood me; that is, me in my relation to themselves;nothing else, of course, mattered so much. But that was before I wasmarried. I think it was because Tom understood me from the very firsteye-beam, that I loved him enough to marry him and learn to understandHIM. I always knew in my heart that he had the advantage of me in thatbeautiful art: I suppose one might call it the soul-art. At all events, it has been of the least possible consequence to me since I had Tom, whether any one else in the world understood me or not. 

I suppose--in fact, I know--that it is this unfortunate affair ofPeggy's which has brought up all that old soreness to the surface of me. 

Nobody knows better than I that I have not been a popular member of thisfamily. But nobody knows as well as I how hard I have tried to do myconscientious best by the whole of them, collectively and individuallyconsidered. An older sister, if she have any consciousness ofresponsibility at all, is, to my mind, not in an easy position. Herextra years give her an extra sense. One might call it a sixth sense offamily anxiety which the younger children cannot share. She has, in away, the intelligence and forethought of a mother without a mother'sauthority or privilege. 

When father had that typhoid and could not sleep--dear father! in hisnormal condition he sleeps like a bag of corn-meal--who was there in allthe house to keep those boys quiet? Nobody but me. When they organizeda military company in our back yard directly under father's windows--twodrums, a fish-horn, a jews-harp, a fife, and three tin pans--was thereanybody but me to put a stop to it? It was on this occasion that thepet name Moolymaria, afterward corrupted into Messymaria, and finallyevolved into Meddlymaria, became attached to me. To this day I do notlike to think how many cries I had over it. Then when Charles Edwardgot into debt and nobody dared to tell father; and when Billy had themeasles and there wasn't a throat in the house to read to him fourhours a day except my unpopular throat; and when Charles Edward had thatquarrel over a girl with a squash-colored dress and cerise hair-ribbons;or when Alice fell in love with an automobile, the chauffeur beingincidentally thrown in, and took to riding around the country withhim--who put a stop to it? Who was the only person in the family thatCOULD put a stop to it?

Then again--but what's the use? My very temperament I can see now (Ididn't see it when I lived at home) is in itself an unpopular one ina family like ours. I forecast, I foresee, I provide, I plan--it is my"natur' to. " I can't go sprawling through life. I must know where I amto set my foot. Dear mother has no more sense of anxiety than a ricepudding, and father is as cool as one of his own ice-pitchers. We allknow what Charles Edward is, and I didn't count grandmother and AuntElizabeth. 

There has been my blunder. I ought to have counted Aunt Elizabeth. Iought to have fathomed her. It never occurred to me that she was deepenough to drop a plummet in. I, the burden-bearer, the caretaker, theworrier; I, who am opprobriously called "the manager" in this family--Ihave failed them at this critical point in their household history. Idid not foresee, I did not forecast, I did not worry, I did not manage. It did not occur to me to manage after we had got Peggy safely graduatedand engaged, and now this dreadful thing has gaped beneath us like thefissures at San Francisco or Kingston, and poor little Peggy has tumbledinto it. A teacupful of "management" might have prevented it; an ounceof worry would have saved it all. I lacked that teacupful; I missedthat ounce. The veriest popular optimist could have done no worse. I amsmothered with my own stupidity. I have borne this humiliating conditionof things as long as I can. I propose to go over to that house andtake the helm in this emergency. I don't care whether I am popular orunpopular for it. But something has got to be done for Peggy, and I amgoing to do it. 

I have been over and I have done it. I have taken the "management" ofthe whole thing--not even discouraged by this unfortunate word. I own Iam rather raw to it. But the time has come when, though I bled beneathit, I must act as if I didn't. At all events I must ACT. . . . I haveacted. I am going to New York by the early morning express--the 7. 20. Iwould go to-night-in fact, I really ought to go to-night. But Tom has asupper "on" with some visitors to the Works. He won't be home till late, and I can't go without seeing Tom. It would hurt his feelings, and thatis a thing no wife ought to do, and my kind of wife can't do. 

I found the house in its usual gelatinous condition. There wasn'ta back-bone in it, scarcely an ankle-joint to stand upon: plenty ofcrying, but no thinking; a mush of talk, but no decision. To cap thesituation, Charles Edward has gone on to New York with a preposterousconviction that HE can clear it up. . . . CHARLES EDWARD! If there is aliving member of the household--But never mind that. This circumstancewas enough for me, that's all. It brought out all the determination inme, all the manager, if you choose to put it so. 

I shall go to New York myself and take the whole thing in hand. If Ineeded anything to padlock my purpose those dozen words with Peggy wouldhave turned the key upon it. When I found that she wasn't crying; whenI got face to face with that soft, fine excitement in the eyes which agirl wears when she has a love-affair, not stagnant, but in action--Iconcluded at once that Peggy had her reservations and was keepingsomething from me. On pretence of wanting a doughnut I got her into thepantry and shut both doors. 

"Peggy, " I said, "what has Charles Edward gone to New York for? Do youknow?"

Peggy wound a big doughnut spinning around her engagement finger andmade no reply. 

"If it has anything to do with you and Harry Goward, you must tell me, Peggy. You must tell me instantly. "

Peggy put a doughnut on her wedding finger and observed, with painedperplexity, that it would not spin, but stuck. 

"What is Charles Edward up to?" I persisted. 

The opening rose-bud of Peggy's face took on a furtive expression, likethat of certain pansies, or some orchids I have seen. "He is going totake me to Europe, " she admitted, removing both her doughnut rings. 

"YOU! To EUROPE!"

"He and Lorraine. When this is blown by. They want to get me away. "

"Away from what? Away from Harry Goward?"

"Oh, I suppose so, " blubbered Peggy. 

She now began, in a perfectly normal manner, to mop her eyes with herhandkerchief. 

"Do you want to be got away from Harry Goward?" I demanded. 

"I never said I did, " sobbed Peggy. "I never said so, not one littlebit. But oh, Maria! Moolymaria! You can't think how dreadful it is to bea girl, an engaged girl, and not know what to do!"

Then and there an active idea--one with bones in it--raced and overtookme, and I shot out: "Where is that letter?"

"Mother has it, " replied Peggy. 

"Have you opened it?"

"No. "

"Has Aunt Elizabeth opened it?"

"Oh no!"

"Did Charlies Edward take it with him?"

"I don't think he did. I will go ask mother. "

"Go ask mother for that letter, " I commanded, "and bring it to me. "

Peggy gave me one mutinous look, but the instinct of a younger sisterwas in her and she obeyed me. She brought the letter. I have thisprecious document in my pocket. I asked her if she would trust me tofind out to whom that letter was addressed. After some hesitation shereplied that she would. I reminded her that she was the only person inthe world who could give me this authority--which pleased her. I toldher that I should accept it as a solemn trust, and do my highest andbest with it for her sake. 

"Peggy, " I said, "this is not altogether a pleasant job for me, butyou are my little sister and I will take care of you. Kiss your oldMeddlymaria, Peggy. " She took down her sopping handkerchief and liftedher warm, wet face. So I kissed Peggy. And I am going on the 7. 20morning train. 

It is now ten o'clock. My suit-case is packed, my ticket is bought, but Tom has not come back, and the worst of it is he can't get backto-night. He telephoned between courses at his dinner that he hadaccepted an invitation to go home for the night with one of the menthey are dining. It seems he is a "person of importance"--there is a bigorder behind the junket, and Tom has gone home with him to talk it over. The ridiculous thing about it is that I forget where he was going. Ofcourse I could telephone to the hotel and find out, but men don't liketelephoning wives--at least, my man doesn't. It makes it rather hard, going on this trip without kissing Tom good-bye. I had half made up mymind to throw the whole thing over, but Peggy is pretty young; she has along life before her; there is a good deal at stake. So Tom and I kissedby electricity, and he said that it was all right, and to go ahead, andthe other absurd thing about that is that Tom didn't ask me for myNew York address, and I forgot to tell him. We are like two asteroidsspinning through space, neither knowing the other's route ordestination. In point of fact, I shall register at "The Sphinx, " thatnice ladies' hotel where mere man is never admitted. 

I have always supposed that the Mrs. Chataway Aunt Elizabeth talks aboutkept a boarding-house. I think Aunt Elizabeth rolls in upon her like aspent wave between visits. I have no doubt that I shall be able to traceAunt Elizabeth by her weeds upon this beach. After that the rest iseasy. I must leave my address for Tom pinned up somewhere. Matilda'smind wouldn't hold it if I stuck it through her brain with a hat-pin. Ithink I will glue it to his library table, and I'll do it this minute tomake sure. . . . I have directed Matilda to give him chicken croquettes forhis luncheon, and I have written out the menu for every meal till I gethome. Poor Tom! He isn't used to eating alone. I wish I thought he wouldmind it as much as I do. 

Eleven o'clock. --I am obsessed with an idea, and I have yielded to it;whether for good or ill, for wisdom or folly, remains to be proved. Ihave telephoned Dr. Denbigh and suggested to him that he should go toNew York, too. Considered in any light but that of Peggy's welfare--ButI am not considering anything in any light but that of Peggy's welfare. Dr. Denbigh used to have a little tendresse for Peggy--it was neveranything more, I am convinced. She is too young for him. A doctor seesso many women; he grows critical, if not captious. Character goes formore with him than with most men; looks go for less; and poor littlePeggy--who can deny?--up to this point in her development is chieflylooks. 

I intimated to the doctor that my errand to New York was of an importantnature: that it concerned my younger sister; that my husband was, unfortunately, out of town, and that I needed masculine advice. I am notin the habit of flattering the doctor, and he swallowed this delicatebait, as I thought he would. When I asked him if he didn't think heneeded a little vacation, if he didn't think he could get the old doctorfrom Southwest Eastridge to take his practice for two days, he said hedidn't know but he could. The grippe epidemic had gone down, nothingmore strenuous than a few cases of measles stood in the way; in fact, Eastridge at the present time, he averred, was lamentably healthy. When he had committed himself so far as this, he hesitated, and veryseriously said:

"Mrs. Price, you have never asked me to do a foolish thing, and I haveknown you for a good many years. It is too late to come over and talk itout with you. If you assure me that you consider your object in makingthis request important I will go. We won't waste words about it. Whattrain do you take?"

I am not a person of divination or intuition. I think I have rather acommonplace, careful, painstaking mind. But if ever I had an inspirationin my life I think I have one now. Perhaps it is the novelty of it thatmakes me confide in it with so little reflection. My inspiration, in aword, is this:

Aunt Elizabeth has reached the point where she is ready for a new man. Iknow I don't understand her kind of woman by experience. I don't supposeI do by sympathy. I have to reason her out. 

I have reasoned Aunt Elizabeth out to this conclusion: She always hashad, she always must have, she always will have, the admiration of someman or men to engross her attention. She is an attractive woman; sheknows it; women admit it; and men feel it. I don't think Aunt Elizabethis a heartless person; not an irresponsible one, only an idle andunhappy one. She lives on this intoxicant as other women might live ontea or gossip, as a man would take his dram or his tobacco. She drinksthis wine because she is thirsty, and the plain, cool, spring-water oflife has grown stale to her. It is corked up in bottles like the watersold in towns where the drinking-supply is low. It has ceased to bepalatable to her. 

My interpretation is, that there is no man on her horizon just nowexcept Harry Goward, and I won't do her the injustice to believe thatshe wouldn't be thankful to be rid of him just for her own sake; to saynothing of Peggy's. 

Aunt Elizabeth, I repeat, needs a new man. If Dr. Denbigh is willing tofill this role for a few days (of course I must be perfectly frank withhim about it) the effect upon Harry Goward will be instantaneous. Hisdisillusion will be complete; his return to Peggy in a state of abjecthumiliation will be assured. I mean, assuming that the fellow is capableof manly feeling, and that Peggy has aroused it. That, of course, remains for me to find out. 

How I am to fish Harry Goward out of the ocean of New York city doesn'ttrouble me in the least. Given Aunt Elizabeth, he will complete theequation. If Mrs. Chataway should fail me--But I won't suppose that Mrs. Chataway will fail. I must be sure and explain to Tom about Dr. Denbigh. 

"The Sphinx, " New York, 10 P. M. --I arrived--that is to say, we arrivedin this town at ten minutes past one o'clock, almost ten hours ago. Dr. Denbigh has gone somewhere--and that reminds me that I forgot to ask himwhere. I never thought of it until this minute, but it has just occurredto me that it may be quite as well from an ignorant point of view that"The Sphinx" excludes mere man from its portals. 

He was good to me on the train, very good indeed. I can't deny that heflushed a little when I told him frankly what I wanted of him. At firstI thought that he was going to be angry. Then I saw the corners of hismustache twitch. Then our sense of humor got the better of us, and thenI laughed, and then he laughed, and I felt that the crisis was passed. I explained to him while we were in the Pullman car, as well as I couldwithout being overheard by a fat lady with three chins, and a girl witha permit for a pet poodle, what it was that I wanted of him. I relatedthe story of Peggy's misfortune--in confidence, of course; and explainedthe part he was expected to play--confidentially, of course; in fact, Ilaid my plot before him from beginning to end. 

"If the boy doesn't love her, you see, " I suggested, "the sooner weknow it the better. She must break it off, if her heart is broken in theprocess. If he does love her--my private opinion is he thinks he does--Iwon't have Peggy's whole future wrecked by one of Aunt Elizabeth'sflirtations. The reef is too small for the catastrophe. I shall findAunt Elizabeth. Oh yes, I shall find Aunt Elizabeth! I have no moredoubt of that than I have that Matilda is putting too much onion in thecroquettes for Tom this blessed minute. If I find her I shall find theboy; but what good is that going to do me, if I find either of them orboth of them, if we can't disillusionize the boy?"

"In a word, " interrupted the doctor, rather tartly, "all you want of meis to walk across the troubled stage--"

"For Peggy's sake, " I observed. 

"Of course, yes, for Peggy's sake. I am to walk across this fantasticstage in the inglorious capacity of a philanderer. "

"That is precisely it, " I admitted. "I want you to philander with AuntElizabeth for two days, one day; two hours, one hour; just long enough, only long enough to bring that fool boy to his senses. "

"If I had suspected the nature of the purpose I am to serve in thiscomplication"--began the doctor, without a smile. "I trusted yourjudgment, Mrs. Price, and good sense--I have never known either to failbefore. However, " he added, manfully, "I am in for it now, and I woulddo more disagreeable things than this for Peggy's sake. But perhaps, " hesuggested, grimly, "we sha'n't find either of them. "

He retired from the subject obviously, if gracefully, and began to playwith the poodle that had the Pullman permit. I happen to know that ifthere is any species of dog the doctor does not love it is a poodle, with or without a permit. The lady with three chins asked me if myhusband were fond of dogs--I think she said, so fond as THAT. Sheglanced at the girl whom the poodle owned. 

I don't know why it should be a surprise to me, but it was; that thechin lady and the poodle girl have both registered at "The Sphinx. "

Directly after luncheon, for I could not afford to lose a minute, I wentto Mrs. Chataway's; the agreement being that the doctor should follow mein an absent-minded way a little later. But there was a blockade onthe way, and I wasn't on time. What I took to be Mrs. Chataway herselfadmitted me with undisguised hesitation. 

Miss Talbert, she said, was not at home; that is--no, she was not home. She explained that a great many people had been asking for Miss Talbert;there were two in the parlor now. 

When I demanded, "Two what?" she replied, in a breathless tone, "Twogentlemen, " and ushered me into that old-fashioned architectural effortknown to early New York as a front and back parlor. 

One of the gentlemen, as I expected, proved to be Dr. Denbigh. The otherwas flatly and unmistakably Charles Edward. The doctor offered to excusehimself, but I took Charles Edward into the back parlor, and I made sobold as to draw the folding-doors. I felt that the occasion justifiedworse than this. 

The colloquy between myself and Charles Edward was brief and pointed. Hebegan by saying, "YOU here! What a mess!--"

My conviction is that he saved himself just in time from Messymaria. 

"Have you found him?" I propounded. 

"No. "

"Haven't seen him?"

"I didn't say I hadn't seen him. "

"What did he say?" I insisted. 

"Not very much. It was in the Park. "

"In the PARK? Not very MUCH? How could you let him go?"

"I didn't let him go, " drawled Charles Edward. "He invited me to dinner. A man can't ask a fellow what his intentions are to a man's sister ina park. I hadn't said very much up to that point; he did most of thetalking. I thought I would put it off till we got round to the cigars. "

"Then?" I cried, impatiently, "and then?"

"You see, " reluctantly admitted Charles Edward, "there wasn't any then. I didn't dine with him, after all. I couldn't find it--"

"Couldn't find what?"

"Couldn't find the hotel, " said Charles Edward, defiantly. "I lost theaddress. Couldn't even say that it was a hotel. I believe it was a club. He seems to be a sort of a swell--for a coeducational professor--anyhow, I lost the address; and that is the long and short of it. "

"If it had been a studio or a Bohemian cafe--" I began. 

"I should undoubtedly have remembered it, " admitted Charles Edward, inhis languid way. 

"You have lost him, " I replied, frostily. "You have lost Harry Goward, and you come here--"

"On the same errand, I presume, my distressed and distressing sister, that has brought you. Have you seen her?" he demanded, with sudden, uncharacteristic shrewdness. 

At this moment a portiere opened at the side of my back parlor, and Mrs. Chataway, voluminously appearing, mysteriously beckoned me. I followedher into the dreariest hall I think I ever saw even in a New Yorkboarding-house. There the landlady frankly told me that Miss Talbertwasn't out. She was in her room packing to make one of her visits. MissTalbert had given orders that she was to be denied to gentlemen friends. 

No, she never said anything about ladies. (This I thought highlyprobable. ) But if I were anything to her and chose to take theresponsibility--I chose and I did. In five minutes I was in AuntElizabeth's room, and had turned the key upon an interview which wasbriefer but more startling than I could possibly have anticipated. 

Elizabeth Talbert is one of those women whose attraction increases withthe negligee or the deshabille. She was so pretty in her pink kimonothat she half disarmed me. She had been crying, and had a gentle look. 

When I said, "Where is he?" and when she said, "If you mean HarryGoward--I don't know, " I was prepared to believe her without evidence. She looked too pretty to doubt. Besides, I cannot say that I have evercaught Aunt Elizabeth in a real fib. She may be a "charmian, " but Idon't think she is a liar. Yet I pushed my case severely. 

"If you and he hadn't taken that 5. 40 train to New York--"

"We didn't take the 5. 40 train, " retorted Elizabeth Talbert, hotly. "Ittook us. You don't suppose--but I suppose you do, and I suppose I knowwhat the whole family supposes--As if I would do such a dastardly!--Asif I didn't clear out on purpose to get away from him--to get out of thewhole mix--As if I knew that young one would be aboard that train!"

"But he was aboard. You admit that. "

"Oh yes, he got aboard. "

"Made a pleasant travelling companion, Auntie?"

"I don't know, " said Aunt Elizabeth, shortly. "I didn't have ten wordswith him. I told him he had put me in a position I should never forgive. Then he told me I had put him in a worse. We quarrelled, and he wentinto the smoker. At the Grand Central he checked my suitcase and liftedhis hat. He did ask if I were going to Mrs. Chataway's. I have neverseen him since. "

"Aunt Elizabeth, " I said, sadly, "I am younger than you--"

"Not so very much!" retorted Aunt Elizabeth. 

"--and I must speak to you with the respect due my father's sister whenI say that the nobility of your conduct on this occasion--a nobilitywhich you will pardon me for suggesting that I didn't altogether counton--is likely to prove the catastrophe of the situation. "

Aunt Elizabeth stared at me with her wet, coquettish eyes. "You'repretty hard on me, Maria, " she said; "you always were. "

"Hurry and dress, " I suggested, soothingly; "there are two gentlemen tosee you downstairs. "

Aunt Elizabeth shook her head. She asserted with evident sinceritythat she didn't wish to see any gentlemen; she didn't care to see anygentlemen under any circumstances; she never meant to have anything todo with gentlemen again. She said something about becoming a deaconessin the Episcopal Church; she spoke of the attractions in the life of atrained nurse; mentioned settlement work; and asked me what I thought ofElizabeth Frye, Dorothea Dix, and Clara Barton. 

"This is one advantage that Catholics have over us, " she observed, dreamily: "one could go into a nunnery; then one would be quite surethere would be no men to let loose the consequences of their natures andconduct upon a woman's whole existence. "

"These two downstairs have waited a good while, " I returned, carelessly. "One of them is a married man and is used to it. But the other is not. "

"Very well, " said Aunt Elizabeth, with what (it occurred to me) was asmile of forced dejection. "To please you, Maria, I will go down. "

If Aunt Elizabeth's dejection were assumed, mine was not. I have beenin the lowest possible spirits since my unlucky discovery. Anythingand everything had occurred to me except that she and that boy couldquarrel. I had fancied him shadowing Mrs. Chataway for the slightestsign of his charmer. I don't know that I should have been surprised tosee him curled up, like a dog, asleep on the door-steps. At the presentmoment I have no more means of finding the wetched lad than I hadin Eastridge; not so much, for doubtless Peggy has his prehistoricaddresses. I am very unhappy. I have not had the heart left in meto admire Dr. Denbigh, who has filled his role brilliantly all theafternoon. In half an hour he and Aunt Elizabeth had philandered as deepas a six months' flirtation; and I must say that they have kept at itwith an art amounting almost to sincerity. Aunt Elizabeth did not oncemention settlement work, and put no inquiries to Dr. Denbigh aboutElizabeth Frye, Dorothea Dix, or Clara Barton. 

I think he took her to the Metropolitan Museum; I know he invited herto the theatre; and there is some sort of an appointment for to-morrowmorning, I forget what. But my marked success at this end of the stageonly adds poignancy to my sense of defeat at the other. 

I am very homesick. I wish I could see Tom. I do hope Tom found mymessage about Dr. Denbigh. 

Twenty-four hours later. --The breeze of yesterday has spun into awhirlwind to-day. I am half stunned by the possibilities of humanexistence. One lives the simple life at Eastridge; and New York strikesme on the head like some heavy thing blown down. If these are theresults of the very little love-affair of one very little girl--whatmust the great emotion, the real experience, the vigorous crisis, bring?

At "The Sphinx, " as is well known, no male being is admitted on anypretence. I believe the porter (for heavy trunks) is the onlyexception. The bell-boys are bell-girls. The clerk is a matron, and theproprietress a widow in half-mourning. 

At nine o'clock this morning I was peremptorily summoned out of thebreakfast-room and ordered to the desk. Two frowning faces receivedme. With cold politeness I was reminded of the leading clause in theconstitution of that house. 

"Positively, " observed the clerk, "no gentlemen callers are permitted atthis hotel, and, madam, there are two on the door-steps who insist uponan interview with you; they have been there half an hour. One of themrefuses to recognize the rule of the house. He insists upon an immediatesuspension of it. I regret to tell you that he went so far as to mentionthat he would have a conversation with you if it took a search-warrantto get it. "

"He says, " interrupted the proprietress in half-mourning, "that he isyour husband. "

She spoke quite distinctly, and as these dreadful words re-echoedthrough the lobby, I saw that two ladies had come out from thereception-room and were drinking the scene down. One of these was thefat lady with the three chins; the other was the poodle girl. She heldhim, at that unpleasant moment, by a lavender ribbon leash. It seems shegets a permit for him everywhere. 

And he is the wrong sex, I am sure, to obtain any privileges at "TheSphinx. "

The mosaic of that beautiful lobby did not open and swallow me down asI tottered across it to the vestibule. A strapping door-girl guardedthe entrance. Grouped upon the long flight of marble steps two menimpatiently awaited me. The one with the twitching mustache was Dr. Denbigh. But he, oh, he with the lightning in his eyes, he was myhusband, Thomas Price. 

"Maria, " he began, with ominous composure, "if you have any explanationsto offer of these extraordinary circumstances--" Then the torrent burstforth. Every expletive familiar to the wives of good North-Americanhusbands broke from Tom's unleashed lips. "I didn't hear of it tillafternoon. I took the midnight express. Billy told Matilda he saw youget aboard the 7. 20 train It's all over Eastridge. We have been marriedthirteen years, Maria, and I have always had occasion to trust yourjudgment and good sense till now. "

"That is precisely what I told her, " ventured Dr. Denbigh. 

"As for you, sir!" Tom Price turned, towering. "It is fortunate for YOUthat I find my wife in this darned shebang. --Any female policeman behindthat door-girl? Doctor? Why, Doctor! Say, DOCTOR! Dr. Denbigh! What inthunder are you laughing at?"

The doctor's sense of humor (a quality for which I must admit my dearhusband is not so distinguished as he is for some more important traits)had got the better of him. He put his hands in his pockets, threwback his handsome head, and then and there, in that sacred femininevestibule, he laughed as no woman could laugh if she tried. 

In the teeth of the door-girl, the clerk, and the proprietress, in theface of the chin lady and the poodle girl, I ran straight to Tom and putmy arms around his neck. At first I was afraid he was going to push meoff, but he thought better of it. Then I cried out upon him as a womanwill when she has had a good scare. "Oh, Tom! Tom! Tom! You dear oldprecious Tom! I told you all about it. I wrote you a note about Dr. Denbigh and--and everything. You don't mean to say you never found it?"

"Where the deuce did you leave it?" demanded Thomas Price. 

"Why, I stuck it on your pin-cushion! I pinned it there. I pinned itdown with two safety-pins. I was very particular to. "

"PIN-CUSHION!" exploded Tom. "A message--an important message--to aMAN--on a PIN-cushion!"

Then, with that admirable self-possession which has been the secret ofTom Price's success in life, he immediately recovered himself. "Nexttime, Maria, " he observed, with pitying gentleness, "pin it on thehen-coop. Or, paste it on the haymow with the mucilage-brush. Or, fastenit to the watering-trough in the square--anywhere I might run acrossit. --Doctor! I beg your pardon, old fellow. --Now madam, if you areallowed by law to get out of this blasted house I can't get into, I willpay your bill, Maria, and take you to a respectable hotel. What's thatone we used to go to when we ran down to see Irving? I can't think---Ohyes--'The Holy Family. '"

"Don't be blasphemous, Price, whatever else you are!" admonished thedoctor. He was choking with laughter. 

"Perhaps it was 'The Whole Family, ' Tom?" I suggested, meekly. 

"Come to think of it, " admitted Tom, "it must have been 'The HappyFamily. ' Get your things on, Mysie, and we'll get out of this inhumanplace. "

I held my head as high as I could when I came back through the lobby, with a stout chambermaid carrying my suit-case. The clerk sniffedaudibly; the proprietress met me with a granite eye; the lady with thethree chins muttered something which I am convinced it would not haveadded to my personal happiness to hear; but I thought the girl with thelavender poodle watched me a little wistfully as I whirled away upon myhusband's big forgiving arm. 

The doctor, who had really laughed until he cried, followed, wiping hismerry eyes. These glistened when on the sidewalk directly opposite thehotel entrance we met Elizabeth Talbert, who had arranged, but in theagitation of the morning I had entirely forgotten it, to come to see meat that very hour. 

So we fell into line, the doctor and Aunt Elizabeth, my husband and I, on our way to take the cars for "The Happy Family, " when suddenly Tomclapped his hands to his pockets and announced that he had forgotten--hemust send a telegram. Coming away in such a hurry, he must telegraph tothe Works. Tom is an incurable telegrapher (I have long cherished theconviction that he is the main support of the Western Union TelegraphCompany), and we all followed him to the nearest office where he couldget a wire. 

Some one was before him at the window, a person holding a hesitantpencil above a yellow blank. I believe I am not without self-possessionmyself, partly natural, and partly acquired by living so long with Tom;but it took all I ever had not to utter a womanish cry when the youngman turned his face and I saw that it was Harry Goward. 

The boy's glance swept us all in. When it reached Aunt Elizabeth and Dr. Denbigh he paled, whether with relief or regret I had my doubts at thatmoment, and I have them still. An emotion of some species possessed himso that he could not for the moment speak. Aunt Elizabeth was the firstto recover herself. 

"Ah?" she cooed. "What a happy accident! Mr. Goward, allow me to presentyou to my friend Dr. Denbigh. "

The doctor bowed with a portentous gravity. It was almost the equal ofHarry's own. 

After this satisfactory incident everybody fell back instinctively andgave the command of the expedition to me. The boy anxiously yieldedhis place at the telegraph window to Tom; in fact, I took the pains tonotice that Harry's telegram was not sent, or was deferred to a moreconvenient season. I invited him to run over to "The Happy Family" withus, and we all fell into rank again on the sidewalk, the boy not withoutembarrassment. Of this I made it my first duty to relieve him. Wechatted of the weather and the theatre and hotels. When we had walkeda short distance, we met Charles Edward dawdling along over to "TheSphinx" (however reluctantly) to call upon his precious elder sister. Sowe paired off naturally: Aunt Elizabeth and the doctor in front, Gowardand I behind them, and Tom and Charles Edward bringing up the rear. 

My heart dropped when I saw what a family party air we had. I felt itto my finger-tips, and I could see that the lad writhed under it. His expression changed from misery to mutiny. I should not have beensurprised if he had made one plunge into the roaring current of Broadwayand sunk from sight forever. The thing that troubled me most wasthe poor taste of it: as if the whole family had congregated in themetropolis to capture that unhappy boy. For the first time I began tofeel some sympathy for him. 

"Mr. Goward, " I said, abruptly, in a voice too low even for AuntElizabeth to hear, "nobody wishes to make you uncomfortable. We are nothere for any such purpose. I have something in my pocket to show you;that is all. It will interest you, I am sure. As soon as we get to thehotel, if you don't mind, I will tell you about it--or, in fact, willgive it to you. Count the rest out. They are not in the secret. "

"I feel like a convict arrested by plainclothes men, " complained Harry, glancing before and behind. 

"You won't, " I said, "when you have talked to me five minutes. "

"Sha'n't I?" he asked, dully. He said nothing more, and we pursued ourway to the hotel in silence. Elizabeth Talbert and Dr. Denbigh talkedenough to make up for us. 

Aunt Elizabeth made herself so charming, so acutely charming, that Iheard the boy draw one quick, sharp breath. But his eyes followed hermore sullenly than tenderly, and when she clung to the doctor's arm upona muddy crossing the young man turned to me with a sad, whimsical smile. 

"It doesn't seem to make much difference--does it, Mrs. Price? Shetreats us all alike. "

There is the prettiest little writing-room in "The Happy Family, " allblue and mahogany and quiet. This place was deserted, and thither Ibetook myself with Harry Goward, and there he began as soon as we werealone:

"Well, what is it, Mrs. Price?"

"Nothing but this, " I said, gently enough. "I have taken it upon myselfto solve a mystery that has caused a good deal of confusion in ourfamily. "

Without warning I took the muddy letter from my pocket, and slid itunder his eyes upon the big blue blotter. 

"I don't wish to be intrusive or strenuous, " I pleaded, "none of uswishes to be that. Nobody is here to call you to account, Mr. Goward, but you see this letter. It was received at our house in the conditionin which you find it. Would you be so kind as to supply the missingaddress? That is all I want of you. "

The boy's complexion ran through the palette, and subsided from adull Indian-red to a sickly Nile-green. "Hasn't she ever read it?" hedemanded. 

"Nobody has ever read it, " I said. "Naturally--since it is notaddressed. This letter went fishing with Billy. "

The young man took the letter and examined it in trembling silence. 

Perhaps if Fate ever broke him on her wheel it was at that moment. Hisdestiny was still in his own hands, and so was the letter. Unaddressed, it was his personal property. He could retain it if he chose, and thefamily mystery would darken into deeper gloom than ever. I felt mycomfortable, commonplace heart beat rapidly. 

Our silence had passed the point of discomfort, and was fast reachingthat of anguish, when the boy lifted his head manfully, dipped one of"The Happy Family's" new pens into a stately ink-bottle, and rapidlyfilled in the missing address upon the unfortunate letter. He handed itto me without a word. My eyes blurred when I read:

"Personal. Miss Peggy Talbert, Eastridge. (Kindness of Miss AliceTalbert. )"

"What shall I do with it?" I asked, controlling my agitation. 

"Deliver it to her, if you please, as quickly as possible. I thought ofeverything else. I never thought of this. "

"Never thought of--"

"That she might not have got it. "

"Now then, Mr. Goward, " I ventured, still speaking very gently, "do youmind telling me what you took that 5. 40 train for?"

"Why, because I didn't get an answer from the letter!" exclaimed Harry, raising his voice for the first time. "A man doesn't write a letter suchas that more than once in a lifetime. It was a very important letter. I told her everything. I explained everything. I felt I ought to have ahearing. If she wanted to throw me over (I don't deny she had the rightto) I would rather she had taken some other way than--than to ignoresuch a letter. I waited for an answer to that letter until quarter-pastfive. I just caught the 5. 40 train and went to my aunt's house, theone--you know my uncle died the other day--I have been there ever since. By-the-way, Mrs. Price, if anything else comes up, and if you haveany messages for me, I shall be greatly obliged if you will take myaddress. "

He handed me his card with an up-town street and number, and I snappedit into the inner pocket of my wallet. 

"Do you think, " demanded Harry Goward, outright, "that she will everforgive me, REALLY forgive me?"

"That is for you to find out, " I answered, smiling comfortably; for Icould not possibly have Harry think that any of us--even an unpopularelder sister--could be there to fling Peggy at the young man's head. "That is between you and Peggy. "

"When shall you get home with that letter?" demanded Harry. 

"Ask my husband. At a guess, I should say tomorrow. "

"Perhaps I had better wait until she has read the letter, " mused theboy. "Don't you think so, Mrs. Price?"

"I don't think anything about it. I will not take any responsibilityabout it. I have got the letter officially addressed, and there myerrand ends. "

"You see, I want to do the best thing, " urged Harry Goward. "And so muchhas happened since I wrote that letter--and when you come to think thatshe has never read it--"

"I will mail it to her, " I said, suddenly. "I will enclose it with aline and get it off by special delivery this noon. "

"It might not reach her, " suggested Harry, pessimistically. "Everythingseems to go wrong in this affair. "

"Would you prefer to send it yourself?" I asked. 

Harry Goward shook his head. 

"I would rather wait till she has read it. I feel, under thecircumstances, that I owe that to her. "

Now, at that critical moment, a wide figure darkened the entrance of thewriting-room, and, plumping down solidly at another table, spread out afat, ring-laden hand and began to write a laborious letter. It was thelady with the three chins. But the girl with the poodle did not putin an appearance. I learned afterward that the dog rule of "The HappyFamily" admitted of no permits. 

Harry Goward and I parted abruptly but pleasantly, and he earnestlyrequested the privilege of being permitted to call upon me to-morrowmorning. 

I mailed the letter to Peggy by special delivery, and just now I askedTom if he didn't think it was wise. 

"I can tell you better, my dear, day after tomorrow, " he replied. Andthat was all I could get out of him. 

"The Happy Family. "--It is day after tomorrow, and Tom and I are goingto take the noon train home. Our purpose, or at least my purpose, to this effect has been confirmed, if not created, by the followingcircumstances:

Yesterday, a few hours after I had parted from Harry Goward in the bluewriting-room of "The Happy Family, " Tom received from father a telegramwhich ran like this:

"Off for Washington--that Gooch business. Shall take Peggy. Child needschange. Will stop over from Colonial Express and lunch Happy Family. Explicitly request no outsider present. Can't have appearance of falseposition. Shall take her directly out of New York, after luncheon. CyrusTalbert. "

Torn between filial duty and sisterly affection, I sat twirling thistelegram between my troubled fingers. Tom had dashed it there and blownoff somewhere, leaving me, as he usually does, to make my own decisions. Should I tell Harry? Should I not tell Harry? Was it my right? Was itnot his due? I vibrated between these inexorable questions, but, likethe pendulum I was, I struck no answer anywhere. I had half made up mymind to let matters take their own course. If Goward should happen tocall on me when Peggy, flying through New York beneath her father'sstalwart wing, alighted for the instant at "The Happy Family"--was I toblame? Could _I_ be held responsible? It struck me that I could not. Onthe other hand, father could not be more determined than I that Peggyshould not be put into the apparent position of pursuing an irresolute, however repentant, lover. . . . I was still debating the question asconscientiously and philosophically as I knew how, when the bell-boybrought me a note despatched by a district messenger, and thereforeconstitutionally delayed upon the way. 

The letter was from my little sister's fiance, and briefly said:

"My dear Mrs. Price, --I cannot tell you how I thank you for yoursisterly sympathy and womanly good sense. You have cleared away a lotof fog out of my mind. I don't feel that I can wait an unnecessary hourbefore I see Peggy. I should like to be with her as soon as the letteris. If you will allow me to postpone my appointment with yourself, Ishall start for Eastridge by the first train I can catch to-day. 

 "Gratefully yours, "Henry T. Goward. "

IX. THE MOTHER, by Edith Wyatt

I am sure that I shall surprise no mother of a large family when I saythat this hour is the first one I have spent alone for thirty years. Icount it, alone. For while I am driving back in the runabout along thesix miles of leafy road between the hospital and Eastridge with motherbeside me, she is sound asleep under the protection of her little hingedblack sunshade, still held upright. She will sleep until we are at home;and, after our anxious morning at the hospital, I am most grateful tothe fortune sending me this lucid interval, not only for thinking overwhat has occurred in the last three days, but also for trying to focusclearly for myself what has happened in the last week, since Elizabethwent on the 5. 40 to New York; since Charles followed Elizabeth; sinceMaria, under Dr. Denbigh's mysteriously required escort, followedCharles; since Tom followed Maria; and since Cyrus, with my dear girl, followed Tom. 

On the warm afternoon before Elizabeth left, as I walked past her opendoor, with Lena, and carrying an egg-nog to Peggy, I could not avoidhearing down the whole length of the hall a conversation carried on inclear, absorbed tones, between my sister and Alice. 

"Did I understand you to say, " said Elizabeth, in an assumption ofindifference too elaborate, I think, to deceive even her niece, "thatthis Mr. Wilde you mention is now living in New York?"

"Oh yes. He conducts all the art-classes at the Crafts Settlement. Heencouraged Lorraine's sisters in their wonderful work. I would love togo into it myself. "

Lorraine's sisters and her circle once entertained me at tea in theirestablishment when I visited Charles before his marriage, in New York. They are extremely kind young women, ladies in every respect, who have aworkshop called "At the Sign of the Three-legged Stool. " They seem to becarpenters, as nearly as I can tell. They wear fillets and bright, looseclothes; and they make very rough-hewn burnt-wood footstools and oddsettees with pieces of glass set about in them. It is all very puzzling. When Charles showed me a candlestick one of the young ladies had made, and talked to me about the decoration and the line, I could see thatit was very gracefully designed and nicely put together. But when henoticed that in the wish to be perfectly open-minded to his point ofview I was looking very attentively at a queer, uneven wrought-ironbrooch with two little pendant polished granite rocks, he only laughedand put his hand on my shawl a minute and brought me more tea. 

So that I could understand something of what Alice was mentioning as shewent on: "You know Lorraine says that, though not the most PROMINENT, Lyman Wilde is the most RADICAL and TEMPERAMENTAL leader in the greathandicraft development in this country. Even most of the persons infavor of it consider that he goes too far. She says, for instance, he isso opposed to machines of all sorts that he thinks it would be better toabolish printing and return to script. He has started what they call alittle movement of the kind now, and is training two young scriveners. "

Elizabeth was shaking her head reflectively as I passed the door, andsaying: "Ah--no compromise. And always, ALWAYS the love of beauty. " AndI heard her advising Alice never, never to be one of the foolish womenand men who hurt themselves by dreaming of beauty or happiness in theirnarrow little lives; repeating sagely that this dream was even worse forthe women than for the men; and asked whether Alice supposed the CraftsSettlement address wouldn't probably be in the New York telephone-book. Alice seemed to be spending a very gratifying afternoon. 

My sister Elizabeth's strongest instinct from her early youth has beenthe passion inspiring the famous Captain Parklebury Todd, so oftenquoted by Alice and Billy: "I do not think I ever knew a character sogiven to creating a sensation. Or p'r'aps I should in justice say, to what, in an Adelphi play, is known as situation. " Never has shegratified her taste in this respect more fully than she did--as Ibelieve quite accidentally and on the inspiration of these words withAlice--in taking the evening train to New York with Mr. Goward. 

Twenty or thirty people at the station saw them starting away together, each attempting to avoid recognition, each in the pretence of avoidingthe other, each with excited manners. So that, as both Peggy andElizabeth have been born and brought up here; as, during Mr. Goward'sconspicuous absence and silence, during Peggy's illness, and all ourtrying uncertainties and hers, in the last weeks, my sister had widelyflung to town talk many tacit insinuations concerning the character ofMr. Goward's interest in herself; as none of the twenty or thirtypeople were mute beyond their kind; and as Elizabeth's nature has neverinspired high neighborly confidence--before night a rumor had spreadlike the wind that Margaret Talbert's lover had eloped with her aunt. 

Billy heard the other children talking of this news and hushingthemselves when he came up. Tom learned of the occurrence by atelephone, and, after supper, told Cyrus and myself; Maria was informedof it by telephone through an old friend who thought Maria should knowof what every one was saying. Lorraine, walking to the office to meetCharles, was overtaken on the street by Mrs. Temple, greatly concernedfor us and for Peggy, and learned the strange story from our sympatheticneighbor, to repeat it to Charles. At ten o'clock there was only oneperson in the house, perhaps in Eastridge, who was ignorant of ourdaughter's singular fortune. That person was our dear girl herself. 

Since my own intelligence of the report I had not left her alone withanybody else for a moment; and now I was standing in the hall watchingher start safely up-stairs, when to our surprise the front-door latchclicked suddenly; she turned on the stairs; the door opened, and we bothfaced Charles. From the first still glances he and I gave each other heknew she hadn't heard. Then he said quietly that he had wished to seePeggy for a moment before she went to sleep. He bade me a very confidingand responsible good-night, and went out with her to the garden wherethey used to play constantly together when they were children. 

Up-stairs, unable to lie down till she came back, I put on a littlecambric sack and sat by the window waiting till I should hear her footon the stairs again. "Charles is telling her, " I said to Cyrus. He waswalking up and down the room, dumb with impatience and disgust, toopained for Peggy, too tried by his own helplessness to rest or evento sit still. In a way it has all been harder for him than for any oneelse. His impulses are stronger and deeper than my dear girl's, and farless cool. She is very especially precious to him; and, whether becauseshe looks so like him, or because he thinks her ways like my own, heryouth and her fortune have always been at once a more anxious and a morelovely concern with him than any one else's on earth. She is, somehow, our future to him. 

While we waited here in this anxiety up-stairs, down in the garden Icould hear not the words, but the tones of our children as they spoketogether. Charles's voice sounded first for a long time, with an airof calmness and directness; and Peggy answered him at intervals oflistening, answered apparently less with surprise at what he told herthan in a quiet acceptance, with a little throb of control, and then inaccord with him. Then it was as though they were planning together. 

In the still village night their voices sounded very tranquil; aftera little while, even buoyant. Peggy laughed once or twice. Little bylittle a breath of relief blew over both her father's solicitude andmine. It was partly from the coolness and freshness of the out-door air, and the half-unconscious sense it often brings, that beyond whatevercare is close beside you at the instant there is--and especially forthe young--so much else in all creation. Then, for me, there was a deepcomfort in the knowledge that in this time of need my children had eachother; that they could speak so together, in an intimate sympathy, andwere, not only superficially in name, but really and beautifully, abrother and sister. 

At last, as they parted at the gate, Charles said, in a spirited, downright tone: "Stick to that, cling to it, make it your answer toeverything. It's all you now know and all you need to know, and you'llbe as firm on it as on a rock. "

The lamplight from the street filtering through the elm leaves glimmeredon Peggy's bright hair as she looked up at him. Her eyelashes were wet, but she was laughing as she said: "But, of course, I HAVE to cling toit. It's the truth. Good-night! Good-night!" And her step on the stairswas light and even skipping. 

On the next morning, when I knocked at her door to find whether shewould rather breakfast up-stairs, I saw at once she had slept. She stoodbefore the mirror fastening her belt ribbon, and looking so lovely itseemed impossible misfortune should ever touch her. 

"Why, mother dear, you aren't dressed for the library-board meeting!Isn't that this morning?"

"Yes. "

She looked at me with her little, sweet, quick smile, and we sat downfor a moment on her couch together, each with a sense that neither wouldsay one word too sharply pressing. 

"Dear mother, why NOT go to the board meeting? You don't need to protectme so. You CAN'T protect me every minute. You see, of course, last nightCharles--told me of what everybody thinks. " Her voice throbbed again. She stopped for a minute. "But for weeks and weeks I had felt somethinglike this coming toward me. And now that it's come, " she went on, bravely, "we can only just do as we always have done--and not make anydifference--can we?"

"Except that I feel I must be here, because we can't know from minute tominute what may come up. "

"You feel you can't leave me, mother. But you can. I want to see whoevercomes, just as usual. I'd have to at some time, you know, at any rate. And I mean to do it now--until I go away out of Eastridge. Charles isgoing to arrange that so very wonderfully. He has gone to New York nowto see about it. "

"He has, my dear?" I said, in some surprise. 

"Yes. And, mother, about--about what's over, " she whispered. 

"Yes. "

"Oh, just--just it couldn't all have happened in this way if"--she spokein quite a clear, soft voice, looking straight into my eyes, with one ofher quick turns--"he were a real MAN--anybody I could think of as beingmy husband. It was just that I didn't truly know him. That was all. "

We held each other's hands fast for one moment of perfect understandingbefore we rose. 

"Then I'll go, dear, this morning, just as you like, " I said. She cameinto my room and fastened my cuff-pins for me. "Why, mother, I don'tbelieve you and your little duchesse cuffs and your little, fine, goldwatch-chain have ever been away from the chair of the library committeeat a board meeting for twenty years! Just think what a sensation youwere going to make if I hadn't interfered! There, how nice you look!"

The weather was so inclement during my absence that I felt quite secureconcerning all intrusion for her. At noon the storm rose high, witha close-timed thunder and lightning; the Episcopal church spire wasstruck; two trees were blown over in the square; and, instead ofordering Dan and the horses out in this tumult, I dined with a boardmember living next the library, and drove home at three o'clock when theviolence of the gale had abated. 

The house was perfectly still when I reached it. The children were atschool; Cyrus, at the factory; mother, napping, with her door closed. Inher own room up-stairs, in the middle of the house, Peggy sat alone, ina loose wrapper, with her hair flying over her shoulders. An open booklay unnoticed in her lap. Her face was white and tear-stained, and hereyes looked wild and ill. 

As her glance fell on me I saw her need of me, and hurried in to closethe door. "Oh, mother; mother!" she moaned. "Such a morning! It's allcome back--all I fought against--all I was conquering. What does itmean? What does it mean?"

"What has happened? Who has been here?"

"Maria--sneering at Charles's ideas, asking me questions, petting meand pitying me and making a baby of me, until I broke down at lastand wanted all the things she wanted to have done, and let her kiss megood-bye for her kindness in doing them--"

In a passion of tears she walked up and down, up and down the room, asher father does, except with that quick, nervous grace she always has, and in a painful, sobbing excitement. 

Every sense I had was for an instant's passage fused in one clear, concentrated anger against a sister who could play so ruthlessly uponmy poor child's woman pulses and emotions, so disarm her of herself-control and right free spirit. 

"Why did she come?" I said, at last, with the best calmness I couldmuster. Peggy stood still for a moment, startled by a coldness in myvoice I couldn't alter. 

"She came to find out about things for herself. Then when she did findout about Charles's way of helping us she simply hated it--and she sentme after--after the letter you had. I got it from your desk, and Mariatook it to find out its real address. "

At that she sank again in a chair, and buried her face in her hands, hardly knowing what she was saying. "Oh, what shall I do? What shall Ido?" she repeated, softly and wildly. "Yesterday I could behave so wellby what I knew was true about him. Then, when Maria came and spokeas though I was three years old, and hadn't any understanding nor anydignity of my own, and the best thing for any girl, at any rate, were tocling to the man she loved as though she were his mother and he were herdear, erring child" (she began to laugh a little), "the feebler he werethe more credit to her for her devotion--then I couldn't go on by what Iknew was true about him--only back, back again to all my--old mistake. "She was laughing and crying now with little, quick gasps, in a sheerhysteria which no doubt would have given her sister entire satisfactionas a manifesto of her normal womanliness. 

I brought her a glass of water, and, trying to conceal my own distressfor her as well as I could, sat down, silently, near her. Graduallyshe grew quieter, until the room was so still that we could hear theraindrops from the eaves plash down outside. Peggy pushed back her cloudof bright hair and fastened it in the nape of her neck. At last shesaid, with conviction: "Mother, Maria didn't say these things, but Iknow she thinks them for me, thinks that a woman's love is just allforgiveness and indulgence. By that she could--she did work on mynerves. But"--and her gray eyes glanced so beautifully and so darklywith a girl's fine, straight, native, healthy spirit as she said it--"ICOULDN'T marry any man but one that I admired. "

"I'm sure you couldn't, " I said, firmly. "And, my dear child, Imust confess I fail to understand why your sister should wish sopatronizingly for you a fortune she would never have accepted forherself. How can she possibly like for you such a mawkish and a morbidthing as the prospect of a marriage with a man in whom neither you norany other person feels the presence of one single absolute and manlyquality?"

"Why, mother, I have never heard you speak so strongly before--"

At that moment Lena came searching through the hall, and knocking at thedoor of my room, next Peggy's, to announce Lorraine. The kind-heartedgirl was with us constantly, and of the greatest unobtrusive solace toPeggy in those three days after our travellers had all gone, one afterthe other, like the fairy-tale family, at the chance word of CleverAlice. 

It was on the fifth morning afterward, as I was sitting on the piazzahemming an organdie ruffle for my big little girl--she does shoot up sofast--that I heard on the gravel Charles's footstep. 

For some time after his arrival, as he sat, with his hat thrown off, talking lightly of his New York sojourn, I was so completely glad to seehim, and to see him looking so well and in such buoyant spirits, that Icould think of nothing else until he mentioned taking tea "At theSign of the Three-legged Stool" with Lorraine's sisters, with LymanWilde--and with Aunt Elizabeth. 

My work dropped out of my hands. 

He laughed. "Yes. Dear mother, since you never have seen him, I don'tknow that I can hope to convey any right conception of Wilde's trulyremarkable character. He is, to begin with, the best of men. Picture, ifyou can, a nature with a soul completely beautiful and selfless, and anervous surface quite as pachydermatous and indiscriminating as thatof an ox. Wilde accepts everybody's estimate of himself. Not only thequality of his mercy, but also of his admiration, is quite unstrained. So that he sees the friend of his youth not at all as I or any humanizedperception at the Crafts Settlement would see her, but quite as shesees herself, as a fascinating, gifted, capricious woman of theworld, beating the wings of her thwarted love of beauty against cruelcircumstance. I noticed his attitude as soon as I mentioned to himthat Lorraine had by chance discovered that he and my aunt were oldacquaintances. He said that he would be very much interested in seeingher again. As he happened at the moment to be looking over a packetof postals announcing his series of talks on 'Script, ' he asked me heraddress, called his stenographer, and had it added to his mailing-list. But before the postal reached her she had called him up to tell him shehad lately heard of his work and of him for the first time after allthese years, through Lorraine, and to ask him to come to see her. His call, I am sure, they spent in a rich mutual misunderstanding asthoroughly satisfactory to both as any one could wish. For, as I say, onmy last visit in the Crafts neighborhood she was taking tea with all ofthem and Dr. Denbigh. "

"Dr. Denbigh!" I repeated, in surprise. "Oh, Charles, are any of themnot well?"

"No, no. I think he's been in New York"--he gave a groan--"on accountof some delicate finesse on Maria's part, some incomprehensible plan ofhers for bringing Goward back here. The worst of it is that, like allher plans, I believe it's going to be perfectly successful. "

"What do you mean?" I asked, in consternation. 

"From every natural portent, I think that horrid infant in arms was, when I left New York, about to cast his handkerchief or rattle towardPeggy again. I'm morally certain that he and all his odious emotionaldisturbances will be presenting themselves for her consideration inEastridge before long; and, since they strike me as quite too odious forthe nicest girl in the world, I hope, before they reach here, she'll befar away--absolutely out of reach. "

"I hope so, too. " But as I said it, for the first time there came aroundme, like a blank, rising mist, the prospect of a journey farther and alonger separation than any I had before imagined between us. 

"I knew you'd think so. That was, partly, why I acted as I did, for her, dear mother"--he leaned forward a little toward me and took up one endof the ruffle I was stitching again to cover my excitement--"and forLorraine and for me, in engaging our passage abroad. "

He seemed not to expect me to speak at once, but after a little quietpause, while we both sat thinking, went on, with great gentleness: "Youknow it's about our only way of really protecting her from any annoyancehere, even that of thoughts of her own she doesn't like. There will beso very wonderfully much for her to see, and I believe she'll enjoy it. One of Lorraine's younger sisters is coming to be with us, perhaps, fora while in Switzerland--and the Elliots--animal sculptors. You rememberthem, don't you, and Arlington--studying decorative design that winterwhen you were in New York? They'll be abroad this summer. I believewe'll all have a very charming, care-free time walking and sketching andworking--a time really so much more charming for a lovely and sensibleyoung woman than sitting in a talking town subject to the incursions ofa lover she doesn't truly like. " He stopped a moment before he added, sincerely: "Then--it isn't simply for her that this way would be better, mother, but for me, for every one. "

"For you and for every one?" I managed to make myself ask withtranquillity. 

"Yes. Why wouldn't this relieve immensely all the sufferers from mycommercial career at the factory? Don't you think that's somewhatunjust, not simply to Maria's and Tom's requirements for the familystanding and fortunes"--he laughed a moment--"but to father's need thereof a right-hand business man?" That was his way of putting it. "For along time, " he pursued, more earnestly than I've ever heard him speakbefore in his life, "I've been planning, mother, to go away to study andto sketch. I'm doing nothing here. Maybe what I would do away fromhere might not seem to you so wonderful. But it would have onedignity--whatever else it were or were not, it would be my own. "

Perhaps it may seem strange, but in those few words and instants, whenmy son spoke so simply and sincerely of his own work, I felt, more thanin his actual wedding with his wife, the cleaving pang of a marriage forhim. At the same time I was stricken beyond all possible speech by myrising consciousness of the injustice of his sense of failure here inhis own father's house, in my house. How weakly I had been lost in thethousand little anxieties and preoccupations of my every-day, to letmyself be unwittingly engulfed in his older sister's strange, blankprejudice, to lose my own true understanding of the rights and thehappiness of one of the children--I can think it, all unspoken and insilence--somehow most my own. 

It seemed as though my heartstrings tightened. Everything blurredbefore me. I never in my life have tried so hard before to hold mysoul absolutely still to see quite clearly, as though none of thiswere happening to myself, what would be best for my boy's future, for Peggy's, for their whole lives. It was in the midst of theseclose-pressing thoughts that I heard him saying: "So that perhaps thiswould truly be the right way for every one. " Only too inevitably Iknew his words were true; and now I could force myself at last to say, quietly: "Why--yes--if that would make you happier, Charles. " He roseand came up to my chair then so beautifully, and moved it to a shadierplace, as Peggy, catching sight of him from the garden, ran up with acry of surprise to meet him, to talk about it all. 

I scarcely know whether her father's consciousness of the comingseparation for me, or my consciousness of the coming separation for him, made things harder or easier for both of us. Cyrus was obliged to make abusiness trip to Washington on the next day, and it was decided that asPeggy especially wished to be with him now before her long absence, sheshould accompany him in the morning. 

On the midnight before we were all startled from sleep by the clangof the door-bell. Good little Billy, always hoping for excitement, andbesides extremely sweet in doing errands, answered it. The rest of usabsurdly assembled in kimonos and bathrobes at the head of the stairs, dreading we scarcely knew what, for the members of the family not in thehouse. Within a few minutes Billy dashed up-stairs again, consideratelyholding high, so that we all could see it, a special-delivery letter, the very same illegible, bleared envelope which had before annoyed us soextremely. It was addressed in washed-out characters to Miss -- Talbert. The word Peggy, very clear and black, had been lately inserted in thesame handwriting; and below, the street and number had been recentlyrefreshed, apparently by the hand of Maria. 

As this familiar, wearisome object reappeared before us all, Peggy, witha little quiver of mirth, looking out between her long braids, cried:"Call back the boy!" By the time the messenger had returned she hadreaddressed the envelope, unopened, to Mr. Goward. Billy took it backdown-stairs again; and every one trooped off to bed, Alice and motherwith positive snorts and flounces of impatience. 

Needless to say, Tom and Maria returned in perfect safety on Saturday. Before then, at twelve o'clock on the same morning, when Cyrus and Peggyhad gone, I was sitting on the piazza making a little money-bag for her, with mother sitting rocking beside me, and complaining of every one inpeace, when Dr. Denbigh drove up to the horse-block, flung his weightout of the buggy, and hurried up the steps. He shook hands with ushastily and abstractedly, and asked if he might speak to me inside thehouse. 

"Mrs. Talbert, " he said, closing the door of the library as soon as wewere inside it, "I am sure you will try not to feel alarmed at somethingI must tell you of at once. The early morning train I came on from NewYork, the one that ought to get in at Eastridge at eleven, was derailedtwo hours ago on a misplaced switch between here and Whitman. No onewas killed, but many of the passengers were injured. Among the injuredI took care of was Mr. Goward. His arm has been broken. He's been badlyshaken up--and he's now in a state of shock at the Whitman Hospital. The boy has been asking for Peggy, and then for you. I promised him thatafter my work was done--all the injured were taken there by a special assoon as possible after the wreck--I'd ask you to drive back to see him. Will you come?"

Of course I went, then. And at Harry Goward's request I have gone twicesince. He is very ill, too ill to talk, and though Dr. Denbigh sayshe will outlive a thousand stronger men, he has been rather worse thismorning. When I first saw him he asked for Peggy in one gasping word, and when he learned she had gone to Washington turned even whiter thanhe had been before. He is nervously quite wrecked and wretched; has noconfidence in Dr. Denbigh; and either Maria or I will go to the hospitalevery day till the boy's mother comes from California. It is a verytrying situation. For his misfortune has, of course, not changed myknowledge of his nature. I dread telling Cyrus and Peggy, when Imeet their returning noon train, after I have left mother at home, ofeverything that has happened here. 

As though these difficulties were not enough, this morning, just beforewe started to Whitman, we were involved in another perplexity throughthe unwilling agency of Mr. Temple. He called me up to read me abewildering telegram he had received an hour before from Elizabeth. Itsaid:

"Please end Eastridge scandal by announcing my engagement inBanner. --Lily. "

"Engagement to whom?" Mr. Temple had asked by telephone of Charles, whosaid none of us could be responsible for any definite information in thematter unless, perhaps, Maria. On consultation, Maria had said to Mr. Temple that in New York Mr. Goward had imparted to her that Elizabethhad told him many weeks ago that she was irrevocably betrothed toDr. Denbigh. Mr. Temple had finally referred unsuccessfully to me forElizabeth's address in order to ask her to send a complete announcementin the full form she wished printed. 

("Whoa, Douglas. Well--mother, you had a nice little nap, didn't you. No, no; I won't be late. It's not more than five minutes to the station. Thanks, Lena. Yes, Billy dear, you can get in. Why, I don't know why youshouldn't drive. ")

The train is just pulling in. Charles is there and Maria, each standingon one side of the car-steps. Now I see them. That looks like Peggy'ssuit-case the porter's carrying down. Yes, it is. There--there they are, coming down the steps behind him, Cyrus and my dear girl--how well theylook! Oh, how I hope everything will come right for them!

X. THE SCHOOL-BOY, By Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews

Rabbits. 

Automobile. (Painted red, with yellow lines. )

Automatic reel. (The 3-dollar kind. )

New stamp-book. (The puppy chewed my other. )

Golly, I forgot. I suppose I mustn't use this, but it's my birthday nextmonth, and I want 'steen things, and I thought I'd better make a list topin on the dining-room door, where the family could take their pick whatto give me. Lorraine gave me this blank-book, and told me that if I'dwrite down everything that I knew about Peggy and Harry Goward and allthat stuff, she'd have Sally make me three pounds of crumbly cookieswith currants on top, in a box, to keep in my room just to eat myself, and she wouldn't tell Alice, so I won't be selfish not to offer her anyas she won't know about it and so won't suffer. I'm going to keep themin the extra bureau drawer where Peg puts her best party dress, so Iguess they'll be et up before anybody goes there. 

Peggy's feeling pretty sick now to dress up for parties, but I know athing or two that the rest don't know. Wouldn't Alice be hopping! Shealways thinks she's wise to everything, and to have a thick-headedboy-person know a whacking secret that they'd all be excited about wouldmake her mad enough to burst. She thinks she can read my ingrown soultoo--but I rather think I have my own interior thoughts that Miss Alicedoesn't tumble to. For instance, Dr. Denbigh. 

Golly, I forgot. Lorraine said she'd cut down the cookies if thingsweren't told orderly the way they happened. So I've got to begin back. First then, I've had the best time since Peggy got engaged that I'veever had in my own home. Not quite as unbossed as when they sent me onthe Harris farm last summer, and I slept in the stable if I wanted to, and nobody asked if I'd taken a bath. That was a sensible way to live, but yet it's been unpecked at and pleasant even at home lately. Yousee, with such a lot of fussing about Peggy and Harry Goward, nobody hasnoticed what I did, and that, to a person with a taste for animals, is one of the best states of living. I've gone to the table withoutbrushing my hair, and the puppy has slept in my bed, and I've kept atoad behind the wash-basin for two weeks, and though Lena, the maid, knew about it, she shut up and was decent because she didn't want toworry mother. A toad is such an unusual creature to live with. I've gota string to his hind leg, but yet he gets into places where you don'texpect him, and it's very interesting. Lena seemed to think it wasn'tnice to have him in the towels in the wash-stand drawer, but I didn'tcare. It doesn't hurt the towels and it's cosey for the toad. 

I had a little snake--a stunner--but Lena squealed when she found him inmy collars, so I had to take him away. He looked awfully cunning insidethe collars, but Lena wouldn't stand for him, so I let well enough aloneand tried to be contented with the toad and the puppy and some June-bugsI've got in boxes in the closet, and my lizard--next to mother, he'smy best friend--I've had him six months. I'm not sure I wouldn't ratherlose mother than him, because you can get a step-mother, but it'sawfully difficult to replace a lizard like Diogenes. I wonder ifLorraine will think I've written too much about my animals? They'remore fun than Peggy anyway, and as for Harry Goward--golly! The toador lizard that couldn't be livelier than he is would be a pretty sadanimal. 

A year ago I was fishing one day away up the river, squatting under abush on a bank, when Peggy and Dr. Denbigh came and plumped right overmy head. They didn't see me--but it wasn't up to me. They were lookingthe other way, so they didn't notice my fish-line either. They weren'tnoticing much of life as it appeared to me except their personal selves. I thought if they wouldn't disturb me I wouldn't disturb them. At firstI didn't pay attention to what they were saying, because there was achub and a trout together after my bait, and I naturally was excitedto see if the trout would take it. But when I'd lost both of them I hadtime to listen. 

I wouldn't have believed it of Dr. Denbigh, to bother about a girl likePeg, who can't do anything. And he's a whale, just a whale. He's sixfeet-two, and strong as an ox. He went through West Point beforehe degraded himself into a doctor, and he held the record there forshot-putting, and was on the foot-ball team, and even now, when he'svery old and of course can't last long, he plays the best tennis inEastridge. He went to the Spanish War--quite awhile ago that was, butyet in modern times--and he was at San Juan. You can see he's a Jimdandy--and him to be wasting time on Peggy--it's sickening! Even for agirl she's poor stuff. I don't mean, of course, that she's not allright in a moral direction, and I wouldn't let anybody else abuse her. Everybody says she's pretty, and I suppose she is, in a red-headed way, and she's awfully kind, you know, but athletically--that's what I'mtalking about--she doesn't amount to a row of pins. She can't fish orplay tennis or ride or anything. 

Yet all the same it's true, I distinctly heard him say he loved herbetter than anything on earth. I don't think he could have meant betterthan Rapscallion; he's awfully fond of that horse. Probably he forgotRapscallion for the moment. Anyhow, Peg was sniffling and saying how shewas going back to college--it was the Easter vacation--and how shewas only a stupid girl and he would forget her. And he said he'd neverforget her one minute all his life--which was silly, for I've oftenforgotten really important things. Once I forgot to stop at Lorraine'sfor a tin of hot gingerbread she'd had Sally make for me to entirely eatby myself, and Alice got it and devoured it all up, the pig! Anyway, Dr. Denbigh said that, and then Peggy sniffled some more, and I heard himask her:

"What is it, dear?"

"Dear, " your grandmother. She said, then, why wouldn't he let her beengaged to him like anybody else, and it was hard on a girl to have tobeg a man to be engaged, and then he laughed a little and they didn'teither of them say anything for a while, but there were soft, rustlingsounds--a trout was after my bait, so I didn't listen carefully. When Inoticed again, Dr. Denbigh was saying how he was years and years older, and it was his duty to take care of her and not allow her to make amistake that might ruin her life, and he wouldn't let her hurry intoa thing she couldn't get out of, and a lot more. Peg said that fortywasn't old, and he was young enough for her, and she was certain, CERTAIN--I don't know what she was certain of, but she was horriblyobstinate about it. 

And then Dr. Denbigh said: "If I only dared let you, dear--if I onlydared. "

And something about if she felt the same in two years, or a year, orsomething--I can't remember all that truck--and they said the same thingover a lot. I heard him murmur:

"Call me Jack, just once. "

And she murmured back, as if it was a stunt, "Jack"--and then rustlings. I'd call him Jack all the afternoon if he liked. 

Then, after another of those still games, Peggy said, "Ow!" as ifsomebody'd pinched her, and that seemed such a queer remark that I stoodup to see what they were up to. Getting to my feet I swung the linearound and the bait flopped up the bank and hit Peg square in themouth--I give you my word I didn't mean to, but it was awfully funny!My! didn't she squeal bloody murder? That's what makes a person despisePeggy. She's no sort of sport. Another time I remember I had some wormsin an envelope, and I happened to feel them in my pocket, so I pulledout one and slid it down the back of her neck, and you'd have thoughtI'd done something awful. She yelped and wriggled and cried--shedid--she actually cried. And you wouldn't believe what she finished upby doing--she went and took a bath! A whole bath--when she didn't haveto! She can't see a joke at all. Now Alice is a horrid meddler--she andMaria. Yet Alice is a sport, and takes her medicine. I've seen that girlwith a beetle in her hair, which I put there, keep her teeth shut andnot make a sound--only a low gurgle--until she'd got him and slung himout of the window. Then she lammed me, I tell you--I respected her forit too--but she couldn't now, I'm stronger. 

Oh, golly! Lorraine will cut down the cookies if I don't tell whathappened. I don't exactly know what was next, but Dr. Denbigh somehowhad me by the collar and gave me a yank, like a big dog does a littleone. 

"See here, you young limb, " he said, "I'm--I'm going to--" and then hesuddenly stopped and looked at Peggy and began to chuckle, and Peggylaughed and turned lobster color, and put her face in her hands and justhowled. 

Of course I grinned too, and then I glanced up at him lovingly andmurmured "Jack, " just like Peggy did. 

That seemed to sober him, and he considered a minute. "Listen, Billy, "he began, slowly; "we're in your power, but I'm going to trust you. "

I just hooted, because there wasn't much else he could do. But he didn'tsmile, only his eyes sort of twinkled. 

"Be calm, my son, " he said. "You're a gentleman, I believe, and allI need do is to point out that what you've seen and heard is not yoursecret. I'm sure you realize that it's unnecessary to ask you not totell. Of course, you'll never tell one word--NOT ONE WORD--" and heglared. "That's understood, isn't it?"

I said, "Yep, " sort of scared. He's splendidly big and arrogant, and hasthat man-eating look, but he's a peach all the same. 

"Are we friends--and brothers?" he asked, and slid a look at Peg. 

"Yep, " I said again, and I meant it. 

"Shake, " said Dr. Denbigh, and we shook like two men. 

That was about all that happened that day except about my fishing. Therewas a very interesting--but I suppose Lorraine wouldn't care for that. It was a good deal of a strain on my feelings not to tell Alice, butof course I didn't. But once in awhile I would glance up at Dr. Denbightrustingly and murmur "Jack, " and he would be in a fit because I'dalways do it when the family just barely couldn't hear. As soon as Pegcame home from college we skipped to the mountains, and she went backfrom there to college again, and I didn't have a fair show to get risesout of them together, and in the urgency of 'steen things like pigeonsand the new puppy, I pretty nearly forgot their love's young dream. Ididn't have a surmise that I was going to be interwoven among it like Iwas. I saw Aunt Elizabeth going out with Dr. Denbigh in his machine twoor three times, but she's a regular fusser with men, and he's got a kindheart, so I wasn't wise to anything in that. The day Peg came home forChristmas she was singing like the blue canaries down in the parlor, and I happened to pass Aunt Elizabeth's door and she was lacing up hershoes. 

"Oh, Billy, ask Peggy if she doesn't want to go for a walk, will you?There's a lamb, " she called to me. 

So I happened to have intelligence from pristine sources that they wentwalking. And after that Peg had a grouch on and was off her feed therest of the vacation--nobody knew why--I didn't myself, even, and itdidn't occur to me that Aunt Elizabeth had probably been rubbing itin how well she knew Dr. Denbigh. The last day Peggy was home, at thetable, they were chaffing Aunt Elizabeth about him, the way grown-upsdo, instead of talking about the facts of life and different kinds ofhorse-feed, which is important in the winter. And I heard mother say ina "sort-of-vochy" tone to Peggy:

"They really seem to be fond of each other. Perhaps there may be anengagement to write you about, Peggy. "

I thought to myself that mother didn't know that Dr. Denbigh wasprejudiced to being engaged, but I didn't say anything--it's wise not tosay anything to your family beyond the necessary jargon of living. Peggyseemed to think the same, for she didn't answer a syllabus, but afterdropping her glass of water into the fried potatoes which Lena waskindly handing to her, she jumped and scooted. A few minutes laterI wanted her to sew a sail on a boat, so I tried her door and it waslocked, and then I knocked and she took an awfully long time simply toopen that door, and when she did her eyes were red and she was shiveringas if she was cold. 

"Oh, Billy, Billy!" she said, and then, of all things, she grabbed meand kissed me. 

I wriggled loose, and I said: "Sew up this sail for me, will you?Hustle!"

But she didn't pay attention. "Oh, Billy, be a little good to me!" shesaid. "I'm so wretched, and nobody knows but you. Oh, Billy--he likessomebody better than me!"

"Who does?" I asked. "Father?"

She half laughed, a sort of sickly laugh. "No, Billy. Notfather--he--Jack--Dr. Denbigh. Oh, you know. Billy! You heard whatmother said. "

"O--o--oh!" I answered her, in a contemplating slowness. "Oh--that's so!Do you mind if he gets engaged to Aunt Elizabeth?"

"Do--I--MIND?" said Peggy, as if she was astonished. "Mind? Billy, I'lllove him till I die. It would break my heart. "

"Oh no, it wouldn't, " I told her, because I thought I'd sort of comforther. "That's truck. You can't break muscles just by loving. But I knowhow you feel, because that's the way I felt when father gave that Irishsetter to the Tracys. "

She went on chattering her teeth as if she was cold, so I put thetable-cover around her. "You dear Billy, " she said. But that was stuff. 

"I wouldn't bother, " I said. "Likely he's forgotten about you. I oftenforget things myself. " That didn't seem to comfort her, for she began tosob out loud. "Oh, now. Peg, don't cry, " I observed to her. "He probablylikes Aunt Elizabeth better than you, don't you see? I think she'sprettier, myself. And, of course, she's a lot cleverer. She tells funnystories and makes people laugh; you never do that--You're a good sort, but quiet and not much fun, don't you see? Maybe he got plain tired ofyou. "

But instead of being cheered up by my explaining things, she put herhead on the table and just yowled. Girls are a queer species. 

"You're cruel, cruel!" she sobbed out, and you bet that surprised me--methat was comforting her for all I was worth! I patted her on the backof the neck, and thought hard what other soothings I could squeeze out. Then I had an idea. "Tell you what, Peg, " I said, "it's too darned badof Dr. Denbigh, if he just did it for meanness, when you haven't doneanything to him. But maybe he got riled because you begged him so to letyou be engaged to him. Of course a man doesn't want to be bothered--ifhe wants to get engaged he wants to, and if he doesn't want to hedoesn't, and that's all. I think probably Dr. Denbigh was afraid you'dbe at him again when you came home, so he hurried up and snatched AuntElizabeth. "

Peggy lifted her face and stared at me. She was a sight, with her eyesall bunged up and her cheeks sloppy. "You think he IS engaged to her, doyou, Billy?" she asked me. 

Her voice sort of shook, and I thought I'd better settle it for her oneway or the other, so I nodded and said, "Wouldn't be surprised, " andthen, if you'll believe it, that girl got angry--at ME. "Billy, you're brutal--you're like any other man-thing--cold-blooded andfaithless--and--" And she began choking--choking again, and I wasdisgusted and cleared out. 

I was glad when she went off to college, because, though she's akind-hearted girl, she was so peevish and untalkative it made me tired. I think people ought to be cheerful around their own homes. But thefamily didn't seem to see it; there are such a lot of us that you haveto blow a trumpet before you get any special notice--except me, whenI don't wash my hands. Yet, what's the use of washing your hands whenyou're certain to get them dirty again in five minutes?

Well, then, awhile ago Peggy wrote she was engaged to Harry Goward, andthere was great excitement in the happy home. My people are mobile intheir temperatures, anyway--a little thing stirs them up. I thought itwas queerish, but I didn't know but Peggy had changed her mind aboutloving Dr. Denbigh till she died. I should think that was too longmyself. I was busy getting my saddle mended and a new bridle, so Ididn't have time for gossip. 

Harry came to visit the family, and the minute I inspected him over Iknew he was a sissy. If you'll believe me, that grown-up man can't chinhimself. He sings and paints apple blossoms, but he fell three-corneredover a fence that I vaulted. He may be fascinating, as Lorraine says, but he isn't worth saving, in my judgments. I said so to Dr. Denbigh oneday when he picked me up in his machine and brought me home from school, and he was sympathetic and asked intelligent questions--at least, someof them were; some of them were just slow remarks about if Peggyseemed to be very happy, and that sort of stuff that doesn't have anyfoundations. I told him particularly that I like automobiles, and hethought a minute, and then said:

"If you were going to be playing near the Whitman station to-morrow I'dpick you up and take you on a twenty-mile spin. I'm lunching with somepeople near Whitman, and going on to Elmville. "

"Oh, pickles!" said I. "Will you, really? Of course, I'll be there. I'll drive over with the expressman--he's a friend of mine--right afterlunch, " I said, "and I'll wait around the station for you. "

So I did that, and while I was waiting I saw Aunt Elizabeth coming--Isaw her first, so I hid--I was afraid if she saw me she'd find out Iwas going with Dr. Denbigh and snatch him herself. I heard her sendinga crazy telegram to Harry Goward, and then I forgot all about it until Iwanted to distract Alice's mind off some cookies that I'd accumulated atLorraine's house. Alice is a pig. She never lets me stuff in peace. So Itold her about the telegram--I knew Alice would be perturbed with that. She just loves to tell things, but she made me tell Peggy, and there wasa hullabaloo promptly. Nobody confided a word to me, and I didn't caremuch, but I saw them all whispering in low tones and being very busyabout it, and Peg looking madder than a goat, and I guessed that Alicehad made me raise Cain. 

Now, I've got to back up and start over. Golly! it's harder than you'dthink just to write down things the way they happened, like I promisedLorraine. Let's see--Oh yes, of course--about Dr. Denbigh and thebubble. I was in a fit for fear dear Aunt Elizabeth would linger aroundtill the doctor came, and then somehow I'd be minus one drive in amachine. She didn't; she cleared out with solidity and despatch, and myAurora, as the school-teacher would say, came in his whirling car, andin I popped, and we had a corking time. He let me drive a little. Yousee, the machine is a--Oh, well, Lorraine said, specially, I was not todescribe automobiles. That seems such a stupid restrictiveness, but it'sa case of cookies, so I'll cut that out. 

There really wasn't much else to tell, only that Dr. Denbigh startedright in and raked out the inmost linings of my soul about Peggy andHarry Goward. It wasn't exactly cross-examination, because he wasn'tcross, yet he fired the questions at me like a cannon, and I answeredquick, you bet. Dr. Denbigh knows what he wants, and he means to get it. Just by accident toward the last I let out about that day in the winterwhen they were chaffing Aunt Elizabeth at the table about him, and howhe'd taken her out in the machine, and how mother had said there mightbe an engagement to write Peggy about. 

"Oh!" said Dr. Denbigh. "Oh!--oh!"

Funny, the way he went on saying, "Oh! Oh!"

I thought if that interested him he might like to hear about Pegthrowing a fit in her room after, so I told him that, and how I triedto comfort her, and how unreasonable she was. And what do you supposehe said? He looked at me a minute with his eyebrows away down, and hismouth jammed together, and then he brought out:

"You little devil!"

That's not the worst he said, either. I guess mother wouldn't let me goout with him if she knew he used profanity--Maria wouldn't, anyway. Ihave decided I won't tell them. It's the only time I ever caught him. The other thing is this. He said to himself--but out loud--I think hehad forgotten me: "So they made her believe I liked her aunt better. "And then, in a minute: "She said it would break her heart--bless her!"And two or three other interlocutory remarks like that, meaning nothingin particular. And then all of a sudden he brought his fist down onhis knee with a bang and said, "Damn Aunt Elizabeth!"--not loud, butcompressed and explodingly, you know. I looked at him, and he said: "Begpardon. Billy. Your aunt's a very charming woman, but I mean it. I onlyasked her to go out with me because she talked more about Peggy thananybody else would, " he went on. 

I thought a minute, and put two and two together pretty quick. "You mindabout Peggy's being engaged to Harry Goward, don't you?" I asked him;for I saw right through him then. 

He looked queer. "Yes, I mind, " he said. 

"But you wouldn't be engaged to her yourself, " I propounded to him; andhe grinned, and said something about more things in heaven and earth, and called me Horatio. I reckon he got struck crazy a minute. And thenhe made me tell him further what Peggy said and what I said, and helaughed that time about my comforting her, though I don't see why. Itdoesn't pay to give up important things, to be kind and thoughtful inthis world--nobody appreciates it, and you are sure to be sorry youtook the time. When I got up-stairs, after comforting Peggy, my toad hadjumped in the water-pitcher and got about drowned--he never was the sametoad after--and if I hadn't stopped in Peg's room to do good it wouldn'thave happened. And Dr. Denbigh laughed at me besides. However, for anold chap of forty, he's a peach. I'm not kicking at Dr. Denbigh. 

Then let's see--(It makes me tired to go on writing this stuff--I wishI was through. But the cookies! I see a vision of a mountain range ofcookies with currants on them--crumbly cookies. Up and at it again forme!)

The next stunt I had a shy at was a letter that Harry Goward asked Aliceto give Peggy, and Alice gave it to me because she was up to somethingelse just that minute. She didn't look at the address, but you bet yoursweet life I did, when I heard it was from Harry Goward. I saw it wasaddressed to Peg. Then I stuffed it in my pocket and plain forgot, because I was in a hurry to go fishing with Sid Tracy. I put a chub ontop of it that I wanted to keep for bait, and when I pulled it out--theletter--the chub hadn't helped much. The envelope was a little slimy. Isaid: "Gee!"

Sid said: "What's that?"

"A letter to my sister from that chump. Harry Goward, " said I. "I've gotto take it to her. Looks pretty sad now. "

Sid didn't like Harry Goward any more than I did, because he'd borrowedSid's best racket and left it out in the rain, and then just laughed. Sohe said: "Not sad enough. Give it to me. I'll fix it. "

He had some molasses candy that he'd bit, and he rubbed that over ita little, and then suddenly we heard Alice calling, and he crammed theletter in his pocket, candy and all, and there were some other thingsin there that stuck to it. We were so rattled when Alice appeared anddemanded that very letter in her lordly way that I forgot if I had itor Sid, and I went all through my clothes looking for it, and then Sidfound it in his, and, oh, my! Miss Alice turned up her nose when she sawit. It did look smudgy. 

Sid hurriedly scrubbed it with his handkerchief, but even that didn'treally make it clean, and by that time you couldn't read the address. Alice didn't ask me if I'd read it, or I'd have told her. 

There was a fuss afterward in the family, but I kept clear of it. Iwouldn't have time to get through what I have to do if I attended totheir fusses, so all I knew was that it had something to do with thatletter. All the family were taking trains, like a procession, for two orthree days. I don't know why, so Lorraine can't expect me to write thatdown. 

There's only one other event of great signification that I know about, and nobody knows that except me and Dr. Denbigh and Peggy. It was thisway. The doctor saw me on the street one afternoon--I can't rememberwhat day it was--and stopped his machine and motioned to me to get in. You bet I got. He shook hands with me just the way he would with father, and not as if I were a contemptible puppy. 

"Billy, my son, I want you to do something for me, " he said. 

"All right, " said I. 

"I've got to see Peggy, " he went on. "I've got to!" And he looked asfierce as a circus tiger. "I can't sit still and not lift a fingerand let this wretched business go on. I won't lose her for any sillyscruples. "

I didn't know what he was driving at, but I said, "I wouldn't, either, "in a sympathetic manner. 

"I've got to see her!" he fired at me again. 

"Yep, " I said. "She's up at the house now. Come on. " But that didn'tsuit him. He explained that she wouldn't look at him when the otherswere around, and that she slid off and wormed out of his way, so hecouldn't get at her, anyhow. Just like a girl, wasn't it--not to facethe music? Well, anyway, he'd cooked up a plan that he wanted me to do, and I promised I would. He wanted me to get Peggy to go up the river totheir former spooning-resort (only he put it differently), and he wouldbe there waiting and make Peggy talk to him, which he seemed to desiremore than honey in the honeycomb. 

Lovers are a strange animal. I may be foolish, but I prefer toads. Withthem you can tie a string around the hind leg, and you have got them. But with lovers it's all this way one day and upside down the next, andwondering what's hurt the feelings of her, and if he's got tired ofyou, and polyandering around to get interviews up rivers when you couldeasier sit on the piazza and talk--and all such. It seems to me thatthings would go a lot simpler if everybody would cut out most of thefeelings department, and just eat their meals and look after theiranimals and play all they get time for, and then go to sleep quietly. Fussing is such a depravity. But they wouldn't do what I said, not if Itold them, so I lie low and think. 

Next morning I harnessed the pony in the cart and said, "Peg--take adrive with me--come on, " and Peg looked grattyfied, and mother saidI was a dear, thoughtful child, and grandma said it would do the girlgood, and I was a noble lad. So I got encombiums all round for once. Only Aunt Elizabeth--she looked thoughtful. 

I rattled Hotspur--that's the pony--out to the happy hunting-groundby the river, till I saw Dr. Denbigh's gray cap behind a bush, and Irightly argued that his manly form was hitched onto it, for he arose upin his might as I stopped the cart. Peggy gasped and said, "Oh--oh! Wemust go home. Oh, Billy, drive on!" Which Billy didn't do, not soyou'd notice it. Then the doctor said, in his I-am-the-Ten-Commandmentsmanner, "Get out, Peggy, " and held his hand. 

And Peggy said, "I won't--I can't, " and immediately did, the goose. 

Then he looked at me in a funny, fierce way he has, with his eyebrowsaway down, only you know he's pleasant because his eyes jiggle. 

"Billy, my son, " he said, "will you kindly deprive us of the light ofyour presence for one hour by the clock? Here's my timepiece--one hour. Go!" And he gave Hotspur a slap so he leaped. 

Dr. Denbigh is the most different person from Harry Goward I know. 

Well, I drove round by the Red Bridge, and was gone an hour and twelveminutes, and I thought they'd be missing me and in a fit to get home, soI just raced Hotspur the last mile. 

"I'm awfully sorry I'm so late, " said I. "I got looking at some pigs, soI forgot. I'm sorry, " said I. 

Peg looked up at me as if she couldn't remember who I was, and inquired, wonderingly: "Is it an hour yet?"

And Dr. Denbigh said, "Great Scott! boy, you needn't have hurried!"

That's lovers all over. 

And they hadn't finished yet, if you'll believe me. Dr. Denbigh went ontalking as they stood up, just as if I wasn't living. "You won't promiseme?" he asked her. 

And she said: "Oh, Jack, how can I? I don't know what to do--but I'mengaged to him--that's a solemn thing. "

"Solemn nonsense, " said the doctor. "You don't love him--you neverdid--you never could. Be a woman, dearest, and end this wretched mess. "

"I never would have thought I loved him if I hadn't believed I'd lostyou, " Peggy ruminated to herself. "But I must think--" As if she hadn'tthunk for an hour!

"How long must you think?" the doctor fired at her. 

"Don't be cross at me, " said she, like a baby, and that big capable manpicked up her hand and kissed it--shame on him!

"No, no, dear, " he said, as meek as pie. "I'll wait--only you MUSTdecide the right way, and remember that I'm waiting, and that it'shard. "

Then he put her into the cart clingingly--I'd have chucked her--and Ileaned over toward him the last thing and threw my head lovingly on oneside and rolled my eyes up and murmured at him, "Good-bye, Jack, " andstarted Hotspur before he could hit me. 

Now, thank the stars, there's just one or two little items more thatI've got to write. One is what I heard mother tell father when they wereon the front piazza alone, and I was teaching the puppy to beg, right insight of them on the grass. They think I'm an earless freak, maybe. Shetold him that dear Peggy was growing into such a strong, splendid woman;that she'd been talking to her, and she thought the child would be ableto give up her weak, vacillating lover with hardly a pang, because sherealized that he was unworthy of her; that Peg had said she couldn'tmarry a man she didn't admire--and wasn't that noble of her? Noble, yourgrandmother--to give up a perfect lady like Harry Goward, when she's gota real man up her sleeve! I'd have made them sit up and take notice ifI hadn't promised not to tell. Which reminds me that I ought to explainhow I got Dr. Denbigh to let me write this for Lorraine. I put it to himstrongly, you see, about the cookies, and at first he said. 

"Not on your life! Not in a thousand years!" And then--

But what's the use of writing that? Lorraine is on to all that. But, mypickles! won't there be a circus when Alice finds out that I've knownthings she didn't! Won't Alice be hopping--gee!

XI. PEGGY, by Alice Brown

"Remember, " said Charles Edward--he had run in for a minute on his wayhome from the office where he has been clearing out his desk, "for goodand all, " he tells us--"remember, next week will see us out of this landof the free and home of the talkative. " He meant our sailing. I shall beglad to be with him and Lorraine. "And whatever you do. Peg, don't talk, except to mother. Talk to her all you want to. Mother has the making ofa woman in her. If mother'd been a celibate, she'd have been, also, apeach. "

"But I don't want to talk, " said I. "I don't want to talk to anybody. "

"Good for you, " said Charles Edward. "Now I'll run along. "

I sat there on the piazza watching him, thinking he'd been awfully goodto me, and feeling less bruised, somehow, than I do when the rest of thefamily advise me--except mother! And I saw him stop, turn round as if hewere coming back, and then settle himself and plant his feet wide apart, as he does when the family question him about business. Then I sawsomebody in light blue through the trees, and I knew it was AuntElizabeth. Alice was down in the hammock reading and eating cookies, andshe saw her, too. Alice threw the book away and got her long legs outof the hammock and ran. I thought she was coming into the house to hidefrom Aunt Elizabeth. That's what we all do the first minute, and thenwe recover ourselves and go down and meet her. But Alice dropped on herknees by my chair and threw her arms round me. 

"Forgive, Peggy, " she moaned. "Oh, forgive!"

I saw she had on my fraternity pin, and I thought she meant that. So Isaid, "You can wear it today"; but she only hugged me the tighter andran on in a rigmarole I didn't understand. 

"She's coming, and she'll get it out of Lorraine, and they'll all bedown on us. "

Charles Edward and Aunt Elizabeth stood talking together, and just thenI saw her put her hand on his shoulder. 

"She's trying to come round him, " said Alice. 

I began to see she was really in earnest now. "He's squirming. Oh, Peggy, maybe she's found it out some way, and she's telling him, andthey'll tell you, and you'll think I am false as hell!"

I knew she didn't mean anything by that word, because whenever she sayssuch things they're always quotations. She began to cry real tears. 

"It was Billy put it into my head, " said she, "and Lorraine put itinto his. Lorraine wanted him to write out exactly what he knew, and hedidn't know anything except about the telegram and how the letter gotwuzzled, and I told him I'd help him write it as it ought to be 'if lifewere a banquet and beauty were wine'; but I told him we must make himsay in it how he'd got to conceal it from me, or they'd think we got itup together. So I wrote it, " said Alice, "and Billy copied it. "

Perhaps I wasn't nice to the child, for I couldn't listen to her. I waswatching Charles Edward and Aunt Elizabeth, and saying to myselfthat mother'd want me to sit still and meet Aunt Elizabeth when shecame--"like a good girl, " as she used to say to me when I was little andbegged to get out of hard things. Alice went on talking and gasping. 

"Peg, " she said, "he's perfectly splendid--Dr. Denbigh is. "

"Yes, dear, " said I, "he's very nice. "

"I've adored him for years, " said Alice. "I could trust him with mywhole future. I could trust him with yours. "

Then I laughed. I couldn't help it. And Alice was hurt, for some reason, and got up and held her head high and went into the house. And AuntElizabeth came up the drive, and that is how she found me laughing. Shehad on a lovely light-blue linen. Nobody wears such delicate shades asAunt Elizabeth. I remember, one day, when she came in an embroideredpongee over Nile-green, father groaned, and grandmother said: "What isit, Cyrus? Have you got a pain?" "Yes, " said father, "the pain I alwayshave when I see sheep dressed lamb fashion. " Grandmother laughed, butmother said: "Sh!" Mother's dear. 

This time Aunt Elizabeth had on a great picture-hat with light-blueostrich plumes; it was almost the shape of her lavender one that CharlesEdward said made her look like a coster's bride. When she bent over meand put both arms around me the plumes tickled my ear. I think that waswhy I was so cross. I wriggled away from her and said: "Don't!"

Aunt Elizabeth spoke quite solemnly. "Dear child!" she said, "you arebroken, indeed. "

And I began to feel again just as I had been feeling, as if I were in ashow for everybody to look at, and I found I was shaking all over, andwas angry with myself because of it. She had drawn up a chair, and sheheld both my hands. 

"Peggy, " said she, "haven't you been to the hospital to see that poordear boy?"

I didn't have to answer, for there was a whirl on the gravel, and Billy, on his bicycle, came riding up with the mail. He threw himself off hiswheel and plunged up the steps as he always does, pretended to ticklehis nose with Aunt Elizabeth's feathers as he passed behind her, andwhispered to me: "Shoot the hat!" But he had heard Aunt Elizabeth askingif I were not going to see that poor dear boy, and he said, as if hecouldn't help it:

"Huh! I guess if she did she wouldn't get in. His mother's walking upand down front of the hospital when she ain't with him, and she's gota hook nose and white hair done up over a roll and an eye-glass on astick, and I guess there won't be no nimps and shepherdesses get byHER. "

Aunt Elizabeth stood and thought for a minute, and her eyes looked asthey do when she stares through you and doesn't see you at all. Aliceasked Charles Edward once if he thought she was sorrowing o'er the pastwhen she had that look, and he said: "Bless you, chile, no more than agentle industrious spider. She's spinning a web. " But in a minute motherhad stepped out on the piazza, and I felt as if she had come to myrescue. It was the way she used to come when I broke my doll or tore myskirt. But we didn't look at each other, mother and I. We didn't meanAunt Elizabeth should see there was anything to rescue me from. AuntElizabeth turned to mother, and seemed to pounce upon her. 

"Ada, " said she, "has my engagement been announced?"

"Not to my knowledge, " said mother. She spoke with a great dealof dignity. "I understood that the name of the gentleman had beenwithheld. "

"Withheld!" repeated Aunt Elizabeth. "What do you mean by 'withheld'?Billy, whom are those letters for?"

In spite of ourselves mother and I started. Letters have begun to seemrather tragic to us. 

"One's the gas-bill, " said Billy, "and one's for you. " Aunt Elizabethtook the large, square envelope and tore it open. Then she looked atmother and smiled a little and tossed her head. 

"This is from Lyman Wilde, " said she. 

I thought I had never seen Aunt Elizabeth look so young. It must havemeant something more to mother than it did to me, for she stared at hera minute very seriously. 

"I am truly glad for you, Elizabeth, " she said. Then she turned to me. "Daughter, " said she, "I shall need you about the salad. "

She smiled at me and went in. I knew what that meant. She was givingme a chance to follow her, if I needed to escape. But there was hardlytime. I was at the door when Aunt Elizabeth rustled after so quicklythat it sounded like a flight. There on the piazza she put her armsabout me. 

"Child!" she whispered. "Child! Verlassen! Verlassen!"

I drew away a little and looked at her. Then I thought: "Why, she isold!" But I hadn't understood. I knew the word was German, and I hadn'ttaken that in the elective course. 

"What is it. Aunt Elizabeth?" I asked. I had a feeling I mustn't leaveher. She smiled a little--a queer, sad smile. 

"Peggy, " said she, "I want you to read this letter. " She gave it to me. It was written on very thick gray paper with rough edges, and there wasa margin of two inches at the left. The handwriting was beautiful, onlynot very clear, and when I had puzzled over it for a minute she snatchedit back again. 

"I'll read it to you, " said she. 

Well, I thought it was a most beautiful letter. The gentleman saidshe had always been the ideal of his life. He owed everything--and byeverything he meant chiefly his worship of beauty--to her. He askedher to accept his undying devotion, and to believe that, however fardistance and time should part them, he was hers and hers only. He saidhe looked back with ineffable contempt upon the days when he had hopedto build a nest and see her beside him there. Now he had reached thetrue empyrean, and he could only ask to know that she, too, was wingingher bright way into regions where he, in another life, might follow andsing beside her in liquid, throbbing notes to pierce the stars. Heended by saying that he was not very fit--the opera season had beena monumental experience this year--and he was taking refuge with anEnglish brotherhood to lead, for a time, a cloistered life instinctwith beauty and its worship, but that there as everywhere he was herseternally. How glad I was of the verbal memory I have been so oftenpraised for! I knew almost every word of that lovely letter by heartafter the one reading. I shall never forget it. 

"Well?" said Aunt Elizabeth. She was looking at me, and again I saw howlong it must have been since she was young. "Well, what do you think ofit?"

I told the truth. "Oh, " said I, "I think it's a beautiful letter!"

"You do!" said Aunt Elizabeth. "Does it strike you as being alove-letter!"

I couldn't answer fast enough. "Why, Aunt Elizabeth, " I said, "he tellsyou so. He says he loves you eternally. It's beautiful!"

"You fool!" said Aunt Elizabeth. "You pink-cheeked little fool! Youhaven't opened the door yet--not any door, not one of them--oh, youhappy, happy fool!" She called through the window (mother was arrangingflowers there for tea): "Ada, you must telephone the Banner. Myengagement is not to be announced. " Then she turned to me. "Peggy'" saidshe, in a low voice, as if mother was not to hear, "to-morrow you mustdrive with me to Whitman. "

Something choked me in my throat: either fear of her or dread of whatshe meant to make me do. But I looked into her face and answeredwith all the strength I had: "Aunt Elizabeth, I sha'n't go near thehospital. "

"Don't you think it's decent for you to call on Mrs. Goward?" she asked. 

She gave me a little shake. It made me angry. "It may be decent, " Isaid, "but I sha'n't do it. "

"Very well, " said Aunt Elizabeth. Her voice was sweet again. "Then Imust do it for you. Nobody asks you to see Harry himself. I'll run inand have a word with him--but, Peggy, you simply must pay your respectsto Mrs. Goward. "

"No! no! no!" I heard myself answering, as if I were in some strangedream. Then I said: "Why, it would be dreadful! Mother wouldn't let me!"

Aunt Elizabeth came closer and put her hands on my shoulders. She hasa little fragrance about her, not like flowers, but old laces, perhaps, that have been a long time in a drawer with orris and face-powder andthings. "Peggy, " said she, "never tell your mother I asked you. "

I felt myself stiffen. She was whispering, and I saw she meant it. 

"Oh, Peggy! don't tell your mother. She is not--not simpatica. I mightlose my home here, my only home. Peggy, promise me. "

"Daughter!" mother was calling from the dining-room. 

I slipped away from Aunt Elizabeth's hands. "I promise, " said I. "Yousha'n't lose your home. "

"Daughter!" mother called again, and I went in. 

That night at supper nobody talked except father and mother, and theydid every minute, as if they wanted to keep the rest of us from speakinga word. It was all about the Works. Father was describing some newdesigns he had accepted, and telling how Charles Edward said they woulddo very well for the trimmings of a hearse, and mother coughed and saidCharles Edward's ideas were always good, and father said not where themarket was concerned. Aunt Elizabeth had put on a white dress, and Ithought she looked sweet, because she was sad and had made her facequite pale; but I was chiefly busy in thinking how to escape beforeanybody could talk to me. It doesn't seem safe nowadays to speak a word, because we don't know where it will lead us. Alice, too, looked pale, poor child! and kept glancing at me in a way that made me so sorry. Iwanted to tell her I didn't care about her pranks and Billy's, whateverthey were. And whatever she had written, it was sure to be clever. Theteacher says Alice has a positive genius for writing, and beforemany years she'll be in all the magazines. When supper was over I ranup-stairs to my room. I sat down by the window in the dark and wonderedwhen the moon would rise. I felt excited--as if something were going tohappen. And in spite of all the dreadful things that had happened to us, and might keep on happening, I felt as if I could die with joy. Therewere steps on the porch below my window. I heard father's voice. 

"That's ridiculous, Elizabeth, " he said--"ridiculous! If it's a goodthing for other girls to go to college, it's been a good thing for her. "

"Ah, " said Aunt Elizabeth, "but is it a good thing?"

Then I knew they were talking about me, and I put my fingers in my earsand said the Latin prepositions. I have been talked about enough. They may talk, but I won't hear. By-and-by I took my fingers out andlistened. They had gone in, and everything was still. Then I began tothink it over. Was it a bad thing for me to go to college? I'm differentfrom what I was three years ago, but I should have been different if I'dstayed at home. For one thing, I'm not so shy. I remember the first dayI came out of a class-room and Stillman Dane walked up to me and said;"So you're Charlie Ned's sister!" I couldn't look at him. I stoodstaring down at my note-book, and now I should say, quite calmly: "Oh, you must be Mr. Dane? I believe you teach psychology. " But I stood andstared. I believe I looked at my hands for a while and wished I hadn'tgot ink on my forefinger--and he had to say: "I'm the psychology man. Charlie Ned and I were college friends. He wrote me about you. " Butthough I didn't look at him that first time, I thought he had thekindest voice that ever was--except mother's--and perhaps that was whyI selected psychology for my specialty. I was afraid I might be stupid, and I knew he was kind. And then came that happy time when I was gettingacquainted with everybody, and Mr. Dane was always doing things for me. "I'm awfully fond of Charlie Ned, you know, " he told me. "You must letme take his place. " Then Mr. Goward told me all those things at thedance, how he had found life a bitter waste, how he had been betrayedover and over by the vain and worldly, and how his heart was dead andnobody could bring it to life but me. He said I was his fate and hisguiding-star, and since love was a mutual flame that meant he was myfate, too. But it seemed as if that were the beginning of all my badluck, for about that time Stillman Dane was different, and one day hestopped me in the yard when I was going to chapel. 

"Miss Peggy, " said he, "don't let's quarrel. "

He held out his hand, and I gave him mine quickly. 

"No, " said I, "I'm not quarrelling. "

"I want to ask you something, " said he. "You must answer, truly. IfI have a friend and she's doing something foolish, should I tell her?Should I write to her brother and tell him?"

"Why, " said I, "do you mean me?" Then I understood. "You think I'm notdoing very well in my psychology, " I said. "You think I've made a wrongchoice. " I looked at him then. I never saw him look just so. He had myhand, and now I took it away. But he wouldn't talk about the psychology. 

"Peggy, " said he, "do your people know Goward?"

"They will in vacation, " I said. "He's going home with me. We'reengaged, you know. "

"Oh!" said he. "Oh! Then it is true. Let him meet Charles Edward atonce, will you? Tell Charles Edward I particularly want him to knowGoward. " His voice sounded sharp and quick, and he turned away and leftme. But I didn't give his message to Charles Edward, and somehow, Idon't know why, I didn't talk about him after I came home. "Dane neverwrote me whether he looked you up, " said Charles Edward one day. "Notvery civil of him. " But even then I couldn't tell him. Mr. Dane is oneof the people I never can talk about as if they were like everybodyelse. Perhaps that is because he is so kind in a sort of intimate, beautiful way. And when I went back after vacation he had resigned, andthey said he had inherited some money and gone away, and after he wentI never understood the psychology at all. Mr. Goward used to laugh atme for taking it, only he said I could get honors in anything, my verbalmemory is so good. But I told him, and it is true, that the last part ofthe book is very dull. While I was going over all this, still with thatstrange excited feeling of happiness, I heard Aunt Elizabeth's voicefrom below. She was calling, softly: "Peggy! Peggy! Are you up there?"

I got on my feet just as quietly as I could, and slipped throughmother's room and down the back stairs. Mother was in the vegetablegarden watering the transplanted lettuce. I ran out to her. "Mother, " Isaid, "may I go over to Lorraine's and spend the night?"

"Yes, lamb, " said mother. That's a good deal for mother to say. 

"I'll run over now, " I told her. "I won't stop to take anything. Lorraine will give me a nightie. "

I went through the vegetable garden to the back gate and out into thestreet. There I drew a long breath. I don't know what I thought AuntElizabeth could do to me, but I felt safe. Then--I could laugh at itall, because it seems as if I must have been sort of crazy that night--Ibegan to run as if I couldn't get there fast enough. But when I gotto the steps I heard Lorraine laughing, and I stopped to listen to seewhether any one was there. 

"I tell Peter, " said she, "that it's his opportunity. Don't you rememberthe Great Magician's story of the man who was always afraid he shouldmiss his opportunity? And the opportunity came, and, sure enough, theman didn't know it, and it slipped by. Well, that mustn't be Peter. "

"It musn't be any of us, " said a voice. "Things are mighty critical, though. It's as if everybody, the world and the flesh and the WholeFamily, had been blundering round and setting their feet down as near asthey could to a flower. But the flower isn't trampled yet. We'll builda fence round it. " My heart beat so fast that I had to put my handover it. I wondered if I were going to have heart-failure, and I knewgrandmother would say, "Digitalis!" When I thought of that I laughed, and Lorraine called out, "Who's there?" She came to the long window. "Why, Peggy, child, " said she, "come in. " She had me by the hand andled me forward. They got up as I stepped in, Charles Edward and StillmanDane. Then I knew why I was glad. If Stillman Dane had been hereall these dreadful things would not have happened, because he isa psychologist, and he would have understood everybody at once andinfluenced them before they had time to do wrong. 

"Jove!" said Charles Edward. "Don't you look handsome, Peg!"

"Goose!" said Lorraine, as if she wanted him to be still. "A good neatgirl is always handsome. There's an epigram for you. And Peggy's hair isloose in three places. Let me fix it for you, child. "

So we all laughed, and Lorraine pinned me up in a queer, tender way, asif she were mother dress-me for something important, and we sat down, and began to talk about college. I am afraid Stillman Dane and I didmost of the talking, for Lorraine and Charles Edward looked at eachother and smiled a little, in a fashion they have, as if they understoodeach other, and Lorraine got up to show him the bag she had bought thatday for the steamer; and while she was holding it out to him and askinghim if it cost too much, she stopped short and called out, sharply, "Who's there?" I laughed. "Lorraine has the sharpest ears, " I said. "Ears!" said Lorraine. "It isn't ears. I smell orris. She's coming. Mr. Dane, will you take Peggy out of that window into the garden? Don't yip, either of you, while you're within gunshot, and don't appear till I tellyou. "

"Lorraine!" came a voice, softly, from the front walk. It was AuntElizabeth. She has a way of calling to announce herself in a sweet, cooing tone. I said to Charles Edward once it was like a dove, and hesaid: "No, my child, not doves, but woodcock. " Alice giggled and calledout, quite loudly, '"Springes to catch woodcock!'" And he shook his headat her and said, "You all-knowing imp! isn't even Shakespeare hiddenfrom you?" But now the voice didn't sound sweet to me at all, becauseI wanted to get away. We rose at the same minute, Mr. Dane and I, andLorraine seemed to waft us from the house on a kind little wind. Atthe foot of the steps we stopped for fear the gravel should crunch, andwhile we waited for Aunt Elizabeth to go in the other way I looked atMr. Dane to see if he wanted to laugh as much as I. He did. His eyeswere full of fun and pleasure, and he gave me a little nod, as if wewere two children going to play a game we knew all about. Then I heardAunt Elizabeth's voice inside. It was low and broken--what CharlesEdward called once her "come-and-comfort-me" voice. 

"Dears, " said she, "you are going abroad?"

"Yes, " Charles Edward answered. "Yes, it looks that way now. "

"Yes, " said Lorraine, rather sharply, I thought, as if she meant to showhim he ought to be more decisive, "we are. "

"Dears, " Aunt Elizabeth went on, "will you take me with you?"

Mr. Dane started as if he meant to go back into the house. I must havestarted, too, and my heart beat hard. There was a silence of a minute, two minutes, three perhaps. Then I heard Charles Edward speak, in avoice I didn't know he had. 

"No, Aunt Elizabeth, no. Not so you'd notice it. "

Mr. Dane gave a nod as if he were relieved, and we both began tiptoeingdown the path in the dark. But it wasn't dark any more. The moon wascoming through the locust-trees, and I smelled the lindens by the wall. "Oh, " I said, "it's summer, isn't it? I don't believe I've thought ofsummer once this year. "

"Yes, " said he, "and there never was a summer such as this is going tobe. "

I knew he was very athletic, but I don't believe I'd thought how muchhe cared for out-of-doors. "Come down here, " I said. "This is Lorraine'sjungle. There's a seat in it, and we can smell the ferns. "

Charles Edward had been watering the garden, and everything was sweet. Thousands of odors came out such as I never smelled before. And allthe time the moon was rising. After we had sat there awhile, talking alittle about college, about my trip abroad, I suddenly found I could notgo on. There were tears in my eyes. I felt as if so good a friend oughtto know how I had behaved--for I must have been very weak and silly tomake such a mistake. He ought to hear the worst about me. "Oh, " I said, "do you know what happened to me?"

He made a little movement toward me with both hands. Then he took themback and sat quite still and said, in that kind voice: "I know you aregoing abroad, and when you come back you will laugh at the dolls youplayed with when you were a child. " But I cried, softly, though, becauseit was just as if I were alone, thinking things out and being sorry, sorry for myself--and ashamed. Until now I'd never known how ashamed Iwas. "Don't cry, child, " he was saying. "For God's sake, don't cry!" Ithink it came over me then, as it hadn't before, that all that part ofmy life was spoiled. I'd been engaged and thought I liked somebody, and now it was all over and done. "I don't know what I'm crying for, " Isaid, at last, when I could stop. "I suppose it's because I'm differentnow, different from the other girls, different from myself. I can't everbe happy any more. "

He spoke, very quickly. "Is it because you liked Goward so much?"

"Like him!" I said. "Like Harry Goward? Why, I--" There I stopped, because I couldn't think of any word small enough, and I think heunderstood, for he laughed out quickly. 

"Now, " said he, "I'm a psychologist. You remember that, don't you? Itused to impress you a good deal. "

"Oh, " said I, "it does impress me. Nobody has ever seemed so wise asyou. Nobody!"

"Then it's understood that I'm a sage from the Orient. I know theworkings of the human mind. And I tell you a profound truth: that theonly way to stop thinking of a thing is to stop thinking of it. Now, you're not to think of Goward and all this puppet-show again. Not aminute. Not an instant. Do you hear?" He sounded quite stern, and Ianswered as if I had been in class. 

"Yes, sir. "

"You are to think of Italy, and how blue the sea is--and Germany, andhow good the beer is--and Charlie Ned and Lorraine, and what trumps theyare. Do you hear?"

"Yes, sir, " said I, and because I knew we were going to part and therewould be nobody else to advise me in the same way, I went on in a greathurry for fear there should not be time. "I can't live at home evenafter we come back. I could never be pointed at, like Aunt Elizabeth, and have people whisper and say I've had a disappointment. I must makemy own life. I must have a profession. Do you think I could teach? Doyou think I could learn to teach--psychology?"

He didn't answer for a long time, and I didn't dare look at him, thoughthe moon was so bright now that I could see how white his hand was, lying on his knee, and the chasing of the ring on his little finger. Ithad been his mother's engagement ring, he told me once. But he spoke, and very gently and seriously. "I am sure you could teach some things. Whether psychology--but we can talk of that later. There'll be lots oftime. It proves I am going over on the same steamer with Charlie Ned andLorraine and you. "

"You are!" I cried. "Why, I never heard of anything so--" I couldn'tfind the word for it, but everything stopped being puzzling and unhappyand looked clear and plain. 

"Yes, " said he. "It's very convenient, isn't it? We can talk over yourfuture, and you could even take a lesson or two in psychology. But Ifancy we shall have a good deal to do looking for porpoises and askingwhat the run is. People are terribly busy at sea. "

Then it occurred to me that he had never been here before, and why washe here now? "How did you happen to come?" I asked. I suppose I reallyfelt as if God sent him. 

"Why, " said he, "why--" Then he laughed. "Well, " said he, "to tell thetruth, I was going abroad if--if certain things happened, and I neededto make sure. I didn't want to write, so I ran down to see Charlie Ned. "

"But could he tell you?" said I. "And had they happened?"

He laughed, as if at something I needn't share. "No, " he said, "thethings weren't going to happen. But I decided to go abroad. "

I was "curiouser and curiouser, " as Lorraine says. 

"But, " I insisted, "what had Charles Edward to do with it?"

There were a great many pauses that night as if, I think, he didn'tknow what was wise to say. I should imagine it would always be so withpsychologists. They understand so well what effect every word will have. 

"Well, to tell the truth, " he answered, at last, in a kind, darling way, "I wanted to make sure all was well with my favorite pupil before I leftthe country. I couldn't quite go without it. "

"Mr. Dane, " I said, "you don't mean me?"

"Yes, " he answered, "I mean you. "

I could have danced and sung with happiness. "Oh, " said I, "then I musthave been a better scholar than I thought. I feel as if I could teachpsychology--this minute. "

"You could, " said he, "this minute. " And we both laughed and didn'tknow, after all, what we were laughing at--at least I didn't. Butsuddenly I was cold with fear. 

"Why, " I said, "if you've only really decided to go to-night, how do youknow you can get a passage on our ship?"

"Because, sweet Lady Reason, " said he, "I used Charlie Ned's telephoneand found out. " (That was a pretty name--sweet Lady Reason. )

We didn't talk any more then for a long time, because suddenly the moonseemed so bright and the garden so sweet. But all at once I heard a stepon the gravel walk, and I knew who it was. "That's Charles Edward, " Isaid. "He's been home with Aunt Elizabeth. We must go in. "

"No!" said he. "No, Peggy. There won't be such another night. " Thenhe laughed quickly and got up. "Yes, " he said, "there will be suchnights--over and over again. Come, Peggy, little psychologist, we'll goin. "

We found Lorraine and Charles Edward standing in the middle of the room, holding hands and looking at each other. "You're a hero, " Lorraine wassaying, "and a gentleman and a scholar and my own particular Peter. "

"Don't admire me, " said Charles Edward, "or you'll get me so bellicose Ishall have to challenge Lyman Wilde. Poor old chap! I believe to my soulhe's had the spirit to make off. "

"Speak gently of Lyman Wilde, " said Lorraine. "I never forget what weowe him. Sometimes I burn a candle to his photograph. I've even droppeda tear before it. Well, children?" She turned her bright eyes on us asif she liked us very much, and we two stood facing them two, and it allseemed quite solemn. Suddenly Charles Edward put out his hand and shookMr. Dane's, and they both looked very much moved, as grandmother wouldsay. I hadn't known they liked each other so well. 

"Do you know what time it is?" said Lorraine. "Half-past eleven byShrewsbury clock. I'll bake the cakes and draw the ale. "

"Gee whiz!" said Mr. Dane. I'd never heard things like that. It soundedlike Billy, and I liked it. "I've got to catch that midnight train. "

For a minute it seemed as if we all stood shouting at one another, Lorraine asking him to stay all night, Charles Edward giving him a cigarto smoke on the way, I explaining to Lorraine that I'd sleep on theparlor sofa and leave the guest-room free, and Mr. Dane declaring he'dgot a million things to do before sailing. Then he and Charles Edwarddashed out into the night, as Alice would say, and I should have thoughtit was a dream that he'd been there at all except that I felt his touchon my hand. And Lorraine put her arms round me and kissed me and said, "Now, you sweet child, run up-stairs and look at the moonlight anddream--and dream--and dream. "

I don't know whether I slept that night; but, if I did, I did not dream. 

The next forenoon I waited until eleven o'clock before I went home. Iwanted to be sure Aunt Elizabeth was safely away at Whitman. Yet, afterall, I did not dread her now. I had been told what to do. Some onewas telling me of a song the other day, "Command me, dear. " I had beencommanded to stop thinking of all those things I hated. I had done it. Mother met me at the steps. She seemed a little anxious, but when shehad put her hand on my shoulder and really looked at me she smiled theway I love to see her smile. "That's a good girl!" said she. Then sheadded, quickly, as if she thought I might not like it and ought to knowat once, "Aunt Elizabeth saw Dr. Denbigh going by to Whitman, and sheasked him to take her over. "

"Did she?" said I. "Oh, mother, the old white rose is out!"

"There they are, back again, " said mother. "He's leaving her at thegate. "

Well, we both waited for Aunt Elizabeth to come up the path. I pickedthe first white rose and made mother smell it, and when I had smelledit myself I began to sing under my breath, "Come into the garden, Maud, "because I remembered last night. 

"Hush, child, " said mother, quickly. "Elizabeth, you are tired. Comeright in. "

Aunt Elizabeth's lip trembled a little. I thought she was going to cry. I had never known her to cry, though I had seen tears in her eyes, andI remember once, when she was talking to Dr. Denbigh, Charles Edwardnoticed them and laughed. "Those are not idle tears, Peg, " he said to me"They're getting in their work. "

Now I was so sorry for her that I stopped thinking of last night and putit all away. It seemed cruel to be so happy. Aunt Elizabeth sat downon the step and mother brought her an eggnog. It had been all ready forgrandmother, and I could see mother thought Aunt Elizabeth needed it, ifshe was willing to make grandmother wait. 

"Ada, " said Aunt Elizabeth, suddenly, as she sipped it, "what was Dr. Denbigh's wife like?"

"Why, " said mother, "I'd almost forgotten he had a wife, it was so longago. She died in the first year of their marriage. "

Aunt Elizabeth laughed a little, almost as if no one were there. "Hebegan to talk about her quite suddenly this morning, " she said. "Itseems Peg reminds him of her. He is devoted to her memory. That's whathe said--devoted to her memory. "

"That's good, " said mother, cheerfully, as if she didn't know quite whatto say. "More letters, Lily? Any for us?" I could see mother was verytender of her for some reason, or she never would have called her Lily. 

"For me, " said Aunt Elizabeth, as if she were tired. "From Mrs. Chataway. A package, too. It looks like visiting-cards. That seems tobe from her, too. " She broke open the package. "Why!" said she, "of allthings! Why!"

"That's pretty engraving, " said mother, looking over her shoulder. She must have thought they were Aunt Elizabeth's cards. "Why! of allthings!"

Aunt Elizabeth began to flush pink and then scarlet. She looked aspretty as a rose, but a little angry, I thought. She put up her headrather haughtily. "Mrs. Chataway is very eccentric, " she said. "Agenius, quite a genius in her own line. Ada, I won't come down toluncheon. This has been sufficient. Let me have some tea in my own roomat four, please. " She got up, and her letter and one of the cards fellto the floor. I picked them up for her, and I saw on the card:

 Mrs. Ronald Chataway Magnetic Healer and Mediumistic Divulger Lost Articles a Specialty

I don't know why, but I thought, like mother and Aunt Elizabeth, "Well, of all things!"

But the rest of that day mother and I were too busy to exchange aword about Mrs. Chataway or even Aunt Elizabeth. We plunged into mypreparations to sail, and talked dresses and hats, and ran ribbons inthings, and I burned letters and one photograph (I burned that withoutlooking at it), and suddenly mother got up quickly and dropped herlapful of work. "My stars!" said she, "I've forgotten Aunt Elizabeth'stea. "

"It's of no consequence, dear, " said Aunt Elizabeth's voice at the door. "I asked Katie to bring it up. "

"Why, " said mother, "you're not going?"

I held my breath. Aunt Elizabeth looked so pretty. She was dressed, asI never saw her before, a close-fitting black gown and a plain whitecollar and a little close black hat. She looked almost like some sisterof charity. 

"Ada, " said she, "and Peggy, I am going to tell you something, and it ismy particular desire that you keep it from the whole family. Theywould not understand. I am going to ally myself with Mrs. Chataway in aconnection which will lead to the widest possible influence for her andfor me. In Mrs. Chataway's letter to-day she urges me to join her. Shesays I have enormous magnetism and--and other qualifications. "

"Don't you want me to tell Cyrus?" said mother. She spoke quite faintly. 

"You can simply tell Cyrus that I have gone to Mrs. Chataway's, " saidAunt Elizabeth. "You can also tell him I shall be too occupied toreturn. Good-bye, Ada. Good-bye, Peggy. Remember, it is the bruised herbthat gives out the sweetest odor. "

Before I could stop myself I had laughed, out of happiness, I think. ForI remembered how the spearmint had smelled in the garden when StillmanDane and I stepped on it in the dark and how bright the moon was, and Iknew nobody could be unhappy very long. 

"I telephoned for a carriage, " said Aunt Elizabeth. "There it is. " Sheand mother were going down the stairs, and suddenly I felt I couldn'thave her go like that. 

"Oh, Aunt--Aunt Lily!" I called. "Stop! I want to speak to you. " I ranafter her. "I'm going to have a profession, too, " I said. "I'm going todevote my life to it, and I am just as glad as I can be. " I put my armsround her and kissed her on her soft, pink cheeks, and we both cried alittle. Then she went away. 

XII. THE FRIEND OF THE FAMILY, by Henry Van Dyke

 "Eastridge, June 3, 1907. 

 "To Gerrit Wendell, The Universe Club, New York:

 "Do you remember promise? Come now, if possible. Much needed. 

 "Cyrus Talbert. "

This was the telegram that Peter handed me as I came out of thecoat-room at the Universe and stood under the lofty gilded ceiling ofthe great hall, trying to find myself at home again in the democraticsimplicity of the United States. For two years I had been travellingin the effete, luxurious Orient as a peace correspondent for a famousnewspaper; sleeping under canvas in Syria, in mud houses in Persia, in paper cottages in Japan; riding on camel-hump through Arabia, onhorseback through Afghanistan, in palankeen through China, and faring onsuch food as it pleased Providence to send. The necessity of puttingmy next book through the press (The Setting Splendors of the East) hadrecalled me to the land of the free and the home of the brave. Twohours after I had landed from the steamship, thirty seconds after I hadentered the club, there was Peter, in his green coat and brassbuttons, standing in the vast, cool hall among the immense columns ofverd-antique, with my telegram on a silver tray, which he presented tome with a discreet expression of welcome in his well-trained face, asif he hesitated to inquire where I had been, but ventured to hope thatI had enjoyed my holiday and that there was no bad news in my despatch. The perfection of the whole thing brought me back with a mild surpriseto my inheritance as an American, and made me dimly conscious of thepoint to which New York has carried republicanism and the simple life. 

But the telegram--read hastily in the hall, and considered at leisurewhile I took a late breakfast at my favorite table in the long, stately, oak-panelled dining-room, high above the diminished roar of FifthAvenue--the telegram carried me out to Eastridge, that self-complacentovergrown village among the New York hills, where people still lived invillas with rubber-plants in the front windows, and had dinner inthe middle of the day, and attended church sociables, and listenedto Fourth-of-July orations. It was there that I had gone, green fromcollege, to take the assistant-editorship of that flapping sheet TheEastridge Banner; and there I had found Cyrus Talbert beginning his workin the plated-ware factory--the cleanest, warmest, biggest heart of aman that I have known yet, with a good-nature that covered the bed-rockof his conscience like an apple orchard on a limestone ridge. Inthe give-and-take of every day he was easy-going, kindly, a lover oflaughter; but when you struck down to a question of right and wrong, or, rather, when he conceived that he heard the divine voice of duty, hebecame absolutely immovable--firm, you would call it if you agreed withhim, obstinate if you differed. 

After all, a conscience like that is a good thing to have at the bottomof a friendship. I could be friends with a man of almost any religion, but hardly with a man of none. Certainly the intimacy that sprang upbetween Talbert and me was fruitful in all the good things that cheerlife's journey from day to day, and deep enough to stand the strain oflife's earthquakes and tornadoes. There was a love-affair that mighthave split us apart; but it only put the rivets into our friendship. For both of us in that affair--yes, all three of us, thank God--played astraight game. There was a time of loss and sorrow for me when he provedhimself more true and helpful than any brother that I ever knew. I wasbest man at his wedding; and because he married a girl that understood, his house became more like a home to me than any other place that mywandering life has found. 

I saw its amazing architectural proportions erupt into the pride ofEastridge. I saw Cyrus himself, with all his scroll-saw tastes andmansard-roof opinions, by virtue of sheer honesty and thorough-goinghuman decency, develop into the unassuming "first citizen" of thetown, trusted even by those who laughed at him, and honored most by hisopponents. I saw his aggravating family of charming children grow aroundhim--masterful Maria, aesthetic Charles Edward, pretty Peggy, fairy-taleAlice, and boisterous Billy--each at heart lovable and fairly good; but, taken in combination, bewildering and perplexing to the last degree. 

Cyrus had a late-Victorian theory in regard to the education ofchildren, that individuality should not be crushed--give them what theywant--follow the line of juvenile insistence--all the opportunities andno fetters. This late-Victorian theory had resulted in the productionof a collection of early-Rooseveltian personalities around him, whosesimultaneous interaction sometimes made his good old head swim. Asa matter of fact, the whole family, including Talbert's preposterousold-maid sister Elizabeth (the biggest child of the lot), absolutelydepended on the good sense of Cyrus and his wife, and would have beenhelpless without them. But, as a matter of education, each child had asecret illusion of superiority to the parental standard, and not onlymade wild dashes at originality and independent action, but at thesame time cherished a perfect mania for regulating and running all theothers. Independence was a sacred tradition in the Talbert family; butinterference was a fixed nervous habit, and complication was a chronicsocial state. The blessed mother understood them all, because sheloved them all. Cyrus loved them all, but the only one he thought heunderstood was Peggy, and her he usually misunderstood, because she wasso much like him. But he was fair to them all--dangerously fair--exceptwhen his subcutaneous conscience reproached him with not doing his duty;then he would cut the knot of family interference with some tremendousstroke of paternal decision unalterable as a law of the Medes andPersians. 

All this was rolling through my memory as I breakfasted at the Universeand considered the telegram from Eastridge. 

"Do you remember promise?" Of course I remembered. Was it likely thateither of us would forget a thing like that? We were in the dingy littleroom that he called his "den"; it was just after the birth of his thirdchild. I had told my plan of letting the staff of The Banner fall intoother hands and going out into the world to study the nations when theywere not excited by war, and write about people who were not disguisedin soldier-clothes. "That's a big plan, " he said, "and you'll go far, and be long away at times. " I admitted that it was likely. "Well, " hecontinued, laying down his pipe, "if you ever are in trouble and can'tget back here, send word, and I'll come. " I told him that there waslittle I could do for him or his (except to give superfluous advice), but if they ever needed me a word would bring me to them. Then I laiddown my pipe, and we stood up in front of the fire and shook hands. Thatwas all the promise there was; but it brought him down to Panama toget me, five years later, when I was knocked out with the fever; and itwould take me back to Eastridge now by the first train. 

But what wasteful brevity in that phrase, "much needed"! What did thatmean? (Why will a man try to put a forty-word meaning into a ten-wordtelegram?) Sickness? Business troubles? One of those independent, interfering children in a scrape? One thing I was blessedly sure of: itdid not mean any difficulty between Cyrus and his wife; they were ofthe tribe who marry for love and love for life. But the need must besomething serious and urgent, else he never would have sent for me. With a family like his almost anything might happen. Perhaps AuntElizabeth--I never could feel any confidence in a red-haired female whohabitually dressed in pink. Or perhaps Charles Edward--if that youngman's artistic ability had been equal to his sense of it there wouldhave been less danger in taking him into the factory. Or probably Maria, with her great head for business--oh, Maria, I grant you, is like whatthe French critic said of the prophet Habakkuk, "capable de tout. "

But why puzzle any longer over that preposterous telegram? If my friendTalbert was in any kind of trouble under the sun, there was just onething that I wanted--to get to him as quickly as possible. Find whenthe first train started and arrived--send a lucid despatch--no expensiveparsimony in telegraphing:

'"To Cyrus Talbert, Eastridge, Massachusetts:

"I arrived this morning on the Dilatoria and found your telegram here. Expect me on the noon train due at Eastridge five forty-three thisafternoon. I hope all will go well. Count on me always. Gerrit Wendell. "

It was a relief to find him on the railway platform when the trainrolled in, his broad shoulders as square as ever, his big head showingonly a shade more of gray, a shade less of red, in its strawberry roan, his face shining with the welcome which he expressed, as usual, inhumorous disguise. 

"Here you are, " he cried, "browner and thinner than ever! Give me thatbag. How did you leave my friend the Shah of Persia?"

"Better, " I said, stepping into the open carriage, "since he got on thewater-wagon--uses nothing but Eastridge silver-plated ice-pitchers now. "

"And my dear friend the Empress of China?" he asked, as he got in besideme. 

"She has recovered her digestion, " I answered, "due entirely to theabandonment of chop-sticks and the adoption of Eastridge knives andforks. But now it's my turn to ask a question. How are YOU?"

"Well, " said he. "And the whole family is well, and we've all growntremendously, but we haven't changed a bit, and the best thing that hashappened to us for three years is seeing you again. "

"And the factory?" I asked. "How does the business of metallic humbugthrive?"

"All right, " he answered. "There's a little slackening in chafing-dishesjust now, but ice-cream knives are going off like hot cakes. The factoryis on a solid basis; hard times won't hurt us. "

"Well, then, " said I, a little perplexed, "what in Heaven's name did youmean by sending that--"

"Hold on, " said Talbert, gripping my knee and looking grave for amoment, "just you wait. I need you badly enough or else the telegramnever would have gone to you. I'll tell you about it after supper. Tillthen, never mind--or, rather, no matter; for it's nothing material, after all, but there's a lot in it for the mind. "

I knew then that he was in one of his fundamental moods, imperviouslyjolly on the surface, inflexibly Puritan underneath, and that the onlything to do was to let the subject rest until he chose to take it up inearnest. So we drove along, chaffing and laughing, until we came to thedear, old, ugly house. The whole family were waiting on the veranda tobid me welcome home. Mrs. Talbert took my hands with a look that saidit all. Her face had not grown a shade older, to me, since I firstknew her; and her eyes--the moment you look into them you feel that sheunderstands. Alice seemed to think that she had become too grown-up tobe kissed, even by the friend of the family; and I thought so, too. Butpretty Peggy was of a different mind. There is something about the waythat girl kisses an old gentleman that almost makes him wish himselfyoung again. 

At supper we had the usual tokens of festivity: broiled chickens andpop-overs and cool, sliced tomatoes and ice-cream with real strawberriesin it (how good and clean it tasted after Ispahan and Bagdad!) and theusual family arguing and joking (how natural and wholesome it soundedafter Vienna and Paris!). I thought Maria looked rather strenuous andsevere, as if something important were on her mind, and Billy and Alice, at moments, had a conscious air. But Charles Edward and Lorraine weredistinctly radiant, and Peggy was demurely jolly. She sounded like herfather played on a mandolin. 

After supper Talbert took me to the summer-house at the foot of thegarden to smoke. Our first cigars were about half burned out when hebegan to unbosom himself. 

"I've been a fool, " he said, "an idiot, and, what is more, an unnaturaland neglectful father, cruel to my children when I meant to be kind, ashirker of my duty, and a bringer of trouble on those that I love best. "

"As for example?" I asked. 

"Well, it is Peggy!" he broke out. "You know, I like her best of themall, next to Ada; can't help it. She is nearer to me, somehow. Thefinest, most unselfish little girl! But I've been just selfish enoughto let her get into trouble, and be talked about, and have her heartbroken, and now they've put her into a position where she's absolutelyhelpless, a pawn in their fool game, and the Lord only knows what's tocome of it all unless he makes me man enough to do my duty. "

From this, of course, I had to have the whole story, and I must sayit seemed to me most extraordinary--a flagrant case of idioticinterference. Peggy had been sent away to one of those curiousinstitutions that they call a "coeducational college, " chiefly becauseMaria had said that she ought to understand the duties of modernwomanhood; she had gone, without the slightest craving for "the highereducation, " but naturally with the idea of having a "good time"; andapparently she had it, for she came home engaged to a handsome, amatoryboy, one of her fellow "students, " named Goward. At this point AuntElizabeth, with her red hair and pink frock, had interfered and luredoff the Goward, who behaved in a manner which appeared to me to reducehim to a negligible quantity. But the family evidently did not think so, for they all promptly began to interfere, Maria and Charles Edward andAlice and even Billy, each one with an independent plan, either to lurethe Goward back or to eliminate him. Alice had the most original idea, which was to marry Peggy to Dr. Denbigh; but this clashed with Maria'sidea, which was to entangle the doctor with Aunt Elizabeth in order thatthe Goward might be recaptured. It was all extremely complicated andunnecessary (from my point of view), and of course it transpired andcirculated through the gossip of the town, and poor Peggy was muchafflicted and ashamed. Now the engagement was off; Aunt Elizabeth hadgone into business with a clairvoyant woman in New York; Goward was inthe hospital with a broken arm, and Peggy was booked to go to Europe onSaturday with Charles Edward and Lorraine. 

"Quite right, " I exclaimed at this point in the story. "Everything hasturned out just as it should, like a romance in an old-fashioned ladies'magazine. "

"Not at all, " broke out Talbert; "you don't know the whole of it, Mariahas told me" (oh, my prophetic soul, Maria!) "that Charley and his wifehave asked a friend of theirs, a man named Dane, ten years older thanPeggy, a professor in that blank coeducational college, to go with them, and that she is sure they mean to make her marry him. "

"What Dane is that?" I interrupted. "Is his first name Stillman--nephewof my old friend Harvey Dane, the publisher? Because, if that's so, Iknow him; about twenty-eight years old; good family, good head, goodmanners, good principles; just the right age and the right kind forPeggy--a very fine fellow indeed. "

"That makes no difference, " continued Cyrus, fiercely. "I don't carewhose nephew he is, nor how old he is, nor what his manners are. Mypoint is that Peggy positively shall not be pushed, or inveigled, ordragooned, or personally conducted into marrying anybody at all! Billyand Alice were wandering around Charley's garden last Friday night, andthey report that Professor Dane was there with Peggy. Alice says thatshe looked pale and drooping, 'like the Bride of Lammermoor. ' There hasbeen enough of this meddling with my little Peggy, I say, and I'm toblame for it. I don't know whether her heart is broken or not. I don'tknow whether she still cares for that fellow Goward or not. I don't knowwhat she wants to do--but whatever it is she shall do it, I swear. Shesha'n't be cajoled off to Europe with Charles Edward and Lorraine to beflung at the head of the first professor who turns up. I'll do my dutyby my little girl. She shall stay at home and be free. There has beentoo much interference in this family, and I'm damned if I stand anymore; I'll interfere myself now. "

It was not the unusual violence of the language in the last sentencethat convinced me. I had often seen religious men affected in that wayafter an over-indulgence in patience and mild behavior. It was thatominous word, "my duty, " which made me sure that Talbert had settleddown on the bed-rock of his conscience and was not to be moved. Why, then, had he sent for me, I asked, since he had made up his mind?

"Well, " said he, "in the first place, I hadn't quite made it up when Isent the telegram. And in the second place, now that you have helped meto see absolutely what is right to do, I want you to speak to my wifeabout it. She doesn't agree with me, wants Peggy to go to Europe, thinksthere cannot be any risk in it. You know how she has always adoredCharles Edward. Will you talk to her?"

"I will, " said I, after a moment of reflection, "on one condition. Youmay forbid Peggy's journey, to-morrow morning if you like. Break itoff peremptorily, if you think it's your duty. But don't give up herstate-room on the ship. And if you can be convinced between now andSaturday that the danger of interference with her young affections isremoved, and that she really needs and wants to go, you let her go! Willyou?"

"I will, " said he. And with that we threw away the remainder of oursecond cigars, and I went up to the side porch to talk with Mrs. Talbert. What we said I leave you to imagine. I have always thought herthe truest and tenderest woman in the world, but I never knew till thatnight just how clear-headed and brave she was. She agreed with me thatPeggy's affair, up to now more or less foolish, though distressing, had now reached a dangerous stage, a breaking-point. The child wasoverwrought. A wrong touch now might wreck her altogether. But the righttouch? Or, rather, no touch at all, but just an open door before her?Ah, that was another matter. My plan was a daring one; it made hertremble a little, but perhaps it was the best one; at all events, shecould see no other. Then she stood up and gave me both hands again. "Iwill trust you, my friend, " said she. "I know that you love us and ourchildren. You shall do what you think best and I will be satisfied. Good-night. "

The difficulty with the situation, as I looked it over carefullywhile indulging in a third cigar in my bedroom, was that the time wasdesperately short. It was now one o'clock on Tuesday morning. About nineCyrus would perform his sacred duty of crushing his darling Peggy bytelling her that she must stay in Eastridge. At ten o'clock on Saturdaythe Chromatic would sail with Charles Edward and Lorraine and StillmanDane. Yet there were two things that I was sure of: one was that Peggyought to go with them, and the other was that it would be good for herto--but on second thought I prefer to keep the other thing for the endof my story. My mind was fixed, positively and finally, that the habitof interference in the Talbert family must be broken up. I nevercould understand what it is that makes people so crazy to interfere, especially in match-making. It is a lunacy. It is presuming, irreverent, immoral, intolerable. So I worked out my little plan and went to sleep. 

Peggy took her father's decree (which was administered to her privatelyafter breakfast on Tuesday) most loyally. Of course, he could not giveher his real reasons, and so she could not answer them. But when sheappeared at dinner it was clear, in spite of a slight rosy hue about hereyes, that she had decided to accept the sudden change in the situationlike a well-bred angel--which, in fact, she is. 

I had run down to Whitman in the morning train to make a call on youngGoward, and found him rather an amiable boy, under the guard of anadoring mother, who thought him a genius and was convinced that he hadbeen entrapped by designing young women. I agreed with her so heartilythat she left me alone with him for a half-hour. His broken arm wasdoing well; his amatoriness was evidently much reduced by hospital diet;he was in a repentant frame of mind and assured me that he knew he hadbeen an ass as well as a brute (synonymes, dear boy), and that he wasnow going West to do some honest work in the world before he thought anymore about girls. I commended his manly decision. He was rather ruefulover the notion that he might have hurt Miss Talbert by his bad conduct. I begged him not to distress himself, his first duty now was to getwell. I asked him if he would do me the favor, with the doctor'spermission, of taking the fresh air with his mother on the terrace ofthe hospital about half-past five that afternoon. He looked puzzled, butpromised that he would do it; and so we parted. 

After dinner I requested Peggy to make me happy by going for a littledrive in the runabout with me. She came down looking as fresh as a wildrose, in a soft, white dress with some kind of light greenery aboutit, and a pale green sash around her waist, and her pretty, sunset hairuncovered. If there is any pleasanter avocation for an old fellow thandriving in an open buggy with a girl like that, I don't know it. Shetalked charmingly: about my travels; about her college friends; aboutEastridge; and at last about her disappointment in not going to Europe. By this time we were nearing the Whitman hospital. 

"I suppose you have heard, " said she, looking down at her bare handsand blushing; "perhaps they have told you why I wanted especially to goaway. "

"Yes, my dear child, " I answered, "they have told me a lot of nonsense, and I am heartily glad that it is all over. Are you?"

"More glad than I can tell you, " she answered, frankly, looking into myface. 

"See, " said I, "there is the hospital. I believe there is a boy in therethat knows you--name of Goward. "

"Yes, " she said, rather faintly, looking down again, but not changingcolor. 

"Peggy, " I asked, "do you still--think now, and answer truly--do youstill HATE him?"

She waited a moment, and then lifted her clear blue eyes to mine. "No, Uncle Gerrit, I don't hate him half as much as I hate myself. Really, Idon't hate him at all. I'm sorry for him. "

"So am I, my dear, " said I, stretching my interest in the negligibleyouth a little. "But he is getting well, and he is going West as soonas possible. Look, is that the boy yonder, sitting on the terrace witha fat lady, probably his mother? Do you feel that you could bow to him, just to oblige me?"

She flashed a look at me. "I'll do it for that reason, and for another, too, " she said. And then she nodded her red head, in the prettiest way, and threw in an honest smile and a wave of her hand for good measure. Iwas proud of her. The boy stood up and took off his hat. I could seehim blush a hundred feet away. Then his mother evidently asked him aquestion, and he turned to answer her, and so EXIT Mr. Goward. 

The end of our drive was even pleasanter than the beginning. Peggy wasmuch interested in a casual remark expressing my pleasure in hearingthat she had recently met the nephew of one of my very old friends, Stillman Dane. 

"Oh, " she cried, "do you know HIM? Isn't that lovely?"

I admitted that he was a very good person to know, though I had onlyseen a little of him, about six years ago. But his uncle, the one wholately died and left a snug fortune to his favorite nephew, was one ofmy old bachelor cronies, in fact, a member of the firm that published mybooks. If the young man resembled his uncle he was all right. Did Peggylike him?

"Why, yes, " she answered. "He was a professor at our college, and allthe girls thought him a perfect dandy!"

"Dandy!" I exclaimed. "There was no sign of an excessive devotion todress when I knew him. It's a great pity!"

"Oh!" she cried, laughing, "I don't mean THAT. It is only a word wegirls use; it means the same as when you say, 'A VERY FINE FELLOWINDEED. "'

From that point we played the Stillman Dane tune, with variations, untilwe reached home, very late indeed for supper. The domestic convulsioncaused by the formal announcement of Talbert's sudden decision hadpassed, leaving visible traces. Maria was flushed, but triumphant; Aliceand Billy had an air of conscience-stricken importance; Charles Edwardand Lorraine were sarcastically submissive; Cyrus was resolutely jovial;the only really tranquil one was Mrs. Talbert. Everything had beenarranged. The whole family were to go down to New York on Thursday tostop at a hotel, and see the travellers off on Saturday morning--allexcept Peggy, who was to remain at home and keep house. 

"That suits me exactly, " said I, "for business calls me to townto-morrow, but I would like to come back here on Thursday and keep housewith Peggy, if she will let me. "

She thanked me with a little smile, and so it was settled. Cyrus wantedto know, when we were sitting in the arbor that night, if I did notthink he had done right. "Wonderfully, " I said. He also wanted to knowif he might not give up that extra state-room and save a couple ofhundred dollars. I told him that he must stick to his bargain--I wasstill in the game--and then I narrated the afternoon incident at thehospital. "Good little Peggy!" he cried. "That clears up one of mytroubles. But the great objection to this European business still holds. She shall not be driven. " I agreed with him--not a single step!

The business that called me to New York was Stillman Dane. A mostintelligent and quick-minded young gentleman--not at all a beautyman--not even noticeably academic. He was about the middle height, but very well set up, and evidently in good health of body and mind; aclean-cut and energetic fellow, who had been matured by doing his workand had himself well in hand. There was a look in his warm, brown eyesthat spoke of a heart unsullied and capable of the strongest and purestaffection; and at the same time certain lines about his chin and hismouth, mobile but not loose lipped, promised that he would be able totake care of himself and of the girl that he loved. His appearance andhis manner were all that I had hoped--even more, for they were not onlypleasant but thoroughly satisfactory. 

He was courteous enough to conceal his slight surprise at my visit, butnot skilful enough to disguise his interest in hearing that I had justcome from the Talberts. I told him of the agreement with Cyrus Talbert, the subsequent conversation with Mrs. Talbert, Peggy's drive with me toWhitman, and her views upon dandies and other cognate subjects. 

Then I explained to him quite clearly what I should conceive my duty tobe if I were in his place. He assented warmly to my view. I added thatif there were any difficulties in his mind I should advise him to laythe case before my dear friend the Reverend George Alexanderson, ofthe Irving Place Church, who was an extraordinarily sensible and humanclergyman, and to whom I would give him a personal letter stating thefacts. Upon this we shook hands heartily, and I went back to Peggy onThursday morning. 

The house was delightfully quiet, and she was perfection as a hostess. Inever passed a pleasanter afternoon. But the evening was interruptedby the arrival of Stillman Dane, who said that he had run up to saygood-bye. That seemed quite polite and proper, so I begged them toexcuse me, while I went into the den to write some letters. They werelong letters. 

The next morning Peggy was evidently flustered, but divinely radiant. She said that Mr. Dane had asked her to go driving with him--would thatbe all right? I told her that I was sure it was perfectly right, butif they went far they would find me gone when they returned, for I hadchanged my mind and was going down to New York to see the voyagersoff. At this Peggy looked at me with tears sparkling in the edge of hersmile. Then she put her arms around my neck. "Good-bye, " she whispered, "good-bye! YOU'RE A DANDY TOO! Give mother my love--and THAT--andTHAT--and THAT!"

"Well, my dear, " I answered, "I rather prefer to keep THOSE for myself. But I'll give her your message. And mind this--don't you do anythingunless you really want to do it with all your heart. God bless you!Promise?"

"I promise, WITH ALL MY HEART, " said she, and then her soft arms wereunloosed from my neck and she ran up-stairs. That was the last word Iheard from Peggy Talbert. 

On Saturday morning all the rest of us were on the deck of the Chromaticby half-past nine. The usual farewell performance was in progress. Charles Edward was expressing some irritation and anxiety over thelateness of Stillman Dane, when that young man quietly emerged from themusic-room, with Peggy beside him in the demurest little travelling suitwith an immense breast-plate of white violets. Tom Price was the firstto recover his voice. 

"Peggy!" he cried; "Peggy, by all that's holy!"

"Excuse me, " I said, "Mr. And Mrs. Stillman Dane! And I must firmlyrequest every one except Mr. And Mrs. Talbert, senior, to come with meat once to see the second steward about the seats in the dining-saloon. "

We got a good place at the end of the pier to watch the big boat swingout into the river. She went very slowly at first, then withastonishing quickness. Charles Edward and Lorraine were standing onthe hurricane-deck, Peggy close beside them. Dane had given her hiswalking-stick, and she had tied her handkerchief to the handle. She wasstanding up on a chair, with one of his hands to steady her. Her hat hadslipped back on her head. The last thing that we could distinguishon the ship was that brave little girl, her red hair like an aureole, waving her flag of victory and peace. "And now, " said Maria, as weturned away, "I have a lovely plan. We are all going together to ourhotel to have lunch, and after that to the matinee at--"

I knew it was rude to interrupt, but I could not help it. 

"Pardon me, dear Maria, " I said, "but you have not got it quite right. You and Tom are going to escort Alice and Billy to Eastridge, with suchdiversions by the way as seem to you appropriate. Your father and motherare going to lunch with me at Delmonico's--but we don't want the wholefamily. "