[Illustration: "'We four, ' declared the Skeptic, 'constitute a privateCourt of Inquiry into the Condition of Our Friends'"]

A COURTOF INQUIRY

By GRACE S. RICHMOND

Author of "Red Pepper Burns, " "Mrs. Red Pepper, ""Second Violin, " Etc. 

[Illustration]

WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS

A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS

114-120 East Twenty-third Street--New York

PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CO. 

_Copyright_, 1909, 1916, _by_DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY

_All rights reserved, including that oftranslation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian_

COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY PERRY MASON COMPANYCOPYRIGHT, 1902, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANYCOPYRIGHT, 1907, BY PERRY MASON COMPANYCOPYRIGHT, 1908, 1909, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY

TO

C. R. P. AND M. B. P. 

CONTENTS

PART I

 PAGE

 I. Althea 3 II. Camellia 16III. Dahlia 31 IV. Rhodora 44 V. Azalea 58 VI. Hepatica 72

PART II

 I. Dahlia and the Professor 87 II. Camellia and the Judge 102III. Azalea and the Cashier 117 IV. Althea and the Promoter 131 V. Rhodora and the Preacher 146 VI. Wistaria--and the Philosopher 162

PART III

 I. Sixteen Miles to Boswell's 181 II. Honour and the Girl 220III. Their Word of Honour 241 IV. "Half a League Onward" 261

PART I

A Court of Inquiryand Other Tales

I

ALTHEA

 Nothing impaired but all disordered. --_Midsummer Night's Dream. _

There are four guest-rooms in my house. It is not a large house, and howthere came to be so many rooms to spare for the entertaining of friendsis not a story to be told here. It is only a few years since they wereall full--and not with guests. But they are nearly always full now. Andwhen I assign each room it is after taking thought. 

There are two men's rooms and two for women. The men's rooms havebelonged to men, and therefore they suit other men, who drop into themand use their belongings, and tell me they were never more comfortable. The third room is for one after another of the girls and women whovisit me. The fourth room----

"Is anybody really good enough to sleep in this place?"

It was the Skeptic, looking over my shoulder. He had chanced to bepassing, saw me standing in the doorway in an attitude of adoration, and glanced in over my head. He had continued to look from sheerastonishment. 

"I should expect to have to take off my shoes, and put on a whitecassock over my tennis flannels before I could enter here, " he observed. 

"You would not be allowed to enter, even in that inappropriate costume, "I replied. "I keep this room only for the very nicest of my girlfriends. The trouble is----"

"The trouble is--you're full up with our bunch, and have got to put MissAlthea here, whether she turns out to be the sort or not. "

I had not expected the Skeptic to be so shrewd--shrewd though he oftenis. Being also skeptical, his skepticism sometimes overcolours hisimagination. 

"Suppose she should leave her slippers kicking around over thosewhite rugs, drop her kimono in the middle of that pond-lily bed, and--er--attach a mound of chewing-gum to the corner of the mirror, "he propounded. 

"I should send her home. "

"No--you could do better than that. Make her change rooms with thePhilosopher. He wouldn't leave a speck the size of a molecule on allthat whiteness. "

"I don't believe he would, " I agreed. As the Skeptic went laughing awaydownstairs I turned again into the room, in order that I might tie backthe little inner muslin curtains, to let the green branches outside showbetween. 

 * * * * *

Althea arrived at five. The Skeptic, in tennis flannels, was lounging onthe porch as she came up the steps, and scanned her critically over theracquet he still held, after a brisk set-to with the Gay Lady, who isone of my other guests. (We call her the Gay Lady because of herflower-bright face, her trick of smiling when other people frown, andbecause of a certain soft sparkle and glow about her whole personality, as indescribable as it is captivating). The Gay Lady had gone indoors todress for the evening, and the Philosopher had not returned from thelong daily tramp by which he keeps himself in trim. The Lad was on theporch mending some fishing-tackle--my Lad, with the clear young eyeswhich see things. 

Althea gave the Skeptic a glance, the Lad a smile, and me a heartyembrace. I had never seen her before, and her visit had been broughtabout by a request from her mother, an old friend, who was anxious tohave her daughter spend a pleasant vacation in the absence of most ofthe girl's family. 

It was impossible not to like my new guest at once. She was a healthy, hearty, blooming sort of girl, good to look at, pleasant company to haveabout, and, as I soon learned, sweet-tempered to a degree which itseemed nothing could upset. She followed me upstairs, talking brightlyall the way, and made her entrance into the white room as a pinkhollyhock might drop unconcernedly into a pan of milk. 

"What a lovely, cool-looking room!" she cried, and dropped her coatand umbrella upon the bed. 

The Lad, following with her handbag, stopped to look at his tennis shoesbefore he set foot upon the white rug, and dusted off the bag with asomewhat grimy handkerchief before he stood it on the white-tiledhearth. The Lad knows how I feel about the room, and though he racesinto his own with muddy feet, stands in awe of the place where onlygirls are made at home. 

 * * * * *

I have but two maid-servants, both of whom must be busy in kitchen anddining-room when the house is full of guests. So I always make therounds of the bedrooms in the evening, to see to lights and water, andto turn down the coverings on the beds. The Skeptic's room needed only atouch here and there to put it in order for the night. The Philosopher'sneeded none. The Gay Lady had left her pretty, rose-hung quarterslooking as if a lady lived in them, and had but dropped a daintyreminder of herself here and there to give them character--anembroidered dressing-case on the bureau, an attractive travellingwork-box on the table by her bed, a photograph, a lace-borderedhandkerchief, a gossamer scarf on a chair-back ready for use if sheshould need it for a stroll in the moonlight with the Skeptic. Thecloset door, ajar, gave a glimpse of summer frocks, hanging in order onpadded hangers brought in a trunk; beneath, a row of incredibly small, smart shoes stood awaiting their turn. Even the Gay Lady's trunk wasclad in a trim, beflowered cover of linen, and looked a part of theplace. I smiled to myself as I turned down the white sheets over my bestdown-filled quilt of pale pink, and thought of the Gay Lady's delightfulcustom of keeping her room swept and dusted without letting anybody knowwhen she did it. 

 * * * * *

I felt my way across Althea's room to light the lamp--there are noelectrics in my old country home. As I went in I stumbled over a rugwhose corner had been drawn into a bunch by the edge of a trunk whichhad been pulled too far toward the middle of the room. I encountereda chair hung full with clothing; I pushed what felt like a shoe outof my path. 

It took some time for me to find the match-box, which ordinarilystands on a corner of the dressing-table. My groping hand encounteredall sorts of unfamiliar objects in its quest, and it was not withouta premonition of what I was about to see that I finally lit the lampand looked around me. 

Well--of course she had unpacked hurriedly, as hurriedly dressed fordinner, and she had been detained downstairs ever since. I should notjudge in haste. Doubtless in the morning she would put things to rights. I removed a trunk-tray from the bed, hung up several frocks in thecloset, cleared away the rest of the belongings from the counterpane, and arranged Althea's bed for the night. I did the rest of my workquickly, and returned to lower the light. 

It couldn't be--really, no--it couldn't be! There must be some other wayof accounting for those scratches on the hitherto spotless white wall, now marred by five long, brown marks, where a match had been drawn againand again before it struck into light!

It _couldn't_ have been Althea. Yet--those marks were never therebefore. It was full daylight when my guest had arrived; she could havehad no need for artificial light. Wait--there lay a long, black objecton the white cover of the dressing-table--a curling iron!

In the hall I ran into the Skeptic. 

"I beg your pardon, " he cried under his breath. "I came up for herscarf. She said it was just inside her door, on her trunk. May I go in?"

"I'll get it for you, " said I, and turned inside. The Skeptic stoodoutside the door, looking into the dimness. I could not find the scarf. I would not turn up the light. I searched and searched vainly. 

"Let me give you something to see by, " said the Skeptic, and before Icould prevent him he had bolted into the room and turned up the lamp. "Here it is, " said he, and caught up some article of apparel from thedressing-table. "Oh, no--this must be--a sash, " said he, and dropped it. He stood looking about him. 

"Go away, " said I sternly. "I'll find it. "

"I don't think you will, " said he, "in this--er--this--pandemonium. "

I walked over to the dressing-table and put out the lamp. "Now will yougo away?" said I. 

"You were expeditious, " said he, making for the hall, and stumbling oversomething as he went, "but not quite expeditious enough. Never mindabout the scarf. I think I'll let the Philosopher take the Girl Guest towalk--the Gay Lady's good enough for me. I say"--as he moved toward thestaircase and I followed--"don't you think we'd better move thePhilosopher in to-morrow?"

"To-morrow, " said I with assumed conviction, "it will be different. Please reserve your judgment. "

I tried to reserve my own. I did not go into Althea's room again untilthe next evening at the same hour. I found ten articles strewn wherefive had lain before. A bottle of something green had been tipped overupon the white embroidered cover of my dressing-table. A spot of inkadorned the edge of the sheet, and the condition of the bed showedplainly that an afternoon nap upon it had ended with some letterwriting. I think Althea's shoes had been dusted with one of my besttowels. I did not stay to see what else had been done, but I could nothelp noting three more brown scratches on my white wall. 

 * * * * *

At the end of the week Althea went away. When she had gone I went up toher room. I had been at work there for some time when a tap at the doorinterrupted me. The Skeptic stood outside with a hoe and abushel-basket. 

"Want some help?" offered he. 

"It's not gentlemanly of you to notice, " said I weakly. 

"I know it, " said he. He came in and inverted the bushel-basket on thehearth and sat down upon it. "But the door was always open, and Icouldn't help seeing. If it wasn't shoes and a kimono in the middle ofthe floor it was a raincoat and rubber boots. Sometimes I stopped tocount the things on that dressing----"

"It was _very_ ungentlemanly of you!"

"Guilty, " he admitted again--but not meekly. There was a sparkle in hiseye. "But it isn't often, you see, that a man gets a chance to takenotes like this. An open door--it's an invitation to look in. Now, theGay Lady doesn't leave her door open, except by chance, but I know howit looks inside--by the Gay Lady herself. "

"How?" I questioned, my curiosity getting the better of me. "I mean--howcan you tell by the look of the Gay Lady that she keeps her room inorder?--for she certainly does. "

"I knew it, " said he triumphantly. 

"But how?"

"And I know that you keep yours in order. "

"But _how_?"

"Oh, you think we are creatures of no discernment, " said he. "But we cansee a few things. When a woman, no matter how pretty, pins the back ofher collar with a common brass pin----"

I felt of the back of my white stock. Of course I never use them, buthis eyes are so keen and----

He laughed. "The Philosopher liked Miss Althea. "

"She has many lovely qualities----" I began. 

"Of course. That sort always have. It's their beautiful good-nature thatmakes them so easy on themselves. Er--by-the-way----Well, well----"

The Skeptic's gaze had fallen upon the brown marks on the white wall, above the lamp. There were now twenty-seven in all. He got up from hisbushel-basket and walked over to them. He stood and studied them for aminute in silence. Finally he turned around, looked at me, made a divefor the bushel-basket and the hoe, and hurried out of the door. 

"I'll bring up a pail of whitewash, " he called. 

 * * * * *

I shall ask Althea again some time. She really has a great many lovelyqualities, as I said to the Skeptic. But there is a little room I have, which I do not call a guest-room, into which I shall put Althea. It hasa sort of chocolate paper on the walls, on which I do not think themarks of matches would much show, and it has a general suitableness tothis particular guest. I have sometimes harboured small boys there, forthe toilet appointments are done in red on brown linen, and curlingirons could be laid on them without serious damage. And I've no doubtthat she would like that room quite as well. 

II

CAMELLIA

 You thought to break a country heart For pastime, ere you went to town. --_Tennyson. _

"Did you say Camellia is going to stop here on her way home?" asked theGay Lady. 

"For a few days, " I assented. 

The Gay Lady was standing in front of the closet in her room, in whichhung a row of frocks, on little hangers covered with pale blue ribbon. She sighed pensively as she gazed at the garments. Then she looked at mewith a smile. "Would you mind if I keep to my room while Camellia ishere?" she asked. 

"I should mind very much, " said I. "Besides, I've only two good dressesmyself. "

I went down to the porch. "Camellia is going to stop and make us a shortvisit on her way home from the South, " I announced. 

The Skeptic sat up. "Great guns!" he ejaculated. "I must send all mytrousers to be pressed. "

"Who's Camellia?" queried the Philosopher, looking up calmly fromhis book. 

"Wait and see, " replied the Skeptic. 

"Probably I shall, " agreed the Philosopher. "Meanwhile a littleinformation might not come amiss. Sending all one's trousers to bepressed at once sounds to me serious. Is the lady a connoisseur inmen's attire?"

"She may or may not be, " said the Skeptic. "The effect is the same. Atsight of her my cravat gets under my ear, my coat becomes shapeless, myshoes turn pigeon-toed. We have to dress for dinner every night whenMiss Camellia is here. "

"I won't, " said the Philosopher shortly. 

"Wait and see, " chuckled the Skeptic. He looked at me. "Ask her, "he added. 

The Philosopher's fine blue eyes were lifted once more from his book. Itwas a scientific book, and the habit of inquiry is always strong uponyour scientist. "Do _you_ dress for dinner when Miss Camellia is here?"he asked of me. "That is--I mean in a way which requires a dinner-coatof us?"

"I think I won't--before she comes, " I said. "Afterward--I get out thebest I have. "

"Which proves none too good, " supplemented the Skeptic. 

"It's July, " said the Philosopher thoughtfully. He looked down at hiswhite ducks. "Couldn't you wire her not to come?" he suggested aftera moment. 

The Skeptic grinned at me. I shook my head. He shook his head. 

"We don't want her not to come, " he said, more cheerfully. "She's worthit. To see her is a liberal education. To clothe her would be ruin anddesolation. Brace up, Philo--she's certainly worth all the agony of mindshe may cause you. I only refrain from falling head over ears in lovewith her by keeping my hand in my pocket, feeling over my loose changeand reminding myself that it's all I have--and it wouldn't buy her ahandkerchief. "

The Gay Lady spent the morning freshening her frocks--which weresomehow never anything but fresh, no matter how much she wore them. Itwas true that there were not very many of them, and that none of themhad cost very much money, but they were fascinating frocks nevertheless, and she had so many clever ways of varying them with knots of ribbon andfrills of lace, that one never grew tired of seeing her wear them. 

The Skeptic sent several pairs of trousers to be pressed and a bundle ofother things to be laundered. I got out a gown I had expected to wearonly on state occasions, and did something to the sleeves. ThePhilosopher was the only person who remained unaffected by the news thatCamellia was coming. We envied him his calm. 

 * * * * *

Camellia arrived. Three trunks arrived at the same time. Camellia'sappearance, as she came up the porch steps, while trim and attractive, gave no hint to the Philosopher's eyes, observant though they were, ofwhat was to be expected. He had failed to note the trunks. This was notstrange, for Camellia had a beautiful face, and her manner was, asalways, charming. 

"I don't see, " said the Philosopher in my ear, at a moment when Camelliawas occupied with the Skeptic and the Gay Lady, "what there is aboutthat to upset you all. "

"Don't you?" said I pityingly. Evidently, from what he had heard us say, he had expected her to arrive in an elaborate reception gown--orpossibly in spangles and lace!

Camellia went to her room--the white room. This time I had no fears forthe embroidered linen on my dressing-table or for the purity of my whitewall. I repaired to my own room--_to dress for dinner_. As I passed theporch door on my way I looked out. The Gay Lady had vanished--so had theSkeptic. The Philosopher was walking up and down--in white ducks. Hehailed me as I passed. 

"See here, " he said under his breath. "I thought you people were allguying in that talk about dressing for dinner while--while Miss Camelliais here. But the Skeptic has gone to do it--if he's not bluffing. Is ittrue? Do you mean it? We--that is--we haven't been dressing fordinner--except, of course, you ladies seem always to--but that'sdifferent. And it's awfully hot to-night, " he added plaintively. 

"Don't do it, " said I hurriedly. "I don't know any reason why weshould--in the country--in July. "

He looked at me doubtfully. "But is the Skeptic going to--really?"

"I presume he really is. You see--he has met Camellia before. He knowshow she will be looking when she comes down. He admires Camellia verymuch, and he might possibly feel a little odd--in tennis flannels----"

"It's queer, " murmured the Philosopher. "But perhaps I'd better not bebehind in the procession, even if I wilt my collar. " He fingeredlovingly the soft, rolled-over collar of his white shirt, with itsloose-knotted tie, and sighed again. Then he moved toward the stairs. 

We were all on the porch when Camellia came down. The Gay Lady had puton a white muslin--the finest, simplest thing. The Philosopher, pushinga finger between his collar and his neck, to see if the wilting processhad begun, eyed the Gay Lady approvingly. "Whatever she wears, " hewhispered to her, "she can't win over you. "

The Gay Lady laughed. "Yes, she can, " she declared. 

 * * * * *

She did. Camellia was a vision when she came floating out upon theporch. The Philosopher was glad he had on his dinner-coat--I saw it inhis eye. The Skeptic's tanned cheek turned a reddish shade--he looked asif he felt pigeon-toed. The Gay Lady held her pretty head high as shesmiled approval on the guest. Camellia's effect on the Gay Lady was tomake her feel like a school-girl--she had repeatedly avowed it to mein private. 

Camellia never seemed conscious of her fine attire--that could alwaystruthfully be said. Although on the present occasion she was dressed asduchesses dress for a lawn-party, she seemed supremely unconscious ofthe fact. The only trouble was that the rest of us could not beunconscious of it. 

The dinner moved slowly. We all did our best, including the Philosopher, whose collar was slowly melting, so that he had to keep his chin wellup, lest it crush the linen hopelessly beneath. The Skeptic jokedceaselessly, but one could see that all the time he feared his cravatmight be awry. The dinner itself was a much more formal affair thanusual--somehow that always seemed necessary when Camellia was one'sguest. We were glad when it was over and we could go back to the coolrecesses of the porch. 

The next morning Camellia wore an unpretentious dress of white--onewhich made the thing the Gay Lady had worn at dinner the evening beforeseem to her memory poor indeed. Later in the morning the Skeptic tookCamellia boating on the river, and she went up and dressed for it in ayachting suit of white flannel. It was some slight consolation that shecame back from the river much bedraggled about the skirts, for the boathad sprung a leak and all the Skeptic's gallantry could not keep herdry. But this necessitated a change before luncheon, and some of us werenearly unable to eat with Camellia sitting there in the frock she hadput on at the last minute. She was a dream in the pale pink of it, andthe Skeptic appeared to be losing his head. On the contrary, thePhilosopher was seen to examine her thoughtfully through the eyeglasseshe sometimes wears for reading, and which he had forgotten to remove. 

On the morning of the third day I discovered the Gay Lady mending alittle hole in the skirt of a tiny-flowered dimity, her bright eyessuspiciously misty. 

"I'm a g-goose, I know, " she explained, smiling at me throughthe mist, "but it does make me absurdly envious. My things lookso--so--_duddy_--beside hers. "

"They're not duddy!" I cried warmly. "But I know what you mean. Myvery best gown, that I had made in town by Lautier herself, seemscountrified. Don't mind. Our things will look quite right again--nextweek. "

"What do you suppose she will wear to-night?" sighed she. 

"Heaven only knows, " I answered feebly. 

What she wore was a French frock which finished us all. I had fears forthe sanity of the Skeptic. I was sure he did not know what he waseating. He could not, of course, sit with his hands in his trousers'pockets, from time to time giving his loose change a warning jingle, toremind himself that he could not buy her handkerchiefs. But thePhilosopher appeared to retain his self-control. I caught his scientificeye fixed upon the pearl necklace Camellia wore. It struck me that thePhilosopher and the Skeptic had temporarily exchanged characters. 

In the late afternoon, at the end of the sixth day, Camellia left us. The Skeptic and the Philosopher came to dinner in flannels--it had grownslightly cooler. The Gay Lady and I wore things we had not worn for aweek--and I was sure the Gay Lady had never looked prettier. Afterdinner, in the early dusk, we sat upon the porch. For some time we weremore or less silent. Then the Skeptic, from the depths of a bamboolounging chair, his legs stretching half-way across the porch in arelaxed attitude they had not worn for a week, heaved a sigh whichseemed to struggle up from the depths of his interior. 

The Philosopher rolled over in the hammock, where he had been reposingon his back, his hands clasped under his head, and looked scrutinizinglyat his friend. 

"Don't take it too hard, " he counselled gently. "It's not worth it. "

"I know it, " replied the Skeptic with another sigh. "But I wish I wereworth--millions. "

"Oh, no, you don't, " argued the Philosopher. 

The Gay Lady and I exchanged glances--through the twilight. We wouldhave arisen and fled, but the Skeptic caught at my skirts. 

"Don't go, " he begged. "I'm not really insane--only delirious. It'llwear off. "

"It will, " agreed the Philosopher. 

"I suppose, " began the Skeptic, after some further moments of silence, "that it's really mostly clothes. "

"She's a very charming girl, " said the Gay Lady quickly. "I don't blameyou. "

"Honestly, " said the Skeptic, sitting up and looking at her, "don't youthink her clothes are about all there is of her?"

"No, " said the Gay Lady stoutly. 

"Yes, " said the Philosopher comfortably. 

"Yes--and no, " said I, as the Skeptic looked at me. 

"A girl, " argued the Philosopher, suddenly pulling himself out of thehammock and beginning to pace the floor, "who could come here to thisunpretentious country place with three trunks, and then wear theircontents----Look here"--he paused in front of me and looked at me aspiercingly as somewhat short-sighted blue eyes can look in thetwilight--"did she ever wear the same thing twice?"

"I believe not, " I admitted. 

"A girl who could come to a place like this and make a show figure ofherself in clothes that any fool could see cost--Cæsar, what must theycost!--and change four times a day--and keep us dancing around instarched collars----"

"You didn't have to----"

"Yes, we did--pardon me! We did, not to be innocently--notinsolently--mistaken for farm hands. I tell you, a girl like that wouldkeep a man humping to furnish the wherewithal. For what, " continued thePhilosopher, growing very earnest--"what, if she'd wear that sort ofclothes here, would she consider necessary for--for--visiting her richfriends? Tell me that!"

We could not tell him that. We did not try. 

The Gay Lady was pinching one of her little flowered dimity ruffles intoplaits with an agitated thumb and finger. I was sure the Skeptic'spresent state of mind was of more moment to her than she would ever letappear to anybody. 

The Skeptic rose slowly from his chair. 

"Will you walk down the garden path with me?" he asked the Gay Lady. 

They sauntered slowly away into the twilight. 

 * * * * *

The Philosopher came and sat down by me. 

"He's not really hit, " said he presently; "he's only temporarily upset. I was a trifle bowled over myself. She's certainly a stunning girl. Butwhen I try to recall what she and I talked about when we sat out heretogether, at such times as he was willing to leave her in my company, Ihave really no recollection. When it was too dark to see herclothes--or her smile--I remember being once or twice distinctly bored. Now--the Gay Lady--don't you think she always looks well?"

"Lovely, " I agreed heartily. 

"I may not know much about it, being a man, " said he modestly, "but Ishould naturally think the Gay Lady's clothes cost considerably lessthan Miss Camellia's. "

"Considerably. "

"Though I never really thought about them before, " he owned. "I don'tsuppose a man usually does think much about a woman's clothes--unlesshe's forced to. During this last week it occurs to me we've been forcedto--eh?"

"Somewhat. " I was smiling to myself. I had never imagined that thePhilosopher troubled himself with such matters at all. 

"And I don't think, " he went on, "I like being forced to spend my timespeculating on the cost of anybody's clothing. --How comfortable it is onthis porch! And how jolly not to have to sit up in a black coat--on aJuly evening!"

The Skeptic and the Gay Lady returned--after an hour. The Skeptic, as hecame into the light which streamed out across the porch from the hall, looked decidedly more cheerful than when he had left us. Although it hadbeen too dark in the garden to see either the Gay Lady's clothes or hersmile, I doubted if he had been bored. 

III

DAHLIA

 O, weary fa' the women fo'k, For they winna let a body be! --_James Hogg. _

My neighbour Dahlia has returned. There is a considerable stretchof lawn, also a garden and a small orchard, intervening between herfather's property and mine, not to mention a thick hedge; but in spiteof these obstructions it did not take Dahlia long to discover thatthere were guests upon my porch. I think she recognized the Skeptic'slong legs from her window, which looks down my way through a vistaof tree-tops. At all events, on the morning after her arrival sheappeared, coming through the hedge, down the garden path and acrossthe lawn, a fresh and attractive figure in a pink muslin with ruffles, and one of those coquettish, white-frilled sunbonnets summer-girls wearin the country. 

Dahlia is very pretty, very good company, and likable from many pointsof view. If only----

"Who's this coming to invade our completeness?" queried the Philosopher, looking up from his book of trout flies. Fishing, in its scientificaspect, presents many attractions to our Philosopher, although he spendsso much time in getting ready to do it scientifically that he seldomfinds much left in which to fish. 

The Skeptic glanced at the figure coming over the lawn. Then he made agesture as if he were about to turn up his coat collar. He hitchedhimself slightly behind one of the white pillars of the porch. 

"Keep cool; you'll soon know, " he replied to the Philosopher. "And onceknowing, you'll always know. "

The Philosopher looked slightly mystified at this oracular information, and gazed rather curiously at Dahlia as she came near, before he droppedhis eyes to his trout flies. 

The Skeptic appeared to be absorbed in a letter which he had hastilyextracted from his pocket. It was merely a brief business communicationin type, as I could not help seeing over his shoulder, but he withdrewhis attention from it with difficulty as Dahlia paused before him. Herfirst greeting was for him, although I had risen just behind him. 

"Oh--how do you do, Miss Dahlia?" cried the Skeptic, getting to his feetand receiving her outstretched hand in his own. Then he made as if topass her on to me, but she wouldn't be passed until she had saidsomething under her breath to him, smiling up into his face, her fingersclinging to his. 

"Been--er--horribly busy, " I heard him murmur in reply. I thought hishand showed symptoms of letting go before hers did. 

I greeted Dahlia, introducing her to the Gay Lady, who smiled at herfrom over a handkerchief she was embroidering with my initials. Ipresented the Philosopher, who immediately presented his trout flies. She scanned him closely--the Philosopher is very good-looking(almost--but not quite--better-looking than the Skeptic)--then shedropped down upon one of the porch cushions by his side. He politelyoffered her a chair, but she insisted that she liked the cushion better, and we found it impossible to doubt that she did. At all events sheremained upon it, close beside the Philosopher, as long as he retainedhis position; and she appeared to become absorbed in the trout flies, asking many questions, and exclaiming over some of them in a way whichshowed her to be of a most sympathetic disposition. 

 * * * * *

Finally the Philosopher seized upon an opportunity and rose. "Well, " heobserved, "I believe I'll go and try my luck. "

Dahlia looked up at him. Her pretty face took on a beseechingexpression. 

The Philosopher regarded her uncomprehendingly. 

"You will excuse----" he began. 

But Dahlia did not let him finish. "I simply love to go fishing, " shesaid softly. 

"Do you?" said the Philosopher, blinking stupidly. "It is great sport, Ithink, myself. "

Even then I believe he would have turned away. He is not used to it--atleast, in Dahlia's style. But she detained him. 

"Are you really not going to ask me?" she said, looking like adisappointed child. 

I saw the Gay Lady look at her. The Skeptic glanced at the Gay Lady. Iobserved the Skeptic. But the Philosopher rose to the occasion. He isinvariably courteous. 

"Why, certainly, " he responded, "if you would really care to go. It'srather a long walk to the stream and--I'm afraid the boat leaksconsiderably, but----"

"Oh, I don't mind that, " she exulted, jumping up, her cheeks pink withdelight. "In fact, I know that boat of old----" She gave the Skeptic alook from under her eyelashes, but he was looking at the Gay Lady and itfailed to hit him. "Are you ready? All right. And I've mysunbonnet--just the thing. You shall see what we'll catch, " she calledback to us, as the two walked away. 

 * * * * *

The Skeptic got the pillar between himself and the departing pair. Hisface was convulsed with mirth. He slapped his knee. "I said he'd soonknow, " he chuckled, holding himself in with an effort, "but I didn'tthink he'd find out quite so soon. Smoke and ashes--but that was quickwork!"

He turned about and looked up at the Gay Lady. "Will you go fishing?" heinquired, still chuckling. 

"No, thank you, " responded the Gay Lady, smiling at her embroiderywithout looking up. 

"Will you go fishing?"

The inquiry was directed at me. 

I shook my head. 

The Skeptic fell into an attitude of mock despair. Then he sat up. "I'mgoing to go down and hide behind the big tree at the bend, " he declared. "I want to see Philo when she----"

The Gay Lady spoke to me. "Do you think I'm getting that K too heavy?"she asked. 

The Skeptic laughed, and strolled away--not in the direction of thetrout stream. 

Dahlia and the Philosopher came back just as luncheon was served. Dahliawas looking pinker than ever, and I thought the Philosopher's tan hadrather a pinkish hue, also. I felt obliged to ask Dahlia to stay toluncheon and she promptly accepted. Throughout the meal she was verygay, sitting at my round table between the Philosopher and the Skeptic, and plying both with attentions. It is a singular phrase to use, inspeaking of a girl, but I know no other that applies so well--inDahlia's case. 

After luncheon the Philosopher bolted. His movements are usuallydeliberate, but I never saw a quicker exit made from a dining-room whichhas only two doors. One door leads into the hall, the other to thepantry. The rest of us went out the hall door. When we reached the porchthe Philosopher was missing. There is no explanation except that he wentout by the pantry door. 

On the porch the Skeptic said, "I must run down to the barn and lookafter Skylark's foot. He cut himself when I was out on him yesterday. "

He hastened away down the driveway. 

Dahlia looked after him. 

"Is Skylark here?" she asked. "Oh, how I want to see the dear thing!And he's cut his foot!--I'm going to run down to the barn, too, andsee him. "

And she hurried away after the Skeptic. 

"I think I'll go in and sleep a while, " said the Gay Lady to me. Herexpressive lips had a curious little twist of scorn. 

"I should, too, if I hadn't a new guest, " said I. 

We tried not to smile at each other, but we couldn't quite help it. 

The Gay Lady went away to her room. I heard her close the blinds on theside that looked off toward the barn, and, glancing up, saw that she hadturned down the slats tightly. 

 * * * * *

I think it must have been well on toward four in the afternoon when thewhite sunbonnet at last disappeared through the gap in the hedge. TheSkeptic came back up the garden path at the pace of an escaping convict, and went tearing up the stairs to his room. I heard him splashing like aseal in his bath. Presently he came out, freshly attired and went awaydown the road, in the opposite direction from that in which lay thehouse beyond the hedge. 

Dahlia came over at twilight that evening--to bring me a great bunch ofgolden-glow. She was captivatingly arrayed in blue. She remained for anhour or so. When she went away the Skeptic walked home with her. He wasforced to do it. The Philosopher had disappeared again, quite withoutwarning, some twenty minutes earlier. 

She came over the next afternoon. On the day following she practicallytook up her residence with us. I thought of inviting her to bring atrunk and occupy the white room. On the fourth night I accidentallyoverheard a brief but pregnant colloquy which took place just inside thelibrary door, toward the last of the evening. 

"You've got to take her home to-night, old man. "

"I won't. " It was the Philosopher. 

"You've got to. It's your turn. No shirking. "

"I'll be hanged if I will. "

"I'll be hanged if _I_ will. There's a limit. "

"I'd always supposed there was. There doesn't seem to be. "

"Come along--stand up to it like a man. It's up to you to-night. Shecan't carry you off bodily. "

"I'm not so sure of that. " The Philosopher's tone was grim. 

So far I had been transfixed. But now I hurried away. I was consumedwith anxiety during the next ten minutes, lest they come to blows insettling it. But when they appeared I could tell that they had settledit somehow. 

When Dahlia arose and said that she positively must go they bothaccompanied her. The transit occupied less time than it had done on anyprevious occasion. 

 * * * * *

From this time on there was concerted action on the part of our two men. Where one was, the other was. The Gay Lady and I received less attentionthan we were accustomed to expect--the two men were too busy standing byeach other to have much time for us. 

"I'm so sorry, " said Dahlia, coming over after dinner on the tenthevening, "but I'm going away to-morrow. I've an invitation that I'msimply not allowed to refuse. "

The Philosopher's face lit up. He attempted to conceal it by burying hishead in his handkerchief for a moment, in mock distress, but hissatisfaction showed even behind his ears. The Skeptic bent down andelaborately tied his shoe-ribbon. The Gay Lady regarded Dahlia sweetly, and said, "That's surely very nice for you. "

"I think, " observed Dahlia, looking coyly from the Skeptic to thePhilosopher, "that I shall have to let each of you take me for afarewell walk to-night. You first"--she indicated the Philosopher. "Orshall it be a row for one and a walk for the other?"

She and the Philosopher strolled away toward the river. There had beenno way out for him. 

"The Englishman, the Scotsman and the Irishman, " began the Skeptic, in aconversational tone, "being about to be hanged, were given their choiceof a tree. 'The oak for me, ' says the Englishman. 'The Scotch elm formine, ' says the Scotsman. 'Faith, ' says the Irishman, 'I'll be afthertakin' a gooseberry bush. ' 'That's too small, ' says the hangman. 'I'llwait for it to grow, ' says the Irishman contentedly. "

Whereat he disappeared. When Dahlia and the Philosopher returned he hadnot come back. I was amazed at him, but my amazement did not producehim, and the Philosopher accompanied Dahlia home. When they were wellaway the Skeptic swung himself up over the side of the porch, from amongsome bushes. 

"'All's fair in love and war, '" he grinned. "Besides, the campaign'sover. Philo's gained experience. He's a veteran now. He'll never be sucheasy game again. Haven't we behaved well, on the whole?" he asked theGay Lady, dropping upon a cushion at her feet. 

"I don't think you have, " said the Gay Lady gently. 

"We haven't! Why not?"

She shook her head. "I refuse to discuss it, " she said, as gently asbefore, but quite firmly. 

The Skeptic sighed. "I'm sorry, " he declared. "You really don'tknow----"

"I don't want to know, " said the Gay Lady. "Isn't it a lovely, lovelyevening?"

"Yes, it's a lovely evening, " said the Skeptic, looking up at her. "Itwould be delightful on the river. "

She shook her head again. 

"Not nicer than here, " she answered. 

The Philosopher came back. When he was half-way across the lawn theSkeptic jumped up and rushed forward and offered his shoulder for thePhilosopher to lean upon. 

"Clear out, " said the Philosopher shortly. 

"I'm glad to hear it, " rejoined the Skeptic. "I feared you might beclear in. "

"It's not your fault that I'm not, " grunted the Philosopher. 

He dropped down upon the porch step in an exhausted way. 

The Gay Lady rose. 

"The air is making me sleepy, " said she in her musically sweet voice. "Good-night. "

The Skeptic and the Philosopher looked after her retreating figure evenafter it ceased to be visible, drifting down the wide, central hall. 

"The worst of it is, " grumbled the Skeptic, "that an exhibition of thatsort of thing always makes the other kind draw off, for fear we maypossibly think they're in the same class. "

I, too, now said good-night, and went away to let them have it outbetween them. 

IV

RHODORA

 Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm. --_Gray. _

This morning we had a surprise. Grandmother and Rhodora drove over fromLangdale, ten miles away, to spend two days. Grandmother does not belongto us exclusively--she is Grandmother to a large circle of people, allof whom are glad to see her whenever they have the opportunity. Rhodorais a new granddaughter of the old lady--by which I mean to say thatRhodora never saw Grandmother till a fortnight ago, when the girlarrived to pay her a visit. 

"I wanted to see you people so much, " explained Rhodora, coming breezilyupon the porch a step or two in advance of the old lady, "that I thoughtI'd drive over. Grandmother wanted to come too, so I brought her. "

Grandmother's dark eyebrows below her white curls went up a trifle. Itwas quite evident that she thought she had brought Rhodora, inasmuch asthe carriage, the horses, and the old family coachman were all her own. But she did not correct the girl. She is a tiny little lady, with agentle, somewhat hesitating manner, but her black eyes are very bright, and she sees things with almost as keen a vision as Lad himself. 

The Gay Lady was charmed with Grandmother. She put the frail visitorinto the easiest chair on the porch, untied her bonnet-strings, smoothedher soft, white curls, and brought a footstool for her little feet. Thenshe sat by her, listening and talking--doing much more listening thantalking--leaving Rhodora to me. 

"I'm sorry our men are away to-day, " I said to Rhodora, "and Lad is withthem. They went early this morning to climb Bluebeard Mountain, andwon't be back till night. It is rather quiet here without them. "

"Are they young and jolly?" inquired Rhodora. 

"They are extremely jolly. As for being young, that depends upon one'spoint of view, " said I. "They are between twenty-five and thirty-five, Ibelieve. "

"Pretty wide margin, " laughed Rhodora. "And how old is Lad?"

"Fifteen. "

"I've had the bad luck to be stuck off with old people all the whilelately, " remarked Rhodora. She looked at me as she spoke. I wondered ifshe considered me "old people. " Then she glanced at the Gay Lady. 

"How old is she?" she inquired. 

"I have never asked her. "

"Looks like a girl, but I guess she isn't. A real girl would neversettle down like that to talk to an old lady like Grandmother, " sheobserved sagely. 

I opened my lips--and closed them. I had known Miss Rhodora only aboutten minutes, and one does not make caustic speeches to one's guests--ifone can help it. But one does take observations upon them. I was takingobservations upon Rhodora. 

She was decidedly a handsome girl--handsome seems the word. She wasrather large, well-proportioned, blooming in colour, with somewhatstrikingly modeled features. She wore sleeves to her elbows, and herarms were round and firm. She sat in a nonchalant attitude in which herarms were considerably in evidence. 

"Rhodora, " said Grandmother, turning to look our way, "did I bring mylittle black silk bag from the carriage?"

"Didn't see it, " replied Rhodora. "Which way is Bluebeard Mountain?" sheinquired of me. 

The Gay Lady and I arose at the same instant. I went into the house tosearch for the bag, and when I could not find it the Gay Lady went awaydown to the red barn to find if the black silk bag had been left in thecarriage. She came back bringing it. 

"Thank you, my dear, " said Grandmother, with a smile which might haverepaid anybody for a much longer trip than that to the carriage. 

 * * * * *

After a time I managed to exchange places with the Gay Lady, feelingthat Rhodora very plainly did consider me an elderly person, and that, in spite of her confidence that the Gay Lady was not "a real girl, " asgirls of Rhodora's age use the term, she might take her as a substitutefor one. 

The Gay Lady took Rhodora down to the river, and out in the boat. Iunderstood from what I heard later that the Gay Lady, although a fineoarswoman, did not row Rhodora about the river. Rhodora began bydropping into the stern seat among the cushions, but the Gay Lady fittedtwo sets of oars into the rowlocks, and offered Rhodora the position ofstroke. The Gay Lady is very sweet and courteous in manner, but I couldquite understand that when she offered the oars to Rhodora, Rhodoraaccepted them and did her best. 

When they came back it was time for luncheon, and I took my guests tothe white room. 

"What a cool, reposeful room, my dear, " said Grandmother. She patted herwhite curls in front of the mirror, which is an old-fashioned, oblongone, in which two people cannot well see themselves at the same time. Rhodora came up behind her, stooped to peer over her shoulder, andseized upon the ivory comb which lay on the dressing-table. Her elbow, as she ran the comb through her fluffy hair, struck Grandmother'sdelicate shoulder. The old lady turned and regarded her granddaughter inastonishment. 

"Want the comb?" inquired Rhodora, having finished with it herself. 

Rhodora went over to the washstand, and washed and splashed, and usedone of the towels and threw it back upon the rack so that it overhungall the other fresh towels. Grandmother used one end of Rhodora's towel, and carefully folded and put it in place, looking regretfully at itsrumpled condition. She took a clean pocket-handkerchief out of her bag. Rhodora caught sight of it. 

"Oh, Grandmother, have you got a spare handkerchief?" she cried. "I'velost mine, I'm afraid. "

Grandmother handed her the little square of fine linen, exquisitelyembroidered with her own monogram, and took another and plainer one fromher bag. 

"Try not to lose that one, Granddaughter, " she said, in her gentle way. 

Rhodora pushed it inside her sleeve. "Oh, I seldom lose two in one day, "she assured the handkerchief's owner. 

I fear it was rather a dull afternoon for Rhodora. The Gay Lady tookGrandmother away after luncheon into the quiet, green-hung library, andtucked her up on the couch, and covered her with a little silk quiltfrom her own room, and went away and played softly upon the piano in thedistance until the old lady fell asleep. Late in the afternoonGrandmother awoke much refreshed, and found the Gay Lady sitting by thewindow, keeping guard. 

"It does one's eyes good to look at you, my dear, " were Grandmother'sfirst words, after she had lain for some time quietly observing thefigure by the window, freshly dressed in white. The Gay Lady got up andcame over to the couch and bent down, smiling. 

 * * * * *

Just in time for a late dinner our men came home, sunburned and hungry. Seeing guests upon the porch they made for their rooms, and reappearedpresently in that irreproachable trim which the dustiest and mostdisreputable-looking of them seems able to achieve, being given plentyof water, in the twinkling of an eye. 

They were presented to Grandmother. At almost the same moment we weresummoned to dinner. The Skeptic gave the old lady his arm. ThePhilosopher picked up her black silk bag from the porch floor, andfollowed with it dangling from his hand. Just as she reached the tableshe dropped her handkerchief, and the Lad sprang for it as a retrieversprings for a stick, and handed it to her with his best boyish bow. Theold lady beamed. Quite evidently this was the sort of thing to which shewas accustomed. 

At luncheon Rhodora had rather monopolized the conversation. At dinnershe found herself unable to do so. The Philosopher and the Skeptic weretoo much occupied with Grandmother to be able to attend to Rhodora, beyond lending a polite ear to her remarks now and then and immediatelyafterward returning to the elderly guest. Grandmother was really a mostinteresting talker when occasion required it of her, as it certainly didnow. We were all charmed with her clever way of putting things, hershrewd observation, her knowledge of and interest in affairs in general. 

After dinner the Philosopher escorted her out to her chair on the porch. The Skeptic sat down beside the Gay Lady on a wide, wooden settle closeby, and both listened, smiling, to the discussion which had arisenbetween Grandmother and the Philosopher. It was well worth listening to. The Philosopher, while wholly deferential, held his ground staunchly, but Grandmother worsted him in the end. Her cheeks grew pink, her blackeyes shone. It was a captivating spectacle. 

I called Rhodora's attention to it. Finding nobody else to do her honourshe had entered into conversation with the Lad. Both looked up as Ispoke to them. 

"Yes, isn't she great!" agreed the Lad softly. "Nicest old lady Iever saw. "

"It's too exciting for her, I should say, " commented her granddaughter. "I didn't think she ought to come. I could have come alone just aswell--I'd a good deal rather. She's getting pretty old. "

The Skeptic and the Philosopher each did his duty by Rhodora before theevening was over. The Skeptic played four sets of tennis with her--sheis an admirable player--but he beat her until he discovered that she wasgrowing very much annoyed--then he allowed her to win the last set by agame. The Lad, who was watching the bout, announced it to me under hisbreath with a laugh. Then the Philosopher took Rhodora through thegarden and over the place generally. 

"I think you should have a shawl about your shoulders, Rhodora, " saidGrandmother, when the girl and the Philosopher had returned and takentheir seats upon the steps of the porch. The twilight had fallen, andthe Gay Lady had just wrapped Grandmother in a light garment of her own. 

Rhodora shrugged her shoulders. "Heavens, no!" she ejaculated. "Oldpeople are always fussing, " she remarked, in a slightly lower tone tothe Philosopher. "Because she's frozen is no reason why I should be. "

"One could almost pretend to be frozen to please her, " returned thePhilosopher, in a much lower tone than Rhodora's. "She is the mostbeautiful old lady I ever saw. "

"Goodness, I don't see how you can see anything beautiful about oldpersons, " said the girl. "They give me the creeps. "

The Philosopher opened his mouth--and closed it again, quite as I haddone in the morning. He looked curiously at Rhodora. By his expression Ishould judge he was thinking: "After all--what's the use?"

 * * * * *

The next afternoon Grandmother and Rhodora went home. When Grandmotherwas in the carriage the Skeptic tucked her in and put cushions behindher back and a footstool under her feet. Then the Philosopher laid agreat nosegay of garden flowers in her lap. She was so pleased shecoloured like a girl, and put out her delicate little old hand in itsblack silk mitt, and he took it in both his and held it close for aminute, looking at her with his blue eyes full of such a boyishexpression of affection as his own mother might have seen now and then, years before. I think she would have liked to kiss him, and I am sure hewanted to kiss her, but we were all looking on, and they had known eachother but a few hours. Nevertheless, there was something about thelittle scene which touched us all--except Rhodora, who exclaimed:

"Gracious, Grandmother--I suppose that brings back the days when you hadlots of beaux! What a gorgeous jumble of old-fashioned flowers that is, anyhow. I didn't know there were so many kinds in the world!"

The Skeptic hustled her into the carriage, rather as if she were a bagof meal, handed her belongings in after her, shook hands withGrandmother in his most courtly fashion, and stood aside. We waved ourhands and handkerchiefs, and Grandmother's fat old horses walked awaywith her down the driveway. 

"It's a pity, " said the Skeptic to me impatiently, when they were out ofsight around the corner, and we had turned to go back to the house, "that a girl like that can't see herself. "

"Rhodora is very young yet, " said I. "Perhaps by the time she is even asold as the Gay Lady----"

"You don't think it, " declared the Skeptic, looking ahead at the GayLady as she walked by the Philosopher over the lawn toward the house. "The two are no more the same sort--than----" he looked toward thegarden for inspiration and found it, as many a man before him has foundit, when searching after similes for the women he knows--"than thoseyellow tiger-lilies of yours are like--a clump of hepaticas that youfind in the woods in spring. "

 * * * * *

That evening the Gay Lady had left us, as she sometimes does, and gonein to play soft, old-time melodies on my piano, while the rest of us satsilently listening. The men know well enough that it is useless tofollow her in when she goes to play in the twilight--if they did shewould send them back again, or stop playing. And as it is worth much tohear her play when she has a certain mood upon her, nobody does anythingto break the spell. Sometimes the listening grows almost painful, butbefore we are quite overwrought she comes back and makes us gay again. 

"When I was a boy, " said the Skeptic, very softly to me, after the musicstopped, "I used to pick out men to admire and follow about, andconsume myself with wishing that some day I could be like them. Howcould a girl like that one we've had here to-day look at our Gay Ladyand not want to copy her to the last hair on her head?"

"There are some things which can't be copied, " I returned. "She is oneof them. "

The Skeptic gave me a grateful glance. "You never said a truer thingthan that, " said he. 

Perceiving that he was in a sentimental mood, and that the Gay Lady hadstopped playing and was coming out again upon the porch, I turned myattention to the Philosopher. In spite of the music he seemed not in asentimental mood. 

"You have a lot of girl company, first and last, don't you?" he queried, when he and I had agreed upon the beauty of the night. 

"It happens so, for some reason, " I admitted. 

He shook his head regretfully. "If I thought you were going to haveanything more like that to-day soon, I should take to the woods, "said he. 

V

AZALEA

 It all depends upon a consciousness of values, a sense of proportion. --_Arthur Christopher Benson. _

"The heavens have fallen!" I announced in the doorway of the Gay Lady'sroom. "Cook is ill--I had the doctor for her in the night. And my littlewaitress went home just yesterday to her sister's wedding. "

"And breakfast to get, " responded the Gay Lady, arriving instantly atthe point, as she always does. She had been dressing leisurely. Now shemade all speed and instead of white linen she slipped into ablue-and-white-checked gingham. "Don't worry--I'll be down in threeminutes, " she assured me cheerily. 

I found Lad building the kitchen fire--in the country we do not have gasranges. "I'll have her roaring in a jiff, " he cried. "I learned a dandyway camping last year. "

Breakfast came off nearly on schedule time. The Gay Lady's omelet was afeathery success, her coffee perfect, my muffins above reproach. Lad hadhelped set the table, he had looked over the fruit, he had skimmed thecream. 

Azalea came in a little late. She had been my guest for a week, and adelightful guest, too. She has a glorious voice for singing, and she isvery clever and entertaining--everybody likes her. 

 * * * * *

Of course, when I arose to take away the fruit-plates and bring on thebreakfast, the fact that I was servantless came out. To the Philosopherand the Skeptic, who were immediately solicitous, I explained that weshould get on very well. 

"We'll see that you do, " promised the Skeptic. "There are a few things Iflatter myself I can do as well as the next man--or woman. Consider meat your service. "

"The same here, " declared the Philosopher. "And--I say--don't fusstoo much. Have a cold lunch--bread and milk, you know, or somethinglike that. "

I smiled, and said that would not be necessary. Nor was it. For fiveyears after my marriage I had been my own maid-servant--and those werehappy days. My right hand had by no means forgotten her cunning. As forboth the Gay Lady's pretty hands--they were very accomplished inhousehold arts. And she had put on the blue-and-white gingham. 

"I can wipe dishes, " offered the Philosopher, as we rose from the table. 

"It's a useful art, " said the Gay Lady. "In ten minutes we'll be readyfor you. "

The Skeptic looked about him. Then he hurried away without sayinganything. Two minutes later I found him making his bed. 

"Go away, " he commanded me. "It'll be ship-shape, never fear. Youremember I was sent to a military school when I was a youngster. "

From below, as I made Azalea's bed, the strains of one of the LisztHungarian Rhapsodies floated up to me. Azalea was playing. We had falleninto the habit of drifting into the living-room, where the piano stood, every morning immediately after breakfast, to hear Azalea play. In theevenings she sang to us; but one does not sing directly after breakfast, and only second in delight to hearing Azalea's superb voice waslistening to her matchless touch upon the keyboard. I said to myself, asI went about the "upstairs work"--work that the Skeptic, with all hisgood will, could not do, not being allowed to cross certainthresholds--that we should sorely miss Azalea's music when she should goaway next week. 

The Gay Lady and I managed luncheon with very little exertion, we had somuch assistance. Dinner cost us rather more trouble, for Cook's dinnersare always delicious, and we could not have a falling off under ourrégime. But it was a great success, and our men praised us until we feltour labours fully repaid. Still, we were a trifle fatigued at the end ofthe day. Cook had needed a good deal of waiting upon, and though the GayLady had insisted on sharing this service with me it had required manysteps and the exercise of some tact--Cook having been fully persuadedall day that her end was near. 

"I have told her six times that people don't die of lumbago, " said theGay Lady, "but her tears flow just as copiously as ever. I've writtenthree letters to her friends for her. To-morrow I suppose I shall haveto write her last will and testament. "

 * * * * *

But on the morrow Cook was enough better to be able to indite her owndocuments, though as yet unable to come downstairs. It was well that shedid not require much of our time, however, for just before noon a partyof touring motorists drove up to our door and precipitated themselvesupon us with warm greetings--and hungry looks toward our dining-room. 

"Smoke and ashes!" cried the Skeptic, under his breath, appearing in thekitchen, whither the Gay Lady and I had betaken ourselves as soon as wehad furnished our guests with soap and water and clothes-brushes, andleft them to remove as much of the dust of the road from their personsas could be done without a full bath--"why didn't you send them on tothe village inn? Of all the nerve!--and you don't know any of themintimately, do you?"

I shook my head. "One of them was my dearest enemy in school-days, " Iadmitted, "and I never saw but one of the others. Never mind. Do yousuppose you could saddle Skylark and post over to town for somebeefsteak? I've sent Lad to the neighbours for other things. Beefsteakis what they must have--porterhouse--since I've not enough broilers inthe ice-box to go around that hungry company. "

"Sure thing, " and the Skeptic was off. But he came back to say in myear: "See here, why doesn't Miss Azalea come out and help? She's justsitting on the porch, looking pretty. "

"Somebody ought to play hostess, since I must be here, " I responded, without meeting his inquiring eye. I did urgently need some one to beatthe oil into the salad dressing I was making, for there were otherthings I must do. The Gay Lady was already accomplishing separate thingswith each hand, and directing Lad at the same time. The Skeptic lookedat her appreciatively. 

"She mourns because she can't sing!" said he, and laughed quietly tohimself as he swung away. Yet he had seemed much impressed withAzalea's singing all the week, and had turned her music for herdevotedly. 

We got through it somehow. "I thought they'd eat their heads off, "commented the Philosopher, who had carved the beefsteak and thebroilers, and had tried to give everybody the tenderloin and the whitebreast meat, and had eaten drumsticks and end pieces himself, after themanner of the unselfish host. 

 * * * * *

There were piles and mountains of dishes after that luncheon. Theylooked the bigger to us because we had been obliged to leave them fortwo hours while we sat upon the porch with our motorists, who said theyalways took a good rest in the middle of the day, and made up by runningmany extra miles at night. When they had gone, loudly grateful for ourhospitality--two of the men had had to have some more things to eat anddrink before they could get up steam with which to start--the Gay Ladyand I stood in the door of the kitchen and drew our first sighs over thestate of things existing. 

"If Cook doesn't get down pretty soon----" said I dejectedly, and didnot try to finish the sentence. Somehow that hasty cookery for fiveextra people had been depressing. I couldn't think of a thing thathad been left in the house that would do for dinner--due now in threeshort hours. 

But the Gay Lady rallied nobly. 

"There's plenty of hot water, " said she, "and those dishes will meltaway in no time. Then--you're going to have a long sleep, whether we getany dinner to-night or not. "

The Skeptic spoke from behind us. "Here's a fresh recruit, " said he in ajovial tone, which I understood at once was manufactured for theoccasion. We looked around and saw Azalea at his elbow. She was smilingrather dubiously. I wondered how he had managed it. Afterward I learnedthat he had boldly asked her if she didn't want to help. 

"I hope I shan't break anything, " murmured Azalea, accepting adish-towel. The Skeptic took another. "Oh, no, " he assured her. "Thatdelicate touch of yours--why, I never heard anybody who could play_pianissimo_--_legato_--_cantabile_--like you. You wouldn't break aspun-glass rainbow. "

Azalea did not break anything. I think it was because she did not drymore than one article to the Skeptic's three and the Gay Lady's six. Once she dropped a china cup, but the Skeptic caught it and presented itto her with a bow. "Don't mention it, " said he. "I'm an oldfirst-baseman. "

The Philosopher came through the kitchen with a broom and dustpan. Hehad been attempting to sweep the dining-room floor--which is ofhardwood, with a centre rug--and had had a bad time of it. The Skepticjeered at him and mentioned the implements he should have used. Azalealooked at them both wonderingly. 

"How in the world do you men come to know so much about housework?" sheinquired, wiping a single teaspoon diligently. The Gay Lady had justlifted a dozen out of the steaming pan for her, but Azalea had laid themall down on the table, and was polishing them one by one. 

"I find it comes in handy, " said the Skeptic. "You never stay anywhere, you know, that sooner or later something doesn't happen unexpectedlyto the domestic machinery. Besides, I like to show off--don't you? Seehere"--he turned to me. There was a twinkle in his wicked eye. "Seehere, why not let Miss Azalea and me be responsible for the dinnerto-night--with Philo as second assistant? You and the Gay Lady aretired out. Miss Azalea can tell me what to do, and I'll promise todo it faithfully. "

He had not the face to look at the guest as he made this daringsuggestion. His audacity took my breath away so completely that I couldmake no rejoinder, but the Gay Lady came to the rescue. I don't knowwhether she had seen Azalea's face, but I had. 

"I have a surprise for to-night, " said she, picking up a trayful ofchina, "and I don't intend anybody shall interfere with it. Nobody iseven to mention dinner in my presence. "

The Skeptic took the tray away from her. "There are some other things Ishould like to mention in your presence, " said he, so softly that Ithink nobody heard him but myself, who was nearest. "And one of them isthat somebody I know never looked sweeter than she does this----"

I rattled the saucers in the pan that nobody might catch it. The GayLady was colouring so brilliantly that I feared the Skeptic might dropthe tray, for he was not looking at all where he was going. But shedisappeared into the pantry, and there was nothing left for him to dobut to place the tray on the shelf outside, ready for her to take thecontents in through the window. 

 * * * * *

The Gay Lady put me upon my own bed, tucked me up, drew the curtains, and left me to my nap. She left a kiss on my cheek also, and as shedropped it there I thought of the Skeptic again--I don't know why. Iwondered casually what he would give for one like it. 

When I awoke my room was so nearly dark that I was startled intothinking it next morning. The Lad's voice, speaking eagerly through mydoor, was what had roused me. He was summoning me to dinner. "It's allready, " he was calling. 

I dressed dazedly, refreshed and wondering. I went down to preside atthe most delicious meal I had eaten in a month. The Gay Lady--in whitemuslin, with cheeks like roses--seemed not in the least fatigued. TheSkeptic looked like a young commanding general who had seen his forceswin triumphantly against great odds. The Philosopher was hilarious. Azalea seemed somewhat quiet and thoughtful. 

When the dishes were done and the kitchen in order--matters which weredispatched like wildfire--we gathered upon the porch as usual. 

"There is nothing in the world I should like so much, " said the Gay Ladypresently, from the low chair where she sat, with the Skeptic on acushion so near to her feet that in the shadow his big figure seemed tomelt into her slight one, "as some music. Is it asking too much, dear, after all those dishes?"

"I don't feel a bit like singing, " answered Azalea. 

The Philosopher sat beside her on the settle, and he turned to add hisrequest to the Gay Lady's. 

The Skeptic spoke heartily from his cushion. 

"If you knew how much pleasure you've given us all these mornings andevenings, " he said, "never having to be urged, but being so generouswith your great art----"

"Somehow it doesn't look so great to me to-night, " said Azalea quietly. 

I almost thought there were tears in her voice. She has a beautifulspeaking voice, as singers are apt to have. 

Everybody was silent for an instant, in surprise--and anxiety. Azaleawas a very lovely girl--nobody had meant to hurt her. 

Had the Skeptic's shot in the kitchen gone home? Nobody would be sorrierthan he to deal a blow where only a feather's touch was meant. 

"It looks so great to me, " said the Gay Lady very gently, "that I wouldgive--years of my life to be able to sing one song as you singBeethoven's '_Adelaide_. '"

"Of course I can't refuse, after that, " said Azalea modestly, thoughmore happily, I thought, and the Philosopher went away with her into thehalf-lit living room. 

"May I say anything?" asked the Skeptic, looking up into the Gay Lady'sface, in the way he has when he wants to say things very much but isdoubtful how she will take them--a condition he is frequently in. 

She shook her head--I think she must have been smiling. It was soevident--that which he wanted to say. He wanted to assure her that herown accomplishments----

But the Gay Lady shook her head. "Let's just listen, " she said. 

So we listened. It was worth it. But, after all, I doubt if the Skepticheard. 

VI

HEPATICA

 Here's metal more attractive. --_Hamlet. _

The Gay Lady had gone away for a week and a day. Although four of usremained, the gap in our number appeared prodigious. The first dinnerwithout her seemed as slow and dull as a dance without music, in spiteof the fact that we did our best, each one of us, not to act as ifanything were wrong. 

When we had escaped from the dining-room to the porch, Lad was the firstto voice his sentiments upon the subject of our drooping spirits. "Ididn't know her being here made such a lot of difference--till she gotaway, " he said dismally. "There's nobody to laugh, now, when I make ajoke. "

"Don't the rest of us laugh at your jokes, son?" inquired thePhilosopher, laying a friendly hand upon the Lad's arm as the boy stoodon the porch step below him. 

"You do--if she does, " replied Lad. "Lots of times you'd never noticewhat I say if she didn't look at you and laugh. Then you burst out andlaugh too--to please her, I suppose, " he added. 

The Philosopher glanced at me over the boy's head. "Here's a prettysharp observer, " said he, "with a gift at analysis. I didn't know beforethat I take my cue from the Gay Lady--or from any one else--when itcomes to laughing at jokes. Try me with one now, Lad, and see if I don'tlaugh--all by myself. "

Lad shook his head. "That wouldn't be any good. I'd know you didn't meanit. She always means it. Besides--she thinks things are funny that youdon't. She's 'most as good as a boy--and I don't see how she can be, either, " he reflected, "because she isn't the least bit like one. "

"You're right enough about that, " observed the Philosopher. "She'sessentially feminine, if ever a girl was. "

"Girl!" repeated the Lad. "She isn't a girl. That is--I thought shewas, till she told me herself she wasn't. She's twenty-seven. "

The Philosopher grinned. The Skeptic, who had lit his pipe and waspuffing away at it, sitting on the settle with his back to thesunset--which was unusually fine that evening--gave utterance to a deepnote of derision at the Lad's point of view. I smiled, myself. If everthere was an irresistible combination of the girlish and the womanly itwas to be found in our Gay Lady. As to her looks--even the bloomingyouth of Althea, and the more cultivated charms of Camellia, had notmade the Gay Lady less lovely in our eyes, although she was by no meanswhat is known as a "beauty. "

"She's a whole lot nicer than any of those girls we've had here thissummer, " the Lad went on. He seemed to have the floor. There could be nodoubt that the subject of his musings was of interest to all hishearers. "And they weren't so bad, either--except Dahlia. I can't standher, " he added resentfully. 

The Philosopher shook his head slightly as one who would have said "Whocould?" if it had been allowable. The Skeptic removed his pipe from hismouth and gazed intently into its bowl. I felt it my duty to stand byDahlia, for the sake of the Lad, who must not learn to sneer at womenbehind their backs. 

"There are a great many nice things about Dahlia, " I said. "And she hassurely given you many good times, Lad. Think how often she has gone outon the river with you--and helped you make kites, and rigged littleships for you----"

"Oh, yes, " cried the Lad scornfully, "she'll take me--when she can't geta man!"

The Skeptic's shoulders heaved as he turned away to cough violently. Evidently he had swallowed a pipeful of smoke. The Philosopher abruptlyremoved his hand from the Lad's shoulder and dropped down on the porchstep, where his face was hidden from the bright young eyes above him. Ishook my head at Lad. Presently he ran off to the red barn to look aftersome small puppies down there in the hay. 

 * * * * *

We three left behind settled down for the evening. At least I did, andthe others made a show of doing so. But the Skeptic was both restlessand moody, the Philosopher unsociable. Finally the Skeptic flung aninvitation to the Philosopher to go off for a walk. The Philosopherconsented with a nod, and they strolled away, taking leave of me withformal politeness. I understood them, and I did not mind. A wise womanlets a man go--that he may return. 

They came back just as twilight darkened into night, and sat down at myfeet on the step, shoulder to shoulder, like the good comrades that theywere. I wondered if they had been discussing the subject which the Ladhad introduced. 

"How much, " inquired the Philosopher quite suddenly, "do you suppose itwould cost to dress a girl like Miss Camellia?"

"I've really no idea, " I answered, since the question seemed directed atme. "It depends on a number of things. There are girls so clever withtheir needles that they can produce very remarkable effects for acomparatively small amount of money. "

"Is she one of them?"

"I don't know. "

"I fancy you do, " was his comment. Presently he went on again. "You see, I don't know much about all this, " he declared. "So I've had rather anobservant eye on--on these young ladies you've had here from time totime this summer, and I confess I'm filled with curiosity. Would youmind telling me what you think the average girl of good family, and wellbrought up, has in her mind's eye as a desirable future--I mean for thenext few years after school?--I don't know that I make myself clear. What I want to get at is--You see, the great thing a young chap thinksabout is what he is going to make of himself--and how to do it. Itstruck me as rather odd that not one of those girls seemed to have anyparticular end in view--at least, that ever came out in herconversation. "

I couldn't help smiling, his tone was so serious. 

The Skeptic chuckled. He had put up his pipe, and was sitting with hishands clasped behind his head, as he leaned against one of the greatpillars of the porch. "They have one, just the same, " he vouchsafed. "Hewho runs may read. "

The Philosopher regarded him thoughtfully, through the half-light fromthe hall lamp. "I noticed you did a good deal of running, first andlast, " he observed. "I suppose you read before you ran--unless you haveeyes in the back of your head. Well, " he continued, "you can't make mebelieve that all girls are so anxious to make a good impression, or theywouldn't do some of the things they do. "

"For instance?" I suggested, having become curious myself. Never before, in an acquaintance dating far back, had I heard the Philosopher holdforth upon this subject. 

"They make themselves conspicuous, " said he promptly--to my greatsurprise. "As nearly as I can get at it, that's the cardinal fault ofthe girl of to-day. Everywhere I go I notice it--in public--in private. Wherever she is she holds the floor, occupies the centre of the stage. If you'll pardon my saying it, every last girl you had here this summerdid that thing, each in her own way. "

I thought about them--one after another. It was true. Each had, in herown way, occupied the centre of the stage. And the Gay Lady, than whomnobody has a better right to keep fast hold of her position in theforeground of all our thoughts, had allowed each one to do it. Andsomehow, in every case, after all, the real focus for all our eyes, quite without her being able to help it, had been wherever the Gay Ladyhad happened to be. 

We all went to bed early that night. The Philosopher's observations, though highly interesting, did not keep us from becoming very sleepy atan untimely hour. It was the same way next evening. And the next. Infact, up to the very night before the Gay Lady's expected return, wecontinued to cut short our days of waiting by as much as we couldventure to do without exciting the suspicion that we were weary of oneanother. 

On that last evening the Skeptic fastened himself to me. He insisted onmy walking with him in the garden. 

"So she comes back to-morrow, " said he, as we paced down the path, quiteas if he had just learned of the prospect of her return. 

"I can hardly wait, " said I. 

"Neither can I, " he agreed solemnly. "I knew I should miss her, but--smoke and ashes!--I didn't dream the week would be a period of timelong enough for a ray of light to travel from Sirius to the earth andback again. "

"If she could only hear that!" said I. 

"She's going to hear it, " he declared with great earnestness. "She'skept me quiet all summer, but--by a man's impatience!--she can't keep mequiet any longer. Do you blame me?" he inquired, wheeling to lookintently at me through the September twilight. 

"Not a bit, " said I. "I've only wished she could stand still until Ladgrows up. "

"You must think well of her, to say that, " said he delightedly. "And, onmy word, I don't know but she will continue to stand still, as far aslooks go. But in mind--and heart--well, the only thing is, I'm so farbelow her I don't dare to hope. All I know is that, for sheer womanlysweetness and strength, there's nobody her equal. And yet, when I try toput my finger on what makes her what she is--I can't tell. "

"One can't analyze her charm, " said I, "except as you've just doneit--womanly sweetness and strength. Hepatica is--Hepatica. And beingthat, we love her. "

"We do, " said he, half under his breath, and caught my hand and gave ita grip which stung. 

 * * * * *

The next morning the Gay Lady came home. We had not expected her untilevening, and when we heard a light footstep approaching through the hallas we sat at breakfast, we looked at one another in dumb astonishmentand disbelief. But the next instant she stood smiling at us from thedoorway. 

She was glad to see us, too. From Lad's ecstatic embrace she came intomine, and I heard her eager whisper--"I'm so glad to get back to _you!_"The Skeptic and the Philosopher wrung her hand until I know her littlefingers ached, and they stared at her, the one like a brother, the otherlike--well, she must have seen for herself. No, they were not rivals. The Philosopher had seen the Skeptic's case, I think, from the first, and being not only a philosopher but a man, and the Skeptic's bestfriend, had never allowed himself to enter the race at all. I haddetected a wistful light in his eyes now and then, and had my own notionof what might have happened if he had let it, but--there was only a verywarm brotherliness in the greeting he gave the Gay Lady, and she lookedback into his eyes too frankly for me to think he had ever let her seeanything else. 

She sat down at the table with us for a little, while we finished, andyou should have seen the difference in the look of the room. It wasanother place. She ran upstairs to her own room, and I followed her, andfrom being a deserted bedroom with a lonely aspect it became a humanhabitation with an atmosphere of home. She took off her travellingdress, talking gayly to me all the while, and brushed her bright locks, and put on one of the charming white frocks which her own hands hadmade, and then came and held me tight, and laughed, and was very nearcrying, and said there was never such another place as this. 

"There certainly never is when you are in it, dear, " I agreed, andreceived such a reward for that as only the Gay Lady knows how to give. 

All day she stayed by me, wherever I might be. The Skeptic watched andwaited--he got not the ghost of an opportunity. When I was upon theporch with the others she was there--and not a minute after. 

 * * * * *

When evening fell it found the Gay Lady on a cushion close by my knee. Presently the Philosopher went off with the Lad down to the river. TheSkeptic accompanied them part of the distance, then returned quiteunexpectedly by way of the shrubbery, and swung up over the porch railat the end at a moment when the Gay Lady, feeling safe in his absence, had gone to that end to see the moonlight upon the river. 

"'All's fair in love and war, '" exulted the Skeptic, somewhatbreathlessly. It seemed to be a favourite maxim with him. I recalled hishaving excused himself for eluding Dahlia by that same well-wornproverb. "No--don't run! Have I become suddenly so terrifying?"

"Why should you be terrifying?" asked Hepatica. "Come and sit down andtell us what you've all been doing while I was away. "

Her back was toward me. There was a long window open close beside me. Mysympathy was with the Skeptic. I slipped through it. 

An hour later I went out upon the porch again. Nobody was there. I satdown alone, feeling half excited and half depressed, and wholly anxiousto know the outcome of the Skeptic's tactics. I waited a long time, asit seemed to me. Then, without warning, a voice spoke. I could hardlyrecognize it for the Skeptic's voice, it was strung so tense--with joy. 

"Don't shoot, " it said. "We'll come down. "

I looked toward the end of the porch, where the vines cast a deepshadow. I could not see them, but they must have been there all thetime. And the shadow cast by the vines was not a wide shadow at all. 

PART II

I

DAHLIA AND THE PROFESSOR

 Amen Stuck in my throat. --_Macbeth. _

The Skeptic and his wife, Hepatica, being happily established in abeautifully spacious flat in town, measuring thirty feet by forty overall, invited me to visit them. As both had spent considerable time at mycountry home in summer, they insisted that it was only just for me toallow them, that second winter after their marriage, to return myhospitality. This argument alone would hardly have sufficed, for winterin the country--connected by trolley with the town--is hardly lessdelightful to me than summer itself. But there were other and convincingarguments, and they ended by bringing me to the city for a month's visitin the heart of the season. 

On the first morning at breakfast--I had arrived late the nightbefore--there was much to talk about. 

"It's a curious fact, " said the Skeptic, stirring a cup of yellow-browncoffee with which his wife had just presented him, "as Hepatica and Idiscovered only the other day, that three of those girls who visited youthat summer four years ago, when she and I were avoiding each other----"

"You--avoiding!" I interpolated. 

"Well--I was trying to avoid being avoided by her, " he explained. "Threeof those girls are married and living in town. "

"Yes, I know, " said I. "At least I know Camellia and Althea are. Whoelse? Azalea lives across the river, doesn't she?"

"Yes. You haven't heard of the latest matrimonial alliance, then?" TheSkeptic chuckled. Hepatica looked at him, and he looked at her, and thenthey both looked at me. "Dahlia was married yesterday, " the Skepticannounced with relish, "in a manse study, with two witnesses. "

I was astounded. I had just come from home, and Dahlia was my nextneighbour. She had been away more or less all winter, but there hadbeen no announcement of any engagement--nor sign of one. 

The Skeptic, enjoying my stupefaction, proceeded to give what heconsidered an explanation. "I don't see why you should be so surprised, "he said. "You knew Dahlia's methods. Her net was always spread, andthough a certain wise man declares it in vain to spread it in the sightof any bird, humans are not always so wary. A man who chanced to bewalking along with his head in the clouds might get his feet entangledin a cunningly laid net. And so it happened to the Professor. "

"The Professor!" I ejaculated. "Not--our Professor?"

The Skeptic nodded solemnly. 

"He was our Professor, " he amended. "He's hers now. And day beforeyesterday he was free!"

He glanced at his watch, folded his napkin in haste, seized his coat andhat, kissed his wife, patted her shoulder, nodded at me, and was gone. Aminute later we heard the whirr and slide of his car, and Hepatica, atthe window, was returning his wave. 

"He's looking extremely well, " I observed. "He must be twenty poundsheavier than he was that summer. Avoiding being avoided was probablyrather thinning. "

"He does seem to enjoy his food, " admitted Hepatica, regarding theSkeptic's empty plate with satisfaction. 

"Not much doubt of that, " I agreed, remembering the delicately heartybreakfast we had just consumed. 

"It's really quite dreadful about Dahlia and the poor Professor, isn'tit?" said Hepatica presently. "And it's just as Don says: he wasliterally caught in her net. I presume he couldn't tell to-day preciselyhow it happened. "

"I've no doubt she could, " said I ungenerously. "I shall be anxious tosee them. "

"Oh, you'll see them. It's in the middle of term--he couldn't take heraway. And his old quarters are just two blocks below us. She knew youwere coming. You'll probably see them within forty-eight hours. "

We did, though not where we could do more than take observations uponthem. The Philosopher came in that evening--he had known of my comingfrom the moment that Hepatica had planned to ask me. He was lookingrather less well-fed than the Skeptic, but quite as philosophical, andaltogether as friendly as ever. He looked hard at me, and wrung my hand, and immediately began to lay out a programme for my visit. As abeginning he had procured tickets for the Philharmonic Society concertto be given on the following evening. 

We told him about Dahlia. He had not heard. He looked quickly anddumbfoundedly at the Skeptic, and the Skeptic grinned back at him. "Youfeel for him, don't you, Philo?" he queried. 

The Philosopher shook his head, and seemed, for a time, much depressed;upon which the Skeptic rallied him. "You ought to be jubilant to thinkit's not yourself, " he urged his friend. "You know, there was one timewhen you feared even to go home with her, though you were to be withincall from the porch all the way. "

But the Philosopher cheered up presently in the pleasure of talking overold times at the Farm. He had spent the past summer tramping throughGermany, and he and I had not met for many months. 

We went to the concert next evening, we four, in a jovial mood. Therewas considerable sly joking, on the Skeptic's part, concerning thechange of conditions which now made Hepatica my chaperon, instead of, asin former days, my being alert to protect her from visiting philosophersand skeptics. The Philosopher and I took it quite in good part, fornothing could be more settled than the unimpassioned character of ourold friendship--as there could be nothing more satisfactory. 

We had not more than taken our seats when the Skeptic leaned pastHepatica to call my attention to two people who had come down the aisleand were finding their places just across it and in the row ahead of us. I turned to the Philosopher. 

"There they are, " I whispered. So our four pairs of eyes gazedinterestedly that way. 

As she settled into place, Dahlia, whose pretty, flushed face had beenturned in every direction over the house as she got out of her eveningcoat, caught sight of us. She bowed and smiled with great cordiality, and immediately called her companion's attention to us. TheProfessor--eighteen years Dahlia's senior, but one of the best men whoever walked the earth, as we had long since discovered--turned andscanned us over his spectacles. Then he also responded to our smilingrecognitions with a somewhat subdued but pleased acknowledgment. Dahliacontinued to whisper to him, still glancing back at us from time to timewith looks of good-fellowship, and he appeared to lend an attentive ear, though he did not again turn toward us. 

As for us, in the interest of our observation of the bridal pair, wefell rather silent. I was conscious that the Philosopher, regarding themsomewhat steadily, drew a deep breath which sounded like a sigh ofdissatisfaction. Noting how thin the Professor's ash-coloured hairseemed to be, over the crown of his head, in comparison with Dahlia'sluxuriant and elaborately dressed chestnut locks, I felt depressedlythat the disparity in age was more marked than is often seen. This, initself, of course, was nothing; but taken in connection with----

The Skeptic leaned forward again. 

"What'll you wager I couldn't get up a flirtation with her to-night, ifI happened to sit next her?" he challenged in a whisper. 

"Don!" murmured Hepatica; but she smiled. 

"I'm not anywhere near his age, " continued the Skeptic. "My auburntresses are thick upon my head, my evening clothes were made a decadelater than his. If I were only sitting next her!"

At this moment some more people came down the aisle and were shown tothe seats immediately beyond our friends. As the Professor and Dahliastood up to let them through, we saw that though the newcomers passedthe Professor without recognition, the young man exchanged greetingswith Dahlia. As they took their seats the man, a floridly handsomeperson, was at Dahlia's elbow. 

For the third time the Skeptic leaned forward. "It's just as well, perhaps, " he whispered, "that my observations are to be made upon aproxy. What do you think the new chap's chances are for fun on bothsides of him?"

I did not condescend to answer. And without further delay the famousconductor of a famous orchestra came commandingly to the front of thestage, welcomed by an outburst of applause, and with the rest of theaudience we became silent. 

But amidst all the delights of the ear which were ours that evening, theeyes of all of us would wander, from time to time, across the aisle. TheProfessor sat, with arms folded and head bent, drinking in the beautiesof sound which beat against his welcoming ears. Next him, Dahlia, thebride of three days, was vindicating the Skeptic's opinion of herundiminished accomplishments. The young man upon her right proved anable second. The girl on his other side, by the time the concert washalf over, was holding her head high, or bending it to study a programmewhich I am sure she did not see, while her companion played Dahlia's oldgame with a trained hand. 

"Can the Ethiopian change his skin?" breathed the Philosopher in my ear, during an intermission. 

"I'm afraid not, " I assented dubiously. "But, of course, she may make adevoted wife, nevertheless. That sort of thing doesn't mean anything toher, you know. She merely does it as a matter of habit. "

"It can't be precisely an endearing habit to a husband, " protested thePhilosopher. "If she would address a remark now and then to the poor manat her left one might excuse her. And if she could carry on aconversation with the other one in an ordinarily well-bred, friendlyway--and confine it to the intervals between numbers--one might be ableto forget her, which would be a relief. But all those silly tricks ofhers--those smiles, those archings of the neck--those lengthy looks upinto the eyes of that fool----"

"Don't look at them, " I advised. 

"I can't help looking at them. Everybody else is looking atthem--including yourself. "

It was quite true--everybody was, even people considerably out of range. If Dahlia herself was conscious of this--and I'm sure she must havebeen--she probably ascribed it to the charm of her appearance. She iseven prettier than she used to be. But, as we were wont to say of herwhen we had owned to all her attractiveness--"if only!"

"After all, " urged Hepatica, on the homeward way, "we've no right tojudge by seeing them under those conditions. Wait till we've had themalone with us. Dahlia told me on the way out that they were planning tocome and see us very soon. --I suggested to-morrow night, so they willcome then. "

"I'll be there, " accepted the Philosopher--quite before he was asked. 

So on the following evening we saw them, alone with ourselves. The dearProfessor seemed to us, more than before, the pitiable victim of a womanin every way unsuited to him. Yet he looked at Dahlia as if he cared forher very much, and was only a trifle bewildered by her manner with othermen. 

"What dear times we used to have on the river!" said Dahlia to thePhilosopher, at a moment when nobody else happened to be speaking. Sheaccompanied this observation by a glance. It was Dahlia's glances whichgave life to her remarks. 

"I haven't fished in that river for three summers, " replied thePhilosopher, in his most unsentimental tone. 

"You used to have better luck when you went alone, " said Dahlia. "Doyou remember how we could never stop talking long enough to lure anyfish our way?"

"Nevertheless, there has been considerable fishing done on that river, first and last, " asserted the Skeptic, with a twinkle at thePhilosopher, who looked uncomfortable. The Professor's gentle gaze wasfixed upon each speaker in turn, and as he now waited upon thePhilosopher's reply I saw the latter person frown slightly. 

"I never considered the fishing on that river very good, " said he. 

"Oh, it didn't need to be, " cried Dahlia. "I can shut my eyes now andsee the water rippling in the moonlight! Can't you?" She appealed tothe Skeptic. 

"I can't, " said the Skeptic. "I never noticed how it rippled in themoonlight. The big porch is my favourite haunt at the Farm. The smokingis good there--keeps away the midges. "

"Midges!" Dahlia gave a little shriek. "There aren't any midges in thatpart of the country. "

"There are some kinds of little, annoying insects that come around inthe evening, then, " persisted the Skeptic, "just when people want tosettle down and have themselves to themselves. The Philosopher wasalways more annoyed by them than I. He has a sensitive skin. "

Once started on this sort of allusive nonsense it was difficult for usto head off the Skeptic. But presently, noting the Professor's kindlyface assuming a puzzled expression as he watched his wife's kittenishdemeanour, the Skeptic desisted. It did not seem necessary for him todemonstrate to us that, quite as of old, he could attract Dahlia to hisside and keep her there. Before the evening was over he found himselfoccupied--also quite as of old--with keeping out of her way. Altogether, it was certainly not Dahlia's fault if the Professor did not gain theimpression that both the Skeptic and the Philosopher were rejectedsuitors of her own. 

When they had gone, and the door had closed upon the last of the bride'sbackward looks at our two men, the Skeptic dropped into a chair. 

"Hepatica, will you kindly mix a few drops of soothing syrup for me?"he requested. 

But the Philosopher fell to marching up and down, his hands in hispockets, and a deeper gloom on his brow than we had ever seen there. Although a decade the Philosopher's elder, the Professor had longshared bachelor quarters with him in past days; it had been onlywithin a year or two that the necessities of their occupations hadcaused them to separate. 

"Why did I ever let him go off by himself?" the Philosopher mutteredremorsefully. "Why didn't I keep an eye on him?"

"It would have made no difference, " the Skeptic offered dismally asconsolation. "'Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad!' Youcouldn't have prevented his madness. "

"I could have seen to it that such deadly instruments as marriagelicences and irresponsible clergymen were kept out of his way, " groanedthe Philosopher. 

"Come, cheer up!" cried Hepatica, making haste to light the spirit-lampunder her tea-kettle. "I'm going to brew you all a cup of comfort withlemons and sugar and things. "

"Look at her!" commanded the Skeptic, rallying, "and tell me if marriageis a failure. "

The Philosopher paused. "You know well enough what I think of yourmarriage, " he owned. 

II

CAMELLIA AND THE JUDGE

 I am ashamed that women are so simple To offer war when they should kneel for peace. --_Taming of the Shrew. _

"We are invited to spend the week-end with Camellia, " announced myhostess at the breakfast-table one morning, glancing up from a notewhich the hall-boy had just brought to the door. 

The Skeptic jumped in his chair. "Those same old sensations come overme, " he announced, digging away vengefully at his grapefruit. "What haveI to wear? My only consolation now is that Camellia married a man whocares about as much what he wears as I do. "

"It's not Camellia's clothes that bother me now, " said Hepaticathoughtfully, "so much as the formality of her style of entertaining. My dear, she has a butler. "

"How horrible!" I agreed. "Can I hope to please the eye of the butler?"

"Camellia's husband is a downright good fellow, " said the Skepticwarmly. "The fuss and feathers of his wife's hospitality can'tprevent his giving you the real thing. Even Philo likes to gothere--particularly when Camellia is away. I presume Philo'sinvited now?"

"So she says, " assented Hepatica, studying her note again, with a carenot to look at me which made me quite as self-conscious as if she had. Why the dear people will all persist in thinking things which do notexist! Of course I was glad the Philosopher was to be there. Whatenjoyment is not the keener for his friendly sharing of it? But what ofthat? Has it not been so for many years?--and will be so, I trust, forall to come. 

 * * * * *

Hepatica and I packed with care, selecting the most expensive things weowned. Hepatica scrutinized the Skeptic's linen critically before sheput it in. When we departed we were as correctly attired as time andthought could make us. When we arrived we were doubly glad that thiswas so, for the sight of the butler, admitting us, gave us much the samefeeling of being badly dressed that Camellia's own presence had beenwont to do. 

Camellia herself was as exquisitely arrayed as ever, but she lookedconsiderably older than I had expected. I wondered if constantengagements with her tailor and dressmaker, to say nothing of incessantinterviews with those who see to the mechanism of formal entertaining, had not begun to wear upon her. But she was very cordial with us, andher husband, the Judge, was equally so. He was considerably hersenior--quite as much so, I decided, as the Professor was Dahlia's--buton account of Camellia's woman-of-the-world air the contrast was not sopronounced. 

We sat through an elaborate dinner, during which I suffered more or lessstrain of anxiety concerning my forks. But the Judge, at whose righthand I sat, diverted me so successfully by means of his own mostinteresting personality and delightful powers of conversation, that intime I forgot both forks and butler, and was only conscious of thelength of the dinner by the sense, toward its close, of having had moreto eat than I wanted. 

[Illustration: "Camellia herself was as exquisitely arrayed as ever"]

"They have this sort of thing every night of their unfortunate lives, to a greater or less degree, " murmured the Skeptic in my ear, as the mencame into the impressively decorated room where Camellia and Hepaticaand I were talking over common memories. "The gladdest man to get intohis summer camp in Maine is the Judge, and the life of absolute abandonto freedom he lives there ought to teach his wife a thing or two--if shewere wise enough to heed it. Why two people--but I've just eaten theirsalt, " he acknowledged in reply to what I suppose must have been myaccusing look, and forbore to say more. 

"I think I'll give a little dinner for you to-morrow night, " saidCamellia reflectively, as we sat about. "A very informal one, ofcourse--just some of our neighbours. "

I felt my spirits drop. I saw those of Hepatica and the Skeptic and thePhilosopher drop, although they made haste to prop their countenancesup again. 

But the Judge protested. "Why give anything, my dear?" he questioned. "Idoubt if our friends would prefer meeting our neighbours, whom theydon't know, to visiting with ourselves, whom they do--however egotisticthat may sound. "

"I want to make things gay for you, " explained Camellia; "and theLatimers and the Elliots are very gay. "--The Judge only lifted hishandsome eyebrows. --"And the Liscombes are lovely, " went on Camellia. "Mrs. Liscombe sings. "

The Judge ran his hand through the thick, slightly graying locks abovehis broad forehead. He did not need to tell us that he did not enjoyhearing Mrs. Liscombe sing, and doubted if we should. 

"Harry Hodgson recites--we always have him when we want to make thingsgo. Oh, he's not a professional, of course. He only gives readings amonghis special friends. I believe I'll run and telephone him now. He's solikely to have engagements. " Camellia hastened away. 

 * * * * *

We could hardly tell the Judge we fully agreed with his feeling aboutto-morrow's proposed festivities, neither could we discuss his wife'stastes with him. He and we talked of other things until Camellia cameback, having made her engagement with Mr. Harry Hodgson, and so havingsealed our fate for the succeeding evening. 

The Skeptic and the Philosopher spent much of the following day--it wasa legal holiday--with the Judge in his private den up on the thirdfloor. This, as Camellia showed us once when the men were away, was abig, bare room--this was her characterization--principally fireplace, easy-chairs, books and windows. I liked it better than any other placein the house, for it was unencumbered with useless furniture of anysort, and the view from its windows was much finer than that frombelow stairs. 

"But we're not invited up here, you observe, " was Camellia's comment. "Idon't come into it once a month. The Judge spends his eveningshere--when I don't actually force him to go out with me--and I spendmine down in the pleasanter quarters. I have the Liscombes and theLatimers in very often, but he never comes down if he can avoid it. Theyunderstand he's eccentric, and we let it go at that. "

She spoke with the air of being a most kindly and forbearing wife. I followed her downstairs, pondering over points of view. Eccentric--because he preferred wide fires and elbow-room andoutlook to Camellia's crowded and over-decorated rooms below, andhis books to Mrs. Liscombe's music and Mr. Harry Hodgson's "readings. "I felt that I knew Mrs. Liscombe and Mr. Hodgson and the rest quitewithout having seen them. 

 * * * * *

I found, the next evening, that my imagination had not gone far astray. Camellia's friends were certainly quite as "gay" as she had picturedthem, and gorgeously dressed. I felt, as I attempted to maintain my partamong them, like a country mouse suddenly precipitated into the societyof a company of town-bred squirrels. 

Mrs. Liscombe sang for us. I could not make out what it was she sang, being unfamiliar with the music and unable to understand the words. Shepossessed a voice of some beauty, but was evidently determined to beclassed among the sopranos who are able to soar highest, and when shetook certain notes I experienced a peculiar and most disagreeablesensation in the back of my neck. 

"I wonder if we couldn't bring in a stepladder for her, " murmured theSkeptic in my ear. "It gives me a pang to see a woman, alone andunassisted, attempt to reach something several feet above her head!"

Mr. Hodgson recited for us with great fervour. He fought a battle on thedrawing-room floor, fought and bled and died, all in a harrowing tenorvoice. He was slender and pale, and it seemed a pity that he should haveto suffer so much with so many stalwart men at hand. From the firstmoment, when he drew his sword and leaped into the fray, our sympathieswere with him, although he personified a doughty man of battles, and ledten thousand lusty followers. There were moments when one could notquite forget the swinging coat-tails of his evening attire, but on thewhole he was an interesting study, and I was much diverted. 

"Dear little fellow!"--it was the Skeptic again. "How came they to lethim go to war--and he so young and tender?"

I exchanged observations with Mr. Hodgson after his final reading; Ican hardly say that I conversed with him, for our patchwork interviewcould not deserve that name. At the same time I noted with interest thePhilosopher's expression as he and Mrs. Liscombe turned over a pile ofmusic. If I had not known him so well I should have been deceived bythat grave and interested air of his--a slight frown of concentratedattention between his well-marked eyebrows--into thinking him deeplyimpressed by the lady's dicta and by her somewhat dashing manner as shedelivered them. But, familiar of old with the quizzical expression whichat times could be discovered to underlie the exterior of charmedabsorption, I understood that the Philosopher was quietly and skilfullyclassifying a new, if not a rare, specimen. 

When the guests had lingeringly departed I saw, as I went to my room, three male forms leaping up the second flight of stairs toward theJudge's den. 

"Don't you envy them the chance to soothe their nerves with a pipebeside the fire up there?" I asked Hepatica as, with hair down andtrailing, loose garments, she came into my room through the door whichwe had discovered could be opened between our quarters. 

"Indeed I do. They went up those stairs like three dogs loosed from theleash, didn't they? Can one blame them?"

"One cannot. "

Hepatica gazed at me. I stared back. But we were under our host's roof. 

"Mrs. Liscombe really has quite a voice, " said Hepatica, examining thedetails of the tiny travelling workbag I always carry with me. 

"So she has. "

"It was a wonderful dinner, wasn't it?"

"It was, indeed. Would you mind having quite specially simple things toeat for a day or two after we go back?"

"I've been planning them, " admitted Hepatica. 

"Mr. Hodgson's readings were--entirely new to me; were they to you? Ihad never heard of the authors. "

"Few people can have heard of them, I think. Several were original. "

"Indeed!"

"Would you mind taking off your society manner?" requested Hepatica, atrifle fractiously. "I'm a little tired of seeing you wear it soincessantly. "

"I shall be delighted, " I agreed. 

I sprang up and she met me half-way, and seizing me about the neckburied her face in my shoulder. I felt her shaking with smotheredlaughter, and had great difficulty in keeping my own emotions undercontrol. 

We went home on Sunday afternoon, the Skeptic pleading the necessity ofhis being up at an early hour next morning. By unanimous consent we wentto the evening service of a church where one goes to hear that which isworth hearing, and invariably hears it. The music there is also worth along journey, though it is not at all of an elaborate sort. 

"There, I feel better after that, " declared the Skeptic heartily, as wecame out. "It seems to take the taste of last evening out of my mouth. "

Nobody said anything directly about our late visit until we had reachedhome. Then the Skeptic fired up his diminutive gas grate--which is muchbetter than none at all--and turned off the electrics. We sat beforethe cheery little glow, luxuriating in a sense of relaxation. 

"It seems ungracious, somehow to discuss people, when one has just lefttheir hospitality, " suggested Hepatica, as the Skeptic showed signs ofletting loose the dogs of war. 

"Not between ourselves, dear, " affirmed the Skeptic. "We four constitutea private Court of Inquiry into the Condition of Our Friends. When Ithink of the Judge----"

"He has his own way, after all, when it comes to refusing to join in thesort of thing that pleases Camellia, " said I. 

"Of course he does. He's too much of a man not to have it. But livingupstairs while my wife lives downstairs isn't precisely my ideal ofmarried happiness. "

The Philosopher shoved his hands far down into his pockets and laid hishead back, gazing up at the ceiling. "What puzzles me, " he mused, "isthe attraction such a woman has, at the start, for such a man. "

"Camellia was a most attractive girl, " said I. 

"You mean her clothes were most attractive, " amended the Skeptic. "Theyeven befuddled me for a few brief hours, as I remember--till Idiscovered that not all is gold that----"

"You didn't discover that yourself, " the Philosopher reminded him. "Wehad to do it for you. You don't mind our recalling his temporaryparalysis of intellect?" he questioned Hepatica suddenly. "It was allyour fault, anyhow, for retiring to the background and allowing thefireworks to have full play. "

Hepatica smiled. The Skeptic put out his hand and got hold of hers anddrew it over to his knee, where he retained it. "She knows I neverswerved a point off my allegiance to her, " he declared with confidence. 

"Do you suppose, " suggested Hepatica, "if the Judge and Camellia were tolose all their money and had to come down to living in a little homelike this, it would help things any?"

The Skeptic shook his head. The Philosopher shook his, thoughtfully. "It's too late, " said the latter. "Her ideals are a fixed quantity now, to be reckoned with. So are his. Under any conditions there would beabsolute diversity of tastes. "

"I don't think there's any ideal more hopelessly fixed than the fineclothes ideal. " The Skeptic looked at his wife. 

"I like nice clothes, " said she, smiling at him. 

"So you do, " he rejoined; "thank heaven! A woman who doesn't isabnormal. But when we walk down certain streets together you can seesomething besides the shop-windows. "

"I look away so I won't want the things, " confessed Hepatica. 

The Skeptic laughed, and the Philosopher and I joined him. 

"I passed Mrs. Hepatica the other day when she didn't see me, " said thePhilosopher to me. "She was staring fixedly in at a shop-window. I stoleup behind her to see what held such an attraction for her. --It oftenlets a great light in on a friend's character, if you can see theparticular object in a shop-window which fixes his longing attention. When I had discovered what she was looking at I stole away again, chuckling to myself. "

"What was it?" I asked. 

"I'll wager half I own that the wife of our friend the Judge wouldn'thave given that window a second glance, " pursued the Philosopher. 

"It was probably a bargain sale of paper patterns, " guessed the Skeptic. But we knew he didn't think it. 

"A bargain sale of groceries, more likely, " said Hepatica herself. 

"It was no bargain sale of anything, " denied the Philosopher. "It was amost expensive edition of the works of Charles Dickens. "

"Good for you, Patty!" cried the Skeptic. 

III

AZALEA AND THE CASHIER

 A mother is a mother still, The holiest thing alive. --_S. T. Coleridge. _

"I am to spend the day with Azalea to-morrow, " I announced, as I saidgood night, one evening, "and I shall not come back until so late thatyou mustn't sit up for me. Azalea couldn't ask me to stay all night, onaccount of using the guest-room for a nursery during the winter, butshe's very anxious to have me there in the evening, for it's the onlychance I shall have to see her husband. "

"Remain late enough to see her husband, by all means, " urged theSkeptic. "I want to hear what sort of man had the courage to marry amusical genius who could wipe only one teaspoon at a time. "

"Azalea was a lovely girl, " said Hepatica warmly. "It couldn't take muchcourage to marry her. "

"All right--we'll hear about it when our guest comes back. And I'll beover to bring you home, if you'll telephone about an hour before you'llbe ready to start. "

"Thank you--it really won't be necessary for you to come, " I replied. 

The Skeptic eyed me narrowly. Then he glanced at Hepatica and grinned. "Good night, " said I, again, and walked away to my room. 

"Good night, " the Skeptic called after me. "But don't hesitate to callme if anything should detain Philo. "

I arrived at Azalea's home early next morning, having been earnestlyasked to come in time to see the babies take their bath. There isnothing I like better than to see a baby take a bath, and to see two atonce was a bribe indeed. 

Azalea met me at the door of her suburban home, the larger of her twochildren--the two-year-old--on her arm. He was evidently just ready forhis bath, for he was wrapped in a blanket, and one pink foot stucktemptingly out from its folds. Azalea greeted me with enthusiasm, pushing back the loose, curling locks from her forehead as she did so, explaining that Bud had just pulled them down. She did not look in theleast like the girl who had sung for us, but it occurred to me that, enveloped in the big flannel bath-apron, she was even more engaging thanshe had been upon the porch at the Farm. 

I don't know when I have enjoyed anything so much as I enjoyed seeingAzalea give that bath. The little baby was asleep in her crib when wewent into the nursery--which had been the guest-room before the secondbaby came--so Azalea gave Bud his splash all by himself. He was plumpand dimpled and jolly, and he cried only once--when his motherinadvertently rubbed soap in his eyes while talking with me. When hesmiled again he was a cherub of cherubs, but he had waked his smallsister, and Azalea gave me permission to take her up while she finishedwith Bud. She was six months old, and she was afraid of me only for aminute or two, and I held her and cuddled her and wanted to take heraway with me so fiercely that I had all I could do to give her over toAzalea for her bath. Boy babies are delightful, but girl babies areheavenly!

 * * * * *

We had a busy day--made up of babies, with more or less talk between, which didn't matter in the least. Late in the afternoon Azalea puteverything straight in the rooms, more or less upset by Bud during theday; and dressed herself for the evening. She dressed both children, also, making them fresh as rosebuds. I saw her putting flowers on thetable in the dining-room, lighting a special reading-lamp at a table inthe corner of the living-room, and pulling an easy chair to stand closebeside it. There was a small grand piano in the room. It had been closedall day, for Bud's fingers could just reach the keyboard. Azalea openedit. 

"You haven't had time to-day, " said I, "but I'm looking forward tohearing you sing this evening. "

"It's my husband you are to hear sing, " said Azalea contentedly. "He hasa splendid voice. "

"I shall be delighted, " I agreed; "but surely you will sing too. "

"My voice seems to wake up the children, " said she, "Arthur's neverdoes. It's odd, for his voice is much heavier, of course. But I cannever take really high notes without hearing a wail from either Bud orDot. And that's not worth while. "

"Won't you sing now, then, " I begged, "while they are awake? I reallycan't go away without hearing you. And you know when the Philosophercomes he will be so anxious to have you sing. "

"The babies will go to bed before dinner, " she insisted, "so I can'tvery well sing for the Philosopher. But I'll sing for you now, ofcourse. "

She laid little Dot in my lap, but Dot was already sleepy and protested. So Azalea went to the piano with Dot on her arm. Bud, seeing her go, followed and stood by her knee--on her trailing skirts. I don't know howshe managed to play her own accompaniment, but she did--at least subduedchords enough to carry the harmony of the song. There were no notesbefore her on the rack, and she looked down into one or the other of thetwo small faces as she sang. And, of course, it was a lullaby whichfell like notes of pearl and silver from her lips. 

When she finished, I could only smile at her through an obscuring mist. Never, in all the times I had heard her sing, had she reached my heartlike this. But, somehow, the picture of her, sitting in the half lightat the grand piano, with the babies in her arms and at her knee, singinglullabies and leaving the fine music for her husband to sing by and by, was quite irresistible. Somehow, as I listened, I was troubled by nodoubts lest she had not learned deftly to wipe ten teaspoons at once. 

Her husband came home presently; a tall, thin, young bank cashier, witha face I liked at once. He was plainly weary, but his eyes lit up withsatisfaction at sight of the three who met him at the door, and thewelcome his young son gave him showed that Bud recognized a play-fellow. I heard the pair romping upstairs as the Cashier made dressing fordinner a game in which the little child could join. 

[Illustration: "The picture of her, sitting in the half light at thegrand piano, with the babies in her arms and at her knee . .. Was quiteirresistible"]

But before we sat down to dinner both babies had been put to bed. TheCashier remained with me while Azalea was busy at this task, but heexcused himself toward the last, and went tiptoeing upstairs, where Ithink he must have offered his services in getting the children tuckedaway. While he was gone the Philosopher arrived. 

I let him in myself, motioning the maid away. It was a small house, andI knew she was needed in the kitchen. "Don't make a bit of noise, " Icautioned him, as he came smiling into the little hall. "The babies aregoing to bed. "

"Babies!" whispered the Philosopher, in an awestruck way. "I didn't knowthere were any babies. "

"Of course you knew it, " I whispered back, leading him into the room. "If you would only store away really important facts in that capaciousmind of yours, instead of limiting it to----"

"Tell me how many babies, and of what sex--quick!" commanded thePhilosopher, "or I shall say the wrong thing. And how on earth do theycome to know enough to put their babies to bed before they ask abachelor to dine, anyhow?"

I hastily set him straight upon these points, adding that Azalea haddeveloped wonderfully. 

"You mean she can soar to high Q now, I suppose?" interpreted thePhilosopher. 

"Not at all. I mean that she's----"

But they were coming downstairs together. The Cashier's arm was abouthis wife's shoulders; he removed it only just in time to save hisdignity as he entered. 

"I'm disappointed not to see the boy and girl, " declared the Philosophergenially. The Cashier took him by the shoulders and turned him towardthe light, laughing. "That was bravely said, " he answered. "How did youknow but we might go and wake them up for you to see?"

The dinner was quite unpretentious, but very good. Evidently Azalea hada capable servant. We talked gaily, the Cashier proving an adept atkeeping the ball in the air, and keenly appreciative of others' attemptsto meet him at the sport. 

By and by, when we were back in the room where the grand piano stood, and conversation had reached a momentary halt, Azalea went to the piano. "Come, Arthur, " she said, sitting down at it and patting a pile ofmusic, "I want our friends to hear 'The Toreador. '"

The Cashier looked up protestingly. "You are the one they want to hear, dear, " he declared. 

She shook her head. "They've heard me often, but never you, I think. Besides, it wakes the babies, you know, for me to sing. "

"You don't need to sing high notes, Azalea, " I urged. "I'd like nothingso well as the lullaby you sang to the babies. "

But she shook her head again. "That's their song, " she said. "You werespecially privileged to hear it at all. But I can't do it for company. Come, Arthur--please. "

So the Cashier sang. The Philosopher and I found it necessary to avoideach other's eyes as he did it. The Cashier could roar 'The Toreador, 'no doubt of that. The voice of the bull of Bashan would have been as thesummer wind in the trees beside it. Where so much volume came from wecould not tell, as we looked at the thin frame of the performer. Why thebabies did not wake up will ever remain a mystery. Why Azalea did notdesert her accompaniment to press her hands over bursting ear drums Icannot imagine, for it was with difficulty that I surrendered my own tothe shock. But Azalea played on to the end, and looked up into theCashier's flushed face at the last note with a smile of proprietarytriumph. Then she turned about to us. 

"That fairly takes me off my feet!" cried the Philosopher. I gropedhurriedly for a compliment which would match the equivocal fervour ofthis, but I could not equal it. 

"How much you must enjoy singing together, " I said, "when the babies areawake, "--and felt annoyed that I could have said it, for I could reallynot imagine the two voices together. 

Azalea glowed. The Cashier grinned. He is as quick-witted as he isgood-humoured. "You're a clever pair, " he chuckled. 

"I've trained him myself, " said Azalea. "When I knew him first he'dnever thought of singing. I only discovered his voice by accident. Itneeds much more work with it, of course, but it's powerful, and it has aquality that will improve with cultivation. "

The Cashier patted her shoulders. "Now you sing some soft little thingfor them, my girl, " he commanded--and looking up at him again, Azaleaobeyed. She chose an old ballad, one with no chance in it to show therange of her voice. She sang it exquisitely, and the Cashier stood byand turned her music as if he considered it a high privilege. Yet, half-way through, the little Dot woke up. Azalea broke off in the middleof a bar, and fled up the stairs. 

"The truth is, I'm afraid, " said the Cashier, looking after her with anexpression on his face which indicated that he wanted to flee, too, "nothing really counts in this house but the babies. "

"They--and something else, " suggested the Philosopher gently. 

The Cashier looked at him. He nodded. "Yes--and something else, " heagreed with his bright smile. 

We came away rather late. The Philosopher looked up at the house as thedoor closed upon the warm farewells which had sent us out into thenight. "It's a little bit of a house, isn't it?" he commented. 

I looked up, too--at the nursery windows where the faintest ofnight-lights showed. "Yes, it's very small, " I agreed. "Yet quite bigenough, although it holds so much. "

"One would hardly have said, four years ago, that anything smaller thanthe biggest musical auditorium in the city would have been big enough tohold Azalea's voice, " he mused. 

"If you could have heard her sing her lullaby to those babies, " Ireplied, as we walked slowly on, "you would have said her voice would bewasted on a concert audience. "

"It seems a pleasant home. "

"It _is_ one. "

"Somehow, one distrusts the ability of musical prodigies to makepleasant homes. "

"I wonder why. Shouldn't the knowledge of any art make one appreciativeof other arts?"

"It took some time for a certain exhibition of the domestic art tostrike in, at your home, that summer, " said the Philosopher. "But Ibelieve Azalea came to envy our Hepatica at the last, didn't she?"

"Indeed she did. And she's never got over envying her heraccomplishments. She asked me ever so many questions to-day aboutHepatica's housekeeping. I wish I had had a chance before I went to tellher that I was sure her will to succeed would make her home as dear aone as even Hepatica's could be. "

"One thing is sure--as long as she lets the Cashier do the singing inthe limelight, while she looks after the babies, there'll be no occasionfor their friends to demand more music of an evening than is good forher pride of spirit, " chuckled the Philosopher. "What--are we at ourstation already? I say--let's not make a quick trip by train--let's makea slow one, by cab. "

"By cab! It would take two hours! No, no--here comes our train. "

"This is the first time we've gone anywhere since you've been herewithout two alert chaperons--younger than myself, " grumbled thePhilosopher. 

"The more reason, then, that we should give them no anxiety on myaccount. "

"I'd like to walk the whole way, " said he. 

I laughed as I obeyed the signal of an impatient guard and rushed uponthe train. "Now, talk to me, " said I, as we took our seats. 

"My lungs weren't built for the Toreador song, " he objected. 

IV

ALTHEA AND THE PROMOTER

 What an interesting fellow our host is! He is almost more interesting because of the qualities he does not possess, than because of the qualities that he does possess. --_Arthur Christopher Benson. _

"'_Be it ever so humble_, '" quoted the Skeptic under his breath to me, "'_there's no place like_----'"

Hepatica turned and gave him a smiling look which nevertheless conveyedwarning. He needed it. The Skeptic was in a mad and merry mood to-night, and no glance shot at him which, being interpreted, meant that we wereunder our hosts' roof, had thus far been of avail. "We are not undertheir roof, " he argued defiantly, in reply to one of these silentremonstrances. "This isn't their roof. This is the roof of the HotelAmazon. That's a very different thing. So different that if I livedunder it I'd----"

But the Promoter was approaching us again, with the news that dinnerhad just been announced as served. He immediately led the way with me, Hepatica followed with the Philosopher, and Althea and the Skepticbrought up the rear. It was on the great staircase that the Skeptic, pausing to gaze upward, at a command from the Promoter, who had just bidhim observe certain mural decorations done by the distinguished hand ofsome man of whom I fear none of us had ever heard, murmured thewell-known words concerning the humble home. 

"I always like to walk down this staircase when I'm not in a hurry, " Ihad heard Althea saying to the Skeptic behind us, "to get the effectfrom the landing. Isn't it wonderful?"

We all paused upon the landing, which was about thirty feet square. TheSkeptic, leaning against the marble balustrade, gazed out over the scenewith an air of prostrating himself before a shrine. Awe and wonderdominated his aspect. Only we who were familiar with a certain curvingline over his left eyebrow knew that he was longing to break into anapostrophe on the magnificence before him which would have alienatedAlthea and her husband forevermore. 

"These columns are of the purest (something) marble, " declared thePromoter, laying his hand upon one of them. He rather mumbled the name, and I think none of us were able to recognize it. 

"Indeed!" said the Skeptic, and laid his hand upon the column. "Itseems stout. "

"It's the same that is used in the Royal Palace at Athens, " addedthe Promoter. 

"That must be why it feels so Greece-y to the touch, " murmured theSkeptic; but, luckily, nobody heard him but myself. 

In due course of time, proceeding across a gorgeous lobby and traversingan impressive corridor, passing lackeys in livery and guests in eveningfinery, we arrived at the doorway of the most elaborately ornate dininghall I had ever seen. The Promoter paused in the doorway to let thefirst impression sink in. 

"I could have had our dinner served in a private dining-room, ofcourse, " said he to us, "but Althea and I decided that you would enjoythis better. There's nothing like it anywhere. It's absolutelycosmopolitan. People from all over the world are dining hereto-night--are every night. Every tenth man is worth his millions. Noticethe third table on the right as we go by. That's Joseph L. Chrysler, theiron magnate. With his party is a French actress--worshipped on bothsides the water. Keep your eyes peeled. "

A bowing potentate motioned us forward. A bending waiter put us in ourplaces. Orchids decorated our table. An extraordinarily expensiveorchestra celebrated our arrival with strains from a popular opera thenraging. People all around glanced at us and immediately away again. Isuppose we showed by our appearance that we were the possessors neitherof millions nor of world-renowned accomplishments. 

The Promoter leaned back in his chair with the demeanour of a large andpuffy young frog on the edge of a pool. He settled his white waistcoatand looked from side to side with the superior glance of a man who ownsthe whole thing. Althea, in her place, also wore a self-conscious air ofbeing hostess to a party which must appreciate the privilege of diningunder such auspices. 

Our table was a circular one, and the Skeptic sat upon my right. ThePromoter at my left occupied himself with Hepatica much of thetime--Hepatica had never looked lovelier than to-night, though hersimple, white evening frock was not cut half so low as Althea's pink, embroidered one, nor cost half so much as my plain pale-gray. Altheadevoted herself to the Philosopher--she and the Skeptic had never got onvery well. Meanwhile the Skeptic was saying things into my ear, undercover of the orchestra and the loud hum of talk. 

"This is a crowd, " he commented. "This certainly is a crowd! Men ofmillions, and men who don't know how they're going to meet the next notedue, but bluffing it through. Somebodies and nobodies. Kingfish andminnows--and some of the kingfish are going to swallow the minnows atthe next gulp----What in the name of time is this we're eating now?"

I expressed my ignorance. 

"And what's this we're to have with it?" he pursued. "Look out!"

He had known I would thank him for the warning. I shielded my glass froman imminent bottle. It was the third time already, and the dinner wasnot far on its way. I saw Hepatica shield hers--also for the third time. A tiny flush was beginning to creep up Althea's cheeks. She had refusedonly the first offering of the waiter. 

The Promoter turned and viewed my empty glasses with ill-disguisedcontempt. "We'll have to get you to stay in town long enough to overcomethose notions of yours, " said he. "Look around you. I'll wager there'snot another in the room. "

If I flushed it was not for either of the reasons which caused thebrilliant cheeks I saw all about me. "I think you are quite right, " saidI, as I looked. I saw a garrulous lady at the table on my right, whosehigh laughter was beginning to carry far; I observed a sleepy one at myleft, who had spilled champagne down the front of her elaborate corsageand was nodding over her ices. I glanced at Hepatica. Her pretty headwas held high; her eyes, too, sparkled, but not with wine. 

The Promoter began to talk of investments, telling stories of great_coups_ made by men who had the daring. 

"Not necessary for them to have the money, I suppose?" queried thePhilosopher. 

"Not at all, " agreed the Promoter. "Life's a game of poker. If you'renot afraid to sit in, and have the nerve to bluff it through, you canwin out with a hand that would make a quitter commit suicide. "

Althea listened with pride to her husband's discourse. "He's a man ofthe world, " one could see she was thinking, "who is making the eyes dropout of the heads of these simple people. "

"I'm so impressed, " said the Skeptic to me, "that I can hardly eat. Think of living in a place like this--having this every day--common, like the dust under your feet. Can I ever eat creamed codfish andjohnny-cake again, think you? Hepatica must name the hash by a Frenchname and serve me grape juice with it, or I can't condescend to eat it. I say--the smoke is getting a bit thick here for you ladies, isn't it?"

We had been late in coming down, and at many tables people were nearingthe end of the dinner. For some time the odour of expensive cigars hadbeen growing heavier throughout the room; a blue haze hung over the moredistant tables. 

"I don't think my lungs mind it so much as my feelings, " I answered. "Ishall never be able to make it seem to me just--just----"

"Try to subdue the expression which dominates your countenance at thepresent moment, " counselled the Skeptic gently, "or you will be quietlyled away from the scene as dangerous to your fellow-men. "

After what seemed like many hours we reached the end of the dinner. Ifelt that I should be glad to reach the quiet and comparative purity ofair to be found in the room in which our hosts had received us--aprivate drawing-room. But this was not to be. We were taken from placeto place about the hotel, to look in on this or that scene ofentertainment, of banqueting, of revelry. Gorgeousness upon gorgeousnesswas revealed to us. Althea, now very gay and sparkling in manner, hercarefully dressed hair a little loosened, her mind full of schemes forour diversion, took the lead, showing off everything with that air ofpersonal possession I have often observed in the frequenters ofhostelries like the Amazon. 

Hepatica, in spite of evident effort to maintain her part, grew a triflesilent. As I regarded her I was reminded of a white dove in the companyof a pair of peacocks. The Philosopher adjusted his eyeglasses from timeto time as if they did not fit well; he seemed to feel his visiongrowing distorted. I became intensely fatigued with it all, and foundmyself longing for a quiet corner and a book. As for the Skeptic--butthe Skeptic was incorrigible. 

"How much does it cost, do you say, " he inquired of the Promoter, "tobuy a postage stamp at the desk here? I want to put one on a letter Ihave in my pocket. May I slip it into the post-box myself, or do I haveto call a flunkey, present him with a dollar, and respectfully requesthim to insert it in the slit for me?"

The Promoter smiled. "Oh, people make a joke of the Amazon, " said he. "But I notice they're the same ones who breathe deep when they go byit, hoping to inhale the atmosphere free of charge. "

The Skeptic inflated his lungs. "I'm going to do it here, inside, " saidhe, "where it's more highly charged. "

At length they took us to their own rooms. I have forgotten how manyfloors up they were, but it didn't matter, in a luxurious elevator, padded and mirrored. In one of the mirrors I caught the Philosopher'seye regarding me so steadily that I felt a sudden sense of relief at therealization that some time we should be out and away together in thefresh air again. It seemed to me a long while since I had been able tosee things from the Philosopher's point of view. 

We looked at our hosts' private apartments with interest. As the Skepticpassed me on his way to inspect a system of electrical devices on thewall, to which the Promoter was calling his attention, he was softlyhumming an air. It was, "_Be it ever so humble_, " again. 

The rooms were very elaborately furnished; the hangings were heavy andsumptuous. A massive oak mantelpiece harboured a fire of gas-logs. There were a few--not many--apparently personal belongings about therooms; _bric-à-brac_ and photographs--the latter mostly of actors andopera singers. In Althea's bedroom we came upon a dressing-table whichreminded me of my own, upon the occasion of Althea's visit to me, a fewyears before. Althea calmly stirred over everything upon it in theeffort to find a small jewel-case whose contents she wished to show me. She found it in the end, although for a time the task seemed hopeless. 

We sat down in the outer room and listened again to the Promoter's talesof the great strokes of business he had brought off--"deals, " he calledthem. The stories contained much food for thought in the shape ofrevelations of character in this or that man of prominence. What weshould have talked about if he had not thus held the floor I could notguess. I had noted that there were upon a ponderous table six popularnovels, as many magazines, and piles of the great dailies. Nowhere couldI descry even a small collection of books of the sort which may furnishmaterial for conversation. I tried to imagine the Philosopher drawing acertain beloved book of essays from his pocket, settling himselfcomfortably with his back to the drop-light, and beginning to read aloudto us, as he is accustomed to do in the Skeptic's little rooms. Here wasnot even a drop-light for him to do it by, only electric sconces sethigh upon the walls, and a fanciful centre electrolier. He must, perforce--for he needs a strong light for reading--have stood closeunder one of the sconces to read from his book of essays. I tried tofancy Althea and the Promoter politely listening--or appearing tolisten. This really drew too heavily upon my imagination, and I gave itup. 

At a late hour we escaped. I learned afterward that before we left thePromoter took our men aside and offered them one more thing to drink. This really seemed superfluous, and--judging by the straightforward gaitof our escorts, to say nothing of my knowledge of their habits--there isno doubt that it was. 

Outside the hotel the Philosopher, looking away from it and fromthe other great buildings which surrounded us on every side, senthis gaze upward to the starry winter's sky. He drew in deep breathsof the frosty air. 

"Getting the Amazon out of your blood?" inquired the Skeptic. "Amazon'sa mighty good name for it. It thinks it's sophisticated and refined--butit isn't. It's a great, blowsy, milkmaid of a hotel, with all her bestclothes on, perpetually going to a fair. "

"I'm not so much re-filling my insulted lungs, " said the Philosopher, "as drawing breaths of relief that I got away without buying a block ofstock in something, or putting my name down to be one of a company forthe development of something else. "

"Oh, we were safe enough, " the Skeptic declared. "This was a privatedinner with ladies present; the Promoter gave us only a delicate sampleof what he could do. Wait till he gets you at luncheon with him in thegrill-room, all by yourself--then you can find out what he is when he'safter game. Unless you're tied to the mast, so to speak, with your earsstopped with wax, you'll land on the shore of the enchanted country hepictures for you. He's deadly, I assure you. That's why he can afford tolive at the Amazon. "

"I wonder how Althea likes it?" speculated Hepatica. 

"Likes it down to the ground--and up to the roof, " asserted the Skeptic. "That's plain enough. It saves housekeeping--and picking up her room, "he added softly to Hepatica--but I heard him. Hepatica did not reply. 

"Let's not stop at this station, " proposed the Skeptic as we walked on, "but keep on up to the next. A fast walk will do us all good after thatfeast of porpoises. "

"I suppose they call that living, " said the Philosopher, as we turnedaside into quieter streets. 

"Of course they do, and so does everybody else at those tablesto-night--with four exceptions. "

"Oh, come, " demurred the Philosopher, "possibly there were a few otherwise men in that company besides ourselves. Who would have known fromyour appearance as you sat there gorging with the rest, that you wereinwardly protesting, and greatly preferred the simple life? Don'tflatter yourself that you had the aspect of an ascetic. There weremoments during that meal when any unprejudiced observer who didn't knowyou would have sworn that you were deeply gratified that no otherengagement had prevented you from dining in your favourite haunt. "

"Don't throw stones, " retorted the Skeptic. "I saw you when you caughtsight of some particularly prosperous looking people at another tableand bowed convivially to them as one who says, 'You here, too? Ofcourse. Our set, you know!'"

"Quits!" admitted the Philosopher. "Well then--it's the ladies who didsucceed in looking like visitants from another world. "

This was rather poetical for the Philosopher, and of course it led us towonder wherein he thought we differed. Hepatica asked anxiously if shereally had looked so very old-fashioned in the white evening frock whichhad been three times made over. 

"Hopelessly old-fashioned, " assented the Philosopher. "Hopelesslyold-fashioned. But not so much in the matter of the frock as in someother things. Heaven forbid that it should be otherwise!"

"Amen!" responded the Skeptic fervently. 

V

RHODORA AND THE PREACHER

 When the fight begins within himself A man's worth something. --_Robert Browning. _

The Skeptic brought up the letter with him as he came home to dinner; ithad arrived in the last mail. The Philosopher happened to be dining withus that night, so we four were together when the news came upon us. AsHepatica read it aloud we stared at one another, astonished. 

The letter was from Grandmother, inviting us to Rhodora's wedding, whichwas to take place under her roof. Rhodora herself had been practicallyunder Grandmother's roof for four years now, except as she had been sentto a school of Grandmother's selection. Rhodora had no mother. Herfather, an absorbed man of business, had, at Grandmother's suggestion, been glad to let her have the girl to bring up--or to finish bringingup--according to her own ideas. When we had first seen Rhodora therecould be no question that she sadly needed bringing up by somebody. Tothat date she had, apparently, only come up by herself. 

"I, for one, have never seen her since that none-too-short visit shemade you, that summer, " said the Skeptic reminiscently. "It has neveroccurred to me to long to see her again. She was a mere lusty infantthen. And now she's to be married. How time gets on! What did you saywas the name of the unfortunate chap?"

"'The Reverend Christopher Austen, '" re-read Hepatica from the letter. 

"He will need all the fortitude the practice of his profession can havedeveloped in him, if my recollections can be depended upon to furnish abasis for the present outlook, " said the Skeptic gloomily. 

"You don't know that he will, at all, " I disputed. "Rhodora was only agirl when you saw her. She has been four years under Grandmother'sinfluence since then. Can you imagine that has accomplished nothing?"

The Skeptic shook his head. "That would be like a dove attempting theeducation of a hawk. The girl has probably learned not to break into theconversation of her elders with an axe, " he speculated, "nor to walkahead of Grandmother when she comes into a room. Any girl learns thosethings--in time--unless she is an idiot. But there are other things tolearn. You can't make fine china out of coarse clay. "

"But you can make very, very beautiful pottery, " cried Hepatica. "Andthe lump of clay that came into contact with Grandmother's wheel----"

She paused. Metaphors are sometimes difficult things to handle. ThePhilosopher, musing, did not notice that she had not finished. 

"It's rather curious that I should be asked, " he said. "I never saweither of them but once. "

"You made a great conquest on that one occasion, though, " said theSkeptic. 

"Nonsense!" The Philosopher coloured like a boy. "That girl----"

"Not that girl, " explained the Skeptic. "The Old Lady. She has neverceased to ask after you whenever we have seen her or heard from her. AsI remember, you presented her with a bunch of garden flowers as big asyour head, and looked at her as if she were eighteen and the beauty sheundoubtedly once was. --Well, well--a preacher! What has Rhodora becomethat she has blinded the eyes of a preacher? Not that their eyes are noteasily blinded!"

"Why do you say 'preacher?'" inquired his wife. "Grandmother's lettersays a young clergyman. "

"He's no clergyman, " insisted the Skeptic. "He's not even a minister. He's just a preacher--a raw youth, just out of college--knows as muchabout women as a puppy about elephant training. Rhodora probably sang ahymn at one of his meetings and finished him. Well, well--I suppose thismeans another wedding present?" He looked dubiously at Hepatica. 

"It does, of course, " she admitted. 

"Send her a cut-glass punch-bowl, " he suggested, preparing savagely tocarve a plump, young duck. "Anything less adapted to the use of apreacher's family I can't conceive. And that's the main object in buyingwedding gifts, according to my observation. "

The day of Rhodora's wedding arrived, and we went down together toGrandmother's lovely old country home--a stately house upon the banks ofa wide, frozen river. Our train brought us there two hours before theone set for the ceremony, and we found not only Grandmother but Rhodoraand the Preacher in the fine old-time drawing-room to greet us. Thewedding was to be a quietly informal one, and such of the other guestsas had already arrived were in the room also, having a cup of tea beforethey should go upstairs to dress. 

Rhodora herself was pouring the tea, and the Preacher was helping handthe cups about. It was a beautiful opportunity to observe the pairbefore their marriage. 

Grandmother gave us the welcome only Grandmother knows how to give. Inher own home she looks like a fair, little, old queen, receivingeverybody's homage, yet giving so much kindness in return that one cannever feel one's self out of debt to her hospitality. Her greeting tothe Philosopher was an especially cordial one. 

"I ventured to ask you, " she said to him, "because I have always wantedto see you again--not merely because I have heard of you in the worldwhere you are making a name for yourself. And I wanted, too, in justiceto my granddaughter, to have you see her again. "

Before the Philosopher could formulate an appropriate reply, Rhodoraherself, leaving her tea-table, and crossing the room with a swift andgraceful tread, was giving us welcome. 

It was amusing to see our two men look at Rhodora. Hepatica and I hadbeen, in a way, prepared to see a transformation, having heard sundryrumours to that effect; but the Skeptic and the Philosopher, havingclassified Rhodora once and for all, had since received no impressionsufficient to efface or modify the original one. I can say for them thatto one who did not know them well their surprise would have beenundiscoverable, yet to Hepatica and me it was perfectly evident thatthey considered a miracle had been wrought. 

As to personal appearance, Rhodora had developed, as she had promised todo, into a remarkable beauty. If she had kept on as she had begun, shewould have become one of those exuberant beauties who look as if theyhad but lately quitted the stage and must shortly return thither. Evenyet, it would have taken but an error in dress, a reversion to a certaintype of manner which too often goes with looks like these, to make ofthe girl that which it had seemed she must become. But, somehow, she hadnot become that thing. 

Rhodora presently turned and beckoned to the Preacher, and putting downhis teacups he came to her side. She presented him, and we saw that hewas, indeed, no clergyman, no minister even--in the sense that theSkeptic had differentiated these terms--but a preacher--and an embryoone at that--a big, red-cheeked, honest-eyed boy, a straightforward, clean-hearted, large-purposed young fellow, who meant to do all the goodin the world, in all the ways that he could bring about. He was butlately graduated from his seminary, had yet to preach his first sermonafter the dignities of his ordination, but--one could not tell how--onebegan to believe in him at once. 

"No, I haven't a bit of experience, " he owned to me, as we stood talkingtogether, getting acquainted. "Not a bit--except a little mission work afew of us went in for this last year. I'm as raw a recruit as ever puton a uniform and fell in with the rest of the company for his firstdrill. But--I mean to count one!"

"I'm sure you will, " said I, regarding him with growing pleasure inthe sight. 

"And Rhodora will count two, " said he, his eyes following her. "One andtwo, side by side, you know, stand for twelve. "

"So they do, " said I. "And seeing Rhodora as she looks now, I shouldthink she would make an efficient comrade. "

His face glowed. Together we observed Rhodora, standing close byGrandmother's side. The two, with Hepatica and our two men, made agroup, of which not the bride-elect, but Grandmother, was the precisecentre. The moment Rhodora had reached Grandmother's side she had putherself in the background. Although she towered above the little oldlady she did not overwhelm her, and Grandmother herself had never seemeda more gently dominating figure than now, in her sweeping black gownwith its rare laces, her white hair, in soft puffs, framing her delicateface. And as, at a turn in the conversation, Grandmother looked up atRhodora, and Rhodora, bending a little, smiled back at her, answering inthe most deferential way, it was clear to me that the most efficientelement in the education of the girl had been her intercourse with thisold-time gentlewoman. 

"It was seeing those two together, " said the Preacher rather shyly, inmy ear, "that attracted me first. I never knew that Youth and Age couldset each other off like that till I saw them. And I saw at once that agirl who could be such friends with an old lady must be very much worthwhile herself. They are great chums, you know--it's quite unusual, Ithink. And it's a mighty fine thing for any one to know Grandmother. I've learned more from Grandmother than from any one I ever knew. "

"She's a very rare and adorable old lady, " I agreed heartily. "We allworship her--we all feel that to be near her is a special fortune forany one. She has plainly grown very fond of Rhodora--she will miss her. "

"No doubt of that, " he agreed--but, quite naturally, more with triumphthan with sympathy. 

We went upstairs presently to make ready for the wedding. When we weredressed, we met, according to previous agreement, in the big, square, upper hall, with its spindled railing making a gallery about the quaintand stately staircase. It was a little too early to go down, and we drewsome high-backed chairs together and sat down to look at one another inour wedding garments. 

"I'd like to get married myself again to-night, " declared the Skeptic, forcibly pulling on his gloves with a man's brutal disregard for thepossible instability of seams. He eyed his wife possessively. "Tellme--will the Preacher's bride put her in the shade?"

"Don!" But Hepatica's falling lashes could not quite conceal herpleasure in his pride. 

"Not for a minute. " The Philosopher's benevolent gaze approved of hisfriend's wife from the top of her masses of shining hair to the tip ofher white-shod foot. "At the same time, I don't feel quite such adispirited compassion for the Preacher himself as I did on the way down. Can that possibly be the same girl who treated Grandmother as if shewere an inconvenient, antique family relic, and the rest of us as if sheendured but was horribly bored by us?"

"I have never supposed grandmothers, " said the Skeptic thoughtfully, "tobe particularly influential members of society. Evidently ours isdifferent. But there must have been other elements in the metamorphosisof Rhodora. "

"Miss Eleanor Lockwood's school, " suggested Hepatica. 

"You mention that with bated breath, " said the Skeptic, "precisely asevery one, including its graduates, mentions it. I admit that MissLockwood's school is a place where rich young savages are turned outpolished members of society. But there's been more than that. "

"The Preacher himself?" I suggested. 

The Skeptic looked at me. "Do you mean to imply, " said he, with raisedeyebrows, "that any woman would admit the possibility ofacquaintanceship with any particular man's having had a formativeinfluence on her character? After school-days, I mean of course. "

"Why not?" I inquired. "What influence could be greater?"

The Skeptic looked at the Philosopher, who returned his gaze calmly. 

"Did you ever expect to hear that?" asked the Skeptic. 

"I should not think of denying the influence of woman upon man, " repliedthe Philosopher. "Why should not the rule work both ways?"

"I never heard it thus flatly formulated before, " declared the Skeptic. "It does me good, that's all. So you think the Preacher has had a handin the reformation?"

"You have seen the Preacher, " said I. "You know the family from whichhe comes--he's of good stock. You've only to hear him speak to seethat he's a man of purpose, of action, of training--boy as he looks. How could he fail to have a strong influence upon a girl who caredfor him?"

The Skeptic looked at Hepatica. "Do you agree with her?" he inquired. 

"Of course I agree with her, " responded Hepatica, looking from him tome--and back again. "You are only pretending to doubt us both. It's veryclever of you, but we know perfectly that you understand how far--veryfar--we are affected by your ideals, your judgments, your whole estimateof life. Therefore--you must be very careful how you use your influencewith us!"

The Skeptic gave her back the look he saw in her eyes. "Ah, you twobelong to the wise ones!" he said. "The wise ones, who, magnifying ourhold on you, thus acquire a far more tremendous hold on us! Eh, Philo?"

The Philosopher smiled--inscrutably. Probably he felt that aninscrutable smile was his safest means of navigating waters like these. 

We went down to the wedding. The Preacher stood up very straight whilehe was being married, and though his boyish cheek paled and reddenedagain as the ceremony proceeded, his responses were clear-cut. Rhodoramade a bonny bride. The absurd vision I had had of her, ever since Ihad heard she was to be married, of her taking the officiatingclergyman's book out of his hand and steering the service for herself, melted away before the vision of her serious young beauty as she madeher vows, and turned from the clergyman's felicitations, at theconclusion of the service, to take Grandmother into a tender embrace. 

"I owe it all to you, " she said to Grandmother by and by, in my hearing, as we three happened to be for a little alone together. She turned tome. "I was a barbarian when she took me, " she said. "A barbarian ofbarbarians. If it hadn't been for Grandmother I should be one yet, andhe"--her glance went off for an instant toward her young husband--"wouldnever have dreamed of looking at me. "

"You were not very different, my dear, " said Grandmother, in her gentleway, "from many girls of this day. "

"Forgive me, dear, " responded Rhodora, "but I was so much worse thatonly a grandmother like you could have shown me what I was. "

"I never tried to show you what you were, " said Grandmother. "Only whatyou could be. And now--I must lose you. "

The Preacher came up, the Skeptic by his side. The Philosopher andHepatica, seeing the old magic circle forming, promptly addedthemselves. 

It fell out, presently, that the Philosopher and I, a step away from theothers, were observing them as we talked together. The Philosopher hadadjusted his eyeglasses, having carefully polished them. He seemed towant to see things clearly to-day. 

"This is a scene I've witnessed a good many times, first and last, " saidhe. "Each time it impresses me afresh with the daring of theparticipants. Brave young things, setting sail upon a mighty ocean, in asmall boat, which may or may not be seaworthy--some of them, it seems, sometimes, with neither chart nor compass--certainly with littleknowledge of the crew. It's a trite comparison, I suppose. "

"You talk as if you stood safely on the shore, " I ventured. "Is life noocean to you, then--and do you never feel adrift upon it?"

The Philosopher stared curiously at me. It was, I admit, a strangespeech for me to make to him, but I had not been thinking of him. I hadbeen thinking of Lad, my big boy, now away at school, and of the daywhen he should reach this experience for himself, and I should have togive him up--my one near tie. I should surely feel adrift in thatday--far adrift. 

"Does it seem to you like that?" he asked, very gently, after a minute. 

I looked up, and saw a new and quite strange expression in his kindlyeyes. "No, no, " I said hastily. "How could it--with so many and suchgood friends?"

I think he would have questioned me further, but the Skeptic at thatmoment turned my way, and I laid hold upon him--figurativelyspeaking--and did not let go again till all danger of a discussion withthe Philosopher on the subject of my loneliness was past. 

VI

WISTARIA--AND THE PHILOSOPHER

 Friendship needs delicate handling. --_Hugh Black. _

"After all this dining and wine-ing of you, " said Hepatica suddenly onemorning, toward the close of my visit, "you are not to escape withoutour giving a dinner for you. "

"Oh, my dear, " I began, "after all you have done for me, surely thatisn't necessary. I have had----"

"Yes, I know. You have had dinners and dinners, including thePhilosopher's bachelor repast, which might or might not be called bythat name, but was certainly great fun. But I want to give you a dinnermyself. "

"Better let her, " advised the Skeptic, who was putting on his overcoatat the time, preparatory to leaving us for the day. "It won't be likeanything of that name you have ever tried before. Besides she wants youto meet Wistaria. "

"Who is Wistaria?" I asked. 

They both looked at me. Then they looked at each other. 

"Hasn't Philo told you about Wistaria?" inquired the Skeptic, in evidentsurprise. "Wasn't she at his----Oh, that's right--she was out of town. Well, she's back, and you must meet her. She's a mighty fine girl--or, if not exactly a girl, woman. Philo admires her rather more than hecondescends to admire most women, I should say. Any errands for me, Patty? All right--good-bye, dear. "

He kissed her and ran for his car. I stood looking out of the windowafter him. It struck me rather suddenly that it was a gray day outside, with heavy clouds threatening to make the sky even darker. There was atouch of gloom in the whole outer aspect of things. 

Hepatica immediately set about making preparations for her dinner. Itwould be most informal, she assured me, and as I heard her giving herinvitations over the telephone I recognized from their character thatit would be so, even though I heard her inviting quite a party, including Camellia and the Judge, Dahlia and the Professor, Althea andthe Promoter, and Azalea and the Cashier. A strange man, a MiningEngineer, was included in the list, to make the tale of numbers evenlydivided. I judged he was likely to fall to me in the final dispositionof the guests at Hepatica's table, and inquired what he was like. 

"He's delightful, " replied Hepatica enthusiastically. "You'll be sure tolike him. He lost his wife about five years ago, but hasn't re-married, and lives mostly at his club, as he has no children. He's devoted to hiswork, and has a good, big reputation, though he's still in the earlyforties. "

Hepatica would not tell me what she meant to have for her dinner, but onthe appointed day shut herself up in her kitchen with a young woman whomshe had engaged, and would allow me only to set her table for her. As Ilaid the required number of forks and spoons I realized that she meantto be true to her word and serve a quite simple dinner. For this I wasthankful. For some reason, which I could not just understand myself, Iwas dreading that dinner more than anything that had happened for a longtime. 

The evening came. I dressed without enthusiasm, putting on the pale-grayfrock which Hepatica had insisted upon, and pinning on a bunch ofviolets which arrived for me at almost the last moment, without any cardin the box. Hepatica had three magnificent red roses at the same time. It was like the Skeptic to be so thoughtful. 

The guests arrived--Camellia superbly attired, Althea gorgeously so, Dahlia in youthful pink and white, Azalea in a demurely simple dresswhose laces were just a thought rumpled about the neck, and had to bestraightened out by my assisting fingers. Little Bud, she explained, hadinsisted on hugging her violently at the last moment, before he wouldallow her to come away. 

Wistaria came last, so that, as we all stood grouped about the littlerooms I had a fine chance to see her arrival. She had to go through theroom in which we were to reach Hepatica's bedroom, and I saw a tall andgraceful figure, all in black under a white evening cloak, and caught aglimpse of a pair of brilliant dark eyes under the white silken scarfwhich enveloped her hair. But when she came out, in Hepatica's company, I saw, undisguised, one of the most attractive women I had ever met. 

"She's unusual, isn't she?" said the Skeptic in my ear, as, havingwelcomed the new guest, and watched Hepatica present her to me, he fellback at my side. Wistaria had greeted the Philosopher with the quietwarmth of manner which means assured acquaintance, and the two hadremained together while we waited for the serving of the dinner. 

"She is very charming, " I agreed. "It is her manner, quite as much asher face, isn't it? She must be well worth knowing. "

"We think so, " said he. He seemed to be regarding me quite steadily. Iwondered uneasily if I were not looking well. The rooms seemed ratherover-warm. The presence of so many people in such a small space is aptto make the air oppressive. Also I remembered that the effect ofpale-gray is not to heighten one's colouring. 

Wistaria, all in filmy black, from which her white shoulders rose likea flower, wore one splendid American Beauty rose. Somehow I felt, quitesuddenly, that pale-gray is a meaningless tint, the mere shadow of acolour, of less character than white, of immeasurably less beauty thansimple black itself. I caught the Philosopher's eye apparently fixed fora moment upon my violets, and I wondered, with a queer little sensationof disquiet, if even they seemed to be without character also. 

Then dinner was announced, and I shook myself mentally, and looked upsmiling at my Mining Engineer, who was truly a man worth knowing and amost pleasant gentleman besides, and went to dinner with him determinedthat if I must look characterless I would not be characterless, nor makemy companion long to get away. 

Wistaria and the Philosopher sat exactly opposite. The Mining Engineeron my one side, and the Judge on my other, kept me too busy to spendmuch time in noting Wistaria's captivating presence or the Philosopher'sabsorption. Yet, at moments when some sally of the Skeptic's, who satupon Wistaria's other side, brought the attention of the whole companyto bear upon that quarter of the table, I found myself unable to helpnoting two things. One was that I had never seen the Philosopher soroused and ready of speech; the other, that I had never quiteappreciated how distinguished he has, of late years, grown inappearance. Possibly this was because I had not had the chance toview him under just these conditions; possibly, also, it was becausehe literally was growing distinguished in the world of scientificresearch, and his name becoming one cited as an authority in a certainimportant field. 

The dinner itself I cannot describe, for the sufficient reason that Icannot now recall one solitary thing I ate. But the impression remainswith me that it was really an extraordinarily simple dinner, thateverything was delicious, and that one rose up from it with a sense ofhaving been daintily fed, not stuffed. I'm sure I could not pay it ahigher or a rarer compliment. 

After dinner the Promoter told stories of "deals, " to which theProfessor listened curiously, watching the speaker as he might havegently eyed some strange specimen in the world of insects or of birds. The Judge and the Cashier hobnobbed for a while; then the Judge made hisway to the side of Wistaria and remained there for an indefinite period, both looking deeply interested in their conversation. The Engineerattempted to make something of Althea, but presently gave it up, spent afew moments with Camellia, and came back to me. By and by Azalea and theCashier sang a duet for us, and after some persuasion Azalea then sangalone. Altogether, the evening got on somehow--it is all very hazy in mymind, except for one singular fact--I did not spend a moment with thePhilosopher. How this happened I do not know, and it was so unusual thatit seemed noteworthy. It was not because he was not several times in myimmediate vicinity, but I was always at the moment so engaged withwhomever happened to be talking with me that I had not time to turn andinclude the Philosopher in the interview. 

When our guests departed they went together, having one and the same carto catch. All but Wistaria, who had come in her own private carriage, which was late in arriving to take her home. The Philosopher hadremained with her, and he took her down to her carriage. I cannotremember seeing anything more attractive than Wistaria's personality asshe said good night, her sparkling face all winsome cordiality, herwhite scarf lying lightly upon the masses of her black hair, the crimsonrose nodding from the folds of her long, white cloak. 

"Pretty fine looking pair, aren't they?" observed the Skeptic, with anexpansive grin, the moment the door had closed upon Wistaria and thePhilosopher. He threw himself into a chair and yawned mightily. "Wistaria's almost as tall as Philo, isn't she? A superb woman. "

"I never saw her looking so well, " agreed Hepatica, straightening chairsand settling couch pillows, trailing here and there in her pretty frockwith all the energy of the early morning, as if it were not half-aftereleven by the little mantel clock. "Didn't you like her, dear?" Shethrew an eager glance at me. She was in the restless mood of the hostesswho wishes to be assured that everything has gone well. 

"I was charmed with her, " said I--I had not meant to take a seat again;I was weary and wanted to get away to bed--"I never knew how beautifulan American Beauty rose was till I saw it beneath her face. "

The Skeptic turned in his chair and looked at me. "Well done!" he cried. "Couldn't have said it better myself. We must tell Philo that speech. He'll be deeply gratified. He has every confidence in your taste. "

"The dinner was perfect, " I went on. "I never imagined one so cleverlyplanned. And everybody seemed in great spirits--there wasn't a dullmoment. "

"You dear thing!" said Hepatica, and came and dropped a kiss upon myhair. "It's fun to do things for you, you're so appreciative. Didn't youenjoy your Mining Engineer?"

"He was so entertaining, " said I, "that if it had been any other dinnerthan that one I shouldn't have known what I was eating. "

"Hear, hear!" applauded the Skeptic. "Bouquets for us all! Didn't I makean ideal host?"

"Your geniality was rivalled only by your tact, " I declared. 

They laughed together. Then the Skeptic sat up. He got up and strodeover to the window and peered down. "Philo is taking a disgracefullylong time to see the lady into her carriage, " he observed. "I supposedhe'd be back, to talk it over, as usual. The best of entertaining is thetalking your guests over after they've gone--eh, Patty, girl? I don'tseem to see the carriage. Perhaps he's gone home with her. "

I laid my hand upon the door of my room. "I don't know why I am sosleepy, " I apologized. "It only came over me since the door closed. Butyou must both be tired, too--and we have to be up in the morning at theusual hour. "

Hepatica looked regretful, but she did not urge me to remain. I feltguilty at leaving a wide-awake host and hostess who wanted to talkthings over, but really I--the perfume from my violets had been stealingaway my nerves all the evening. I felt that I must take them off or growfaint at their odour, which seemed stronger as they drooped. I opened mydoor, turned to smile back at the pair, and shut it upon the inside. Amoment later I was standing by my window which I had thrown wide, andthe winter wind was lifting the violets which I had already forgotten totake off. 

I heard the murmur of voices in the room outside, but it soon ceased. With no third person to praise the feast it was probably dull workcongratulating each other on its success. By and by--I don't know whenit happened--I heard the electric entrance-bell whirr in the tiny hall, and the Skeptic go to answer it. Then I heard voices again--men'svoices. There was an interval. Then came a small knock at my door. Iopened it to Hepatica. 

"The Philosopher has come back, " she whispered. I had not lit mylight--I had closed my window and had been sitting by it, my elbows onthe sill. Hepatica put out her hand and felt of me. "Oh, you haven'tundressed, " she said. "Then won't you go out and see him? He seemed sodisappointed when Don said you had gone. It seems he's called out oftown quite suddenly--he's afraid he may not be back before you go--hesays he didn't have a chance to tell you about it this evening. "

There was no help for it--I had no excuse. I did not dare to snap on mylight and look at myself. I put my hands to my hair to feel if it wasstill snug; then I went. 

Hepatica had mercifully turned off all the lights but the rose-shadeddrop-light on the reading-table and two of the electric candles in thedining-room. It was a relief to feel the glare gone. The air from thewindow had freshened me. The Philosopher stood by the reading-table, upon which he had laid his hat. His overcoat was on a chair. Evidentlyhe was not waiting merely to say good-bye and go. 

The Skeptic, upon my entrance, immediately crossed the room to the doorof the hall, upon which his own room opened. "You people will excuseme, " he said. "I don't know _why_ I am so sleepy. " His tone waspeculiar, and I recognized that he was quoting my words of a half-hourbefore. "It only came over me since the door closed on our guests. And Ihave to be up in the morning at the usual hour. But don't let that hurryyou, Philo, old man. " And he vanished. 

The Philosopher looked as if he did not mean to let it hurry him. Hedrew his chair near mine, facing me, after a fashion he has, and lookedat me in silence for a minute. 

"You are tired, " he said. 

"A little. The rooms were very warm. "

"They were. They made the violets droop, I see. "

I put up my hand. "Yes. I meant to take them off. "

"Perhaps you don't like violets. If I could have found a bunch ofsweet-williams to send you instead, like those in your own garden, Ishould have preferred it. I know what you like among summer flowers, butwith these florist's offerings I'm not so familiar. I'm afraid I'm notmuch versed in the sending of flowers. "

"Did you send these?" I put my hand up to them again. They certainlywere drooping sadly. Perhaps if they had known who sent them----

"To be sure I did. "

"There was no card. I thought it was Don--and forgot to thankhim--luckily. Let me thank you now. They have been so sweet all theevening. "

"Too sweet, haven't they? You looked a bit pale to-night, I thought. "

"It was my frock. Gray always makes people look pale. "

"Does it? I've liked that frock so much--and I had an idea gray andpurple went together. "

"They do--beautifully. And to-morrow, after the violets have been inwater, they'll be quite fresh--and so shall I. To tell the honest truth, so many dinners--well, I'm not used to them. I'm just a little bit gladto remember that spring is coming on soon, and I can get out in my oldgarden and dig and rake, and watch the things come out. "

"Yes--you're one of the outdoor creatures, " said the Philosopher, leaning back in his chair in the old way--he had been sitting up quitestraight. "I understand it--I like gardens myself. And your garden mostof all. Do you realize, between your absences and my long stay inGermany, it's three summers since I've strolled about your garden?"

"So long? Yes, it must be. "

"But I mean to be at home this summer. Do you?"

[Illustration: "And so we renewed the old vow"]

"I? Yes, I think so. After so long a winter outing--or inning--Icouldn't bear to miss the garden this year. And Lad will be home--hisfirst vacation. He is fond of the old garden, too. "

"May I come?" asked the Philosopher rather abruptly. 

"To stroll about the garden? Haven't you always been welcome?"

"I want a special welcome--from you--from my friend. When a man has onlyone friend, that one's welcome means a good deal to him. "

"Only one! You have so many. "

"Have I? Yes, so I have, and pleasant friends they are, too. Butfriendship--with only one. Come, Rhexia--you understand that as well asI. Why pretend you don't? That's not like you. "

He was looking at me very steadily. He leaned forward, stretching outhis hand. I laid mine in it. And so we renewed the old vow. 

PART III

I

SIXTEEN MILES TO BOSWELL'S

"One passenger off the five-thirty, coming up the hill, " announced SueBoswell, peering eagerly out of the Inn's office window. "That makesnine for supper. I'll run and tell mother. "

"Nine--poor child, " murmured Tom Boswell, behind the desk. "That'scertainly a great showing for a summer hotel, on the fifteenth day ofJuly. If we don't do better in August--the game's up. "

He stared out of the window at the approaching guest, who, escorted byTom's brother Tim, was climbing the road toward Boswell's Inn at a pacewhich indicated no pressing anxiety to arrive. As the pair drew nearer, Tom could see that the stranger was a rather peculiar-looking person. Ofmedium height, as thin as a lath, with a nearly colourless face in whichwas set a pair of black eyes with dark circles round them, the man hadsomewhat the appearance of an invalid; yet an air of subdued nervousenergy about him in a measure offset the suggestion of ill-health. Hewas surveying Boswell's Inn as he approached it in a comprehensive waywhich seemed to take in every feature of its appearance. 

Across the desk in the small lobby the newcomer spoke curtly. "Goodroom and a bath? I want an absolutely quiet room where I get nokitchen noises or ballroom dancing. Windows with a breeze--if you'vegot such a thing. "

"I can't give you the bath, " Tom answered regretfully, "because wehaven't got one that goes with any room in the house. But you can haveplenty of hot and cold, in cans. The room will be quiet, all right. Andwe always have a breeze up here, if there is one anywhere in the world. Shall I show you?"

"Lead on, " assented the stranger. He had not offered to register, thoughTom had extended to him a freshly dipped pen. 

"He's going to make sure first, " thought Tom, recognizing a sign of theexperienced traveller. He led the way himself, feeling, for somereason, unwilling to hand young Tim the key and allow him to exploit therooms. As they mounted the stairs, Tom was rapidly considering. He hadbrought along three keys--rather an unusual act on his part. It was hardto say why he felt it necessary to bestow any special attention uponthis guest, who certainly was by no means of an imposing appearance, andwhose hot-weather dress was as careless as his manner. 

He opened the door of the first room, and the stranger looked insilently. "I'll show you another before you decide, " said Tom hurriedly, without waiting for a comment. 

This was not his best empty room, and he felt somehow that the man whowanted a room with a bath and a breeze knew it. He led the way on alongthe hall to a corner room in the front. This was his second best. Tomalways preferred to reserve his choicest for a chance millionaire or apossible wealthy society lady--though Heaven knew that, during the sixweeks the Inn had been open, no guest distantly resembling one or theother of those desirable types had approached the little mountainhostelry. 

"Anything better?" inquired the thin man, his extraordinarily quickglance covering every detail of the room like lightning, as Tom felt. 

"Sure--if you want the bridal suit. " Tom pronounced it proudly, as itwere a claw-hammer and white waistcoat. 

"Bring her on. "

Tom marched ahead to the two rooms opening on the little balcony abovethe side porch, a balcony which belonged to the "bridal suite" alone, and which commanded the finest view into the very heart of the mountainsthat the house afforded. Seeing his guest--after one look around thespotless room with its pink and white furnishings, and into the smalldressing-room beyond--stride toward the outer door, Tom threw it wide. The guest stepped out on to the balcony. Here he pulled off his hat, which he had not before removed, and let the breeze--for there wasunquestionably a breeze, even on this afternoon of a day which had beenone of the hottest the country had known--drift refreshingly against hisdamp brow. The zephyr was strong enough even to lift slightly the thicklocks of black hair which lay above the white forehead. 

"Price for this?" asked the stranger, in his abrupt way, turning backinto the room. 

Tom mentioned it--with a little inward hesitation. The family haddiffered a good deal on the question of prices for these best rooms. Inhis opinion that settled upon for the bridal suite was almostprohibitively high. Not a guest yet but had turned away with a sigh. Fora moment he had been tempted to reduce it, but he had promised theothers to stick by the decision at least through July. So he mentionedthe price firmly. 

The guest glanced sharply at him as he did so. There was a queer littlecontraction of the stranger's thin upper lip. Then he said: "I'll take'em--for the night, and you may hold 'em for me till to-morrow night. Tell you then whether I'll stay longer. "

Tom understood, of course, that it was now a question of a satisfactorytable. But here he knew he was strong. Mother Boswell's cooking--therewas none better obtainable. He was already in a hurry to prove to thislaconic stranger who demanded the best he had of everything, includingbreezes, that in the matter of food Boswell's Inn could satisfy themost exacting. Not in elaborately dressed viands of rare kitchenproduct, of course--that was not to be expected off here. But intemptingly cooked everyday food, and in certain extras which were MotherBoswell's specialties, and which the few people now in the Inn calledfor with ever-increasing zest--though they seldom deigned to send anyspecial word of praise to the anxious cook--Boswell's needed to askforbearance of nobody. 

"I'll send your stuff up right away, " said Tom, as the other man casthis straw hat upon a chair and went over to a washstand, where hungseveral snowy towels. "Have some hot water?"

"Yes--and iced. "

"All right. " Tom was off on the jump. It was certainly something to haverented the bridal suite even for the night, but he felt more thanordinarily curious to know who his guest was. 

"Might be a travelling man, " he speculated, when he had given Tim hisorders, "though he doesn't exactly seem like one. But he looks like afellow who's used to getting what he wants. "

When the new guest came downstairs, at the peal of a gong through thequiet house, Tom saw him cast one keen-eyed glance in turn at each ofthe other occupants of the lobby, as they clustered about the door ofthe dining-room. Seven of these were women, and of that number at leastfive were elderly. Of the two younger ladies, neither presented anyspecial attractiveness beyond that of entire respectability. The eighthguest was a man--a middle-aged man who was reading a book and whocarried the book into the dining-room with him, where he continued toread it at his solitary table. 

Tom Boswell was at the elbow of the latest arrival as he entered thedining-room, a long, low, but airy apartment, as spotless and shining inits way as the bedroom upstairs had been. There was no head waiter, andTom himself piloted the new guest to a small table by a window, lookingoff into the mountains on the opposite side of the house from that ofthe bridal suite. The women boarders were all behind him, the solitaryman just across the way at a corresponding small table. Certainly theproprietor of Boswell's Inn possessed that great desideratum for suchan official--tact. 

Sue Boswell, aged fifteen, in a blue-and-white print frock and whiteapron so crisp that one could not discern a wrinkle in them, waited onthe new guest. She did not ask him what he would have, nor present tohim a card from which to select his meal. She brought him first a smallcup of chicken broth, steaming hot; and though he regarded this at firstas if he had no appetite whatever, after the first tentative sip he wenton to the bottom of the cup. When this was gone, Sue placed before him aplate of corned-beef hash, an alluring pinkness showing beneath thegratifying upper coat of brown. A small dish of cucumbers--thin, icedcucumbers, with a French dressing--accompanied the hash; and with thesehe was offered hot rolls so small and delicate and crisp that, aftercautiously sampling the butter with what seemed a fastidious palate, theguest took to eating rolls as if he had seldom found anything so wellworth consuming. 

Something made of red raspberries and cream followed, and then half alarge cantaloupe, its golden heart filled with crushed ice, was placedbefore him. Last appeared a cup of amber coffee. As the guest tastedthis beverage, a look of complete satisfaction overspread his pale face, and he drained the cup clear and asked for more. 

Presently he strolled out into the lobby. Here Tom awaited him behindthe desk. The hotel register was open, and Tom's fingers suggestivelyheld a pen. The guest obeyed the hint. At an inn so small, it certainlywould be a pity for any guest not to add his name to the short list. 

For it was a very short list. Although a full month had gone by sincethe first arrival had written her name, the bottom of the page had notbeen quite reached when this latest one scratched his in characterswhich looked quite as much like Arabic as English. When Tom came toexamine the name later, he made it out to be Perkins, though it mightquite as easily have been Tompkins, or Judson, or any other name whichhad an elevated letter somewhere in the middle. The initials were quiteindecipherable. But Perkins it turned out to be, for when Tomtentatively addressed the newcomer by that appellation there was nocorrection made, and he continued to respond whenever so accosted. 

Mr. Perkins spent the evening smoking upon the porch, his head turnedtoward the mountains. The next morning, when he had eaten a breakfastwhich included some wonderful browned griddle-cakes and syrup--anotherof the Inn's specialties--he strolled away into the middle distance andwas observed by various of the guests, from time to time, perched aboutamong the rocks, in idle attitudes. 

"He's a queer duck, " observed Tom in the kitchen that day, describingMr. Perkins to his mother. Mrs. Boswell seldom appeared beyond herspecial domain--that of the kitchen--but left the rest of thehousekeeping to her daughters Bertha and Sue; the management of the Innto Tom and Tim. "Silent as an owl. Seems to like his food--nothingstrange about that. He doesn't act sick, exactly, but tired, or bored, or used up, somehow. Eyes like coals and sharper than a ferret's. Ican't make him out. He won't talk to anybody, except now and then a wordor two to Mr. Griffith. Never looks at the ladies, but I tell you theylook at him. Every one of 'em has a different notion about him. Anyhow, he's taken the bridal suit for two weeks. Goes down to the post-officefor his mail--gave particular orders not to have it sent up here. That'skind of funny, isn't it? Oh, I meant to tell you before: he's paid forhis rooms a week in advance. "

"It helps a little, " said his sister Bertha. She was twenty-five yearsold, and if any one of this family had the responsibility of the successof Boswell's Inn heavily and anxiously at heart, it was Bertha. "But itcan't make up the difference. Here's July half over, and not a dozenpeople in the house. What can be the matter? Isn't everything allright?"

"Sure it's all right, " insisted Tom. "We just haven't got known, that's all. "

"But how are we going to get known, if nobody comes? Our advertisementin the city papers costs dreadfully, and it doesn't seem to bringanybody. "

"Now see here, " said Tom firmly, "don't you go to getting discouraged. This is our first season. We can't expect to do much the first season. We're prepared for that. "

But he realized, quite as clearly as his sister, that they had not beenprepared for so complete a failure as they were making. Boswell's Innstood only sixteen miles away from a large city, a great Westernrailroad centre, into which, early and late, thousands of tourists werepouring. The road out into the mountains was a good one, the trip easyenough for the owners of motor cars, of whom the city held enough tomake a continuous procession all the way if only they could be headed inthe right direction. But how to head them? That was what Tom couldn'tfigure out. 

On the third evening after Mr. Perkins's arrival, Tom, strollinggloomily out upon the porch to see if any one was lingering there toprevent his closing up, discovered Perkins sitting alone, smoking. Therehad not been a new arrival that day; worse, one of the elderly ladieshad gone away. She had departed reluctantly, but her absence countedjust the same, and Tom was missing her as he had never expected to missany elderly lady with iron-gray curls and a cast in one eye. 

"Nice night, " observed Tom to Mr. Perkins. 

"First-class. "

"Getting cooled off a bit up here?"

"Pretty well. "

"Are, you--having everything you want?"

Tom asked the question with some diffidence. It was a matter of regretwith him that he couldn't afford yet to put young Tim into buttons, butwithout them he was sure the lad made as alert a bellboy and porter ascould be asked. 

"Nothing to complain of. "

Tom wished Mr. Perkins wouldn't be so taciturn. The proprietor of theInn That Couldn't Get a Start was feeling so blue to-night that speechwith some one besides his depressed family was almost a necessity. Hecouldn't talk with the women; Mr. Griffith, though kindly enough, hadhis nose forever buried in a book. Perkins looked as if he could talk ifhe would, and have something to say, too. Tom tried to think of anobservation which would draw this silent man out. But quite suddenly, and greatly to Tom's surprise, Mr. Perkins began to draw Tom out. Evenso, his questions were like shots from a gun, so brief and to the pointwere they. 

"Doing any advertising?" broke the silence first, from a corner of thethin mouth. Perkins's cigar had been shifted to the opposite corner. Hedid not look at Tom, but continued to gaze off toward a certain curiouseffect of moonlight against the rocky sides of the canyon. 

"We have a card in all the city papers. "

"Any specials? Write-ups?"

"Well, this is our first season, and we didn't feel as if we couldafford to pay for that. "

"No pulls, eh?"

"You mean----?"

"No friends among the newspaper men?"

"I don't know one. They don't seem to come up here. I wish they would. "

"Ever ask one?"

"I don't know any, " repeated Tom. 

A short laugh, more like a grunt, was Perkins's reply. Tom didn't seewhat there was to laugh at in the misfortune of having no acquaintanceamong the writing fellows. He waited eagerly for the next question. Itwas worth a good deal to him merely to have this outsider show a sparkof interest in the fortunes of Boswell's Inn. 

"When did you open up?" It came just as he feared Perkins was going todrop the subject. 

"The third of June. "

"Own the house?"

"No--lease it, cheap. It's an old place, but we put all we could affordinto freshening it up. "

"Cook a permanent one?"

The form of the question perplexed Tom for an instant, but it presentlyresolved itself, and he was grinning as he replied: "Sure she is. It'smy mother. Do you like her cooking?"

"A-1. "

Ah, Tom would tell his mother that! The young man flushed slightly inthe darkness of the porch. It was almost the first compliment that hadbeen paid her, and she worked like a slave, too. 

"Little waitress your sister?"

"Yes. Sue's young, but we think she does pretty well. "

"Delivers the goods. Housekeeper a member of the family, too?"

"Yes--and Tim's my brother. Oh, it's all in the family. The onlytrouble is----" he hesitated. 

"Lack of patronage?"

"We can't keep open much longer if things don't improve. " The moment thewords were out Tom regretted them. He didn't know how he had come tospeak them. He hadn't meant to give this fact away. Certainly there hadbeen nothing particularly sympathetic in the tone of Perkins's choppyquestions. But the other man's next words knocked his regrets out of hismind in a jiffy. 

"Could you entertain a dozen men at supper to-morrow night if they camein a bunch without warning?"

"Give us the chance!"

"Chance might happen--better be prepared. I expect to be away overto-morrow night myself, but have the tip that a crowd may be coming outto sample the place. It may be a mistake--don't know. "

"We'll be ready. Would they come by train?"

"Don't ask me--none of my picnic. Merely overheard the thing suggested. "And Perkins, rising, cast away the close-smoked stub of his cigar. "Good-night, " said he, carelessly enough, and strolled in through thewide hall of the old stone house. Tom looked after him as he mounted thestairs. The young innkeeper's spirits had gone up with a bound. A dozenmen to supper! Well--he thought they could entertain them. He would goand tell his mother and Bertha on the instant; the prospect would cheerthem immensely. He wondered how or where Perkins had overheard thisrumour. At the post-office, most likely. It was a gossipy place, thecentre of the tiny burg at the foot of the mountain, an eighth of a mileaway, where a dozen small shops and half a hundred houses strung alongthe one small street, at the end of which the two daily trains madetheir half-minute stops. 

 * * * * *

The dozen men had come and gone. There were fourteen of them, to beexact, and they had climbed out of a couple of big touring cars withsounds of hilarity which made the elderly ladies jump in their chairs. They had swarmed over the place as if they owned it, had talked andlaughed and joked and shouted, all in a perfectly agreeable way whichwoke up Boswell's as if it were in the centre of somewhere instead ofoff in the mountains. They had scrawled fourteen vigorous scrawls uponthe register and made it necessary to turn the page, this of itselfaffording the clerk a satisfaction quite out of proportion to theapparent unimportance of the incident. Then they had gone gayly in tosupper, had sat about two stainless tables close by the open windows, and had been waited upon by both Sue and Tim in such alert fashion thattheir plates arrived almost before they had unfurled their napkins. 

Out in the kitchen, crimson-cheeked and solicitous, Mrs. Boswell hadsent in relays of broiled chicken, young and tender, browned as onlyartists of her rank can brown them, flanked by potatoes cooked in a wayknown only to herself. These were two of her "specialties, " which theelderly ladies were accustomed to enjoy without mentioning it. Picklesand jellies such as the fourteen men had tasted only in childhoodaccompanied these dishes, and the little hot rolls came on in pileswhich melted away before the delighted attacks of the hungry guests; sothat the kitchen itself became alarmed, and cut the elderly ladies atrifle short, at which complaints were promptly filed, though it was thefirst time such a shortage had occurred. 

Other toothsome dishes followed and were partaken of with such zest andso many frank expressions of approval that Sue and Tim carried to thekitchen reports which forced their mother to ask them to stop, lest shelose her head. When the amber coffee with a fine cheese and crisptoasted wafers ended the meal, the guests were in such a state ofsatisfaction that Tom, though he did not know it, had acquired with themhis first "pull. "

He did not know it--not then. He only knew that they were very cordialwith him, asking him a good many interested questions, and that onerequested to be shown rooms, remarking that his wife and children mightlike to run out for a little while before the summer was over. Most ofthem looked back at the Inn as the automobiles bore them away, and onewaved his cigar genially at Tom standing on the top step. 

He was standing on the top step again the next morning when Mr. Perkinsreturned. Tom was wishing Perkins had been there the night before, tosee confirmed the truth of the rumour he had reported. 

"Well, we had the crowd here last night, " was Tom's greeting, asPerkins's sharp black eyes looked up at him from the bottom step. 

"So I see. " Perkins held up a morning paper. The inevitable cigar was inhis mouth. His face indicated no particular interest. He went along intothe house as Tom grasped the paper. So he saw! What did Perkins mean bythat? It couldn't be that any of that party of men had, unsolicited, taken the trouble to----

But they had, or one of them had. In a fairly conspicuous position onone of the local pages of the best city daily was an item of at least adozen lines setting forth the fact that a party of prominent men, including several newspaper men, had taken supper the night before atBoswell's Inn, Mount o' Pines, and had found that place decidedlyattractive. The paragraph stated that such a supper was seldom found atsummer hotels, added that the air and the view were worth a long trip toobtain when the city was sweltering with heat, and ended by speaking ofthe prime condition of the roads leading to the Inn. Altogether, it wassuch an item as Tom had often longed to see, and the reading of it wentto his head. When, ten minutes later, Tim, coming up from thepost-office with the mail and another of the morning papers, excitedlycalled Tom's attention to a second paragraph headed, "Have You Had aSupper at Boswell's Inn?" Tom became positively delirious. 

"It pays to set it up to a bunch like that, " was Perkins's comment whenTom showed him this second free advertisement. 

"But I didn't treat them. They paid their bills, " cried the young host. 

"Charge your usual price?"

"Sure. We didn't have anything extra--except the cheese. Tim drove tenmiles for that. "

"Usual price was all the treat those fellows needed. "

"Do you mean you don't think I charge enough?" Tom's eyes opened wide. He had felt as if he were robbing those men when he counted up the sumtotal. 

"Ever dine at the Arcadia?--or the Princess?"

"No. "

"They do. "

Tom did not know the prices at these imposing popular hotels in thenearby city, but he supposed they were high. He felt as if he were thegreenest innkeeper who ever invited the patronage of city guests. 

"Would you advise me to put up the price?" Tom asked presently, withsome hesitation. 

Perkins glanced at him out of those worn, brilliant, black eyes of his, which looked as if they had seen more of the world than Tom's ever wouldsee in the longest life he could live, though Perkins himself couldhardly be over forty, perhaps not quite that. 

"Not yet, son, " said he. "By and by--yes. But keep up the qualitynow--and then. "

That evening a young man, whom Tom recognized as one of the party of thenight before, the one who had waved to him as he had driven away, appeared again. He came in a runabout this time and brought two women, who proved to be his mother and sister. The young man himself--Mr. Haskins--smiled genially at Tom, and said by way of explanation:

"I liked your place so well I brought them up to see if my fairy taleswere true. "

Upon which Tom naturally did his best to make the fairy tales seem true, and thought, by the signs he noted, that he had succeeded. 

During the following week three or four others of the men of theoriginal fourteen came up to Boswell's or sent small parties. Evidentlythe flattering paragraphs in the two dailies had also made someimpression on people eager to get away from the intense heat of a seasonmore than ordinarily trying. They found the air stirring upon theporches and through the rooms at the Inn; and they found--which was, ofcourse, the greater attraction--a table so inviting with appetizingfood, and an unpretentious service so satisfactory, that mouth-to-mouthadvertising of the little new resort, that most-to-be-desired means ofbecoming known, began, gradually but surely, to tell. 

Strange to say, several more paragraphs now appeared: brief, crispmention of the simple but perfect cooking to be had for the short driveof sixteen miles over the best of roads. These inevitably had theireffect, and at the end of the third week Tom declared to Perkins thathe was more than making expenses. 

"Much more?" inquired that gentleman, his eyes as usual upon the view. 

"Enough so we're satisfied and won't have to close up. Why, there's beenfrom one to three big autos here every day this week. "

One of Perkins's short laughs answered this--Tom never could tell justwhat that throaty chuckle indicated. Presently he found out. 

"What you want, Boswell, " said Perkins, removing his cigar--an unusualsign of interest with him--"is a boom. I'd like to see you get it. Gradual building up's all right, but quick methods pay better. "

"A boom! How on earth are we to get a boom?" Tom felt a bitdisconcerted. 

He had noticed for several days an increasing restlessness in the silentguest. Instead of sitting quietly upon the porch with his cigar, Perkinshad fallen to pacing up and down with a long, nervous stride. At firsthe had seemed moody and fatigued, now he had the appearance of a maneager to be at something from which he was restrained. 

When Tom asked his startled question about the desirable boom, Perkinsgot out of his chair with one abrupt movement, threw one leg over theporch rail, and began suddenly to talk. He could not be said really tohave talked before. Tom listened, his eyes sticking out of his head. 

"Bunch of motoring fellows down in town--Mercury Club--want to get up anauto parade, end with supper somewhere. Hotels at Lake Lucas, PleasantValley, and half a dozen others all crazy to get 'em. Happen to know achap or two in town who could swing it out here for you if you cared tomake the bid, and could handle the crowd. Chance for you, if you wantit. Make a big thing of it--lanterns, bonfires, fireworks, orchestra--regular blow-out. "

Tom's breath came in gasps. "Why--why----" he stammered. "How couldwe--how could we--afford----What----? How----?"

Perkins threw away the stub of his cigar, chewed to a pulp at the mouthend. His eyes had an odd glitter. "I've what you might call a bit ofexperience in that sort of thing, " he said in a quiet tone which yet hada certain edge of energy. "Going away next week, but might put thisthing through for you, if you cared to trust me. "

"But--the money?" urged Tom. 

"Willing to stand for that--pay me back, if you make enough. Otherwise--my risk. Something of a gambler, I am. Club'll pay for thefireworks--that's their show. Bonfires on the mountains around are easy. Lanterns cheap. Get special terms on the music--friend of mine can. Supper's up to you. Can you get extra help?"

"We can manage the supper, " agreed Tom, his round cheeks deeply flushedwith excitement. "Say, you're--you're awfully kind. I don't knowwhy----"

Perkins vaulted over the porch rail. From the ground below he lookedback at Tom. For the first time since he had come to Boswell's Inn Tomcaught sight of the gleam of white teeth, as an oddly brilliant smilebroke out for an instant on the face which was no longer deadly whitebut brown with tan. "Son, " said Perkins, preparing to swing away down tothe post-office, "I told you I was a gambler. Gambler out of work's thelamest duck on the shore. Game of booming the Inn interests me--that'sall. "

Tom watched the lithe, slim figure in the distance for a minute beforehe went in to break the plan to the force of Boswell's. "He's nogambler, " said he to himself, "or I couldn't trust him the way I do. He's queer, but I don't believe he has any other motive for this thanwanting to help us. "

With which innocent faith in the goodness of the man who had alreadyseen more of the world than Tom Boswell would ever see, he rushed in totell Bertha and the rest of his excited family the astounding talk hehad just had with Perkins. 

 * * * * *

"Mother Boswell, you've got to come out on the porch--just oneminute--and look. "

"No, no, child, I can't. I----"

"Not where the folks are--just out on Mr. Perkins's balcony. He told meto take you. "

"But I can't leave----"

"Yes, you can. Everything's all right. Come--quick. The first autos arecoming--you can see 'em miles off. "

With one glance about the kitchen, where two extra helpers were busywith the last preparations, over which Mrs. Boswell had kept asupervising eye to the smallest detail, herself working harder thananybody, the mistress of the place suffered herself to be led away. Upthe back stairs, through Mr. Perkins's empty rooms, out upon thebalcony, Sue hustled her mother, and then with one triumphant "There!"swept an arm about the entire horizon. 

"My goodness!" burst from the lady's lips, and she stood gazing, transfixed. 

At the foot of the mountainside, where lay the little village streetwith its row of shops and houses, glowed a line of Chinese lanterns, hung thickly along the entire distance. The winding road up to the Innwas outlined by lanterns; the trees about the Inn held out long armsdancing with the parti-coloured lights; the porch below, as could betold by the rainbow tints thrown upon the ground beneath, was hung withthem from end to end. 

"My goodness!" came again from Mrs. Boswell, in stupefied amazement. "There must be a thousand of those things. How on earth----?"

But her ear was caught by a distant boom, and her eyes lifted to thesurrounding mountain heights. In a dozen different places bonfiresflashed and leaped, with an indescribable effect of beauty. 

"They're firing dynamite up on West Peak!" explained Sue. "JackWeatherbee offered to do that. Tim's got boys at all those places tokeep up the fires--and put 'em out afterward. Oh, look!--now you can seethe parade beginning to show!"

Down upon the distant plain, across which lay the winding road out fromthe city, one could discern a trail of light--thrown by manysearchlights--and make out its rapid advance. The sight moved Mrs. Boswell instantly to action again. 

"I must get back to the kitchen!" she cried, and vanished from thebalcony. 

"If you could only see the Inn from outside!" Sue called after her, butuselessly. Mrs. Boswell felt that the entire success of the "boom"depended upon the kitchen. They might string lanterns from Boswell's toJericho, but if the supper shouldn't be good--the thought sent her downthe back stairs at a speed reckless for one of her years. But shereached the bottom safely, or this story would never have been told. 

The first cars in the procession came up the steep road with opencut-outs. The bigger cars made nothing of it; the smaller ones got intotheir low gears and ground a bit as they pulled. In fifteen minutes fromthe first arrival, the wide plateau upon which the Inn stood looked likean immense garage, cars of every description having been packed intogether at all angles. Up the Inn steps flowed a steady stream ofpeople: men in driving attire and motor caps; women in long coats andfloating veils, under which showed pretty summer frocks; a few children, dressed like their elders in motoring rig, their faces eager withinterest in everything. In the hall, behind a screen of flags andevergreen, the orchestra played merrily. It presently had to play itsloudest to be heard above the chorus of voices. 

In less time than it takes to tell, every table in the airy dining-room, lit by more Chinese lanterns and hung with streamers of bunting, wasfilled. Reservations had been made by mail and telephone for the pastthree days, and with a list in his hand Tom hurried about. He couldnever have kept his head if it had not been for young Haskins at hiselbow. Haskins was secretary of the Mercury Club and knew everybody. Hewas a genial fellow, and if anybody attempted to tell Tom that a mistakehad been made, and certain reservations should have been for the firstor second table, instead of the third, Haskins would cut in with a jokeand have the murmurer appeased and laughing in a trice. 

As for Perkins--but where was Perkins? Up to the last minute before thefirst car arrived, Perkins had been in evidence enough--in fact, he hadbeen everywhere all day, personally supervising every detail, workinglike a fiend himself and inspiring everybody else to work, provinghimself the ablest of generals and a perfect genius at effectivedecoration. The Inn, inside and out, was a fairyland of light andcolour--even the sated eyes of the city people, accustomed to everytrick of effect in such affairs, were charmed with the picturesquequality of the scene. But now Tom could see nothing of Perkinsanywhere. Tim, hurriedly questioned, shook his head, also puzzled. 

Late in the evening there came a moment when Tom could free himself longenough to run up to Perkins's room. He was uneasy about his guest--andfriend--for that the stranger seemed to have become. Perkins certainlydidn't look quite strong--could he have overdone and be ill, alone inhis room? After one hasty knock, to which he got no answer, Tom turnedthe knob. Through the open balcony door he saw a leg and shoulder--andsmelled the familiar fragrance of the special brand. 

"Hello, son!" was Perkins's greeting. 

"You're not sick?"

"Never. Things going O. K. ?"

"Oh, splendid! Such a crowd--such a jolly crowd! But--why don't you comedown?"

"To help make things go?"

"No, no--to enjoy it. You've done enough. You must know some of thesepeople, and if you don't--it's worth something just to look at 'em. Ididn't know ladies dressed like that--under those things they wear inthe autos. Say, Mr. Perkins, the Lieutenant-Governor's here--and hiswife!"

"So?"

"Mr. Haskins thinks they want to stay all night. The lady hasn't beensleeping well through the heat. Mr. Haskins says she's taken a fancy tothe Inn. But I haven't a really good room for 'em. "

"Take mine. "

Tom gasped. "Oh, no! Not yours--after all you've done----"

"Going to-morrow, you know. It doesn't matter where I hang up to-night. Matters a good deal where Mrs. Lieutenant-Governor hangs up. "

"But where----?"

"Anywhere. May sit up till morning, anyhow. Feel like it. Your show sortof goes to my head. "

"My show? Yours! But why on earth don't you come down and----?"

"By and by, son. Say, send me some clean linen and I'll see that thisroom's in shape for the lady--girls all busy yet. Room swept yesterday. My truck's packed. I'll have things ready in ten minutes. "

Tom went downstairs feeling more than ever that his guest was an enigma. But he was too busy to stop just then to think about it. 

The hours went by. The guests talked and laughed, ate and promenaded. They crowded the porch to watch the fireworks on the mountain; theyswept over the smooth space and the roadway in front of the Inn, lookingup at it and remarking upon the quaint charm of it, the desirability ofits location, its attractiveness as a resort. Tom heard one pretty girlplanning a luncheon here next week; he heard a group of men talkingabout entertaining a visiting delegation of bankers up here at Boswell'sout of the heat. 

Everywhere people were asking, "Why haven't we known about this?" and toone and another Arthur Haskins, in Tom's hearing, was saying such thingsas, "Just opened up. Jolly place, isn't it? Going to be the most popularanywhere around. Deserves it, too. "

"But is the table as good every day as it is to-night?" one skepticinquired. 

"Better. " Haskins might have been an owner of the place, he was soprompt with his flattering statements. "First time I came up was with acrowd of fellows. We took them unawares, and they served a supper thatmade us smile all over. Their cook can't be beaten--and the service isfirst-class. "

It was over at last. But it was at a late hour that the first cars beganto roll away down the hill, and later still when the last got under way. They carried a gay company, and the final rockets, spurting from WestPeak, flashed before the faces of people in the high good humour ofthose who have been successfully and uniquely entertained. 

The Lieutenant-Governor and his wife had gone to the pink and whitewelcome of the bridal suite when Perkins at last came strollingdownstairs. Only Haskins's party remained in the flag-hung lobby, thewomen sheathing themselves in veils, as their motor chugged at the porchsteps. 

Haskins turned as Perkins crossed the lobby. He stared an instant, thenadvanced with outstretched hand, smiling. 

"Why, Mr. Parker, " he said, "I didn't know you were here. Doctor Austinwas asking me to-day if I knew where you were. He seems to have got youon his mind. He'll be delighted to see you. I'll call him--he's justoutside. He's with our party. "

With an expression half dismayed, half amused, Perkins looked after theMercury Club's secretary as he darted to the outer door, where a bigfigure in a motoring coat was pacing up and down. 

Tom, leaning over the office desk, looked at Perkins. But Haskins hadcalled the man "Parker. " What----?

The big figure in the motoring coat came hurriedly in at the doorway andgrasped the hand of Tom's guest. "Parker, " he cried, "what are you doinghere? Are you responsible for this panjandrum to-night? Didn't I sendyou off for an absolute rest?"

"Been obeying directions strictly, Doctor. I've lain around up here tillthe grass sprouted under my feet. You haven't seen me here to-night, have you?"

"No, but the thing looks like one of your managing. "

"No interest in this place whatever. Never heard of it till I stumbledon it. " But Perkins's eyes were dancing. 

"You're looking a lot better, anyhow. Come out here and meet Mrs. Austin. I want to show her the toughest patient I ever had to pull loosefrom his work. "

The two went out upon the porch. Tom gazed at young Haskins, as thelatter looked at him with a smile. 

"Did he engineer this part of the thing, too, Boswell?" questioned theyoung man, interestedly. 

"Sure, he did. But who is he?"

"Didn't you know who he was? That's so--you've called him Perkins allalong, but this is the first time I've seen him here, and I didn't puttwo and two together. His letters and 'phones about this supper camefrom in town somewhere. Why, he's Chris Parker, the biggest hotel man inthe country. Nobody like him--he'd make the deadest hotel in theloneliest hamlet pay in a month. Head of all the hotel organizations youcan count. Most original chap in the world. Doctor Austin was telling meto-night about ordering him off for a rest because he'd put such a lotof nerve tension into his schemes he was on the edge of a bad breakdown. Well, well, you're mighty lucky if you've got him backing you. No otherman on earth could have got the Mercury Club up here to-night--a placethey'd never heard of. "

So Tom was thinking. He was still thinking it when the motor car shotaway down the hill with its load, the physician calling back at hisex-patient: "Don't get going too soon again, Parker! So far, so good, but don't----"

The last words were lost in a final boom from West Peak. 

Tom went slowly out upon the porch, feeling embarrassed and uncertain. How could he ever express his gratitude to this mighty man of valour?

"Perkins" was sitting, as usual, astride the porch rail, the red lightof his cigar glowing against the dark background of the mountains wherethe bonfires were dying to mere sparks. He looked around as Tomappeared, and grinned in a friendly way under the Chinese lanterns. 

"Tough luck, to get caught at the last minute, eh?" he said. 

"Mr. Per--Parker----" began Tom, and stopped. 

The "biggest hotel man in the country" looked at the greenest younginnkeeper, and there was satisfaction in his bright black eyes. 

"Not any thanks, son. Should have croaked in one week more if I couldn'thave worked off a few pounds of high pressure. This sort of thing tome's like a game to a gambler--as I told you. Had to keep incog. , or I'dhave had a dozen parties from town after me on one deal or another. Thought I could put this little stunt through without giving myselfaway--but came downstairs five minutes too soon. Went off prettywell--eh? You'll have patronage after this, all right. No--no thanks, Isaid. I'm under obligations to you for trusting me to run the thing. It's saved my life!"

Well, if it were all a game, Tom thought, as he watched Mr. ChristopherParker run lightly up the stairs, a few minutes later, it was certainlya wondrous friendly one. 

_And Boswell's Inn was now known to be only sixteen short motor milesfrom town. _

II

HONOUR AND THE GIRL

He lay back among the crimson pillows in his big chair, close beside thefire, with his eyes on the burning logs. A tablet and pen lay in hislap, and he had written a few paragraphs, but he was listening now tocertain sounds which came from below stairs: voices, laughter, scurryings up and down the hall and staircase; then the slam of a heavydoor, the tuneful ring of sleighbells in a rapid _decrescendo_ down thestreet, and absolute silence within the house. Three times in the lastfifteen minutes before the door closed somebody had looked in upon theoccupant of the big chair to say something like this:

"Oh, Jerry--sorry we couldn't spend Nan's last evening with you. Too badthis wretched Van Antwerp dance had to come to-night--Christmas Eve, too. Busy, aren't you, as usual? At work on those sketches of countrylife in winter? You clever boy--who but you could make so much out of solittle? Anything we can do for you before we are off? Nan hates to go, since it's the very last evening of her visit. She thought we all oughtto give up and stay with you, but we told her you disliked to be'babied. ' Well--good-night, old fellow. Don't write too late. You knowthe doctor thinks plenty of sleep is part of your cure. "

That was the sort of thing they had been saying to him for a year now--ayear. And he seemed no nearer health than when he had been sent homefrom his gloriously busy, abounding life in New York, where he wassucceeding brilliantly, far beyond anybody's expectations--except thoseof the few knowing ones who had recognized the genius in him in hisschool and college days. But he had never given up. Invalided in body, his mind worked unceasingly; and a certain part of the literary work hehad been doing he did still. He said it kept him from going off hishead. 

When the stillness of the usually noisy house had become oppressive hetook up his tablet and pen again. He wrote a sentence or two--slowly;then another--more slowly; and drew an impatient line through them all. He tossed the tablet over to a table near at hand and sat staring intothe fire. Certain lines about his mouth grew deep. 

A knock on his door roused him, and he realized that it had soundedbefore. "Come in, " he called, and the door opened and closed behind him. An unmistakable sound, as of the soft rustle of delicate skirts, sweptacross the floor and paused behind his chair. He drew himself up amonghis pillows, and strained his neck to look over his shoulder. A youngface, full of life and colour, laughed down into his. 

"You?" he said in an amazed breath. "_You?_ Why, Nan!"

He reached up one hand and took hers and drew her with his slightstrength around where he could see her. It did not take much strength. She came, laughing still, and sweeping a graceful low bend before him. 

"Don't ask me why, " she said with a shake of her head. "I didn't want togo. I knew I wouldn't go all the time I was dressing. But I dressed. Iknew I could argue with them better when I got this gown on. I think Ihave rather a regal air in it, don't you?"

"I could tell better if you were not wearing that shapeless thing overit. "

"Oh, but I've taken off my gloves, and I can't stand bare arms andshoulders here at home. " She shrugged the shoulders under the thinsilken garment with which she had covered them. 

"And you're not going to the Van Antwerps' at all?"

"Certainly not. I preferred to stay at home. "

"Why?"

"I told you not to ask me why. But I suppose you won't talk aboutanything else until you know. "

She sat down opposite him before the fire, looking up at the greatbranches of holly on the chimney-piece above, their scarlet berriesgleaming saucily among the rich green of their leaves. She reached upand pulled off a spray; then she glanced at him. He was silentlysurveying her. In her delicate blue gauzy gown she was something tolook at in the fire-glow. 

"I wanted to spend my last evening here with you, " she said. 

He smiled back at her. "Three people looked in here this evening andtold me you thought you ought. "

She answered indignantly: "I didn't say I ought. I didn't think it. Iwanted to. And I didn't want them to stay. That is why I let them allarray themselves before I refused to go. "

He was still smiling. "Delicate flattery, " he said, "adapted to aninvalid. You should never let an invalid think you pity him--at leastnot a man-invalid who got knocked out while playing a vigorous game forall it was worth. "

"Jerry, " she said, looking full at him out of a pair of eyes which werecapable of saying eloquent things quite by themselves, "do you think allthe hours I've spent with you in this month I've been visiting Hesterwere spent from pity?"

"I hope not, " he answered lightly. "I'm sure not. We've had somepleasant times, haven't we?"

She turned from him without speaking, and, clasping her hands looselyin front of her, bent forward and studied the fire. Presently she got upand took a fresh log from the basket. 

"Be careful, " he warned, as she stooped to lay it in place. "Put it ongently. The sparks might fly, and that cobweb dress of yours----"

She laid the log across the other half-burnt sticks, and started backwith a little cry as a dozen brilliant points of flame flew toward her. 

"Don't do that again, " he protested sternly, with nothing of the invalidin his voice. "I don't like to see you do such things when I couldn'tstir to save you no matter what happened. "

She stood looking down at him. "Jerry, " she said, "I'll tell you why Istayed to-night. I wanted to talk with you about something. I want yourhelp. "

His eyes told her that he would give it if he could. 

"Do you mind if I sit on a pillow here before the fire?" she asked, bringing one from the couch. Jerry had plenty of pillows. Since hisbreakdown every girl who had ever known him had sent him a fresh one. 

"Somehow I can talk better, " she explained. 

She settled herself on her cushion, her blue skirts lying in light foldsabout her, her chin on her hand, her elbow on her knee. 

"I always go straight to the point, " she said. "I never know how to leadartfully up to a thing. Jerry, you know I go to Paris in January, to dosome special work in illustrating?"

"Yes. "

"I go with Aunt Elizabeth, and we shall live very quietly and properly, and I shall not have any of the--trials--so many young women workershave. My work will keep me very busy, and, I think, happy. I mean itshall. But, Jerry--I want something. You know you have always known me, because I was Hester's friend. "

"Is this 'straight to the point'?" he asked, and there was a gleam offun in his eyes, though his lips were sober. But his interest wasunmistakable. 

"Very straight. But we have never been special friends, you and I. "

"Haven't we? I congratulated myself we had. "

"Not what I mean by that word. " She sat looking into the fire for somelittle time, while he remained motionless, watching her, his eyes shadedby his hand. At length she said very earnestly, still staring fireward, while her cheeks took on a slight access of colour:

"I want to feel I have a friend--one friend--a real one, whom I leavebehind me here--who will understand me and write to me, and whom I cancount on--differently from the way I count on other friends. "

He was studying her absorbedly. There came into his eyes a peculiar lookas she made her frank statement. 

"Then you haven't just that sort of a friend among all the men you knowat home?"

"Not a single one. And I miss it. Not because I have ever had it, " sheadded quickly. 

He was silent for a little while, then he said very quietly: "You areoffering me a good deal, Nan. Do you realize just how much?Friendship--such friendship--means more to me now than it ever didbefore. "

"Does it?" she asked with equal quietness. "I'm glad of that. "

"Because, " he went on gravely, "I realize that it is the only thing Ican ever have, and it must take the place of all I once--hoped for. "

"Oh, why do you say that?" she cried impetuously. 

"Since you are to be my friend now--my special friend--I can tell youwhat Doctor McDonough told me just two days ago. May I tell you that? Ihave told and shall tell no one else. Before you take the vows"--hesmiled grimly--"you should know what you are accepting. "

"Tell me. "

"He said I might be better--much better--but I could never hope tobe--my old self again. "

"Oh, Jerry! Oh, Jerry!" Her voice was almost a sob. She turned about andreached up both hands to him, clasping his with a warm and tenderpressure. 

"Is that what your friendship means?" he asked, holding her handsclosely and looking down steadily into her eyes while his own grewbrilliant. "If it does--it is going to be something a man might give upa good deal for. "

"Oh, how can you take such a cruel disappointment so?" she breathed. "And to hear it just at Christmas, too. I've said all along that youwere just the bravest person I ever knew. But now!--Jerry, I'm notworthy to be your friend. "

"Ah, I'll not let you take back what you offered me. If you knew howI've wanted to ask it----"

"Have you, really?" she asked so eagerly that he turned his head awayfor a moment and set his lips firmly together as if he feared he mightpresently be tempted to go beyond those strait boundaries of friendship. Somehow from the lips of such a girl as Nan this sort of thing was themost appealing flattery; at the same time it was unquestionably sincere. 

"So you will seal the compact? Think it over carefully. I can never giveyou the strong arm a well man could. "

"If you will teach me to acquire the sort of strength you have learnedyourself, " she said--and there was a hint of mistiness about those eyesof hers--"you will have given me something worth while. "

Presently they were talking of her journey, to be begun on the morrow;of her work, in which she had come in the last year to remarkablesuccess; of his work--the part which he could do and would continue todo, he said, with added vigour. They talked quietly but earnestly, andeach time she looked up into his face she saw there a new brightness, something beyond the mere patient acceptance of his hard trial. 

"Jerry, " she said all at once, breaking off in the midst of a discussionof certain phases of the illustrator's art, "you don't know how suddenlyrich I feel. All the while you were doing such wonderful, beautifulthings with your pen in New York and being made so much of, I wasthinking, 'What an inspiration Jerrold Fullerton would be as a realfriend. ' But all the girls were----"

He laughed. "They won't trouble you, now. "

"But your friendship is worth more now than then. "

He shook his head. 

"It is--because _you_ are more than you were then. "

"I'm a mere wreck of what I was, Nan. " He did not say it bitterly, buthe could not quite keep the sadness out of the uncompromising phrase. 

She looked up at him, studying his face intently. It had always been aremarkably fine face, and on it the suffering of the past year had donea certain work which added to its beauty. He did not look ill, but therefinement which illness sometimes lends to faces of a somewhat toostrongly cut type had softened it into an exceeding charm. Out of it theeyes shone with an undaunted spirit which told of hidden fires. 

"I am glad a share in the wreckage falls to me, " she said softly. 

"Nan, " he told her, while his lips broke irresistibly into a smileagain, "I believe you are deliberately trying to burn a sweet incensebefore me to-night. Just how fragrant it is to a fellow in my shape Ican't tell you. You would never do it if I were on my feet, I appreciatethat; but I'm very grateful just the same. "

"I'd like, " she said with eyes which fell now to the hands folded in herlap--and the droop of her head as he saw it, with the turned-awayprofile cut like an exquisite silhouette against the fire, was burntinto his memory afterward--"to have you remember this Christmas Eve--asI shall. "

"Remember it!"

"Shall you?"

"Shall I!"

"Ah--who is deliberately trying to say nice things now?" But she said itrather faintly. 

He lay back among his pillows with a long breath. "So you go to-morrowmorning?"

"Early--at six o'clock. You will not see me. And I must go now. See, itis after eleven. Think of their making me go out this evening when Imust be up at five and travel the next forty-eight hours. On ChristmasDay, too. Isn't that too bad? But that's the price of my staying over tospend Christmas Eve with Jerry Fullerton--like the foolish girl that Iam. "

She rose and stood before him. 

"Would you mind slipping off that--domino?" he requested. "I'd like tosee you just as all the other fellows would have seen you if you hadgone to the Van Antwerps'. "

Smiling, and flushing a little, she drew off the silken garment, and thefirelight bathed her softly rounded shoulders and arms in a rosy glow. He looked at her silently for a minute, until she said again that shemust go, and took a step toward him, smiling down at him and holding outboth hands. 

"I don't know how I can spare my friend, when I've just found her, " hesaid, searching her face with an intentness she found it difficult tobear. "I suppose I ought not to ask it, but--it's Christmas Eve, youknow--and--you'll give me one more thing to remember--won't you, Nan?"

She bent, like a warm-hearted child, and laid her lips lightly upon hisforehead, but he caught her hands. 

"Is that the proper degree for friendship--and you feel that more wouldbe too much?"

She hesitated; then, as his grasp drew her, she stooped lower, blushingbeautifully, to give the kiss upon his lips. But it was not the breathof a caress she would have made it. Invalids are sometimes possessed ofunsuspected reserves of strength. 

She turned away then in a pretty confusion, said, "Good-night, " andwent slowly toward the door. 

"Oh, come back!" he cried. "Tell me--you will write often?"

"Oh, yes; every--month. "

"Month? Won't you write every mail?"

"Oh, Jerry!"

"Every week, then?"

"Will you?"

"I will, whether you do or not. "

"Your ideas of friendship----"

"Are they too exacting?"

"No-o, " she admitted, as if reluctantly. She was behind him now, herhands clasped together tightly, her eyes glowing with the light of afrightened purpose which was over-mastering her. He tried to turn andsee her, but she defeated this. 

"Please come here, " he begged. 

She was silent, trying to breathe more naturally. 

"Please----"

"What good will it do?" she asked at last. "I shall have to go, andyou--won't----"

"Won't--what?"

She crept up close behind his chair. 

"--_say it_, " she whispered. 

He reached out his hand with a commanding gesture. "Nan, come here. Say--what?"

She bent over the back of his chair and laid a soft, trembling hand oneach side of his face. 

"Please say it, " she breathed. 

He seized her hands and drew them to his lips. "Nan, you are tempting mealmost beyond my power. Do you mean to tempt me? Are you trying to?"

She leaned low, so that her breath swept his cheek, and whispered, "Yes. "

"Oh, my God, " he groaned. "Nan--are you insane? What if I say it--thenhow much worse will it be? I can bear it better as it is now--andyou--can't mean it. "

"_Say it!_" came the breath in his ear again. 

He was silent for a while, breathing heavily. Presently he began tospeak in a quiet tone whose vibrations showed, nevertheless, the mostrigid self-control. He still held her hands, resting there upon hisshoulders, but he made no further effort to see her face. 

"Nan, " he said, "this friendship you give me is the dearest thing I everknew. It is worth everything to me. Let me keep it while you go awayfor your year of work. Be the warmest friend to me you know how, andwrite me everything about yourself. Meanwhile--keep your heart freefor--the man will surely come to claim it some day--a man who will beworthy of you in every way, soul, mind, and--body. I shall be happy inyour----"

Her hand pulled itself away from his, and was laid with a gentleinsistence upon his mouth. 

"Jerry, " she said very softly, "that's enough--please. I understand. That had to be said. I knew you would say it. It's what you think youought to say, of course. But--it's said now. You needn't repeat it. Forit's not the thing--I'm waiting for you to say. "

"Nan----"

"Would you make a poor girl do it all?" she questioned, with asuggestion of both laughter and tears in her voice. 

"But, Nan----"

"I'm not used to it, " she urged. "It's very embarrassing. And I ought tobe asleep this minute, getting ready for my early start. I'm not quitesure that I shall sleep if you say it"--her voice dropped to a whisperagain--"but I'm sure I shall not if--you--don't. "

"My dear girl----"

"That's hardly warm enough, is it--under the circumstances--when youwon't see me for a year? Jerry--a whole year----"

"Nan--for the love of Heaven come around here!"

"Not so much for the love of Heaven as----"

"No--for the love of you--you--_you!_"

She came at last--and then she saw his eyes. But she could not meet themafter the first glance. She lay in his arms, held there by a grasp sostrong that it astonished her beyond measure. So, for a time; then hebegan to speak--in her ear now, where, in its pinkness, with a littlebrown curl touching his lips, it listened. 

"You've made me say it, dear, when for your sake I would have kept itback. But you know--you must know, nothing can come of it. "

He heard her murmur, "Why?"

"You know why. "

"I don't. "

He drew a deep breath. 

"Don't you want me?" she asked--into his shoulder. 

"Want you!"

"You've everything to offer me. "

"Nan----"

"Everything I want. Jerry"--she lifted her head and looked for aninstant into his eyes--"I shall die of heartache if you won't offer it. "

"A wreck of a life----"

"I won't let you call it that again, " she flashed. "You--JerroldFullerton--whose merest scrawl is reviewed by every literary editor inthe land. Do you think you can't do still better work with--with me?"

"But you wouldn't be marrying Jerrold Fullerton's mind alone. "

"No--his soul--all there is of him--his great personality--himself. Andthat's so much more than I can give in return----"

"Nan, darling----"

"Yes----"

"Go to Paris for a year, but don't bind yourself to me. Then, when youcome back, if----"

"If I'm still of the same mind----Jerry, you sound like the counsel of awise and worldly grandmother, " with a gleeful laugh. 

"--if I'm no worse--if I'm a little better----This is great medicine, Nan. I feel like a new man now. If then----"

"I shall not go at all unless--unless----"

"Yes----"

"--unless I am bound tight--tight--to you. I--I shouldn't feel sure ofyou!"

"Oh, there's no use resisting you, " he said, half under his breath. "It's the sorriest bargain a woman ever made, but----"

"If she will make it----"

"Look at me, Nan. "

"I can't--long, " she complained. "Somehow you--you--blind me. "

He laughed softly. "I realize that--you are blind--blind. But I can'topen your eyes. Somehow I'm losing the strength to try. "

"I must go now, " she said gently, trying to release herself. "Really Imust! Yes, I must! Please, Jerry--let me go, dear----Yes, yes--youmust!" It took time, however, and was accomplished with extremedifficulty. "But I _can_ go now. I couldn't when I said good-nightbefore----Oh! it's striking twelve! Good-night, Jerry----MerryChristmas, Jerry!"

Before she quite went, however, she came back once more to lean over theback of his chair and whisper in his ear:

"Jerry----"

"Yes?"

"Am I really--engaged--to you?"

"Darling--bless you--I'm afraid you are. "

"Afraid?"

"Nan--I'm the happiest cripple on earth. "

So she went softly out and closed the door. But it was not to sleep. Asfor the man she left behind, his eyes looked into the smouldering firetill well toward morning. It was not the doctor's prescription, but itwas the beginning of his cure. 

III

THEIR WORD OF HONOUR

The president of the Great B---- railway system laid down the letter hehad just re-read three times, and turned about in his chair with anexpression of annoyance. 

"I wish it were possible, " he said slowly, "to find one boy or man in athousand who would receive instructions and carry them out to the letterwithout a single variation from the course laid down. Cornelius"--helooked up sharply at his son, who sat at a desk close by--"I hope youare carrying out my ideas with regard to your sons. I've not seen muchof them lately. The lad Cyrus seems to me a promising fellow, but I'mnot so sure of Cornelius. He appears to be acquiring a sense of his ownimportance as Cornelius Woodbridge, 3d, which is not desirable, sir--notdesirable. By the way, Cornelius, have you yet applied the HezekiahWoodbridge test to your boys?"

Cornelius Woodbridge, Junior, looked up from his work with a smile. "No, I haven't, father, " he said. 

"It's a family tradition, and if the proper care has been taken that theboys should not learn of it, it will be as much of a test for them as itwas for you and for me, and for my father. You have not forgotten theday I gave it to you, Cornelius?"

"That would be impossible, " said his son, still smiling. 

The elder man's somewhat stern features relaxed, and he sat back in hischair with a chuckle. "Do it at once, " he requested, "and make it astiff one. You know their characteristics; give it to them hard. I feelpretty sure of Cyrus, but Cornelius----" He shook his head doubtfullyand returned to his letter. Suddenly he wheeled about again. 

"Do it Thursday, Cornelius, " he said in his peremptory way, "andwhichever one of them stands it shall go with us on the tour ofinspection. That will be reward enough, I fancy. "

"Very well, sir, " replied his son, and the two men went on with theirwork without further words. They were in the habit of dispatchingimportant business with the smallest possible waste of breath. 

On Thursday morning, immediately after breakfast, Cyrus Woodbridge foundhimself summoned to his father's library. He presented himself at once, a round-cheeked, bright-eyed lad of fifteen, with an air of alertness inevery line of him. 

"Cyrus, " said his father, "I have a commission for you to undertake, ofa character which I cannot now explain to you. I want you to take thisenvelope"--he held out a large and bulky packet--"and without sayinganything to any one follow its instructions to the letter. I ask of youyour word of honour that you will do so. "

The two pairs of eyes looked into each other for a moment, singularlyalike in a certain intent expression, developed into great keenness inthe man, but showing as yet only an extreme wide-awakeness in the boy. Cyrus Woodbridge had an engagement with a young friend in half an hour, but he responded firmly:

"I will, sir. "

"On your honour?"

"Yes, sir. "

"That is all I want. Go to your room and read your instructions. Thenstart at once. "

Mr. Woodbridge turned back to his desk with the nod and smile ofdismissal to which Cyrus was accustomed. The boy went to his room, opening the envelope as soon as he had closed the door. It was filledwith smaller envelopes, numbered in regular order. Enfolding these was atypewritten paper which read as follows:

 Go to the reading-room of the Westchester Library. There open Env. No. 1. Remember to hold all instructions secret. C. W. , Jr. 

Cyrus whistled. "That's funny!" he thought. "And it means my date withHarold is off. Well, here goes!"

On his way out he stopped to telephone his friend of his detention, tooka Westchester Avenue car at the nearest point, and in twenty minutes wasat the library. He found an obscure corner and opened "Env. No. 1. "

 Go to office of W. K. Newton, Room 703, seventh floor, Norwalk Building, X Street, reaching there by 9:30 A. M. Ask for letter addressed to Cornelius Woodbridge, Jr. On way down elevator open Env. No. 2. C. W. , Jr. 

Cyrus began to laugh. At the same time he felt a trifle irritated. "What's father at?" he questioned, in perplexity. "Here I am awayuptown, and he orders me back to the Norwalk Building. I passed it on myway up. Must be he made a mistake. Told me to obey instructions, though. He usually knows just about why he does things. "

Meanwhile Mr. Woodbridge had sent for his elder son, Cornelius. A tallyouth of seventeen, with the strong family features, varied by a droopin the eyelids and a slight drawl in the speech, lounged to the door ofthe library. Before entering he straightened his shoulders; he did not, however, quicken his pace. 

"Cornelius, " said his father promptly, "I wish to send you upon anerrand of some importance, but of possible inconvenience to you. I havenot time to give you instructions, but you will find them in thisenvelope. I ask you to keep the matter and your movements strictly toyourself. May I have from you your word of honour that I can trust youto follow the orders to the smallest detail?"

Cornelius put on a pair of eyeglasses, and held out his hand for theenvelope. His manner was nonchalant to the point of indifference. 

Mr. Woodbridge withheld the packet and spoke with decision:

"I cannot allow you to look at the instructions until I have your wordof honour that you will fulfil them. "

"Isn't that asking a good deal, sir?"

"Perhaps so, " said Mr. Woodbridge, "but no more than is asked of trustedmessengers every day. I will assure you that the instructions are mineand represent my wishes. "

"How long will it take?" inquired Cornelius, stooping to flick animperceptible spot of dust from his trousers. 

"I do not find it necessary to tell you. " Something in his father'svoice sent the languid Cornelius to an erect position and quickened hisspeech. 

"Of course I will go, " he said, but he did not speak with enthusiasm. 

"And--your word of honour?"

"Certainly, sir. " The hesitation before the promise was momentary. 

"Very well. I will trust you. Go to your room before opening yourinstructions. "

And the second somewhat mystified boy went out of the library on thatmemorable Thursday morning, to find his first order one which sent himto a remote district of the city, with the direction to arrive therewithin three quarters of an hour. 

Out on an electric car Cyrus was speeding to another suburb. Aftergetting the letter from the seventh floor of the Norwalk Building, hehad read:

 Take cross-town car on L Street, transfer to Louisville Avenue, and go out to Kingston Heights. Find corner West and Dwight streets and open Env. No. 3. C. W. Jr. 

Cyrus was growing more and more puzzled, but he was also gettinginterested. At the corner specified he hurriedly tore open No. 3, butfound, to his amazement, only the singular direction:

 Take Suburban Elevated Road for Duane Street Station. From there go to _Sentinel_ Office and secure third edition of yesterday's paper. Open Env. No. 4. C. W. Jr. 

"Well, what under the sun, moon, and stars did he send me out toKingston Heights for?" cried Cyrus aloud. He caught the next train, thinking longingly of his broken engagement with Harold Dunning, and ofcertain plans for the afternoon which he was beginning to fear might bethwarted if this seemingly endless and aimless excursion continued. Helooked at the packet of unopened envelopes. 

"It would be mighty easy to break open the whole outfit and see whatthis game is, " he thought. "Never knew father to do a thing like thisbefore. If it's a joke"--his fingers felt the seal of "Env. No. 4"--"Imight as well find it out at once. Still, father never would joke with afellow's promise the way he asked it of me. 'My word of honour'--that'sputting it pretty strong. I'll see it through, of course. My, but I'mgetting hungry! It must be near luncheon-time. "

It was not; but by the time Cyrus had been ordered twice across the cityand once up a sixteen-story building in which the elevator was out oforder it was past noon, and he was in a condition to find "Env. No. 7" avery satisfactory one:

 Go to Café Reynard on Westchester Square. Take seat at table in left alcove. Ask waiter for card of Cornelius Woodbridge, Jr. Before ordering luncheon read Env. No. 8. C. W. Jr. 

The boy lost no time in obeying this command, and sank into his chair inthe designated alcove with a sigh of relief. He mopped his brow anddrank off a glass of ice water at a gulp. It was a warm October day, andthe sixteen flights had been somewhat trying. He asked for his father'scard, and then sat studying the attractive menu. The Café Reynard was aplace famous the country over for its cookery. 

"I think I'll have--" he mused for a moment then said helplessly with alaugh--"well, I'm about hungry enough to eat the whole thing. Bring methe----"

Then he recollected, paused, and reluctantly pulled out "Env. No. 8" andbroke the seal. "Just a minute, " he murmured to the waiter. Then hisface turned scarlet, and he stammered under his breath, "Why--why--thiscan't be----"

"Env. No. 8" ought to have been bordered with black, judging by thedismay it caused the famished lad. It read remorselessly:

 Leave Café immediately, without stopping for luncheon, remembering to fee waiter for place retained. Proceed to box office, Metropolitan Theatre, buy a parquet ticket for matinée--"The Pied Piper. " At end of first act read Env. No. 9. C. W. Jr. 

The Woodbridge blood was up now, and it was with an expressionresembling that of his Grandfather Cornelius under strong indignationthat Cyrus stalked out of that charming place to proceed grimly towardthe Metropolitan Theatre. 

"Who wants to see a matinée on an empty stomach?" he groaned. "I supposeI'll be ordered out, anyway, the minute I sit down and stretch my legs. Wonder if father can be exactly right in his mind. He doesn't believe inwasting time, but I'm wasting it to-day by the bucketful. Suppose he'sdoing this to size me up some way; he isn't going to tire me out asquick as he thinks. I'll keep going till I drop. "

Nevertheless, when at the end of the first act of a pretty play by awell-trained company of school children he was ordered to go three milesto a football field, and then ordered away again without a sight of thegame he had planned for a week to see, his disgust was intense. 

All through that long, warm afternoon he raced about the city andsuburbs, growing wearier and more empty with every step. The worst of itwas the orders were beginning to assume the form of a schedule, andcommanded that he be here at 3:15, and there at 4:05, and so on, whichforbade loitering had he been inclined to loiter. In it all he could seeno purpose, except the possible one of trying his physical endurance. Hewas a strong boy, or he would have been quite exhausted long before hereached "Env. No. 17, " which was the last but three of the packet. Thisread:

 Reach home at 6:20 P. M. Before entering house read No. 18. C. W. , Jr. 

Leaning against one of the big white stone pillars of the porch of hishome, Cyrus wearily tore open No. 18--and the words fairly swam beforehis eyes. He had to rub them hard to make sure that he was not mistaken. 

 Go again to Kingston Heights, corner West and Dwight streets, reaching there by 6:50. Read No. 19. C. W. , Jr. 

The boy looked up at the windows, desperately angry at last. If hispride and his sense of the meaning of that phrase, "My word of honour, "as the men of the Woodbridge family were in the habit of teaching it totheir sons, had not been both of the strongest sort, he would haverebelled and gone defiantly and stormily in. As it was, he stood for onelong minute with his hands clenched and his teeth set; then he turnedand walked down the steps, away from the longed-for dinner, and outtoward L Street and the car for Kingston Heights. 

As he did so, inside the house, on the other side of the curtain, frombehind which he had been anxiously peering, Cornelius Woodbridge, Senior, turned about and struck his hands together, rubbing them in asatisfied way. 

"He's come--and gone, " he cried softly, "and he's on time to theminute!"

Cornelius, Junior, did not so much as lift his eyes from the eveningpaper, as he quietly answered, "Is he?" But the corners of his mouthslightly relaxed. One who knew him well might have guessed that hethought it a simple matter to risk any number of chances on a surething. 

The car seemed to crawl out to Kingston Heights. As it at last nearedits terminus, a strong temptation seized the boy Cyrus. He had been on apurposeless errand to this place once that day. The corner of West andDwight streets lay more than half a mile from the end of the car route, and it was an almost untenanted district. His legs were very tired; hisstomach ached with emptiness. Why not wait out the interval which itwould take to walk to the corner and back in the little suburbanstation, read "Env. No. 19, " and spare himself? He had certainly doneenough to prove that he was a faithful messenger. 

Had he? Certain old and well-worn words came into his mind: they hadbeen in his "writing-book" in his early school-days: "_A chain is nostronger than its weakest link. _" Cyrus jumped off the car before itfairly stopped and started at a hot pace for the corner of West andDwight streets. There must be no weak places in his word of honour. 

Doggedly he went to the extreme limit of the indicated route, eventaking the longest way round to make the turn. As he started back, beneath the arc light at the corner there suddenly appeared a citymessenger boy. He approached Cyrus grinning, and held out an envelope. 

"Ordered to give you this, " he said, "if you made connections. If you'dbeen later than five minutes past seven, I was to keep dark. You've gotseven minutes and a half to spare. Queer orders, but the big railroadboss, Woodbridge, give 'em to me. "

Cyrus made his way back to the car with some self-congratulations thatserved to brace up the muscles behind his knees. This last incidentshowed him plainly that his father was putting him to a severe test ofsome sort, and he could have no doubt that it was for a purpose. Hisfather was the kind of man who does things with a very definite purposeindeed. Cyrus looked back over the day with an anxious searching of hismemory to be sure that no detail of the singular service required ofhim had been slighted. 

As he once more ascended the steps of his own home, he was so confidentthat his labours were now ended that he almost forgot about "Env. No. 20" which he had been directed to read in the vestibule before enteringthe house. With his thumb on the bell-button he recollected, and with asigh broke open the final seal:

 Turn about and go to Lenox Street Station, B---- Railroad, reaching there by 8. 05. Wait for messenger in west end of station, by telegraph office. C. W. , Jr. 

It was a blow, but Cyrus had his second wind now. He felt like amachine--a hollow one--which could keep on going indefinitely. 

"I know how an automobile feels, " he said to himself, "rolling aboutfrom one place to another--never knowing where it's due next--alwayswaiting outside--never getting fed. Wonder if eating is on thisschedule. I'd have laid in something besides a chop and a roll thismorning at breakfast if I'd known what was ahead. "

The Lenox Station was easily reached on time. The hands of the big clockwere only at one minute past eight when Cyrus entered. At the designatedspot the messenger met him. Cyrus recognized the man as a porter on oneof the trains of the road of which his grandfather and father wereofficers. Why, yes, he was the porter of the Woodbridge special car! Hebrought the boy a card which ran thus:

 Give porter the letter from Norwalk Building, the card received at restaurant, the matinée coupon, yesterday evening's _Sentinel_, and the envelope received at Kingston Heights. C. W. , Jr. 

Cyrus silently delivered up these articles, feeling a sense ofthankfulness that not one was missing. The porter went away with them, but was back in three minutes. 

"This way, sir, " he said, and Cyrus followed, his heart beating fast. Down the track he recognized the "Fleetwing, " President Woodbridge'sprivate car. And Grandfather Cornelius he knew to be just starting on atour of his own and other roads, which included a flying trip to Mexico. Could it be possible----

In the car his father and grandfather rose to meet him. CorneliusWoodbridge, Senior, was holding out his hand. 

"Cyrus, lad, " he said, his face one broad, triumphant smile, "you havestood the test--the Hezekiah Woodbridge test, sir--and you may be proudof it. Your word of honour can be depended upon. You are going with usthrough nineteen states and Mexico. Is that reward enough for one day'shardship?"

"I think it is, sir, " agreed Cyrus, his round face reflecting hisgrandfather's smile, intensified. 

"Was it a hard pull, Cyrus?" questioned the elder Woodbridge withinterest. 

Cyrus looked at his father. "I don't think so--now, sir, " he said. Bothgentlemen laughed. 

"Are you hungry?"

"Well, just a little, grandfather. "

"Dinner will be served the moment we are off. We've only six minutes towait. I'm afraid--I'm very much afraid"--the old gentleman turned togaze searchingly out of the car window into the station--"that anotherboy's word of honour isn't----"

He stood, watch in hand. The conductor came in and remained, awaitingorders. "Two minutes more, Mr. Jefferson, " he said. "One and ahalf----one half a minute. " He spoke sternly: "Pull out at 8:14 on thesecond, sir. Ah----"

The porter entered hurriedly, and delivered a handful of envelopes intoGrandfather Cornelius's grasp. The old gentleman scanned them at aglance. 

"Yes--yes--all right!" he cried, with the strongest evidences ofexcitement Cyrus had ever seen in his usually imperturbable manner. Asthe train made its first gentle motion of departure, a figure appearedin the doorway. Quietly, not at all out of breath, and with preciselyhis own nonchalant manner, Cornelius Woodbridge 3d walked into the car. 

Then Grandfather Woodbridge grew impressive. He advanced and shook handswith his grandson as if he were greeting a distinguished member of theboard of directors. Then he turned to his son and shook hands with himalso, solemnly. His eyes shone through his gold-rimmed spectacles, buthis voice was grave with feeling. 

"I congratulate you, Cornelius, " he said, "on possessing two sons whoseword of honour is of the sort to satisfy the Hezekiah Woodbridgestandard. The smallest deviation from the outlined schedule would haveresulted disastrously. Ten minutes' tardiness at the different pointswould have failed to obtain the requisite documents. Your sons did notfail. They can be depended upon. The world is in search of men built onthose lines. I congratulate you, sir. "

Cyrus was glad presently to escape to his stateroom with Cornelius. "Say, what did you have to do?" he asked eagerly. "Did you trot yourlegs off all over town?"

"Not much, I didn't!" said Cornelius, grimly, from the depths of a bigtowel. "I spent the whole day in a little hole of a room at the top ofan empty building, with just ten trips down the stairs to the groundfloor to get envelopes at certain minutes. Not a crumb to eat nor athing to do. Couldn't even snatch a nap for fear I'd oversleep one of mydates at the bottom. Had five engagements, too--one with Helena Fowlerat the links. All I could do was to cut 'em and stick it out. Casabianca was nothing to me. "

"I believe that was worse than mine, " commented Cyrus reflectively. 

"I should say it was. If you don't think so, try it. "

"Dinner, boys, " said their father's voice at the door, and they lost notime in responding. When they had taken their seats and the waiter camefor Cornelius's order, that youth simply pushed the card of theelaborate menu to one side, and said emphatically, quite without hiscustomary drawl: "Bring me everything, and twice of it. "

"Me, too!" said Cyrus, with enthusiasm. 

IV

HALF A LEAGUE ONWARD

The Rev. Arthur Thorndyke stirred at his desk with a vague impatience onaccount of a little droning sound which had been bothering him for thelast ten minutes without his realizing what it was. He recognized atlast that it was the boy David, in the alcove, where he had asked to beallowed to stay, promising not to bother Uncle Arthur with his work. ForUncle Arthur was very busy with his Memorial Day address. At least hewas struggling desperately to be very busy with it, although so far hehad succeeded only in spoiling half a dozen sheets of paper with as manyinadequate introductions. 

"For you see, Major, " Arthur Thorndyke had explained to the boy, when hehad come tap-tapping on his crutches into his uncle's study thatmorning, "this is such very new business to me. I'm having a prettyhard time trying to think of anything good and fine enough to say tothe men in blue--and gray--and brown, for we have all sorts here, youknow. "

It was true that Uncle Arthur was a very boyish-looking uncle; but hewas tall and big, and he had been preaching for a year now, and Davidthought that he preached very good sermons indeed. Besides, he had beenin the Spanish War, one of the youngest privates in Uncle Stephen'scompany, and he ought to know all about it, even though he had reallybeen in very few engagements. 

"I guess you can do it, Uncle Arthur, " said David comfortingly. "AndI'll keep very still in the alcove. I would play somewhere else, only, you see, it's the only window that looks out over the square, and myplaying is out there. "

Uncle Arthur had not taken time to ask him what he meant, but afterward, when the little droning sound had begun to annoy him, he found out. Hepeeped in between the curtains of the alcove, and saw at once what wasout in the square. It was the major's "regiment. " To other people thesquare might have seemed to be a very quiet place, full of trees andMay sunshine, with a few babies and nurses and placid pedestrians as itsonly occupants. But Uncle Arthur perceived at once, from the aspect ofthe major, that it was a place of wild carnage, of desperate assault, ofthe clash and shock of arms. 

The major stood erect, supported by one crutch. The other crutch wasbeing waved in the air, as by one who orders on a mass of fighting men. From the major's lips issued the subdued but passionate words:

 "Flash'd all their sabres bare, Flash'd as they turned in air Sabring th' gunners there, Charging an army, while All th' world wonder'd: Plunged in th' batt'ry-smoke Right through th' line they broke; Cossack an' Russian Reeled from th' sabre-stroke Scatter'd an' shunder'd. Then they rode back, but not----"

The boy's voice wavered. Uncle Arthur saw him put up a thin hand andwipe his white little brow. Major David's plays were always intenselyreal to him. 

"_Not--the six hundred_, " he murmured, and sank down on the window-seat, gazing mournfully out over the square. But in a moment he was up again. 

"Cannon to right of 'em, " he began again, sternly. "Cannon to left of'em----"

Uncle Arthur crept away without bidding him remember his promise. Whatis a Memorial Day address beside the charge of a Light Brigade?

It was only two days after this that David's mother summoned David'sfour uncles to a conference. David had no father. There was a graniteboulder up in the cemetery which ever since David was four years old--hewas ten now--had been draped once a year with a beautiful silken flag. All the Thorndyke men had been soldiers, and David's father had died atthe front, where the Thorndyke men usually died. It was a matter ofgreat pride to David every year--that silken flag. 

David's four uncles were all soldiers--in a way. There was UncleChester; he had been breveted colonel at the close of the Civil War, and Colonel Thorndyke he was--against his will--always called still. Next came Uncle Stephen; he was a captain of artillery in the regulararmy, and had lately come home on a furlough, after three years' servicein the Philippines. Then there was Uncle Stuart, just getting strongafter an attack of typhoid fever. In a week he would be back at WestPoint, where he was a first classman and a cadet lieutenant. As forUncle Arthur, David always regretted deeply that he was no longer ineither volunteer or regular army, although he took some comfort from thefact that Uncle Arthur sometimes told him that he had never felt morelike a soldier than he did now. 

It was a hasty and a serious conference, this to which Mrs. RogerThorndyke had summoned her dead husband's three brothers and his uncle. She felt the need of all their counsel, for she had a grave question tosettle. She was a young woman with a sweet decisiveness of character allher own, yet when a woman has four men upon whom she can call for wisdomto support her own judgment, she would be an unwise person to ignorethat fact. 

"It's just this, " she told them, when she had closed the door ofArthur's study, where they had assembled. "You know how long we've beenhoping something could be done for David, and how you've all insistedthat when Doctor Wendell should decide he was strong enough for theoperation on the hip-joint we must have it. Well, he says a greatEnglish surgeon, Sir Edmund Barrister, will be here for just two days. He comes to see the little Woodbridge girl, and to operate on her if hethinks it best. And Doctor Wendell urges upon me that--it's my chance. "

She had spoken quietly, but her face paled a little as she ended. Heryoungest brother-in-law, Stuart, the cadet, himself but lately out ofhospital, was first to speak. 

"When does he come?"

"To-morrow. "

"Great guns! The little chap's close up to it! Does he know?"

"Oh, no! I wouldn't tell him till it was all arranged. Indeed, I wasn'tsure whether----"

"You'd better tell him at all? Oh, yes, you will, Helen; the majormustn't stand up to be fired at blindfold. " This was from CaptainStephen, the only one of the four now in active service. 

"You all think it's best to have it done?"

"Why, it's as Wendell says: now's the chance to have the best man inthat line. You can rest assured the Woodbridges would never stop atanything short of the finest. Besides, the Englishman's reputation isinternational. Of course it must be done. " This was Stuart again. Thecadet lieutenant had already acquired the tone of command--he was anexcellent cadet lieutenant. 

But Mrs. Thorndyke looked past Stuart at her Uncle Chester, ColonelThorndyke, Civil War veteran. It was upon his opinion that she mostrelied. He nodded at her. 

"He's right, Nell, " he said. "It's our chance. The boy seems to me in asgood condition for it as he'll ever be. " He spoke very gently, for tohis mind, as to them all, rose the vision of a delicate little face andfigure, frail with the frailty of the child who has been for six years acripple. 

So it was decided, with few words, that the great surgeon should seeDavid upon the morrow, to operate upon him at once if he thought wise, as the local surgeon, Doctor Wendell, was confident he would. Then aroseanother question: Who should tell David?

"Somehow I think, " said Mrs. Thorndyke, looking from one to another ofthe four who surrounded her, "it would be easier for him from one ofyou. He thinks so much of your being soldiers. You know he's alwaysplaying he's a soldier, and if--if one of you could put it to him--in asort of military way----"

She stopped, for this time her lips were really trembling. They lookedat one another, the four men, and there was not a volunteer for thetask. After a minute, however, Arthur, lifting his eyes from the rugwhich he had been intently studying, found the others were all facinghim. 

"You're the one, " said Captain Stephen Thorndyke. 

"I think you are, " agreed Colonel Chester Thorndyke. 

"It's up to you, Art, " declared Cadet Lieutenant Thorndyke, with hisusual decision of manner. 

So, although Arthur protested that he was not as fit for the mission asany of the others, they would not let him off. 

"You're the one he swears by, " Stephen said, and Stuart added:

"Put on your old khaki clothes, Art; that'll tickle the major so hewon't mind what you tell him. "

It was a suggestion which appealed to the young clergyman as he layawake that night, thinking how he should tell the boy in the morning. Itseemed to him somehow that it would take the edge off the thing if hecould meet David in the old uniform which the child was always beggingto see. 

Just before he fell asleep he thought of his Memorial Day address. Sincethe morning, day before yesterday, when David's play had interrupted hisfirst futile efforts at it, he had found no time to work on it. He hadhad a wedding and two funerals to attend, besides having to look afterthe preparation for his Sunday services. The following Saturday would beMemorial Day. Meanwhile--there was David. 

The next morning Mrs. Thorndyke, on her way to Arthur's study to tellhim that the doctor had telephoned that he would bring the Englishsurgeon to the house at eleven o'clock for the preliminary examination, ran into a tall figure in a khaki uniform, a battered slouch hat in hishand. 

"Why, Arthur!" she cried, then added quickly: "Oh, my dear, that's justwhat will please him! I'm so glad it's you who are to tell him--you'llknow how. "

"I don't know how, " said her brother, and she saw that his eyes wereheavy. "But I expect the Commander-in-Chief will show me how. " And withthese words he went into his study and closed the door for a momentbefore David should come, in order that he might get his instructionsfrom headquarters. 

When the boy came in on his crutches, he found a soldierly figureawaiting him. He saluted, and the tall corporal returned the salute. Thedeep eyes of the man met the clear, bright ones of the child, and thecorporal said to the major:

"I am ordered to report to you, sir, that the enemy is encamped on theopposite shore, and is preparing to attack. "

Half an hour afterward Mrs. Thorndyke came anxiously to the door of thestudy. Hearing cheerful voices within, she knocked, and was bidden toenter. 

Her first glance was at little David's face. To her surprise, she sawthere neither fear nor nervousness, only an excited shining of the eyesand an unusual flushing of the cheeks. The boy rose to meet her. 

"I'm ready, mammy, " he announced in his childish treble. "Uncle Arthursays I've got a chance to prove I'm a soldier's son and a Thorndyke, andI'm going to do it. The enemy's encamped over in the hospital, and I'mgoing to move on his works to-day. I'm going over with my staff. This isCorporal Thorndyke, and Colonel Chester Thorndyke and Captain StephenThorndyke and Lieutenant Stuart Thorndyke are my staff. And the corporalhas promised that they'll go with me in uniform. I'm going to wear myuniform, too--may I?"

The oddness of the question, made in a tone which dropped suddenly andsignificantly from the proud address of the officer to the humblerequest of the subaltern, brought a very tender smile to Mrs. Thorndyke's lips, as she gave her brother a grateful glance. "Yes, " shesaid, "I think you certainly ought to wear your uniform. I'll get itready. "

"I may be taken prisoner over there, " the little soldier pursued, "butif I do, Uncle Ar--the corporal says that's the fortunes of war, and Imust take it as it comes. "

Downstairs, presently, David, under a flag of truce, met the opposinggeneral and his staff. The bluff-looking Englishman with the kind mannermade an excellent general, David thought. 

They detained him only a half-hour, but when he left them it was withthe understanding that his army should move forward at once and attackupon the morrow. It seemed a bit unusual, not to say unmilitary, toDavid, to arrange such matters so thoroughly with the enemy, but hiscorporal assured him that under certain conditions the thing was done. 

There being no other part of the "Charge" that would fit, David saidover to himself a great many times on the way to the hospital theopening lines:

 "Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward. All in th' valley of Death Rode th' six hundred. .. . "

As he went up the hospital steps, tap-tapping on his crutches because hewould not let anybody carry him, the situation seemed to him muchbetter. He stopped upon the top step, balanced himself upon one crutch, and waved the other at his staff--and at the "Six Hundred, " pressing onbehind. 

 "Forward, th' Light Brigade! 'Charge for th' guns!' he said. .. . "

"What's the little chap saying?" Uncle Chester murmured into the ear ofUncle Arthur, as the small figure hurried on. 

"He's living out 'The Charge of the Light Brigade, '" Arthur answered, and there was no smile on his lips. Uncle Chester swallowed something inhis throat. 

It may have been a common thing for the hospital nurses and doctors tosee a patient in military clothes arrive accompanied by four othermilitary figures--the uniforms a little mixed; but if they weresurprised they gave no sign. The nurse who put David to bed wore a RedCross badge on her sleeve--hastily constructed by Doctor Wendell. Thisbadge David regarded with delight. 

"Why, you're a real army nurse, aren't you?" he asked happily. 

"Of course. They are the kind to take care of soldiers, " she returned. And after that there was a special bond between them. 

When they had finished with David that night he was rather glad to haveCorporal Thorndyke say to him that there was a brief cessation ofhostilities, and that the men were to have the chance for a few hours'sleep. 

"But you'll stay by, won't you, Corporal?" requested the major sleepily. 

"Certainly, sir, " responded the corporal, saluting. "I'll be right hereall night. "

The corporal at this point was so unmilitary as to bend over and kisshim; but as this was immediately followed by a series of caresses fromhis mother, the major thought it best not to mind. Indeed, it was verycomforting, and he might have missed it if it had not happened, eventhough he was supposed to be in the field and sleeping upon his arms. 

The next morning things happened rather rapidly. 

"No rations, Major, " said the Red Cross nurse, when he inquired for hisbreakfast. 

"Commissary department left far to the rear, " explained the corporal, with his salute; and of course there was nothing more to be said, although it did seem a little hard to face "the jaws of death" with nofood to hearten one. 

A number of things were done to David. Then Doctor Wendell came in andsat down by the high white bed, and, with a reassuring smile at hispatient, gave him a few brief directions. The corporal took David's handin his, and held it with the tight grip of the comrade who means tostand by to the last ditch. 

 "Forward, th' Light Brigade! Was 'ere a man dismay'd? Not though the soldier knew Some 'un had blunder'd. .. . "

"God forbid!" murmured the corporal, as the words trailed slowly outinto the air from under Doctor Wendell's hand. 

 "Theirs not to make reply-- Theirs--not to--reason--why-- Theirs--but--to--do--an'--die----"

The corporal set his teeth. Presently he looked across the bed and metthe eyes of the major's mother. "So far, so good, " he said, nodding toher, as the small hand in his relaxed its hold. 

"Talk about sheer pluck!" growled Captain Stephen Thorndyke, in thewaiting-room, where he and Colonel Chester and Cadet Stuart weremarching up and down during the period of suspense. 

"It's that 'Charge of the Light Brigade' that floors me, " said Stuart. "If the youngster'd just whimper a little; but to go under whispering, 'Theirs not to make reply----'" He choked, and frankly drew his graysleeve across his eyes. 

"It's the Thorndyke spirit, " said Colonel Chester proudly. "He's Roger'sboy, all right. "

There were two or three doubtful bulletins. Then Arthur brought them thegood news that the major had been brought back from the firing-line andwas rallying bravely. 

"But will he pull through? These successful operations don't always endsuccessfully, " said Stuart, as he and Arthur paced down the corridortogether. 

"That's what we've got to wait and hope and pray for, " answered Arthur. "It's the 'stormed at with shot and shell' the major'd be reciting now, if he could do anything but shut his lips together and try to bear thepain. It'll be five or six days, they say, before we can call him out ofdanger. Hip-joint disease of Davy's form isn't cured by anything shortof this grave operation, and it's taking a good many chances, of course, in the little chap's delicate condition. But--we've all his own staunchcourage on our side--and somehow, well--Stuart, I've got to preachto-morrow. And next week--that Memorial address! How do you suppose I'mgoing to do it? The major wants me on hospital duty every hour betweennow and then. "

That Memorial Day address! How was a distraught young clergyman tothink of material for such an address when he was held captive at thebedside of a little soldier fighting for his life?

It was the fourth day before anxiety began to lessen its grip; thefifth, the sixth, before Doctor Wendell would begin to speakconfidently. Through it all the words of the "Charge" beat in ArthurThorndyke's brain till it seemed to him that if David died he shouldnever hear anything else. For they were constantly on the boy's lips. 

Finally, on the morning of Saturday, Arthur said to David: "Major, thisis the day for you to say the last lines. You know this afternoon the'Six Hundred' are going by. You'll hear the band play, and Uncle Chesterand Uncle Stephen will be marching in the ranks. Stuart and I will bethere, too, somewhere, and I think if we can just prop you up a littlebit you'll be able to see at least the heads of the men. And you cansalute, you know, even if they can't see you. "

"After the procession are you going to speak to them?" asked David. 

Arthur smiled. "After some sort of fashion I'm going to open my mouth, "he said. "I hardly know myself what will come out. All I do know is, Inever had quite so much respect for the courage that faces the cannon'smouth as now. And it's you, Major, who are the pluckiest soldier Iknow. "

He smiled down at the white little face, its great gray eyes staring upat him. 

"Uncle Arthur--but--but--I wasn't plucky--all the time. Sometimes--ithurt so I--had to cry. "

The words were a whisper, but Uncle Arthur still smiled. "That doesn'tcount, Major, " he said. "Now I must go. Watch for the band. "

Away in the distance, by and by, came the music. As it approached, mingled with it David could hear the sound of marching feet. His motherand the Red Cross nurse propped his head up a very little, so that hecould see into the street. Louder and louder grew the strains, thenstopped; the drums beat. 

"Oh, they're not going to play as they go by!" cried David, disappointed. 

The tramp of the marching feet came nearer. Suddenly the band burstwith a crash into the "Star-Spangled Banner. " David's eyes shone withdelight. 

"They're halting in front of us, David, " said the nurse. So they were;David could see them. 

The music reached the end of the tune and stopped. A shout broke uponthe air; it was a cheer. It took words, and swelled into David's room;but it was a gentle cheer, not a vociferous one. It was given byLieutenant Roger Thorndyke's old company. And the words of it werewonderful:

_"'Rah, 'rah, 'rah--comrade!"_

David lay back on his pillow, his face shining with happiness. He wouldnever forget that those soldiers of his father's regiment, the ----thNew York, had called him comrade. He thought of them tenderly; hemurmured the closing words of the "Charge, " and by them he meant the menwho had stood outside his window and cheered:

 "When can their glory fade? O th' wild charge they made! All th' world wonder'd. Honour th' charge they made! Honour th' Light Brigade, Noble six hundred!"

An hour afterward they came in together, his four Thorndyke soldiers, intheir uniforms--all but Uncle Arthur, who, because he was a clergyman, and had had to make a speech, had felt obliged to put on a frock coat. 

"Here's the fellow who's been worrying over his Memorial Day address!"cried Uncle Stephen proudly. 

"It was a rousing good one, " declared Stuart. 

"Never heard a better, " agreed Uncle Chester. "He's gone 'half a leagueonward, ' if the rest of us have stood still. "

Uncle Arthur came round, his face rather red, and sat down beside David. 

"Don't you believe them, Major, " he said softly. "I could have done itmuch better if I could have worn my corporal's uniform. "

THE END

A COURT OF INQUIRY

BY GRACE S. RICHMOND. 

This is a charming story of a group of girl and men friends and theeffect of their pairing off upon the narrator and her "Philosopher. "Althea, Azalea, Camellia, Dahlia, Hepatica--and their severalentanglements with the Promoter, the Cashier, the Skeptic, the Judge andthe Professor, form an admirable background of diverse personalitiesagainst which grows the main love story. One sees these charming groupsthrough the eyes of the one who tells the tale--and very shrewd anddelightful eyes they are, seeing life in its true perspective with muchreal philosophy and true feeling. Mrs. Richmond has never writtenanything more fresh and human and entertaining. 

ALSO BY THE SAME AUTHOR:

 Red Pepper Burns. Mrs. Red Pepper. The Indifference of Juliet. Round the Corner in Gay Street. With Juliet in England. Strawberry Acres. The Second Violin. 

A. L. BURT COMPANY

Publishers, --New York

[Transcriber's notes:

"Where-ever" on page 78 has been changed to "Wherever" to be consistentwith the spelling in the rest of the text. 

"everbody" on page 96 has been changed to "everybody". ]