Transcriber's Note: Underscore marks are used to mark passages that wereoriginally in italics, _as in this phrase_. There are sections of severalparagraphs that use this markup throughout the book. 

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AT THE SIGN OF THE JACK O'LANTERN

ByMYRTLE REED

Author of

Lavender and Old LaceThe Master's ViolinA Spinner in the SunOld Rose and SilverA Weaver of DreamsFlower of the DuskEtc. 

New YorkGROSSET & DUNLAPPublishers

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Copyright, 1902

BYMYRTLE REED

By Myrtle Reed:

A Weaver of Dreams Sonnets to a LoverOld Rose and Silver Master of the VineyardLavender and Old Lace Flower of the DuskThe Master's Violin At the Sign of the Jack-o'-LanternLove Letters of a Musician A Spinner in the SunThe Spinster Book Later Love Letters of a MusicianThe Shadow of Victory Love Affairs of Literary MenMyrtle Reed Year Book

This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishersG. P. Putnam's Sons, New York and London

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE I. The End of the Honeymoon 1 II. The Day Afterward 18 III. The First Caller 35 IV. Finances 53 V. Mrs. Smithers 68 VI. The Coming of Elaine 84 VII. An Uninvited Guest 100 VIII. More 119 IX. Another 136 X. Still More 154 XI. Mrs. Dodd's Third Husband 173 XII. Her Gift to the World 191 XIII. A Sensitive Soul 210 XIV. Mrs. Dodd's Fifth Fate 226 XV. Treasure-Trove 243 XVI. Good Fortune 264 XVII. The Lady Elaine Knows Her Heart 282 XVIII. Uncle Ebeneezer's Diary 299 XIX. Various Departures 319 XX. The Love of Another Elaine 338

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I

The End of the Honeymoon

It was certainly a queer house. Even through the blinding storm they coulddistinguish its eccentric outlines as they alighted from the stage. Dorothy laughed happily, heedless of the fact that her husband's umbrellawas dripping down her neck. "It's a dear old place, " she cried; "I love italready!"

For an instant a flash of lightning turned the peculiar windows intosheets of flame, then all was dark again. Harlan's answer was drowned by acrash of thunder and the turning of the heavy wheels on the gravelledroad. 

"Don't stop, " shouted the driver; "I'll come up to-morrer for the money. Good luck to you--an' the Jack-o'-Lantern!"

"What did he mean?" asked Dorothy, shaking out her wet skirts, when theywere safely inside the door. "Who's got a Jack-o'-Lantern?"

"You can search me, " answered Harlan, concisely, fumbling for a match. "Isuppose we've got it. Anyhow, we'll have a look at this sepulchral mansionpresently. "

His deep voice echoed and re-echoed through the empty rooms, and Dorothylaughed; a little hysterically this time. Match after match sputtered andfailed. "Couldn't have got much wetter if I'd been in swimming, " hegrumbled. "Here goes the last one. "

By the uncertain light they found a candle and Harlan drew a long breathof relief. "It would have been pleasant, wouldn't it?" he went on. "Wecould have sat on the stairs until morning, or broken our admirable necksin falling over strange furniture. The next thing is a fire. Wonder wheremy distinguished relative kept his wood?"

Lighting another candle, he went off on a tour of investigation, leavingDorothy alone. 

She could not repress a shiver as she glanced around the gloomy room. Thebare loneliness of the place was accentuated by the depressing furniture, which belonged to the black walnut and haircloth period. On themarble-topped table, in the exact centre of the room, was a red plushalbum, flanked on one side by a hideous china vase, and on the other by abasket of wax flowers under a glass shade. 

Her home-coming! How often she had dreamed of it, never for a momentguessing that it might be like this! She had fancied a little house in asuburb, or a cosy apartment in the city, and a lump came into her throatas her air castle dissolved into utter ruin. She was one of those rare, unhappy women whose natures are so finely attuned to beauty that uglinesshurts like physical pain. 

She sat down on one of the slippery haircloth chairs, facing the mantelwhere the single candle threw its tiny light afar. Little by little theroom crept into shadowy relief--the melodeon in the corner, the what-not, with its burden of incongruous ornaments, and even the easel bearing thecrayon portrait of the former mistress of the house, becoming faintlyvisible. 

Presently, from above the mantel, appeared eyes. Dorothy felt them first, then looked up affrighted. From the darkness they gleamed upon her in away that made her heart stand still. Human undoubtedly, but not in theleast friendly, they were the eyes of one who bitterly resented thepresence of an intruder. The light flickered, then flamed up once more andbrought into view the features that belonged with the eyes. 

Dorothy would have screamed, had it not been for the lump in her throat. Astep came nearer and nearer, from some distant part of the house, accompanied by a cheery, familiar whistle. Still the stern, malicious faceheld her spellbound, and even when Harlan came in with his load of wood, she could not turn away. 

"Now, " he said, "we'll start a fire and hang ourselves up to dry. "

"What is it?" asked Dorothy, her lips scarcely moving. 

His eyes followed hers. "Uncle Ebeneezer's portrait, " he answered. "Why, Dorothy Carr! I believe you're scared!"

"I was scared, " she admitted, reluctantly, after a brief silence, smilinga little at her own foolishness. "It's so dark and gloomy in here, and youwere gone so long----"

Her voice trailed off into an indistinct murmur, but she still shudderedin spite of herself. 

"Funny old place, " commented Harlan, kneeling on the hearth and layingkindlings, log-cabin fashion, in the fireplace. "If an architect plannedit, he must have gone crazy the week before he did it. "

"Or at the time. Don't, dear--wait a minute. Let's light our first firetogether. "

He smiled as she slipped to her knees beside him, and his hand held herswhile the blazing splinter set the pine kindling aflame. Quickly the wholeroom was aglow with light and warmth, in cheerful contrast to the stormytumult outside. 

"Somebody said once, " observed Harlan, as they drew their chairs close tothe hearth, "that four feet on a fender are sufficient for happiness. "

"Depends altogether on the feet, " rejoined Dorothy, quickly. "I wouldn'twant Uncle Ebeneezer sitting here beside me--no disrespect intended toyour relation, as such. "

"Poor old duck, " said Harlan, kindly. "Life was never very good to him, and Death took away the only thing he ever loved. 

"Aunt Rebecca, " he continued, feeling her unspoken question. "She diedsuddenly, when they had been married only three or four weeks. "

"Like us, " whispered Dorothy, for the first time conscious of a tendernesstoward the departed Mr. Judson, of Judson Centre. 

"It was four weeks ago to-day, wasn't it?" he mused, instinctively seekingher hand. 

"I thought you'd forgotten, " she smiled back at him. "I feel like an oldmarried woman, already. "

"You don't look it, " he returned, gently. Few would have called herbeautiful, but love brings beauty with it, and Harlan saw an exquisiteloveliness in the deep, dark eyes, the brown hair that rippled and shonein the firelight, the smooth, creamy skin, and the sensitive mouth thatbetrayed every passing mood. 

"None the less, I am, " she went on. "I've grown so used to seeing 'Mrs. James Harlan Carr' on my visiting cards that I've forgotten there ever wassuch a person as 'Miss Dorothy Locke, ' who used to get letters, and gocalling when she wasn't too busy, and have things sent to her when she hadthe money to buy them. "

"I hope--" Harlan stumbled awkwardly over the words--"I hope you'll neverbe sorry. "

"I haven't been yet, " she laughed, "and it's four whole weeks. Come, let'sgo on an exploring expedition. I'm dry both inside and out, and mostterribly hungry. "

Each took a candle and Harlan led the way, in and out of unexpected doors, queer, winding passages, and lonely, untenanted rooms. Originally, thehouse had been simple enough in structure, but wing after wing had beenadded until the first design, if it could be dignified by that name, hadbeen wholly obscured. From each room branched a series of apartments--asitting-room, surrounded by bedrooms, each of which contained two orsometimes three beds. A combined kitchen and dining-room was in everyseparate wing, with an outside door. 

"I wonder, " cried Dorothy, "if we've come to an orphan asylum!"

"Heaven knows what we've come to, " muttered Harlan. "You know I never washere before. "

"Did Uncle Ebeneezer have a large family?"

"Only Aunt Rebecca, who died very soon, as I told you. Mother was his onlysister, and I her only child, so it wasn't on our side. "

"Perhaps, " observed Dorothy, "Aunt Rebecca had relations. "

"One, two, three, four, five, " counted Harlan. "There are five sets ofapartments on this side, and three on the other. Let's go upstairs. "

From the low front door a series of low windows extended across the houseon each side, abundantly lighting the two front rooms, which wereseparated by the wide hall. A high, narrow window in the lower hall, seemingly with no purpose whatever, began far above the low door and endedabruptly at the ceiling. In the upper hall, a similar window began at thefloor and extended upward no higher than Harlan's knees. As Dorothy said, "one would have to lie down to look out of it, " but it lighted the hall, which, after all, was the main thing. 

In each of the two front rooms, upstairs, was a single round window, toohigh for one to look out of without standing on a chair, though in bothrooms there was plenty of side light. One wing on each side of the househad been carried up to the second story, and the arrangement of rooms wasthe same as below, outside stairways leading from the kitchens to theground. 

"I never saw so many beds in my life, " cried Dorothy. 

"Seems to be a perfect Bedlam, " rejoined Harlan, making a poor attempt ata joke and laughing mirthlessly. In his heart he began to doubt the wisdomof marrying on six hundred dollars, an unexplored heirloom in JudsonCentre, and an overweening desire to write books. 

For the first time, his temerity appeared to him in its proper colours. Hehad been a space writer and Dorothy the private secretary of a Personage, when they met, in the dreary basement dining-room of a New Yorkboarding-house, and speedily fell in love. Shortly afterward, when Harlanreceived a letter which contained a key, and announced that Mr. Judson'shouse, fully furnished, had been bequeathed to his nephew, they hadlight-heartedly embarked upon matrimony with no fears for the future. 

Two hundred dollars had been spent upon a very modest honeymoon, and thethree hundred and ninety-seven dollars and twenty-three cents remaining, as Harlan had accurately calculated, seemed pitifully small. Perplexity, doubt, and foreboding were plainly written on his face, when Dorothyturned to him. 

"Isn't it perfectly lovely, " she asked, "for us to have this nice, quietplace all to ourselves, where you can write your book?"

Woman-like, she had instantly touched the right chord, and the cloudsvanished. 

"Yes, " he cried, eagerly. "Oh, Dorothy, do you think I can really writeit?"

"Write it, " she repeated; "why, you dear, funny goose, you can write abetter book than anybody has ever written yet, and I know you can! By nextweek we'll be settled here and you can get down to work. I'll help you, too, " she added, generously. "If you'll buy me a typewriter, I can copythe whole book for you. "

"Of course I'll buy you a typewriter. We'll send for it to-morrow. Howmuch does a nice one cost?"

"The kind I like, " she explained, "costs a hundred dollars without thestand. I don't need the stand--we can find a table somewhere that willdo. "

"Two hundred and ninety-seven dollars and twenty-three cents, " breathedHarlan, unconsciously. 

"No, only a hundred dollars, " corrected Dorothy. "I don't care to have itsilver mounted. "

"I'd buy you a gold one if you wanted it, " stammered Harlan, in someconfusion. 

"Not now, " she returned, serenely. "Wait till the book is done. "

Visions of fame and fortune appeared before his troubled eyes and set hissoul alight with high ambition. The candle in his hand burned unsteadilyand dripped tallow, unheeded. "Come, " said Dorothy, gently, "let's godownstairs again. "

An open door revealed a tortuous stairway at the back of the house, descending mysteriously into cavernous gloom. "Let's go down here, " shecontinued. "I love curly stairs. "

"These are kinky enough to please even your refined fancy, " laughedHarlan. "It reminds me of travelling in the West, where you look out ofthe window and see your engine on the track beside you, going the otherway. "

"This must be the kitchen, " said Dorothy, when the stairs finally ceased. "Uncle Ebeneezer appears to have had a pronounced fancy for kitchens. "

"Here's another wing, " added Harlan, opening the back door. "Sitting-room, bedroom, and--my soul and body! It's another kitchen!"

"Any more beds?" queried Dorothy, peering into the darkness. "We can'tkeep house unless we can find more beds. "

"Only one more. I guess we've come down to bed rock at last. "

"In other words, the cradle, " she observed, pulling a little old-fashionedtrundle bed out into the light. 

"Oh, what a joke!" cried Harlan. "That's worth three dollars in the officeof any funny paper in New York!"

"Sell it, " commanded Dorothy, inspired by the prospect of wealth, "andI'll give you fifty cents for your commission. "

Outside, the storm still raged and the old house shook and creaked in theblast. The rain swirled furiously against the windows, and a swift rush ofhailstones beat a fierce tattoo on the roof. Built on the summit of a hilland with only a few trees near it, the Judson mansion was but poorlyprotected from the elements. 

None the less, there was a sense of warmth and comfort inside. "Let'sbuild a fire in the kitchen, " suggested Dorothy, "and then we'll try tofind something to eat. "

"Which kitchen?" asked Harlan. 

"Any old kitchen. The one the back stairs end in, I guess. It seems to bethe principal one of the set. "

Harlan brought more wood and Dorothy watched him build the fire with asense that a god-like being was here put to base uses. Hampered in hislog-cabin design by the limitations of the fire box, he handled thekindlings awkwardly, got a splinter into his thumb, said something underhis breath which was not meant for his wife to hear, and powdered hislinen with soot from the stove pipe. At length, however, a respectablefire was started. 

"Now, " he asked, "what shall I do next?"

"Wind all the clocks. I can't endure a dead clock. While you're doing it, I'll get out the remnants of our lunch and see what there is in the pantrythat is still edible. "

In the lunch basket which the erratic ramifications of the road leading toJudson Centre had obliged them to carry, there was still, fortunately, asupply of sandwiches and fruit. A hasty search through the nearest pantryrevealed jelly, marmalade, and pickles, a box of musty crackers and acanister of tea. When Harlan came back, Dorothy had the kitchen table setfor two, with a lighted candle dispensing odorous good cheer from thecentre of it, and the tea kettle singing merrily over the fire. 

"Seems like home, doesn't it?" he asked, pleasantly imbued with therealisation of the home-making quality in Dorothy. Certain rare women withthis gift take their atmosphere with them wherever they go. 

"To-morrow, " he went on, "I'll go into the village and buy more things toeat. "

"The ruling passion, " she smiled. "It's--what's that!"

Clear and high above the sound of the storm came an imperious "Me-ow!"

"It's a cat, " said Harlan. "You don't suppose the poor thing is shut upanywhere, do you?"

"If it had been, we'd have found it. We've opened every door in the house, I'm sure. It must be outside. "

"Me-ow! Me-ow! Me-ow!" The voice was not pleading; it was rather acommand, a challenge. 

"Kitty, kitty, kitty, " she called. "Where are you, kitty?"

Harlan opened the outside door, and in rushed a huge black cat, with theair of one returning home after a long absence. 

"Poor kitty, " said Dorothy, kindly, stooping to stroke the sable visitor, who instinctively dodged the caress, and then scratched her hand. 

"The ugly brute!" she exclaimed. "Don't touch him, Harlan. "

Throughout the meal the cat sat at a respectful distance, with hisgreenish yellow eyes fixed unwaveringly upon them. He was entirely black, save for a white patch under his chin, which, in the half-light, carriedwith it an uncanny suggestion of a shirt front. Dorothy at length becamerestless under the calm scrutiny. 

"I don't like him, " she said. "Put him out. "

"Thought you liked cats, " remarked Harlan, reaching for another sandwich. 

"I do, but I don't like this one. Please put him out. "

"What, in all this storm? He'll get wet. "

"He wasn't wet when he came in, " objected Dorothy. "He must have somewarm, dry place of his own outside. "

"Come, kitty, " said Harlan, pleasantly. 

"Kitty" merely blinked, and Harlan rose. 

"Come, kitty. "

With the characteristic independence of cats, the visitor yawned. Theconversation evidently bored him. 

"Come, kitty, " said Harlan, more firmly, with a low swoop of his arm. Thecat arched his back, erected an enlarged tail, and hissed threateningly. In a dignified but effective manner, he eluded all attempts to capturehim, even avoiding Dorothy and her broom. 

"There's something more or less imperial about him, " she remarked, wipingher flushed cheeks, when they had finally decided not to put the cat out. "As long as he's adopted us, we'll have to keep him. What shall we namehim?"

"Claudius Tiberius, " answered Harlan. "It suits him down to the ground. "

"His first name is certainly appropriate, " laughed Dorothy, with a ruefulglance at her scratched hand. Making the best of a bad bargain, she spreadan old grey shawl, nicely folded, on the floor by the stove, and requestedClaudius Tiberius to recline upon it, but he persistently ignored theinvitation. 

"This is jolly enough, " said Harlan. "A cosy little supper in our ownhouse, with a gale blowing outside, the tea kettle singing over the fire, and a cat purring on the hearth. "

"Have you heard Claudius purr?" asked Dorothy, idly. 

"Come to think of it, I haven't. Perhaps something is wrong with hispurrer. We'll fix him to-morrow. "

From a remote part of the house came twelve faint, silvery tones. Thekitchen clock struck next, with short, quick strokes, followed immediatelyby a casual record of the hour from the clock on the mantel beneath UncleEbeneezer's portrait. Then the grandfather's clock in the hall boomed outtwelve, solemn funereal chimes. Afterward, the silence seemed acute. 

"The end of the honeymoon, " said Dorothy, a little sadly, with a quick, inquiring look at her husband. 

"The end of the honeymoon!" repeated Harlan, gathering her into his arms. "To-morrow, life begins!"

Several hours later, Dorothy awoke from a dreamless sleep to wonderwhether life was any different from a honeymoon, and if so, how and why. 

II

The Day Afterward

By the pitiless light of early morning, the house was even uglier than atnight. With an irreverence essentially modern, Dorothy decided, while shewas dressing, to have all the furniture taken out into the back yard, where she could look it over at her leisure. She would make a bonfire ofmost of it, or, better yet, have it cut into wood for the fireplace. ThusUncle Ebeneezer's cumbrous bequest might be quickly transformed intocomfort. 

"And, " thought Dorothy, "I'll take down that hideous portrait over themantel before I'm a day older. "

But when she broached the subject to Harlan, she found him unresponsiveand somewhat disinclined to interfere with the existing order of things. "We'll be here only for the Summer, " he said, "so what's the use ofmonkeying with the furniture and burning up fifty or sixty beds? There'splenty of wood in the cellar. "

"I don't like the furniture, " she pouted. 

"My dear, " said Harlan, with patronising kindness, "as you grow older, you'll find lots of things on the planet which you don't like. Moreover, it'll be quite out of your power to cremate 'em, and it's just as well tobegin adjusting yourself now. "

This bit of philosophy irritated Mrs. Carr unbearably. "Do you mean tosay, " she demanded, with rising temper, "that you won't do as I ask youto?"

"Do you mean to say, " inquired Harlan, wickedly, in exact imitation of hermanner, "that you won't do as I ask you to? Four weeks ago yesterday, if Iremember rightly, you promised to obey me!"

"Don't remind me of what I'm ashamed of!" flashed Dorothy. "If I'd knownwhat a brute you were, I'd never have married you! You may be sure ofthat!"

Claudius Tiberius insinuated himself between Harlan's feet and rubbedagainst his trousers, leaving a thin film of black fur in his wake. Beingfastidious about his personal appearance, Harlan kicked Claudius Tiberiusvigorously, grabbed his hat and went out, slamming the door, and whistlingwith an exaggerated cheerfulness. 

"Brute!" The word rankled deeply as he went downhill with his hands in hispockets, whistling determinedly. So Dorothy was sorry she had married him!After all he'd done for her, too. Giving up a good position in New York, taking her half-way around the world on a honeymoon, and bringing her to amagnificent country residence in a fashionable locality for the Summer!

Safely screened by the hill, he turned back to look at the "magnificentcountry residence, " then swore softly under his breath, as, for the firsttime, he took in the full meaning of the eccentric architecture. 

Perched high upon the hill, with intervening shrubbery carefully cut down, the Judson mansion was not one to inspire confidence in its possessor. Outwardly, it was grey and weather-worn, with the shingles dropping off inplaces. At the sides, the rambling wings and outside stairways, branchingoff into space, conveyed the impression that the house had been recentlysubjected to a powerful influence of the centrifugal sort. But worst ofall was the front elevation, with its two round windows, its narrow, longwindow in the centre, and the low windows on either side of the frontdoor--the grinning, distorted semblance of a human face. 

The bare, uncurtained windows loomed up boldly in the searching sunlight, which spared nothing. The blue smoke rising from the kitchen chimneyappeared strangely like a plume streaming out from the rear. Harlan noted, too, that the railing of the narrow porch extended almost entirely acrossthe front of the house, and remembered, dimly, that they had found thesteps at one side of the porch the night before. Not a single unpleasantdetail was in any way hidden, and he clutched instinctively at a tree ashe realised that the supports of the railing were cunningly arranged tolook like huge teeth. 

"No wonder, " he said to himself "that the stage driver called it theJack-o'-Lantern! That's exactly what it is! Why didn't he paint it yellowand be done with it? The old devil!" The last disrespectful allusion, ofcourse, being meant for Uncle Ebeneezer. 

"Poor Dorothy, " he thought again. "I'll burn the whole thing, and sheshall put every blamed crib into the purifying flames. It's mine, and Ican do what I please with it. We'll go away to-morrow, we'll go----"

Where could they go, with less than four hundred dollars? Especially whenone hundred of it was promised for a typewriter? Harlan had parted withhis managing editor on terms of great dignity, announcing that he hadforsworn journalism and would hereafter devote himself to literature. Theeditor had remarked, somewhat cynically, that it was a better day forjournalism than for literature, the fine, inner meaning of the retort nothaving been fully evident to Harlan until he was some three squares awayfrom the office. 

Much chastened in spirit, and fully ready to accept his wife's estimate ofhim, he went on downhill into Judson Centre. 

It was the usual small town, the post-office, grocery, meat market, andgeneral loafing-place being combined under one roof. Near by was theblacksmith shop, and across from it was the inevitable saloon. Far up inthe hills was the Judson Centre Sanitarium, a worthy institution of someyears standing, where every human ailment from tuberculosis to fits wasmore or less successfully treated. 

Upon the inmates of the sanitarium the inhabitants of Judson Centre lived, both materially and mentally. Few of them had ever been nearer to it thanthe back door, but tales of dark doings were widely prevalent throughoutthe community, and mothers were wont to frighten their young offspringinto obedience with threats of the "san-tor-i-yum. "

"Now what do you reckon ails _him_?" asked the blacksmith of thestage-driver, as Harlan went into the village store. 

"Wouldn't reckon nothin' ailed him to look at him, would you?" queried thedriver, in reply. 

Indeed, no one looking at Mr. Carr would have suspected him of an"ailment. " He was tall and broad-shouldered and well set up, with cleargrey eyes and a rosy, smooth-shaven, boyish face which had given him thenickname of "The Cherub" all along Newspaper Row. In his bearing there wasa suggestion of boundless energy, which needed only proper direction toaccomplish wonders. 

"You can't never tell, " continued the driver, shifting his quid. "Now, I've took folks up there goin' on ten year now, an' some I've took uplooked considerable more healthy than I be when I took 'em up. Comin'back, howsumever, it was different. One young feller rode up with me inthe rain one night, a-singin' an' a-whistlin' to beat the band, an' when Itook him back, a month or so arterward, he had a striped nurse on one sideof him an' a doctor on t' other, an' was wearin' a shawl. Couldn't hardlyset up, but he was a-tryin' to joke just the same. 'Hank, ' says he, whenwe got a little way off from the place, 'my book of life has been editedby the librarians an' the entire appendix removed. ' Them's his very words. 'An', ' says he, 'the time to have the appendix took out is before it doesmuch of anythin' to your table of contents. '

"The doctor shut him up then, an' I didn't hear no more, but I rememberedthe language, an' arterwards, when I got a chanst, I looked in theschool-teacher's dictionary. It said as how the appendix was sunthin'appended or added to, but I couldn't get no more about it. I've hearn tellof a 'devil child' with a tail to it what was travellin' with the circusone year, an' I've surmised as how mebbe a tail had begun to grow on thisyoung feller an' it was took off. "

"You don't say!" ejaculated the blacksmith. 

By reason of his professional connection with the sanitarium, Mr. HenryBlake was, in a sense, the oracle of Judson Centre, and he enjoyed hisproud distinction to the full. Ordinarily, he was taciturn, but thepresent hour found him in a conversational mood. 

"He's married, " he went on, returning to the original subject. "I took himan' his wife up to the Jack-o'-Lantern last night. Come in on the nineforty-seven from the Junction. Reckon they're goin' to stay a spell, 'cause they've got trunks--one of a reasonable size, an' 'nother thatlooks like a dog-house. Box, too, that's got lead in it. "

"Books, maybe, " suggested the blacksmith, with unexpected discernment. "Schoolteacher boarded to our house wunst an' she had most a car-load of'em. Educated folks has to have books to keep from losin' theireducation. "

"Don't take much stock in it myself, " remarked the driver. "It spiles mostfolks. As soon as they get some, they begin to pine an' hanker for more. Iknowed a feller wunst that begun with one book dropped on the road nearthe sanitarium, an' he never stopped till he was plum through college. An'a woman up there sent my darter a book wunst, an' I took it right back toher. 'My darter's got a book, ' says I, 'an' she ain't a-needin' of noduplicates. Keep it, ' says I, 'fer somebody that ain't got no book. "

"Do you reckon, " asked the blacksmith, after a long silence, "that they'regoin' to live in the Jack-o'-Lantern?"

"I ain't a-sayin', " answered Mr. Blake, cautiously. "They're educated, an'there's no tellin' what educated folks is goin' to do. This young lady, now, that come up with him last night, she said it was 'a dear old placean' she loved it a'ready. ' Them's her very words!"

"Do tell!"

"That's c'rrect, an' as I said before, when you're dealin' with educatedfolks, you're swimmin' in deep water with the shore clean out o' sight. Education was what ailed him. " By a careless nod Mr. Blake indicated theJack-o'-Lantern, which could be seen from the main thoroughfare of JudsonCentre. 

"I've hearn, " he went on, taking a fresh bite from his morning purchase of"plug, " "that he had one hull room mighty nigh plum full o' nothin' butbooks, an' there was always more comin' by freight an' express an' throughthe post-office. It's all on account o' them books that he's made thefront o' his house into what it is. My wife had a paper book wunst, a-tellin' 'How to Transfer a Hopeless Exterior, ' with pictures of housesin it like they be here an' more arter they'd been transferred. You bet Iburnt it while she was gone to sewin' circle, an' there ain't no book comeinto my house since. "

Mr. Blake spoke with the virtuous air of one who has protected his homefrom contamination. Indeed, as he had often said before, "you can't nevertell what folks'll do when books gets a holt of 'em. "

"Do you reckon, " asked the blacksmith, "that there'll be company?"

"Company, " snickered Mr. Blake, "oh, my Lord, yes! A little thing likedeath ain't never going to keep company away. Ain't you never hearn as howmisery loves company? The more miserable you are the more company you'llhave, an' vice versey, etcetery an' the same. "

"Hush!" warned the blacksmith, in a harsh whisper. "He's a-comin'!"

"City feller, " grumbled Mr. Blake, affecting not to see. 

"Good-morning, " said Harlan, pleasantly, though not without an air ofcondescension. "Can you tell me where I can find the stage-driver?"

"That's me, " grunted Mr. Blake. "Be you wantin' anythin'?"

"Only to pay you for taking us up to the house last night, and to arrangeabout our trunks. Can you deliver them this afternoon?"

"I ain't a-runnin' of no livery, but I can take 'em up, if that's whatyou're wantin'. "

"Exactly, " said Harlan, "and the box, too, if you will. And the thingsI've just ordered at the grocery--can you bring them, too?"

Mr. Blake nodded helplessly, and the blacksmith gazed at Harlan, open-mouthed, as he started uphill. "Must sure have a ailment, " hecommented, "but I hear tell, Hank, that in the city they never carrynothin' round with 'em but perhaps an umbrell. Everythin' else they have'sent. '"

"Reckon it's true enough. I took a ham wunst up to the sanitarium for ayoung sprig of a doctor that was too proud to carry it himself. He wasgoin' that way, too--walkin' up to save money--so I charged him forcarryin' up the ham just what I'd have took both for. 'Pigs is high, ' Itold him, 'same price for one as for 'nother, ' but he didn't pay noattention to it an' never raised no kick about the price. Thinkin' 'boutsunthin' else, most likely--most of 'em are. "

Harlan, most assuredly, was "thinkin' 'bout sunthin' else. " In fact, hewas possessed by portentous uneasiness. There was well-defined doubt inhis mind regarding his reception at the Jack-o'-Lantern. Dorothy's partingwords had been plain--almost to the point of rudeness, he reflected, unhappily, and he was not sure that "a brute" would be allowed in herpresence again. 

The bare, uncurtained windows gave no sign of human occupancy. Perhaps shehad left him! Then his reason came to the rescue--there was no way for herto go but downhill, and he would certainly have seen her had she takenthat path. 

When he entered the yard, he smelled smoke, and ran wildly into the house. A hasty search through all the rooms revealed nothing--even Dorothy haddisappeared. From the kitchen window, he saw her in the back yard, pokingidly through a heap of smouldering rubbish with an old broomstick. 

"What are you doing?" he demanded, breathlessly, before she knew he wasnear her. 

Dorothy turned, disguising her sudden start by a toss of her head. "Oh, "she said, coolly, "it's you, is it?"

Harlan bit his lips and his eyes laughed. "I say, Dorothy, " he began, awkwardly; "I was rather a beast, wasn't I?"

"Of course, " she returned, in a small, unnatural voice, still pokingthrough the ruins. "I told you so, didn't I?"

"I didn't believe you at the time, " Harlan went on, eager to make amends, "but I do now. "

"That's good. " Mrs. Carr's tone was not at all reassuring. 

There was an awkward pause, then Harlan, putting aside his obstinatepride, said the simple sentence which men of all ages have found ithardest to say--perhaps because it is the sign of utter masculineabasement. "I'm sorry, dear, will you forgive me?"

In a moment, she was in his arms. "It was partly my fault, " she admitted, generously, from the depths of his coat collar. "I think there must besomething in the atmosphere of the house. We never quarrelled before. "

"And we never will again, " answered Harlan, confidently. "What have youbeen burning?"

"It was a mattress, " whispered Dorothy, much ashamed. "I tried to get abed out, but it was too heavy. "

"You funny, funny girl! How did you ever get a mattress out, all alone?"

"Dragged it to an upper window and dumped it, " she explained, blushing, "then came down and dragged it some more. Claudius Tiberius didn't like tohave me do it. "

"I don't wonder, " laughed Harlan. "That is, " he added hastily, "hecouldn't have been pleased to see you doing it all by yourself. Anybodywould love to see a mattress burn. "

"Shall we get some more? There are plenty. "

"Let's not take all our pleasure at once, " he suggested, with rare tact. "One mattress a day--how'll that do?"

"We'll have it at night, " cried Dorothy, clapping her hands, "and when themattresses are all gone, we'll do the beds and bureaus and the hairclothfurniture in the parlour. Oh, I do so love a bonfire!"

Harlan's heart grew strangely tender, for it had been this underlyingchildishness in her that he had loved the most. She was stirring the ashesnow, with as much real pleasure as though she were five instead oftwenty-five. 

As it happened, Harlan would have been saved a great deal of trouble if hehad followed out her suggestion and burned all of the beds in the houseexcept two or three, but the balance between foresight and retrospectionhas seldom been exact. 

"Beast of a smudge you're making, " he commented, choking. 

"Get around to the other side, then. Why, Harlan, what's that?"

"What's what?"

She pointed to a small metal box in the midst of the ashes. 

"Poem on Spring, probably, put into the corner-stone by the builder of themattress. "

"Don't be foolish, " she said, with assumed severity. "Get me a pail ofwater. "

With two sticks they lifted it into the water and waited, impatientlyenough, until they were sure it was cool. Then Dorothy, asserting herright of discovery, opened it with trembling fingers. 

"Why-ee!" she gasped. 

Upon a bed of wet cotton lay a large brooch, made wholly of clustereddiamonds, and a coral necklace, somewhat injured by the fire. 

"Whose is it?" demanded Dorothy, when she recovered the faculty ofspeech. 

"I should say, " returned Harlan, after due deliberation, "that it belongedto you. "

"After this, " she said, slowly, her eyes wide with wonder, "we'll takeeverything apart before we burn it. "

Harlan was turning the brooch over in his hand and roughly estimating itsvalue at two thousand dollars. "Here's something on the back, " he said. "'R. From E. , March 12, 1865. '"

"Rebecca from Ebeneezer, " cried Dorothy. "Oh, Harlan, it's ours! Don't youremember the letter said: 'my house and all its contents to my belovednephew, James Harlan Carr'?"

"I remember, " said Harlan. But his conscience was uneasy, none the less. 

III

The First Caller

As Mr. Blake had heard, there was "one hull room mighty nigh plum full o'nothin' but books"; a grievous waste, indeed, when one already "had abook. " It was the front room, opposite the parlour, and every door andwindow in it could be securely bolted from the inside. If any one desiredunbroken privacy, it could be had in the library as nowhere else in thehouse. 

The book-shelves were made of rough pine, unplaned, unpainted, and werescarcely a seemly setting for the treasure they bore. But in looking atthe books, one perceived that their owner had been one who passed by thebody in his eager search for the soul. 

Here were no fine editions, no luxurious, costly volumes in full levant. Illuminated pages, rubricated headings, and fine illustrations wereconspicuous by their absence. For the most part, the books were simply butserviceably bound in plain cloth covers. Many a paper-covered book hadbeen bound by its purchaser in pasteboard, flimsy enough in quality, yetfurther strengthened by cloth at the back. Cheap, pirated editions were somany that Harlan wondered whether his uncle had not been wholly withoutconscience in the matter of book-buying. 

Shelf after shelf stretched across the long wall, with its company of muteconsolers whose master was no more. The fine flowering of the centuries, like a single precious drop of imperishable perfume, was hidden in thisrude casket. The minds and hearts of the great, laid pitilessly bare, werehere in this one room, shielded merely by pasteboard and cloth. 

Far up in the mountains, amid snow-clad steeps and rock-bound fastnesses, one finds, perchance, a shell. It is so small a thing that it can be heldin the hollow of the hand; so frail that a slight pressure of the fingerwill crush it to atoms, yet, held to the ear, it brings the surge andsweep of that vast, primeval ocean which, in the inconceivably remotepast, covered the peak. And so, to the eye of the mind, the small brownbook, with its hundred printed pages, brings back the whole story of theworld. 

A thin, piping voice, to which its fellows have paid no heed, after a timebecomes silent, and, ceaselessly marching, the years pass on by. Yet thattrembling old hand, quietly laid at last upon the turbulent heart, in thesolitude of a garret has guided a pen, and the manuscript is left. Ragged, worn, blotted, spotted with candle drippings and endlessly interlined, whyshould these few sheets of paper be saved?

Because, as it happens, the only record of the period is there--a recordso significant that fifty years can be reconstructed, as an entirelanguage was brought to light by a triple inscription upon a single stone. Thrown like the shell upon Time's ever-receding shore, it is, nevertheless, the means by which unborn thousands shall commune with himwho wrote in his garret, see his whole life mirrored in his book, know hisphilosophy, and take home his truth. For by way of the printed page comesImmortality. 

There was no book in the library which had not been read many times. Somewere falling apart, and others had been carefully sewn together andawkwardly rebound. Still open, on a rickety table in the corner, was thatponderous volume with an extremely limited circulation: _The Publishers'Trade List Annual_. Pencilled crosses here and there indicated books to bepurchased, or at least sent on approval, to "customers known to theHouse. "

"Some day, " said Dorothy, "when it's raining and we can't go out, we'lltake down all these books, arrange them in something like order, andcatalogue them. "

"How optimistic you are!" remarked Harlan. "Do you think it could be donein one day?"

"Oh, well, " returned Dorothy; "you know what I mean. "

Harlan paced restlessly back and forth, pausing now and then to look outof the window, where nothing much was to be seen except the orchard, at alittle distance from the house, and Claudius Tiberius, sunning himselfpleasantly upon the porch. Four weeks had been a pleasant vacation, buttwo weeks of comparative idleness, added to it, were too much for anactive mind and body to endure. Three or four times he had tried to beginthe book that was to bring fame and fortune, and as many times had failed. Hitherto Harlan's work had not been obliged to wait for inspiration, andit was not so easy as it had seemed the day he bade his managing editorfarewell. 

"Somebody is coming, " announced Dorothy, from the window. 

"Nonsense! Nobody ever comes here. "

"A precedent is about to be established, then. I feel it in my bones thatwe're going to have company. "

"Let's see. " Harlan went to the window and looked over her shoulder. Alittle man in a huge silk hat was toiling up the hill, aided by a cane. Hewas bent and old, yet he moved with a certain briskness, and, as Dorothyhad said, he was inevitably coming. 

"Who in thunder--" began Harlan. 

"Our first company, " interrupted Dorothy, with her hand over his mouth. "The very first person who has called on us since we were married!"

"Except Claudius Tiberius, " amended Harlan. "Isn't a cat anybody?"

"Claudius is. I beg his imperial pardon for forgetting him. "

The rusty bell-wire creaked, then a timid ring came from the rear depthsof the house. "You let him in, " said Dorothy, "and I'll go and fix myhair. "

"Am I right, " queried the old gentleman, when Harlan opened the door, "inpresuming that I am so fortunate as to address Mr. James Harlan Carr?"

"My name is Carr, " answered Harlan, politely. "Will you come in?"

"Thank you, " answered the visitor, in high staccato, oblivious of the factthat Claudius Tiberius had scooted in between his feet; "it will be mypleasure to claim your hospitality for a few brief moments. 

"I had hoped, " he went on, as Harlan ushered him into the parlour, "to beable to make your acquaintance before this, but my multitudinousduties----"

He fumbled in his pocket and produced a card, cut somewhat irregularlyfrom a sheet of white cardboard, and bearing in tremulous autographicscript: "Jeremiah Bradford, Counsellor at Law. "

"Oh, " said Harlan, "it was you who wrote me the letter. I should havehunted you up when I first came, shouldn't I?"

"Not at all, " returned Mr. Bradford. "It is I who have been remiss. It isetiquette that the old residents should call first upon the newcomers. Many and varied duties in connection with the practice of my professionhave hitherto--" His eyes sought the portrait over the mantel. "A mostexcellent likeness of your worthy uncle, " he continued, irrelevantly, "agentleman with whom, as I understand, you never had the pleasure andprivilege of becoming acquainted. "

"I never met Uncle Ebeneezer, " rejoined Harlan, "but mother told me agreat deal about him and we had one or two pictures--daguerreotypes, Ibelieve they were. "

"Undoubtedly, my dear sir. This portrait was painted from his very lastdaguerreotype by an artist of renown. It is a wonderful likeness. He wasmy Colonel--I served under him in the war. It was my desire to possess aportrait of him in uniform, but he would never consent, and would notallow anyone save myself to address him as Colonel. An eccentric, but veryestimable gentleman. "

"I cannot understand, " said Harlan, "why he should have left the house tome. I had never even seen him. "

"Perhaps, " smiled Mr. Bradford, enigmatically, "that was his reason, orrather, perhaps I should say, if you had known your uncle more intimatelyand had visited him here, or, if he had had the privilege of knowingyou--quite often, as you know, a personal acquaintance provesdisappointing, though, of course, in this case----"

The old gentleman was floundering helplessly when Harlan rescued him. "Iwant you to meet my wife, Mr. Bradford. If you will excuse me, I will callher. "

Left to himself, the visitor slipped back and forth uneasily upon hishaircloth chair, and took occasion to observe Claudius Tiberius, who satnear by and regarded the guest unblinkingly. Hearing approachingfootsteps, he took out his worn silk handkerchief, unfolded it, and wipedthe cold perspiration from his legal brow. In his heart of hearts, hewished he had not come, but Dorothy's kindly greeting at once relieved himof all embarrassment. 

"We have been wondering, " she said, brightly, "who would be the first tocall upon us, and you have come at exactly the right time. New residentsare always given two weeks, are they not, in which to get settled?"

"Quite so, my dear madam, quite so, and I trust that you are by this timefully accustomed to your changed environment. Judson Centre, whilepossessing few metropolitan advantages, has distinct and peculiarrecommendations of an individual character which endear the locality tothose residing therein. "

"I think I shall like it here, " said Dorothy. "At least I shall try to. "

"A very commendable spirit, " rejoined the old gentleman, warmly, "andrather remarkable in one so young. "

Mrs. Carr graciously acknowledged the compliment, and the guest flushedwith pleasure. To perception less fine, there would have been food forunseemly mirth in his attire. Never in all her life before had Dorothyseen rough cow-hide boots, and grey striped trousers worn with a rusty andmoth-eaten dress-coat in the middle of the afternoon. An immaculateexpanse of shirt-front and a general air of extreme cleanliness went fartoward redeeming the unfamiliar costume. The silk hat, with a bell-shapedcrown and wide, rolling brim, belonged to a much earlier period, and hadbeen brushed to look like new. Even Harlan noted that the ravelled edgesof his linen had been carefully trimmed and the worn binding of the hatbrim inked wherever necessary. 

His wrinkled old face was kindly, though somewhat sad. His weak blue eyeswere sheltered by an enormous pair of spectacles, which he took off andwiped continually. He was smooth-shaven and his scanty hair was as whiteas the driven snow. Now, as he sat in Uncle Ebeneezer's parlour, he seemedutterly friendless and forlorn--a complete failure of that pitiful typewhich never for a moment guesses that it has failed. 

"It will be my delight, " the old man was saying, his hollow cheeks faintlyflushed, "to see that the elite of Judson Centre pay proper respect to youat an early date. If I were not most unfortunately a single gentleman, mywife would do herself the honour of calling upon you immediately and oftendering you some sort of hospitality approximately commensurate withyour worth. As it is----"

"As it is, " said Harlan, taking up the wandering thread of the discourse, "that particular pleasure must be on our side. We both hope that you willcome often, and informally. "

"It would be a solace to me, " rejoined the old gentleman, tremulously, "tofind the niece and nephew of my departed friend both congenial andcompanionable. He was my Colonel--I served under him in the war--and untilthe last, he allowed me to address him as Colonel--a privilege accorded tono one else. He very seldom left his own estate, but at his request Ioften spent an evening or a Sunday afternoon in his society, and after hisuntimely death, I feel the loss of his companionship very keenly. He wasmy Colonel--I----"

"I should imagine so, " said Harlan, kindly, "though, as I have told you, Inever knew him at all. "

"A much-misunderstood gentleman, " continued Mr. Bradford, carefully wipinghis spectacles. "My grief is too recent, at present, to enable me todiscourse freely of his many virtues, but at some future time I shall hopeto make you acquainted with your benefactor. He was my Colonel, and inserving under him in the war, I had an unusual opportunity to know him ashe really was. May I ask, without intruding upon your private affairs, whether or not it is your intention to reside here permanently?"

"We have not made up our minds, " responded Harlan. "We shall stay herethis Summer, anyway, as I have some work to do which can be done only in aquiet place. "

"Quiet!" muttered the old gentleman, "quiet place! If I might venture tosuggest, I should think you would find any other season more agreeable forprolonged mental effort. In Summer there are distractions----"

"Yes, " put in Dorothy, "in Summer, one wants to be outdoors, and I amgoing to keep chickens and a cow, but my husband hopes to have his bookfinished by September. "

"His book!" repeated Mr. Bradford, in genuine astonishment. "Am I actuallyaddressing an author?"

He beamed upon Harlan in a way which that modest youth found positivelydisconcerting. 

"A would-be author only, " laughed Harlan, the colour mounting to histemples. "I've done newspaper work heretofore, and now I'm going to trysomething else. "

"My dear sir, " said Mr. Bradford, rising, "I must really beg the privilegeof clasping your hand. It is a great honour for Judson Centre to have anauthor residing in its midst!"

Taking pity upon Harlan, Dorothy hastened to change the subject. "We hopeit may be, " she observed, lightly, "and I wonder, Mr. Bradford, if youcould not give me some good advice?"

"I shall be delighted, my dear madam. Any knowledge I may possess istrebly at your service, for the sake of the distinguished author whosewife you have the honour to be, for the sake of your departed relative, who was my friend, my Colonel, and last, but not least, for your ownsake. "

"It is only about a maid, " said Dorothy. 

"A ---- my dear madam, I beg your pardon?"

"A maid, " repeated Dorothy; "a servant. "

"Oh! A hired girl, or more accurately, in the parlance of Judson Centre, the help. Do I understand that it is your desire to become an employer ofhelp?"

"It is, " answered Dorothy, somewhat awed by the solemnity of his tone, "ifhelp is to be found. I thought you might know where I could get someone. "

"If I might be permitted to suggest, " replied Mr. Bradford, after duedeliberation, "I should unhesitatingly recommend Mrs. Sarah Smithers, whodid for your uncle during the entire period of his residence here andwhose privilege it was to close his eyes in his last sleep. She is atpresent without prospect of a situation, and I believe would be very readyto accept a new position, especially so desirable a position as this, inyour service. "

"Thank you. Could you--could you send her to me?"

"I shall do so, most assuredly, providing she is willing to come, andshould she chance not to be agreeably disposed toward so pleasing aproject, it will be my happiness to endeavour to persuade her. " Drawingout a memorandum book and a pencil, the old gentleman made an entry upon afresh page. "The multitudinous duties in connection with the practice ofmy profession, " he began--"there, my dear madam, it is already attendedto, since it is placed quite out of my power to forget. "

"I am greatly obliged, " said Dorothy. 

"And now, " continued the visitor, "I must go. I fear I have alreadyoutstayed the limitation of a formal visit, such as the first should be, and it is not my desire to intrude upon an author's time. Moreover, my ownduties, slight and unimportant as they are in comparison, must ultimatelypress upon my attention. "

"Come again, " said Harlan, kindly, following him to the door. 

"It will be my great pleasure, " rejoined the guest, "not only on your ownaccount, but because your personality reminds me of that of my departedfriend. You favour him considerably, more particularly in the eyes, if Imay be permitted to allude to details. I think I told you, did I not, thathe was my Colonel and I was privileged to serve under him in the war?My--oh, I walked, did I not? I remember that it was my intention to comein a carriage, as being more suitable to a formal visit, but Mr. Blake hadother engagements for his vehicle. Dear sir and madam, I bid you goodafternoon. "

So saying, he went downhill, briskly enough, yet stumbling where the waywas rough. They watched him until the bobbing, bell-shaped crown of theancient head-gear was completely out of sight. 

"What a dear old man!" said Dorothy. "He's lonely and we must have himcome up often. "

"Do you think, " asked Harlan, "that I look like Uncle Ebeneezer?"

"Indeed you don't!" cried Dorothy, "and that reminds me. I want to takethat picture down. "

"To burn it?" inquired Harlan, slyly. 

"No, I wouldn't burn it, " answered Dorothy, somewhat spitefully, "butthere's no law against putting it in the attic, is there?"

"Not that I know of. Can we reach it from a chair?"

Together they mounted one of the haircloth monuments, slipping, as Dorothysaid, until it was like walking on ice. 

"Now then, " said Harlan, gaily, "come on down, Uncle! You're about to bemoved into the attic!"

The picture lunged forward, almost before they had touched it, the heavygilt frame bruising Dorothy's cheek badly. In catching it, Harlan turnedit completely around, then gave a low whistle of astonishment. 

Pasted securely to the back was a fearsome skull and cross-bones, made onwrapping paper with a brush and India ink. Below it, in great capitals, was the warning inscription: "LET MY PICTURE ALONE!"

"What shall we do with it?" asked Harlan, endeavouring to laugh, though, as he afterward admitted, he "felt creepy. " "Shall I take it up to theattic?"

"No, " answered Dorothy, in a small, unnatural voice, "leave it where itis. "

While Harlan was putting it back, Dorothy, trembling from head to foot, crept around to the back of the easel which bore Aunt Rebecca's portrait. She was not at all surprised to find, on the back of it, a notice to thiseffect: "ANYONE DARING TO MOVE MRS. JUDSON'S PICTURE WILL BE HAUNTED FORLIFE BY US BOTH. "

"I don't doubt it, " said Dorothy, somewhat viciously, when Harlan hadjoined her. "What kind of a woman do you suppose she could have been, tomarry him? I'll bet she's glad she's dead!"

Dorothy was still wiping blood from her face and might not have beenwholly unprejudiced. Aunt Rebecca was a gentle, sweet-faced woman, if herportrait told the truth, possessed of all the virtues save self-assertionand dominated by habitual, unselfish kindness to others. She could nothave been discourteous even to Claudius Tiberius, who at this moment wasseated in state upon the sofa and purring industriously. 

IV

Finances

"I've ordered the typewriter, " said Dorothy, brightly, "and some nice newnote-paper, and a seal. I've just been reading about making virtue out ofnecessity, so I've ordered 'At the Sign of the Jack-o'-Lantern' put on ourstationery, in gold, and a yellow pumpkin on the envelope flap, just abovethe seal. And I want you to make a funny sign-board to flap from a pole, the way they did in 'Rudder Grange. ' If you could make a woodenJack-o'-Lantern, we could have a candle inside it at night, and then thesign would be just like the house. We can get the paint and things down inthe village. Won't it be cute? We're farmers, now, so we'll have topretend we like it. "

Harlan repressed an exclamation, which could not have been wholly inspiredby pleasure. 

"What's the matter?" asked Dorothy, easily. "Don't you like the design forthe note-paper? If you don't, you won't have to use it. Nobody's going tomake you write letters on paper you don't like, so cheer up. "

"It isn't the paper, " answered Harlan, miserably; "it's the typewriter. "Up to the present moment, sustained by a false, but none the lessdetermined pride, he had refrained from taking his wife into hisconfidence regarding his finances. With characteristic masculineshort-sightedness, he had failed to perceive that every moment of delaymade matters worse. 

"Might I inquire, " asked Mrs. Carr, coolly, "what is wrong with thetypewriter?"

"Nothing at all, " sighed Harlan, "except that we can't afford it. " Thewhole bitter truth was out, now, and he turned away wretchedly, ashamed tomeet her eyes. 

It seemed ages before she spoke. Then she said, in smooth, icy tones:"What was your object in offering to get it for me?"

"I spoke impulsively, " explained Harlan, forgetting that he had neversuggested buying a typewriter. "I didn't stop to think. I'm sorry, " heconcluded, lamely. 

"I suppose you spoke impulsively, " snapped Dorothy, "when you asked me tomarry you. You're sorry for that, too, aren't you?"

"Dorothy!"

"You're not the only one who's sorry, " she rejoined, her cheeks flushedand her eyes blazing. "I had no idea what an expense I was going to be!"

"Dorothy!" cried Harlan, angrily; "you didn't think I was a millionaire, did you? Were you under the impression that I was an active branch of theUnited States Mint?"

"No, " she answered, huskily; "I merely thought I was marrying a gentlemaninstead of a loafer, and I beg your pardon for the mistake!" She slammedthe door on the last word, and he heard her light feet pattering swiftlydown the hall, little guessing that she was trying to gain the shelter ofher own room before giving way to a tempest of sobs. 

Happy are they who can drown all pain, sorrow, and disappointment in acopious flood of tears. In an hour, at the most, Dorothy would be hersunny self again, penitent, and wholly ashamed of her undignifiedoutburst. By to-morrow she would have forgotten it, but Harlan, made ofsterner clay, would remember it for days. 

"Loafer!" The cruel word seemed written accusingly on every wall of theroom. In a sudden flash of insight he perceived the truth of it--and ithurt. 

"Two months, " bethought; "two months of besotted idleness. And I used tochase news from the Battery to the Bronx every day from eight to six!Murders, smallpox, East Side scraps, and Tammany Hall. Why in thehereafter can't they have a fire at the sanitarium, or something that Ican wire in?"

"The Temple of Healing, " as Dorothy had christened it in a happier moment, stood on a distant hill, all but hidden now by trees and shrubbery. Acolumn of smoke curled lazily upward against the blue, but there was noimmediate prospect of a fire of the "news" variety. 

Harlan stood at the window for a long time, deeply troubled. The call ofthe city dinned relentlessly into his ears. Oh, for an hour in the midstof it, with the rumble and roar and clatter of ceaseless traffic, thehurrying, heedless throng rushing in every direction, the glare of the sunon the many-windowed cliffs, the fever of the struggle in his veins!

And yet--was two months so long, when a fellow was just married, andhadn't had more than a day at a time off for six years? Since the "cubreporter" was first "licked into shape" in the office of _The Thunderer_, there had been plenty of work for him, year in and year out. 

"I wonder, " he mused, "if the old man would take me back on my job?

"I can see 'em in the office now, " went on Harlan, mentally, "when I goback and tell 'em I want my place again. The old man will look up and say:'The hell you do! Thought you'd accepted a position on the literarycircuit as manager of the nine muses! Better run along and look after 'embefore they join the union. '

"And the exchange man will yell at me not to slam the door as I go out, and I'll be pointed out to the newest kid as a horrible example ofmisdirected ambition. Brinkman will say: 'Sonny, there's a bloke that gottoo good for his job and now he's come back, willing to edit The Mother'sCorner. '

"It'd be about the same in the other offices, too, " he thought. "'Sorry, nothing to-day, but there might be next month. Drop in again sometimeafter six weeks or so and meanwhile I'll let you know if anything turnsup. Yes, I can remember your address. Don't slam the door as you go out. Most people seem to have been born in a barn. '

"Besides, " he continued to himself, fiercely, "what is there in it?They'll take your youth, all your strength and energy, and give you ameasly living in exchange. They'll fill you with excitement till you'renever good for anything else, any more than a cavalry horse is fitted topull a vegetable wagon. Then, when you're old, they've got no use foryou!"

Before his mental vision, in pitiful array, came that unhappy processionof hacks that files, day in and day out, along Newspaper Row, drawn byevery instinct to the arena that holds nothing for them but a meagre, uncertain pittance, dwindling slowly to charity. 

"That's where I'd be at the last of it, " muttered Harlan, savagely, "witheven the cubs offering me the price of a drink to get out. AndDorothy--good God! Where would Dorothy be?"

He clenched his fists and marched up and down the room in utter despair. "Why, " he breathed, "why wasn't I taught to do something honest, insteadof being cursed with this itch to write? A carpenter, a bricklayer, astone-mason, --any one of 'em has a better chance than I!"

And yet, even then, Harlan saw clearly that save where some vast cathedralreared its unnumbered spires, the mason and the bricklayer were withoutsignificance; that even the builders were remembered only because of thegreat uses to which their buildings were put. "That, too, through print, "he murmured. "It all comes down to the printed page at last. "

On a table, near by, was a sheaf of rough copy paper, and six or eightcarefully sharpened pencils--the dull, meaningless stone waiting for theflint that should strike it into flame. Day after day the table had stoodby the window, without result, save in Harlan's uneasy conscience. 

"I'm only a tramp, " he said, aloud, "and I've known it, all along. "

He sat down by the table and took up a pencil, but no words came. Remorsefully, he wrote to an acquaintance--a man who had a book publishedevery year and filled in the intervening time with magazine work andnewspaper specials. He sealed the letter and addressed it idly, thentossed it aside purposelessly. 

"Loafer!" The memory of it stung him like a lash, and, completelyoverwhelmed with shame, he hid his face in his hands. 

Suddenly, a pair of soft arms stole around his neck, a childish, tear-wetcheek was pressed close to his, and a sweet voice whispered, tenderly:"Dear, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry I can't live another minute unless you tellme you forgive me!"

 * * * * *

"Am I really a loafer?" asked Harlan, half an hour later. 

"Indeed you're not, " answered Dorothy, her trustful eyes looking straightinto his; "you're absolutely the most adorable boy in the whole world, andit's me that knows it!"

"As long as you know it, " returned Harlan, seriously, "I don't care a hangwhat other people think. "

"Now, tell me, " continued Dorothy, "how near are we to being broke?"

Obediently, Harlan turned his pockets inside out and piled his worldlywealth on the table. 

"Three hundred and seventy-four dollars and sixteen cents, " she said, whenshe had finished counting. "Why, we're almost rich, and a little while agoyou tried to make me think we were poor!"

"It's all I have, Dorothy--every blooming cent, except one dollar in thesavings bank. Sort of a nest egg I had left, " he explained. 

"Wait a minute, " she said, reaching down into her collar and drawing up aloop of worn ribbon. "Straight front corset, " she observed, flushing, "makes a nice pocket for almost everything. " She drew up a chamois-skinbag, of an unprepossessing mouse colour, and emptied out a roll of bills. "Two hundred and twelve dollars, " she said, proudly, "and eighty-threecents and four postage stamps in my purse. 

"I saved it, " she continued, hastily, "for an emergency, and I wanted somesilk stockings and a French embroidered corset and some handmade lingerieworse than you can ever know. Wasn't I a brave, heroic, noble woman?"

"Indeed you were, " he cried, "but, Dorothy, you know I can't touch yourmoney!"

"Why not?" she demanded. 

"Because--because--because it isn't right. Do you think I'm cad enough tolive on a woman's earnings?"

"Harlan, " said Dorothy, kindly, "don't be a fool. You'll take my wholeheart and soul and life--all that I have been and all that I'm going tobe--and be glad to get it, and now you're balking at ten cents that Ihappened to have in my stocking when I took the fatal step. "

"Dear heart, don't. It's different--tremendously different. Can't you seethat it is?"

"Do you mean that I'm not worth as much as two hundred and twelve dollarsand eighty-three cents and four postage stamps?"

"Darling, you're worth more than all the rest of the world put together. Don't talk to me like that. But I can't touch your money, truly, dear, Ican't; so don't ask me. "

"Idiot, " cried Dorothy, with tears raining down her face, "don't you knowI'd go with you if you had to grind an organ in the street, and collectthe money for you in a tin cup till we got enough for a monkey? What kindof a dinky little silver-plated wedding present do you think I am, anyway?You----"

The rest of it was sobbed out, incoherently enough, on his hithertoimmaculate shirt-front. "You don't mind, " she whispered, "if I cry downyour neck, do you?"

"If you're going to cry, " he answered, his voice trembling, "this is theone place for you to do it, but I don't want you to cry. "

"I won't, then, " she said, wiping her eyes on a wet and crumpledhandkerchief. In a time astonishingly brief to one hitherto unfamiliarwith the lachrymal function, her sobs had ceased. 

"You've made me cry nearly a quart since morning, " she went on, withassumed severity, "and I hope you'll behave so well from now on that I'llnever have to do it again. Look here. "

She led him to the window, where a pair of robins were building a nest inthe boughs of a maple close by. "Do you see those birds?" she demanded, pointing at them with a dimpled, rosy forefinger. 

"Yes, what of it?"

"Well, they're married, aren't they?"

"I hope they are, " laughed Harlan, "or at least engaged. "

"Who's bringing the straw and feathers for the nest?" she asked. 

"Both, apparently, " he replied, unwillingly. 

"Why isn't she rocking herself on a bough, and keeping her nails nice, andfixing her feathers in the latest style, or perhaps going off to some foolbird club while he builds the nest by himself?"

"Don't know. "

"Nor anybody else, " she continued, with much satisfaction. "Now, if shehappened to have two hundred and twelve feathers, of the proper size andshape to go into that nest, do you suppose he'd refuse to touch them, andmake her cry because she brought them to him?"

"Probably he wouldn't, " admitted Harlan. 

There was a long silence, then Dorothy edged up closer to him. "Do yousuppose, " she queried, "that Mr. Robin thinks more of his wife than you doof yours?"

"Indeed he doesn't!"

"And still, he's letting her help him. "

"But----"

"Now, listen, Harlan. We've got a house, with more than enough furnitureto make it comfortable, though it's not the kind of furniture either of usparticularly like. Instead of buying a typewriter, we'll rent one forthree or four dollars a month until we have enough money to buy one. AndI'm going to have a cow and some chickens and a garden, and I'm going tosell milk and butter and cream and fresh eggs and vegetables and chickensand fruit to the sanitarium, and----"

"The sanitarium people must have plenty of those things. "

"But not the kind I'm going to raise, nor put up as I'm going to put itup, and we'll be raising most of our own living besides. You can writewhen you feel like it, and be helping me when you don't feel like it, andbefore we know it, we'll be rich. Oh, Harlan, I feel like Eve all alone inthe Garden with Adam!"

The prospect fired his imagination, for, in common with most men, achicken-ranch had appealed strongly to Harlan ever since he couldremember. 

"Well, " he began, slowly, in the tone which was always a signal ofsurrender. 

"Won't it be lovely, " she cried ecstatically, "to have our own bossy cowmooing in the barn, and our own chickens for Sunday dinner, and our ownmilk, and butter, and cream? And I'll drive the vegetable waggon and youcan take the things in----"

"I guess not, " interrupted Harlan, firmly. "If you're going to do thatsort of thing, you'll have people to do the work when I can't help you. The idea of my wife driving a vegetable cart!"

"All right, " answered Dorothy, submissively, wise enough to let smallpoints settle themselves and have her own way in things that reallymattered. "I've not forgotten that I promised to obey you. "

A gratified smile spread over Harlan's smooth, boyish face, and, half-fearfully, she reached into her sleeve for a handkerchief which shehad hitherto carefully concealed. 

"That's not all, " she smiled. "Look!"

"Twenty-three dollars, " he said. "Why, where did you get that?"

"It was in my dresser. There was a false bottom in one of the smalldrawers, and I took it out and found this. "

"What in--" began Harlan. 

"It's a present to us from Uncle Ebeneezer, " she cried, her eyes sparklingand her face aglow. "It's for a coop and chickens, " she continued, executing an intricate dance step. "Oh, Harlan, aren't you awfully glad wecame?"

Seeing her pleasure he could not help being glad, but afterward, when hewas alone, he began to wonder whether they had not inadvertently movedinto a bank. 

"Might be worse places, " he reflected, "for the poor and deserving to moveinto. Diamonds and money--what next?"

V

Mrs. Smithers

The chickens were clucking peacefully in their corner of Uncle Ebeneezer'sdooryard, and the newly acquired bossy cow mooed unhappily in herimprovised stable. Harlan had christened the cow "Maud" because sheinsisted upon going into the garden, and though Dorothy had vigorouslyprotested against putting Tennyson to such base uses, the name still held, out of sheer appropriateness. 

Harlan was engaged in that pleasant pastime known as "pottering. " Theinstinct to drive nails, put up shelves, and to improve generally hislocal habitation is as firmly seated in the masculine nature ashousewifely characteristics are ingrained in the feminine soul. Neverbefore having had a home of his own, Harlan was enjoying it to the full. 

Early hours had been the rule at the Jack-o'-Lantern ever since thefeathered sultan with his tribe of voluble wives had taken up his abode onthe hilltop. Indeed, as Harlan said, they were obliged to sleep when thechickens did--if they slept at all. So it was not yet seven one morningwhen Dorothy went in from the chicken coop, singing softly to herself, andintent upon the particular hammer her husband wanted, never expecting tofind Her in the kitchen. 

"I--I beg your pardon?" she stammered, inquiringly. 

A gaunt, aged, and preternaturally solemn female, swathed in crape, bentslightly forward in her chair, without making an effort to rise, andreached forth a black-gloved hand tightly grasping a letter, which wastremulously addressed to "Mrs. J. H. Carr. "

 "My dear Madam, " Dorothy read. 

 "The multitudinous duties in connection with the practice of my profession have unfortunately prevented me, until the present hour, from interviewing Mrs. Sarah Smithers in regard to your requirements. While she is naturally unwilling to commit herself entirely without a more definite idea of what is expected of her, she is none the less kindly disposed. May I hope, my dear madam, that at the first opportunity you will apprise me of ensuing events in this connection, and that in any event I may still faithfully serve you?

 "With kindest personal remembrances and my polite salutations to the distinguished author whose wife you have the honour to be, I am, my dear madam, "Yr. Most respectful and obedient servant, "Jeremiah Bradford. 

"Oh, " said Dorothy, "you're Sarah. I had almost given you up. "

"Begging your parding, Miss, " rejoined Mrs. Smithers in a chilly tone ofreproof, "but I take it it's better for us to begin callin' each other byour proper names. If we should get friendly, there'd be ample time tochange. Your uncle, God rest 'is soul, allers called me 'Mis' Smithers. '"

Somewhat startled at first, Mrs. Carr quickly recovered her equanimity. "Very well, Mrs. Smithers, " she returned, lightly, reflecting that when inRome one must follow Roman customs; "Do you understand all branches ofgeneral housework?"

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be makin' no attempts in that direction, " repliedMrs. Smithers, harshly. "I doesn't allow nobody to do wot I does no betterthan wot I does it. "

Dorothy smiled, for this was distinctly encouraging, from at least onepoint of view. 

"You wear a cap, I suppose?"

"Yes, mum, for dustin'. When I goes out I puts on my bonnet. "

"Can you do plain cooking?" inquired Dorothy, hastily, perceiving that shewas treading upon dangerous ground. 

"Yes, mum. The more plain it is the better all around. Your uncle wasnever one to fill hisself with fancy dishes days and walk the floor with'em nights, that's wot 'e wasn't. "

"What wages do you have, Sa--Mrs. Smithers?"

"I worked for your uncle for a dollar and a half a week, bein' as we'dknowed each other so long, and on account of 'im bein' easy to get alongwith and never makin' no trouble, but I wouldn't work for no woman forless 'n two dollars. "

"That is satisfactory to me, " returned Dorothy, trying to be dignified. "Idaresay we shall get on all right. Can you stay now?"

"If you've finished, " said Mrs. Smithers, ignoring the question, "there'sa few things I'd like to ask. 'Ow did you get that bruise on your face?"

"I--I ran into something, " answered Dorothy, unwillingly, and taken quiteby surprise. 

"Wot was it, " demanded Mrs. Smithers. "Your 'usband's fist?"

"No, " replied Mrs. Carr, sternly, "it was a piece of furniture. "

"I've never knowed furniture, " observed Mrs. Smithers, doubtfully, "to getup and 'it people in the face wot wasn't doin' nothink to it. If youdisturb a rockin'-chair at night w'en it's restin' quiet, you'll get yourankle 'it, but I've never knowed no furniture to 'it people under the eyeunless it 'ad been threw, that's wot I ain't. 

"I mind me of my youngest sister, " Mrs. Smithers went on, her keen eyesuncomfortably fixed upon Dorothy. "'Er 'usband was one of these 'eremasterful men, 'e was, same as wot yours is, and w'en 'er didn't please'im, 'e 'd 'it 'er somethink orful. Many's the time I've gone there andfound 'er with 'er poor face all cut up and the crockery broke bad. 'Idropped a cup' 'er'd say to me, 'and the pieces flew up and 'it me in theface. ' 'Er face looked like a crazy quilt from 'aving dropped so manycups, and wunst, without thinkin' wot I might be doin' of, I gave 'er achiny tea set for 'er Christmas present. 

"Wen I went to see 'er again, the tea set was all broke and 'er 'ad courtplaster all over 'er face. The pieces must 'ave flew more 'n common fromthe tea set, cause 'er 'usband's 'ed was laid open somethink frightful andthey'd 'ad in the doctor to take a seam in it. From that time on I never'eard of no more cups bein' dropped and 'er face looked quite human andpeaceful like w'en 'e died. God rest 'is soul, 'e ain't a-breakin' no teasets now by accident nor a-purpose neither. I was never one to interferebetween man and wife, Miss Carr, but I want you to tell your 'usband thatshould 'e undertake to 'it me, 'e'll get a bucket of 'ot tea throwed in'is face. "

"It's not at all likely, " answered Dorothy, biting her lip, "that such athing will happen. " She was swayed by two contradictory impulses--one toscream with laughter, the other to throw something at Mrs. Smithers. 

"'E's been at peace now six months come Tuesday, " continued Mrs. Smithers, "and on account of 'is 'avin' broke the tea set, I don't feel no call towear mourning for 'im more 'n a year, though folks thinks as 'ow it brandsme as 'eartless for takin' it off inside of two. Sakes alive, wot's that?"she cried, drawing her sable skirts more closely about her as a darkshadow darted across the kitchen. 

"It's only the cat, " answered Dorothy, reassuringly. "Come here, Claudius. "

Mrs. Smithers repressed an exclamation of horror as Claudius, purringpleasantly, came out into the sunlight, brandishing his plumed tail, andsat down on the edge of Dorothy's skirt, blinking his green eyes at theintruder. 

"'E's the very cat, " said Mrs. Smithers, hoarsely, "wot your uncle killedthe week afore 'e died!"

"Before who died?" asked Dorothy, a chill creeping into her blood. 

"Your uncle, " whispered Mrs. Smithers, her eyes still fixed upon ClaudiusTiberius. "'E killed that very cat, 'e did, 'cause 'e couldn't never abide'im, and now 'e's come back!"

"Nonsense!" cried Dorothy, trying to be severe. "If he killed the cat, itcouldn't come back--you must know that. "

"I don't know w'y not, Miss. Anyhow, 'e killed the cat, that's wot 'e did, and I saw 'is dead body, and even buried 'im, on account of your uncle notbein' able to abide cats, and 'ere 'e is. Somebody 's dug 'im up, and 'e's come to life again, thinkin' to 'aunt your uncle, and your uncle 'asfollered 'im, that's wot 'e 'as, and there bein' nobody 'ere to 'aunt butus, 'e's a 'auntin' us and a-doin' it 'ard. "

"Mrs. Smithers, " said Dorothy, rising, "I desire to hear no more of thisnonsense. The cat happens to be somewhat similar to the dead one, that'sall. "

"Begging your parding, Miss, for askin', but did you bring that there catwith you from the city?"

Affecting not to hear, Dorothy went out, followed by Claudius Tiberius, who appeared anything but ghostly. 

"I knowed it, " muttered Mrs. Smithers, gloomily, to herself. "'E was 'erew'en 'er come, and 'e's the same cat. 'E's come back to 'aunt us, that'swot 'e 'as!"

"Harlan, " said Dorothy, half-way between smiles and tears, "she's come. "

Harlan dropped his saw and took up his hammer. "Who's come?" he asked. "From your tone, it might be Mrs. Satan, or somebody else from theinfernal regions. "

"You're not far out of the way, " rejoined Dorothy. "It's Sa--Mrs. Smithers. "

"Oh, our maid of all work?"

"I don't know what she's made of, " giggled Dorothy, hysterically. "Shelooks like a tombstone dressed in deep mourning, and carries with her theatmosphere of a graveyard. We have to call her 'Mrs. Smithers, ' if wedon't want her to call us by our first names, and she has two dollars aweek. She says Claudius is a cat that uncle killed the week before hedied, and she thinks you hit me and gave me this bruise on my cheek. "

"The old lizard, " said Harlan, indignantly. "She sha'n't stay!"

"Now don't be cross, " interrupted Dorothy. "It's all in the family, foryour uncle hit me, as you well know. Besides, we can't expect all thevirtues for two dollars a week and I'm tired almost to death from tryingto do the housework in this big house and take care of the chickens, too. We'll get on with her as best we can until we see a chance to do better. "

"Wise little woman, " responded Harlan, admiringly. "Can she milk thecow?"

"I don't know--I'll go in and ask her. "

"Excuse me, Miss, " began Mrs. Smithers, before Dorothy had a chance tospeak, "but am I to 'ave my old rooms?"

"Which rooms were they?"

"These 'ere, back of the kitchen. My own settin' room and bedroom andkitchen and pantry and my own private door outside. Your uncle was allersa great hand for bein' private and insistin' on other folks keepin'private, that 's wot 'e was, but God rest 'is soul, it didn't do the poorold gent much good. "

"Certainly, " said Dorothy, "take your old rooms. And can you milk a cow?"

Mrs. Smithers sighed. "I ain't never 'ad it put on me, Miss, " she said, with the air of a martyr trying to make himself comfortable up against thestake, "not as a regler thing, I ain't, but wotever I'm asked to do in theline of duty whiles I'm dwellin' in this sufferin' and dyin' world, I aimsto do the best wot I can, w'ether it's milkin' a cow, drownin' kittens, orburyin' a cat wot can't stay buried. "

"We have breakfast about half-past seven, " went on Dorothy, quickly;"luncheon at noon and dinner at six. "

"Wot at six?" demanded Mrs. Smithers, pricking up her ears. 

"Dinner! Dinner at six. "

"Lord preserve us, " said Mrs. Smithers, half to herself. "Your uncleallers 'ad 'is dinner at one o'clock, sharp, and 'e wouldn't like it to'ave such scandalous goin's on in 'is own 'ouse. "

"You're working for me, " Dorothy reminded her sharply, "and not for myuncle. "

There was a long silence, during which Mrs. Smithers peered curiously ather young mistress over her steel-bowed spectacles. "I'm not so sure asyou, " she said. "On account of the cat 'avin come back from 'is grave, itwouldn't surprise me none to see your uncle settin' 'ere at any time in'is shroud, and a-askin' to 'ave mush and milk for 'is supper, the which'e was so powerful fond of that I was more 'n 'alf minded at the lastminute to put some of it in 's coffin. "

"Mrs. Smithers, " said Dorothy, severely, "I do not want to hear any moreabout dead people, or resurrected cats, or anything of that nature. What'sgone is gone, and there's no use in continually referring to it. "

At this significant moment, Claudius Tiberius paraded somewhatostentatiously through the kitchen and went outdoors. 

"You see, Miss?" asked Mrs. Smithers, with ill-concealed satisfaction. "Wot's gone ain't always gone for long, that's wot it ain't. "

Dorothy retreated, followed by a sepulchral laugh which grated on hernerves. "Upon my word, dear, " she said to Harlan, "I don't know how we'regoing to stand having that woman in the house. She makes me feel as if Iwere an undertaker, a grave digger, and a cemetery, all rolled into one. "

"You're too imaginative, " said Harlan, tenderly, stroking her soft cheek. He had not yet seen Mrs. Smithers. 

"Perhaps, " Dorothy admitted, "when she gets that pyramid of crape off herhead, she'll seem more nearly human. Do you suppose she expects to wear itin the house all the time?"

"Miss Carr!"

The gaunt black shadow appeared in the doorway of the kitchen and thehigh, harsh voice shrilled imperiously across the yard. 

"I'm coming, " answered Dorothy, submissively, for in the tone there wasthat which instinctively impels obedience. "What is it?" she asked, whenshe entered the kitchen. 

"Nothink. I only wants to know wot it is you're layin' out to 'ave foryour--luncheon, if that's wot you call it. "

"Poached eggs on toast, last night's cold potatoes warmed over, hotbiscuits, jam, and tea. "

Mrs. Smithers's articulate response resembled a cluck more closely thananything else. 

"You can make biscuits, can't you?" went on Dorothy, hastily. 

"I 'ave, " responded Mrs. Smithers, dryly. "Begging your parding, Miss, butis that there feller sawin' wood out by the chicken coop your 'usband?"

"The gentleman in the yard, " said Dorothy, icily, "is Mr. Carr. "

"Be n't you married to 'im?" cried Mrs. Smithers, dropping a fork. "Iunderstood as 'ow you was, else I wouldn't 'ave come. I was never oneto----"

"I most assuredly _am_ married to him, " answered Dorothy, with dueemphasis on the verb. 

"Oh! 'E's the build of my youngest sister's poor dead 'usband; the one wotbroke the tea set wot I give 'er over 'er poor 'ed. 'E can 'it powerful'ard, can't 'e?"

Quite beyond speech, Dorothy went outdoors again, her head held high and adangerous light in her eyes. To-morrow, or next week at the latest, shouldwitness the forced departure of Mrs. Smithers. Mrs. Carr realised that thewoman did not intend to be impertinent, and that the social forms ofJudson Centre were not those of New York. Still, some things wereunbearable. 

The luncheon that was set before them, however, went far toward atonement. With the best intentions in the world, Dorothy's cooking nearly alwayswent wide of the mark, and Harlan welcomed the change with unmistakablepleasure. 

"I say, Dorothy, " he whispered, as they rose from the table; "get on withher if you can. Anybody who can make such biscuits as these will go out ofthe house only over my dead body. "

The latter part of the speech was unfortunate. "My surroundings are soextremely cheerful, " remarked Dorothy, "that I've decided to spend theafternoon in the library reading Poe. I've always wanted to do it and Idon't believe I'll ever feel any creepier than I do this blessed minute. "

In spite of his laughing protest, she went into the library, locked thedoor, and curled up in Uncle Ebeneezer's easy chair with a well-thumbedvolume of Poe, finding a two-dollar bill used in one place as a book mark. She read for some time, then took down another book, which opened ofitself at "The Gold Bug. "

The pages were thickly strewn with marginal comments in the fine, small, shaky hand she had learned to associate with Uncle Ebeneezer. Theparagraph about the skull, in the tree above the treasure, had evidentlyfilled the last reader with unprecedented admiration, for on the marginwas written twice, in ink: "A very, very pretty idea. "

She laughed aloud, for her thoughts since morning had been persistentlydirected toward things not of this world. "I'm glad I'm notsuperstitious, " she thought, then jumped almost out of her chair at thesound of an ominous crash in the kitchen. 

"I won't go, " she thought, settling back into her place. "I'll let thatold monument alone just as much as I can. "

Upon the whole, it was just as well, for the "old monument" was on herbony knees, with her head and shoulders quite lost in the secret depths ofthe kitchen range. "I wonder, " she was muttering, "where 'e could 'ave putit. It would 'ave been just like that old skinflint to 'ave 'id it in thestove!"

VI

The Coming of Elaine

There is no state of mental wretchedness akin to that which precedes thewriting of a book. Harlan was moody and despairing, chiefly because hecould not understand what it all meant. Something hung over him like ablack cloud, completely obscuring his usual sunny cheerfulness. 

He burned with the desire to achieve, yet from the depths of his soul cameonly emptiness. Vague, purposeless aspirations, like disembodied spirits, haunted him by night and by day. Before his inner vision came unfamiliarscenes, detached fragments of conversation, the atmosphere, the feeling ofan old romance, then, by a swift change, darkness from which there seemedno possible escape. 

A woman with golden hair, mounted upon a white horse, gay with scarlet andsilver trappings--surely her name was Elaine? And the company of gallantknights who followed her as she set forth upon her quest--who were they, and from whence did they hail? The fool of the court, with his bauble andhis cracked, meaningless laughter, danced in and out of the picture withimpish glee. Behind it all was the sunset, such a sunset as was never seenon land or sea. Ribbons of splendid colour streamed from the horizon tothe zenith and set the shields of the knights aglow with shimmering flame. Clashing cymbals sounded from afar, then, clear and high, a bugle call, the winding silvery notes growing fainter and fainter till they were lostin the purple silence of the hills. Elaine turned, smiling--was not hername Elaine? And then----

Darkness fell and the picture was utterly wiped out. Harlan turned awaywith a sigh. 

To take the dead, dry bones of words, the tiny black things that march inset spaces across the page; to set each where it inevitablybelongs--truly, it seems simple enough. But from the vast range of ourwritten speech to select those which fittingly clothe the thought is quiteanother matter, and presupposes the thought. Even then, by necessity, theoutcome is uncertain. 

Within the mind of the writer, the Book lives and breathes; a child of thebrain, yearning for birth. At a white heat, after long waiting, the wordscome--merely a commentary, an index, a marginal note of that within. Reading afterward the written words, the fine invisible links, the colourand the music, are treacherously supplied by the imagination, which is atonce the best friend and the worst enemy. How is one to know that only asmall part of it has been written, that the best of it, far past writing, lingers still unborn?

Long afterward, when the original picture has faded as though it had neverbeen, one may read his printed work, and wonder, in abject self-abasement, by what miracle it was ever printed. He has trusted to some unknownpsychology which strongly savours of the Black Art to reproduce in theminds of his readers the picture which was in his, and from which thesefragmentary, marginal notes were traced. Only the words, the dead, meaningless words, stripped of all the fancy which once made them fair, tomake for the thousands the wild, delirious bliss that the writer knew! Towrite with the tears falling upon the page, and afterward to read, in someparticularly poignant and searching review, that "the book fails toconvince!" Happy is he whose written pages reproduce but faintly the glowfrom whence they came. For "whoso with blood and tears would dig Art outof his soul, may lavish his golden prime in pursuit of emptiness, or, striking treasure, find only fairy gold, so that when his eyes are purgedof the spell of morning, he sees his hands are full of withered leaves. "

A meadow-lark, rising from a distant field, dropped golden notes into thestill, sunlit air, then vanished into the blue spaces beyond. A bough ofapple bloom, its starry petals anchored only by invisible cobwebs, softlyshook white fragrance into the grass. Then, like a vision straight fromthe golden city with the walls of pearl, came Elaine, the beautiful, herblue eyes laughing, and her scarlet lips parted in a smile. 

Harlan's heart sang within him. His trembling hands grasped feverishly atthe sheaf of copy-paper which had waited for this, week in and week out. The pencil was ready to his hand, and the words fairly wrote themselves:

_It came to pass that when the year was at the Spring, the Lady Elainefared forth upon the Heart's Quest. She was mounted upon a snowy palfrey, whose trappings of scarlet and silver gleamed brightly in the sun. Hergown was of white satin, wondrously embroidered in fine gold thread, whichwas no less gold than her hair, falling in unchecked splendour abouther. _

_Blue as sapphires were the eyes of Elaine, and her fair cheek was likethat of an apple-blossom. Set like a rose upon pearl was the dewy, fragrant sweetness of her mouth, and her breath was like that of the roseitself. Her hands--but how shall I write of the flower-like hands ofElaine? They--_

The door-bell pealed portentously through the house, echoing andre-echoing through the empty rooms. No answer. Presently it rang again, insistently, and Elaine, with her snowy palfrey, whisked suddenly out ofsight. 

Gone, except for these few lines! Harlan stifled a groan and the bell rangonce more. 

Heavens! Where was Dorothy? Where was Mrs. Smithers? Was there no one inthe house but himself? Apparently not, for the bell rang determinedly, andwith military precision. 

"March, march, forward march!" grumbled Harlan, as he ran downstairs, theone-two, one-two-three being registered meanwhile on the bell-wire. 

It was not a pleasant person who violently wrenched the door open, but inspite of his annoyance, Harlan could not be discourteous to a lady. Shewas tall, and slender, and pale, with blue eyes and yellow hair, and sovery fragile that it seemed as though a passing zephyr might almost blowher away. 

"How do you do, " she said, wearily. "I thought you were never coming. "

"I was busy, " said Harlan, in extenuation. "Will you come in?" She wasevidently a friend of Dorothy's, and, as such, demanded properconsideration. 

The invitation was needless, however, for even as he spoke, she brushedpast him, and went into the parlour. "I'm so tired, " she breathed. "Iwalked up that long hill. "

"You shouldn't have done it, " returned Harlan, standing first on one footand then on the other. "Couldn't you find the stage?"

"I didn't look for it. I never had any ambition to go on the stage, " sheconcluded, with a faint smile. "Where is Uncle Ebeneezer?"

"No friend of Dorothy's, " thought Harlan, shifting to the other foot. "Uncle Ebeneezer, " he said, clearing his throat, "is at peace. "

"What do you mean?" demanded the girl, sinking into one of the hairclothchairs. "Where is Uncle Ebeneezer?"

"Uncle Ebeneezer is dead, " explained Harlan, somewhat tartly. Then, as heremembered the utter ruin of his work, he added, viciously, "never havingknown him intimately, I can't say just where he is. "

She leaned back in her chair, her face as white as death. Harlan thoughtshe had fainted, when she relieved his mind by bursting into tears. He wasmore familiar with salt water, but, none the less, the situation wasawkward. 

There were no signs of Dorothy, so Harlan, in an effort to be consoling, took the visitor's cold hands in his. "Don't, " he said, kindly; "cheer up. You are among friends. "

"I have no friends, " she answered, between sobs. "I lost the last when mydear mother died. She made me promise, during her last illness, that ifanything happened to her, I would come to Uncle Ebeneezer. She said shehad never imposed upon him and that he would gladly take care of me, forher sake. I was ill a long, long time, but as soon as I was able to, Icame, and now--and now----"

"Don't, " said Harlan, again, awkwardly patting her hands, and deeplytouched by the girl's distress. "We are your friends. You can stay herejust as well as not. I am married and----"

Upon his back, Harlan felt eyes. He turned quickly, and saw Dorothystanding in the door--quite a new Dorothy, indeed; very tall, and stately, and pale. 

Through sheer nervousness, Mr. Carr laughed--an unfortunate, high-pitchedlaugh with no mirth in it. "Let me present my wife, " he said, soberingsuddenly. "Mrs. Carr, Miss----"

Here he coughed, and the guest, rising, filled the pause. "I am Elaine St. Clair, " she explained, offering a white, tremulous hand which Dorothy didnot seem to see. "It is very good of your husband to ask me to stay withyou. "

"Very, " replied Dorothy, in a tone altogether new to her husband. "He isalways doing lovely things for people. And now, Harlan, if you will showMiss St. Clair to her room, I will speak with Mrs. Smithers aboutluncheon, which should be nearly ready by this time. "

"Thunder, " said Harlan to himself, as Dorothy withdrew. "What in the devildo I know about 'her room'? Have you ever been here before?" he inquiredof the guest. 

"Never in my life, " answered Miss St. Clair, wiping her eyes. 

"Well, " replied Harlan, confusedly, "just go on upstairs, then, and helpyourself. There are plenty of rooms, and cribs to burn in every blamed oneof 'em, " he added, savagely, remembering the look in Dorothy's eyes. 

"Thank you, " said Miss St. Clair, diffidently; "it is very kind of you tolet me choose. Can some one bring my trunk up this afternoon?"

"I'll attend to it, " replied her host, brusquely. 

She trailed noiselessly upstairs, carrying her heavy suit case, andHarlan, not altogether happy at the prospect, went in search of Dorothy. At the kitchen door he paused, hearing voices within. 

"They've usually et by themselves, " Mrs. Smithers was saying. "Is this anew one, or a friend of yours?"

The sentence was utterly without meaning, either to Harlan or Dorothy, butthe answer was given, as quick as a flash. "A friend, Mrs. Smithers--avery dear old friend of Mr. Carr's. "

"'Mr. Carr's, '" repeated Harlan, miserably, tiptoeing away to the library, where he sat down and wiped his forehead. "'A very dear old friend. '"Disconnectedly, and with pronounced emphasis, Harlan mentioned the placewhich is said to be paved with good intentions. 

The clock struck twelve, and it was just eleven when he had begun on _TheQuest of the Lady Elaine_. "'One crowded hour of glorious life isworth'--what idiot said it was worth anything?" groaned Harlan, inwardly. "Anyway, I've had the crowded hour. 'Better fifty years of Europe than acycle of Cathay'"--the line sang itself into his consciousness. "Europe beeverlastingly condemned, " he muttered. "Oh, how my head aches!"

He leaned back in his chair, wondering where "Cathay" might be. It soundedlike a nice, quiet place, with no "dear old friends" in it--a peacefulspot where people could write books if they wanted to. "Just why, " heasked himself more than once, "was I inspired to grab the shaky paw ofthat human sponge? 'Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean'--oh, thedevil! She must have a volume of Tennyson in her grip, and it's soakingthrough!"

Mrs. Smithers came out into the hall, more sepulchral and grim-visagedthan ever, and rang the bell for luncheon. To Harlan's fevered fancy, itsounded like a sexton tolling a bell for a funeral. Miss St. Clair, withthe traces of tears practically removed, floated gracefully downstairs, and Harlan, coming out of the library with the furtive step of a wildbeast from its lair, met her inopportunely at the foot of the stairs. 

She smiled at him in a timid, but friendly fashion, and at the precisemoment, Dorothy appeared in the dining-room door. 

"Harlan, dear, " she said, in her sweetest tones, "will you give our guestyour arm and escort her out to luncheon? I have it all ready!"

Miss St. Clair clutched timidly at Harlan's rigid coat sleeve, wonderingwhat strange custom of the house would be evident next, and the fog wasthick before Mr. Carr's eyes, when he took his accustomed seat at the headof the table. As a sign of devotion, he tried to step on Dorothy's footunder the table, after a pleasing habit of their courtship in the New Yorkboarding-house, but he succeeded only in drawing an unconscious "ouch" anda vivid blush from Miss St. Clair, by which he impressed Dorothy moredeeply than he could have hoped to do otherwise. 

"Have you come far, Miss St. Clair?" asked Dorothy, conventionally. 

"From New York, " answered the guest, taking a plate of fried chicken fromHarlan's shaky hand. 

"I know, " said Dorothy sweetly. "We come from New York, too. " Then shetook a bold, daring plunge. "I have often heard my husband speak of you. "

"Of me, Mrs. Carr? Surely not! It must have been some other Elaine. "

"Perhaps, " smiled Dorothy, shrugging her shoulders. "No doubt I ammistaken, but you may have heard of me?"

"Indeed I haven't, " Elaine assured her. "I never heard of you in my lifebefore. Why should I?" A sudden and earnest crow under the window behindher startled her so that she dropped her knife. Harlan stooped for it atthe same time she did and their heads bumped together smartly. 

"Our gentleman chicken, " went on Dorothy, tactfully. "We call him 'AbdulHamid. ' You know the masculine nature is instinctively polygamous. "

Harlan cackled mirthlessly, wondering, subconsciously, how Abdul Hamidcould have escaped from the coop. After that there was silence, save asDorothy, in her most hospitable manner, occasionally urged the guest tohave more of something. Throughout luncheon, she never once spoke toHarlan, nor took so much as a single glance at his red, unhappy face. Evenhis ears were scarlet, and the delicious fried chicken which he was eatingmight have been a section of rag carpet, for all he knew to the contrary. 

"And now, Miss St. Clair, " said Dorothy, kindly, as they rose from thetable, "I am sure you will wish to lie down and rest after your longjourney. Which room did you choose?"

"I looked at all of them, " responded Elaine, touched to the heart by thisunexpected kindness from strangers, "and finally chose the suite in thesouth wing. It's a nice large room, with such a darling littlesitting-room attached, and such a dear work basket. "

Harlan nearly burst, for the description was of Dorothy's own particularsanctum. 

"Yes, " said Mrs. Carr, very quietly; "I thought my husband would choosethat room for you--dear Harlan is always so thoughtful! I will go up withyou and take out a few of my things which have been unfortunately leftthere. "

Shortly afterward, Mr. Carr also climbed the stairs, his head swimming andhis knees knocking together. Nervously, he turned over the few pages ofhis manuscript, then, hearing Dorothy coming, grabbed it and fled like athief to the library on the first floor. In his panic he bolted the doorsand windows of Uncle Ebeneezer's former retreat. It was unnecessary, however, for no one came near him. 

Throughout the long, sweet Spring afternoon, Miss St. Clair slept thedreamless sleep of utter exhaustion, Harlan worked fruitlessly at _TheQuest of Lady Elaine_, and Dorothy busied herself about her householdtasks, singing with forced cheerfulness whenever she was within hearing ofthe library. 

"I'll explain" thought Harlan, wretchedly. But after all what was there toexplain, except that he had never seen Miss St. Clair before, never in allhis life heard of her, never knew there was such a person, or had nevermet anybody who knew anything about her? "Besides, " he continued tohimself "even then, what excuse have I got for stroking a strange woman'shand and telling her I'm married?"

As the afternoon wore on, he decided that it would be policy to ignore thewhole matter. It was an unfortunate misunderstanding all around, whichcould not be cleared away by speech, unless Dorothy should ask him aboutit--which he was very certain she would not do. "She ought to trust me, "he said to himself, resentfully, forgetting the absolute openness ofthought and deed upon which a woman's trust is founded. "I'll read her thebook to-night, " he thought, happily, "and that will please her. "

But it was fated not to. After dinner, which was much the same asluncheon, as far as conversation was concerned, Harlan invited Dorothy tocome into the library. 

She followed him, obediently enough, and he closed the door. 

"Dearest, " he began, with a grin which was meant to be cheerful and wasmerely ridiculous, "I've begun the book--I actually have! I've beenworking on it all day. Just listen!"

Hurriedly possessing himself of the manuscript, he read it in an unnaturalvoice, down to the flower-like hands. 

"I don't see how you can say that, Harlan, " interrupted Dorothy, coollycritical; "I particularly noticed her hands and they're not nice at all. They're red and rough and nearly the size of a policeman's. "

"Whose hands?" demanded Harlan, in genuine astonishment. 

"Why, Elaine's--Miss St. Clair's. If you're going to do a book about her, you might at least try to make it truthful. "

Mrs. Carr went out, closing the door carefully, but firmly. Then, for thefirst time, the whole wretched situation dawned upon the young andaspiring author. 

VII

An Uninvited Guest

Dorothy sat alone in her room, facing the first heartache of her marriedlife. She repeatedly told herself that she was not jealous; that theprimitive, unlovely emotion was far beneath such as she. But if Harlan hadonly told her, instead of leaving her to find out in this miserable way!It had never entered her head that the clear-eyed, clean-minded boy whomshe had married, could have anything even remotely resembling a past, andhere it was in her own house! Moreover, it had inspired a book, and sheherself had been unable to get him to work at all. 

Just why women should be concerned in regard to old loves has never beenwholly clear. One might as well fancy a clean slate, freshly andelaborately dedicated to noble composition, being bothered by the additionand subtraction which was once done upon its surface. 

With her own eyes she had seen Miss St. Clair weeping, while Harlan heldher hands and explained that he was married. Undoubtedly Miss St. Clairaccounted for various metropolitan delays and absences which she hadjoyously forgiven on the score of Harlan's "work. " Bitterest of all wasthe thought that she must endure it--that the long years ahead of heroffered no escape, no remedy, except the ignoble, painful one which shewould not for a moment consider. 

A sudden flash of resentment stiffened her backbone, metaphoricallyspeaking. In spite of Miss St. Clair, Harlan had married her, and it wasMiss St. Clair who was weeping over the event, not Harlan. She had seenthat the visitor made Harlan unhappy--very well, she would generouslythrow them together and make him painfully weary of her, for Love'scertain destroyer is Satiety. Deep in Dorothy's consciousness was theabiding satisfaction that she had never once, as she put it to herself, "chased him. " Never a note, never a telephone call, never a question as tohis coming and going appeared now to trouble her. The ancient, primevalrelation of the Seeker and the Sought had not for a single moment beenaltered through her. 

Meanwhile, Elaine had settled down peacefully enough. Having been regaledsince infancy with tales of Uncle Ebeneezer's generous hospitality, itseemed only fitting and proper that his relatives should make her welcome, even though Elaine's mother had been only a second cousin of Mrs. Judson's. Elaine had been deeply touched by Harlan's solicitude andDorothy's kindness, seeing in it nothing more than the manifestation of abeautiful spirit toward one who was helpless and ill. 

A modest wardrobe and a few hundred dollars, saved from the wreck of hermother's estate, and the household furniture in storage, representedElaine's worldly goods. As too often happens in a material world, she hadbeen trained to do nothing but sing a little, play a little, and paintunspeakably. She planned, vaguely, to stay where she was during theSummer, and in the Autumn, when she had quite recovered her formerstrength, to take her money and learn some method of self-support. 

Just now she was resting. A late breakfast, a walk through the country, alight luncheon, and a long nap accounted for Elaine's day untildinner-time. After dinner, for an hour, she exchanged commonplaces withthe Carrs, then retired to her own room with a book from Uncle Ebeneezer'slibrary. Even Dorothy was forced to admit that she made very littletrouble. 

The train rumbled into the station--the very same train which had broughtthe Serpent into Paradise. Dorothy smiled a little at the idea of a snaketravelling on a train unless it belonged to a circus, and wiped her eyes. Having mapped out her line of conduct, the rest was simple enough--toabide by it even to the smallest details, and patiently await results. 

When she went downstairs again she was outwardly quite herself, butaltogether unprepared for the surprise that awaited her in the parlour. 

"Hello, " cried a masculine voice, cheerily, as she entered the room. "I'venever seen you before, have I?"

"Not that I know of, " replied Dorothy, startled, but not in the leastafraid. 

The young man who rose to greet her was not at all unpleasant to lookupon. He was taller than Harlan, smooth-shaven, had nice brown eyes, and amop of curly brown hair which evidently annoyed him. Moreover, he waslaughing, as much from sheer joy of living as anything else. 

"Which side of the house are you a relative of?" he asked. 

"The inside, " returned Dorothy. "I keep house here. "

"You don't say so! What's become of Sally? Uncle shoo her off the lot?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, " answered Dorothy, with afruitless effort to appear matronly and dignified. "If by 'uncle' you meanUncle Ebeneezer, he's dead. "

"You don't tell me! Reaped at last, after all this delay! Then how did youcome here?"

"By train, " responded Dorothy, enjoying the situation to the utmost. "Uncle Ebeneezer left the house and furniture to my husband. "

The young man sank into a chair and wiped the traces of deep emotion fromhis ruddy face. "Hully Gee!" he said, when he recovered speech. "I supposethat's French for 'Dick, chase yourself. '"

"Perhaps not, " suggested Mrs. Carr, strangely loath to have this breezyindividual take his departure. "You might tell me who you are; don't youthink so?"

"Not a bad notion at all. I'm the Dick of the firm of 'Tom, Dick, andHarry, ' you've doubtless heard about from your childhood. My other name isChester, but few know it. I'm merely 'Dick' to everybody, yourselfincluded, I trust, " he added with an elaborate bow. "If you will sit down, and make yourself comfortable, I will now unfold to you the sad story ofmy life. 

"I was born of poor but honest parents about twenty-three years ago, according to the last official census. They brought me up until I reachedthe ripe age of twelve, then got tired of their job and went to heaven. Since then I've brought myself up. I've just taught a college all it canlearn from me, and been put out. Prexy confided to me that I wasn't goingto graduate, so I shook the classic dust from my weary feet and fledhither as to a harbour of refuge. I've always spent my Summers with UncleEbeneezer, because it was cheap for me and good for him, but I can'tundertake to follow him up this Summer, not knowing exactly where he is, and not caring for a warm climate anyway. "

Inexpressibly shocked, Dorothy looked up to the portrait over the mantelhalf fearfully, but there was no change in the stern, malicious old face. 

"You're afraid of him, aren't you?" asked Dick, with a hearty laugh. 

"I always have been, " admitted Dorothy. "He scared me the first time wecame here--it was at night, and raining. "

"I've known him to scare people in broad daylight, and they weren't alwayswomen either. He used to be a pleasant old codger, but he got over it, andafter he learned to swear readily, he was a pretty tough party to buck upagainst. It took nerve to stay here when uncle was in a bad mood, but mostpeople have more nerve than they think they have. You haven't told me yourname yet. "

"Mrs. Carr--Dorothy Carr. "

"Pretty name, " remarked Dick, with evident admiration. "If you don't mind, I'll call you 'Dorothy' till the train goes back. It will be something forme to remember in the desert waste of my empty years to come. "

A friendly, hospitable impulse seized Mrs. Carr. "Why should you go?" sheinquired, smiling. "If you've been in the habit of spending your Summershere, you needn't change on our account. We'd be glad to have you, I'msure. A dear old friend of my husband's is already here. "

"Fine or superfine?"

"Superfine, " returned Dorothy, feeling very much as though the clock hadbeen turned back twenty years or more and she was at a children's partyagain. 

"You can bet your sweet life I'll stay, " said Dick, "and if I bother youat any time, just say so and I'll skate out, with no hard feelings oneither side. You may need me when the rest of the bunch gets here. "

"The rest of--oh Harlan, come here a minute!"

She had caught him as he was going into the library with his work, thinking that a change of environment might possibly produce an acceptablechange in the current of his thoughts. 

"Dick, " said Dorothy, when Harlan came to the door, "this is my husband. Mr. Chester, Mr. Carr. "

For days Harlan had not seen Dorothy with such rosy cheeks, such dancingeyes, nor half as many dimples. Bewildered, and not altogether pleased, heawkwardly extended his hand to Mr. Chester, with a conventional "how doyou do?"

Dick wrung the offered hand in a mighty grip which made Harlan wince. "Icongratulate you, Mr. Carr, " he said gallantly, "upon possessing thefairest ornament of her sex. Guess this letter is for you, isn't it? Ifound it in the post-office while the keeper was out, and just took it. Ifit doesn't belong here, I'll skip back with it. "

"Thanks, " murmured Harlan, rubbing the injured hand with the other. "I--where did you come from?"

"The station, " explained Dick, pleasantly. "I never trace myself back ofwhere I was last seen. "

"He's going to stay with us, Harlan, " put in Dorothy, wickedly, "so youmustn't let us keep you away from your work. Come along, Dick, and I'llshow you our cow. "

They went out, followed by a long, low whistle of astonishment from Harlanwhich Dorothy's acute ears did not miss. Presently Mr. Carr retreated intothe library, and locked the door, but he did not work. The book was at adeadlock, half a paragraph beyond "the flower-like hands of Elaine, " ofwhich, indeed, the author had confessed his inability to write. 

"Dick, " thought Harlan. "Mr. Chester. A young giant with a grip like anoctopus. 'The fairest ornament of her sex. ' Never, never heard of himbefore. Some old flame of Dorothy's, who has discovered her whereaboutsand brazenly followed her, even on her honeymoon. "

And he, Harlan, was absolutely prevented from speaking of it by an unhappychain of circumstances which put him in a false light! For the first timehe fully perceived how a single thoughtless action may bind all one'sfuture existence. 

"Just because I stroked the hand of a distressed damsel, " muttered Harlan, "and told her I was married, I've got to sit and see a procession of mywife's old lovers marking time here all Summer!" In his fevered fancy, healready saw the Jack-o'-Lantern surrounded by Mrs. Carr's former admirers, heard them call her "Dorothy, " and realised that there was not a singlething he could do. 

"Unless, of course, " he added, mentally, "it gets too bad, and I have anexcuse to order 'em out. And then, probably, Dorothy will tell Elaine totake her dolls and go home, and the poor thing's got nowhere togo--nowhere in the wide world. 

"How would Dorothy like to be a lonely orphan, with no husband, nofriends, and no job? She wouldn't like it much, but women never have anysympathy for each other, nor for their husbands, either. I'd give twentydollars this minute not to have stroked Elaine's hand, and fifty not tohave had Dorothy see it, but there's no use in crying over spilt milk norin regretting hands that have already been stroked. "

In search of diversion, he opened his letter, which was in answer to theone he had written some little time ago, inquiring minutely, of anacquaintance who was supposed to be successful, just what the prospectswere for a beginner in the literary craft. 

"Dear Carr, " the letter read. "Sorry not to have answered before, but I'vebeen away and things got mixed up. Wouldn't advise anybody but an enemy totake up writing as a steady job, but if you feel the call, go in and win. You can make all the way from eight dollars a year, which was what I madewhen I first struck out, up to five thousand, which was what I averagedlast year. I've always envied you fellows who could turn in your stuff andget paid for it the following Tuesday. In my line, you work like the devilthis year for what you're going to get next, and live on the year after. 

"However, if you're bitten with it, there's no cure. You'll see magazinearticles in stones and books in running brooks all the rest of your life. When you get your book done, I'll trot you around to my publisher, whoenjoys the proud distinction of being an honest one, and if he likes yourstuff, he'll take it, and if he doesn't, he'll turn you down so pleasantlythat you'll feel as though he'd made you a present of something. If youthink you've got genius, forget it, and remember that nothing takes theplace of hard work. And, besides, it's a pretty blamed poor book thatcan't get itself printed these days. 

 "Yours as usual, "C. J. "

The communication was probably intended as encouragement, but the effectwas depressing, and at the end of an hour, Harlan had written only twolines more in his book, neither of which pleased him. 

Meanwhile, Dick was renewing his old acquaintance with Mrs. Smithers, muchto that lady's pleasure, though she characteristically endeavoured toconceal it. She belonged to a pious sect which held all mirth to beungodly. 

"Sally, " Dick was saying, "I've dreamed of your biscuits night and daysince I ate the last one. Are we going to have 'em for lunch?"

"No biscuits in this house to-day, " grumbled the deity of the kitchen, inan attempt to be properly stern, "and as I've told you more than once, myname ain't 'Sally. ' It's Mis' Smithers, that's wot it is, and I'll thankyou to call me by it. "

"Between those who love, " continued Dick, with a sidelong glance atDorothy, who stood near by, appalled at his daring, "the best is none toogood for common use. If my heart breaks the bonds of conventionalrestraint, and I call you by the name under which you always appear to mein my longing dreams, why should you not be gracious, and forgive me? Bekind to me, Sally, be just a little kind, and throw together a pan ofthose biscuits in your own inimitable style!"

"Run along with you, you limb of Satan, " cried Mrs. Smithers, brandishinga floury spoon. 

"Come along, Dorothy, " said Dick, laying a huge but friendly paw upon Mrs. Carr's shoulder; "we're chased out. " He put his head back into thekitchen, however, to file a parting petition for biscuits, which wasunnecessary, for Mrs. Smithers had already found her rolling-pin and hadbegun to sift her flour. 

Outside, he duly admired Maud, who was chewing the cud of reflection undera tree, created a panic in the chicken yard by lifting Abdul Hamidignominiously by the legs, to see how heavy he was, and chased ClaudiusTiberius under the barn. 

"If that cat turns up missing some day, " he said, "don't blame me. Helooks so much like Uncle Ebeneezer that I can't stand for him. "

"There's something queer about Claudius, anyway, " ventured Dorothy. "Mrs. Smithers says that uncle killed him the week before he died, and----"

"Before who died?"

"Claudius--no, before uncle died, and she buried him, and he's come tolife again. "

"Uncle, or Claudius?"

"Claudius, you goose, " laughed Dorothy. 

"If I knew just how nearly related we were, " remarked Dick, irrelevantlyenough, "I believe I'd kiss you. You look so pretty with all your dimpleshung out and your hair blowing in the wind. "

Dorothy glanced up, startled, and inclined to be angry, but it wasimpossible to take offence at such a mischievous youth as Dick was at thatmoment. "We're not related, " she said, coolly, "except by marriage. "

"Well, that's near enough, " returned Dick, who was never disposed to beunduly critical. "Your husband is only related to you by marriage. Don'tbe such a prude. Come to the waiting arms of your uncle, or cousin, orbrother-in-law, or whatever it is that I happen to be. "

"Go and kiss your friend Sally in the kitchen, " laughed Dorothy. "You havemy permission. " Dick made a wry face. "I don't hanker to do it, " he said, "but if you want me to, I will. I suppose she isn't pleased with her placeand you want to make it more homelike for her. "

"What relation were you to Uncle Ebeneezer?" queried Dorothy, curiously. 

"Uncle and I, " sighed Dick, "were connected by the closest ties of bloodand marriage. Nobody could be more related than we were. I was the onlychild of Aunt Rebecca's sister's husband's sister's husband's sister. Say, on the dead, if I ever bother you will you tell me so and invite me toskip?"

"Of course I will. "

"Shake hands on it, then; that's a good fellow. And say, did you say therewas another skirt stopping here?"

"A--a what?"

"Petticoat, " explained Dick, patiently; "mulier, as the ancient dagoes hadit. They've been getting mulier ever since, too. How old is she?"

"Oh, " answered Dorothy. "She's not more than twenty or twenty-one. " Then, endeavouring to be just to Elaine, she added: "And a very pretty girl, too. "

"Lead me to her, " exclaimed Dick ecstatically. "Already she is mine!"

"You'll see her at luncheon. There's the bell, now. "

Mr. Chester was duly presented to Miss St. Clair, and from then on, appeared to be on his good behaviour. Elaine's delicate, fragile beautyappealed strongly to the susceptible Dick, and from the very beginning, hewas afraid of her--a dangerous symptom, if he had only known it. 

Harlan, making the best of a bad bargain, devoted himself to his guestsimpartially, and, upon the whole, the luncheon went off very well, thoughthe atmosphere was not wholly festive. 

Afterward, when they sat down in the parlour, there was an awkward pausewhich no one seemed inclined to relieve. At length Dorothy, mindful of herduty as hostess, asked Miss St. Clair if she would not play something. 

Willingly enough, Elaine went to the melodeon, which had not been openedsince the Carrs came to live at the Jack-o'-Lantern, and lifted the lid. Immediately, however, she went off into hysterics, which were so violentthat Harlan and Dorothy were obliged to assist her to her room. 

Dick strongly desired to carry Elaine upstairs, but was forbidden by thehampering conventionalities. So he lounged over to the melodeon, somewhatsurprised to find that "It" was still there. 

"It" was a brown, wavy, false front of human hair, securely anchored tothe keys underneath by a complicated system of loops of linen thread. Pinned to the top was a faded slip of paper on which Uncle Ebeneezer hadwritten, long ago: "Mrs. Judson always kept her best false front in themelodeon. I do not desire to have it disturbed. --E. J. "

"His Nibs never could bear music, " thought Dick, as he closed theinstrument, little guessing that a vein of sentiment in Uncle Ebeneezer'shard nature had impelled him to keep the prosaic melodeon forever sacredto the slender, girlish fingers that had last brought music from itsyellowed keys. 

From upstairs still came the sound of crying, which was not altogether tobe wondered at, considering Miss St. Clair's weak, nervous condition. Harlan came down, scowling, and took back the brandy flask, moving nonetoo hastily. 

"They don't like Elaine, " murmured Dick to himself, vaguely troubled. "Iwonder why--oh, I wonder why!"

VIII

More

_Blue as sapphires were the eyes of Elaine, and her fair cheek was likethat of an apple blossom. Set like a rose upon pearl was the dewy, fragrant sweetness of her mouth, and her breath was that of the roseitself. Her hands--but how shall I write of the flower-like hands ofElaine? They seemed all too frail to hold the reins of her palfrey, muchless to guide him along the rocky road that lay before her. _

_Safely sheltered in a sunny valley was the Castle of Content, whereinElaine's father reigned as Lord. Upon the hills close at hand were theorchards, which were now in bloom. A faint, unearthly sweetness came withevery passing breeze, and was wafted through the open windows of theCastle, where, upon the upper floor, Elaine was wont to sit with her maidsat the tapestry frames. _

_But, of late, a strange restlessness was upon her, and the wander-lustsurged through her veins. _

_"My father, " she said, "I am fain to leave the Castle of Content, and setout upon the Heart's Quest. Among the gallant knights of thy retinue, there is none whom I would wed, and it is seemly that I should set out tofind my lord and master, for behold, father, as thou knowest, twenty yearsand more have passed over my head, and my beauty hath begun to fade. "_

_The Lord of the Castle of Content smiled in amusement, that Elaine, thebeautiful, should fancy her charms were on the wane. But he was ever eagerto gratify the slightest wish of this only child of his, and so he gavehis ready consent. _

_"Indeed, Elaine, " he answered, "and if thou choosest, thou shalt go, butthese despised knights shall attend thee, and also our new fool, who hathcome from afar to make merry in our court. His motley is of an unfamiliarpattern, his quips and jests savour not so much of antiquity, and hissongs are pleasing. He shall lighten the rigours of thy journey and cheerthee when thou art sad. "_

_"But, father, I do not choose to have the fool. "_

_"Say no more, Elaine, for if thou goest, thou shall have the fool. It ismost fitting that in thy retinue there shouldst be more than one to wearthe cap and bells, and it is in my mind to consider this quest of thinesomewhat more than mildly foolish. Unnumbered brave and faithful knightsare at thy feet and yet thou canst not choose, but must needs fare onwardin search of a stranger to be thy lord and master. "_

_Elaine raised her hand. "As thou wilt, father, " she said, submissively. "Thou canst not understand the way of a maid. Bid thy fool to preparehimself quickly for a long journey, since we start at sunset. "_

_"But why at sunset, daughter? The way is long. Mayst not thy mission waituntil sunrise?"_

_"Nay, father, for it is my desire to sleep to-night upon the ground. Thetapestried walls of my chamber stifle me and I would fain lie in the freshair with only the green leaves for my canopy and the stars for my taperlights. "_

_"As thou wilt, Elaine, but my heart is sad at the prospect of losingthee. Thou art my only child, the image of thy dead mother, and my oldeyes shall be misty for the sight of thee long before my gallant knightsbring thee back again. "_

_"So shall I gain some hours, father, " she answered. "Perhaps my sunsetjourneying shall bring my return a day nearer. Cross me not in this wish, father, for it is my fancy to go. "_

_So it was that the cavalcade was made ready and Elaine and her companyleft the Castle of Content at sunset. Two couriers rode at the head, tosee that the way was clear, and with a silver bugle to warn travellers tostand aside until the Lady Elaine and her attendants had passed. _

_Upon a donkey, caparisoned in a most amusing manner, rode Le Jongleur, the new fool of whom the Lord of the Castle of Content had spoken. Hismotley, as has been said, was of an unfamiliar pattern, but was none theless striking, being made wholly of scarlet and gold. The Lady Elainecould not have guessed that it was assumed as a tribute to the trappingsof her palfrey, for Le Jongleur's heart was most humble and loyal, thoughleaping now with the joy of serving the fair Lady Elaine. _

_The Lord of Content stood at the portal of the Castle to bid the retinueGodspeed, and as the cymbals crashed out a sounding farewell, heimpatiently wiped away the mist, which already had clouded his vision. Long he waited, straining his eyes toward the distant cliffs, where, oneby one, the company rode upward. The valley was in shadow, but the longlight lay upon the hills, changing the crags to a wonder of purple andgold. To him, too, came the breath of apple bloom, but it brough no joy tohis troubled heart. _

_What dangers lay in wait for Elaine as she fared forth upon her wildquest? What monsters haunted the primeval forests through which her pathmust lie? And where was the knight who should claim her innocent andmaidenly heart? At this thought, the Lord of Content shuddered, then wasquickly ashamed. _

_"I am as foolish, " he muttered, "as he in motley, who rides at the sideof Elaine. Surely my daughter, the child of a soldier, can make nounworthy choice. "_

_The cavalcade had reached the summit of the cliff, now, and at the brink, turned back. The cymbals and the bugles pealed forth another soundingfarewell to the Lord of the Castle of Content, whom Elaine well knew waswaiting in the shadow of the portal till her company should be entirelylost to sight. _

_The last light shone upon the wonderful mass of gold which rippled to herwaist, unbound, from beneath her close-fitting scarlet cap, and gave heran unearthly beauty. Le Jongleur held aloft his bauble, making it to nodin merry fashion, but the Lord of Content did not see, his eyes beingfixed upon Elaine. She waved her hand to him, but he could not answer, forhis shoulders were shaking with grief, nor, indeed, across the mercilessdistance that lay between, could he guess at Elaine's whispered prayer:"Dear Heavenly Father, keep thou my earthly father safe and happy, tillhis child comes back again. "_

_Over the edge of the cliff and out upon a wide plain they fared. Ribbonsof glorious colour streamed from the horizon to the zenith, and touched toflame the cymbals and the bugles and the trappings of the horses and theshields of the knights. Piercingly sweet, across the fields of blowingclover, came the even song of a feathered chorister, and_--what on earthwas that noise?

Harlan went to the window impatiently, like one wakened from a dream by ablind impulse of action. 

The village stage, piled high with trunks, was at his door, and from thecavernous depths of the vehicle, shrieks of juvenile terror echoed andre-echoed unceasingly. Mr. Blake, driving, merely waited in supremeunconcern. 

"What in the hereafter, " muttered Harlan, savagely. "More old lovers ofDorothy's, I suppose, or else the--Good Lord, it's twins!"

A child of four or five fell out of the stage, followed by another, wholit unerringly on top of the prostrate one. In the meteoric moment of thefall, Harlan had seen that the two must have discovered America at aboutthe same time, for they were exactly alike, making due allowance for theslight difference made by masculine and feminine attire. 

An enormous doll, which to Harlan's troubled sight first appeared to be aninfant in arms, was violently ejected from the stage and added to thehuman pile which was wriggling and weeping upon the gravelled walk. A cubof seven next leaped out, whistling shrilly, then came a querulous, wailing, feminine voice from the interior. 

"Willie, " it whined, "how can you act so? Help your little brother andsister up and get Rebbie's doll. "

To this the lad paid no attention whatever, and the mother herselfassorted the weeping pyramid on the walk. Harlan ran downstairs, feelingthat the hour had come to defend his hearthstone from outsiders. Dick andDorothy were already at the door. 

"Foundlings' Home, " explained Dick, briefly, with a wink at Harlan. "They're late this year. "

Dorothy was speechless with amazement and despair. Before Harlan had begunto think connectedly, one of the twins had darted into the house andbumped its head on the library door, thereupon making the Jack-o'-Lanternhideous with much lamentation. 

The mother, apparently tired out, came in as though she had left somethingof great value there and had come to get it, pausing only to direct Harlanto pay the stage driver, and have her trunks taken into the rooms openingoff the dining-room on the south side. 

Willie took a mouth-organ out of his pocket and rendered a hithertounknown air upon it with inimitable vigour. In the midst of the confusion, Claudius Tiberius had the misfortune to appear, and, immediatelyperceiving his mistake, whisked under the sofa, from whence the other twindeterminedly haled him, using the handle which Nature had evidentlyintended for that purpose. 

"Will you kindly tell me, " demanded Mrs. Carr, when she could make herselfheard, "what is the meaning of all this?"

"I do not understand you, " said the mother of the twins, coldly. "Were youaddressing me?"

"I was, " returned Mrs. Carr, to Dick's manifest delight. "I desire to knowwhy you have come to my house, uninvited, and made all this disturbance. "

"The idea!" exclaimed the woman, trembling with anger. "Will you pleasesend for Mr. Judson?"

"Mr. Judson, " said Dorothy, icily, "has been dead for some time. Thishouse is the property of my husband. "

"Indeed! And who may your husband be?" The tone of the question did notindicate even faint interest in the subject under discussion. 

Dorothy turned, but Harlan had long since beat an ignominious retreat, closely followed by Dick, whose idea, as audibly expressed, was that thewomen be allowed to "fight it out by themselves. "

"I can readily understand, " went on Dorothy, with a supreme effort atself-control, "that you have made a mistake for which you are not in anysense to blame. You are tired from your journey, and you are quite welcometo stay until to-morrow. "

"To-morrow!" shrilled the woman. "I guess you don't know who I am! I amMrs. Holmes, Rebecca Judson's own cousin, and I have spent the Summer hereever since Rebecca was married! I guess if Ebeneezer knew you werepractically ordering his wife's own cousin out of his house, he'd risefrom his grave to haunt you!"

Dorothy fancied that Uncle Ebeneezer's portrait moved slightly. AuntRebecca still surveyed the room from the easel, gentle, sweet-faced, andsaintly. There was no resemblance whatever between Aunt Rebecca and thesallow, hollow-cheeked, wide-eyed termagant, with a markedly recedingchin, who stood before Mrs. Carr and defied her. 

"This is my husband's house, " suggested Dorothy, pertinently. 

"Then let your husband do the talking, " rejoined Mrs. Holmes, sarcastically. "If he was sure it was his, I guess he wouldn't have runaway. I've always had my own rooms here, and I intend to go and come as Iplease, as I always have done. You can't make me believe that Ebeneezergave my apartments to your husband, nor him either, and I wouldn't adviseany of you to try it. "

Sounds of fearful panic came from the chicken yard, and Dorothy rushedout, swiftly laying avenging hands on the disturber of the peace. One ofthe twins was chasing Abdul Hamid around the coop with a lath, as heexplained between sobs, "to make him lay. " Mrs. Holmes bore down uponDorothy before any permanent good had been done. 

"How dare you!" she cried. "How dare you lay hands on my child! Come, Ebbie, come to mamma. Bless his little heart, he shall chase the chickensif he wants to, so there, there. Don't cry, Ebbie. Mamma will get youanother lath and you shall play with the chickens all the afternoon. There, there!"

Harlan appeared at this juncture, and in a few quiet, well-chosen wordstold Mrs. Holmes that the chicken coop was his property, and that neithernow nor at any other time should any one enter it without his expresspermission. 

"Upon my word, " remarked Mrs. Holmes, still soothing the unhappy twin. "How high and mighty we are when we're living off our poor dead uncle'sbounty! Telling his wife's own cousin what she's to do, and what sheisn't! Upon my word!"

So saying, Mrs. Holmes retired to the house, her pace hastened by howlsfrom the other twin, who was in trouble with her older brother somewherein her "apartment. "

Dorothy looked at Harlan, undecided whether to laugh or to cry. "Poorlittle woman, " he said, softly; "don't you fret. We'll have them out ofthe house no later than to-morrow. "

"All of them?" asked Dorothy, eagerly, as Miss St. Clair strolled into thefront yard. 

Harlan's brow clouded and he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "I don't know, " he said, slowly, "whether I've got nerve enough to order awoman out of my house or not. Let's wait and see what happens. "

A sob choked Dorothy, and she ran swiftly into the house, fortunatelymeeting no one on her way to her room. Dick ventured out of the barn andcame up to Harlan, who was plainly perplexed. 

"Very, very mild arrival, " commented Mr. Chester, desiring to put his hostat his ease. "I've never known 'em to come so peacefully as they haveto-day. Usually there's more or less disturbance. "

"Disturbance, " repeated Harlan. "Haven't we had a disturbance to-day?"

"We have not, " answered Dick, placidly. "Wait till young Ebeneezer andRebecca get more accustomed to their surroundings, and then you'll have aFourth of July every day, with Christmas, Thanksgiving, and St. Patrick'sDay thrown in. Willie is the worst little terror that ever went unlicked, and the twins come next. "

"Perhaps you don't understand children, " remarked Harlan, with apatronising air, and more from a desire to disagree with Dick than fromanything else. "I've always liked them. "

"If you have, " commented Dick, with a knowing chuckle, "you're in a fairway to get cured of it. "

"Tell me about these people, " said Harlan, ignoring the speech, anddominated once more by healthy human curiosity. "Who are they and where dothey come from?"

"They're dwellers from the infernal regions, " explained Dick, with an airof truthfulness, "and they came from there because the old Nick turned 'emout. They were upsetting things and giving the place a bad name. Mrs. Holmes says she's Aunt Rebecca's cousin, but nobody knows whether she isor not. She's come here every Summer since Aunt Rebecca died, and poor olduncle couldn't help himself. He hinted more than once that he'd enjoy herabsence if she could be moved to make herself scarce, but it had no moreeffect than a snowflake would in the place she came from. The most hecould do was to build a wing on the house with a separate kitchen anddining-room in it, and take his own meals in the library, with the doorbolted. 

"Willie is a Winter product and Judson Centre isn't a pleasant place inthe cold months, but the twins were born here, five years ago this Summer. They came in the night, but didn't make any more trouble then than theyhave every day since. "

"What would you do?" asked Harlan, after a thoughtful silence, "if youwere in my place?"

"I'd be tickled to death because a kind Providence had married me toDorothy instead of to Mrs. Holmes. Poor old Holmes is in his well-earnedgrave. "

With great dignity, Harlan walked into the house, but Dick, occupied withhis own thoughts, did not guess that his host was offended. 

After the first excitement was over, comparative peace settled down uponthe Jack-o'-Lantern. Mrs. Holmes decided the question of where she shouldeat, by setting four more places at the table when Mrs. Smithers's backwas turned. Dorothy did not appear at luncheon, and Mrs. Smithersperformed her duties with such pronounced ungraciousness that Elaine feltas though something was about to explode. 

A long sleep, born of nervous exhaustion, came at last to Dorothy'srelief. When she awoke, it was night and the darkness dazed her at first. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, wondering whether she had been dead, ormerely ill. 

There was not a sound in the Jack-o'-Lantern, and the events of the dayseemed like some hideous nightmare which waking had put to rout. Shebathed her face in cool water, then went to look out of the window. 

A lantern moved back and forth under the trees in the orchard, and a tall, dark figure, armed with a spade, accompanied it. "It's Harlan, " thoughtDorothy. "I'll go down and see what he's burying. "

But it was only Mrs. Smithers, who appeared much startled when she saw hermistress at her side. 

"What are you doing?" demanded Dorothy, seeing that Mrs. Smithers had duga hole at least a foot and a half each way. 

"Just a-satisfyin' myself, " explained the handmaiden, with a note oftriumph in her voice, "about that there cat. 'Ere's where I buried 'im, and 'ere's where there ain't no signs of 'is dead body. 'E's come back to'aunt us, that's wot 'e 'as, and your uncle'll be the next. "

"Don't be so foolish, " snapped Dorothy. "You've forgotten the place, that's all, and I don't wish to hear any more of this nonsense. "

"'Oo was it?" asked Mrs. Smithers, "as come out of a warm bed at midnightto see as if folks wot was diggin' for cats found anythink? 'T warn't me, Miss, that's wot it warn't, and I take it that them as follers is asnonsensical as them wot digs. Anyhow, Miss, 'ere's where 'e was buried, and 'ere's where 'e ain't now. You can think wot you likes, that's wot youcan. "

Claudius Tiberius suddenly materialised out of the surrounding darkness, and after sniffing at the edge of the hole, jumped in to investigate. 

"You see that, Miss?" quavered Mrs. Smithers. "'E knows where 'e's been, and 'e knows where 'e ain't now. "

"Mrs. Smithers, " said Dorothy, sternly, "will you kindly fill up that holeand come into the house and go to bed? I don't want to be kept awake allnight. "

"You don't need to be kept awake, Miss, " said Mrs. Smithers, slowlyfilling up the hole. "The worst is 'ere already and wot's comin' is comin'anyway, and besides, " she added, as an afterthought, "there ain't ablessed one of 'em come 'ere at night since your uncle fixed over thehouse. "

IX

Another

For the first time in her life, Mrs. Carr fully comprehended thesensations of a wild animal caught in a trap. In her present painfulpredicament, she was absolutely helpless, and she realised it. It wasHarlan's house, as he had said, but so powerful and penetrating was thepersonality of the dead man that she felt as though it was still largelythe property of Uncle Ebeneezer. 

The portrait in the parlour gave her no light upon the subject, though shestudied it earnestly. The face was that of an old man, soured andembittered by what Life had brought him, who seemed now to have apeculiarly malignant aspect. Dorothy fancied, in certain morbid moments, that Uncle Ebeneezer, from some safe place, was keenly relishing the wholesituation. 

Upon her soul, too, lay heavily that ancient Law of the House, whichdemands unfailing courtesy to the stranger within our gates. Just why theeating of our bread and salt by some undesired guest should exert anyparticular charm of immunity, has long been an open question, but the Lawremains. 

She felt, dimly, that the end was not yet--that still other strangers werecoming to the Jack-o'-Lantern for indefinite periods. She saw, now, whywing after wing had been added to the house, but could not understand theodd arrangement of the front windows. Through some inner sense of loyaltyto Uncle Ebeneezer, she forebore to question either Mrs. Smithers orDick--two people who could probably have given her some light on thesubject. She had gathered, however, from hints dropped here and there, aswell as from the overpowering evidence of recent events, that a horde ofrelatives swarmed each Summer at the queer house on the hilltop andremained until late Autumn. 

Harlan said nothing, and nowadays Dorothy saw very little of him. Most ofthe time he was at work in the library, or else taking long, solitaryrambles through the surrounding country. At meals he was moody andtaciturn, his book obliterating all else from his mind. 

He doubtless knew, subconsciously, that his house was disturbed by alienelements, but he dwelt too securely in the upper regions to be troubled bythe obvious fact. Once in the library, with every door securely bolted, hecould afford to laugh at the tumult outside, if, indeed, he should everbecome aware of its existence. The children might make the very air vocalwith their howls, Elaine might have hysterics, Mrs. Smithers render hymnsin a cracked, squeaky voice, and Dick whistle eternally, but Harlan was ina strange new country, with a beautiful lady, a company of gallantknights, and a jester. 

The rest was all unreal. He seemed to see people through a veil, to hearwhat they said without fully comprehending it, and to walk through hisdaily life blindly, without any sort of emotion. Worst of all, Dorothyherself seemed detached and dream-like. He saw that her face was white andher eyes sad, but it affected him not at all. He had yet to learn that inthis, as in everything else, a price must inevitably be paid, and that thesudden change of all his loved realities to hazy visions was the terriblepenalty of his craft. 

Yet there was compensation, which is also inevitable. To him, the book wasvital, reaching down into the very heart of the world. Fancy took hiswork, and, to the eyes of its creator, made it passing fair. At times hewould sit for an hour or more, nibbling at the end of his pencil, onlynegatively conscious, like one who stares fixedly at a blank wall. Presently, Elaine and her company would come back again, and he would goon with them, writing down only what he saw and felt. 

Chapter after chapter was written and tossed feverishly aside. The wordsbeat in his pulses like music, each one with its own particularsignificance. In return for his personal effacement came moments ofsupremest joy, when his whole world was aflame with light, and colour, andsound, and his physical body fairly shook with ecstasy. 

Little did he know that the Cup was in his hands, and that he was drainingit to the very dregs of bitterness. For this temporary intoxication, hemust pay in every hour of his life to come. Henceforward he was set apartfrom his fellows, painfully isolated, eternally alone. He should havefriends, but only for the hour. The stranger in the street should be thesame to him as one he had known for many years, and he should be equallyready, at any moment, to cast either aside. With a quick, mercilessinsight, like the knife of a surgeon used without an anæsthetic, he shouldexplore the inmost recesses of every personality with which he came incontact, involuntarily, and find himself interested only as some new traitor capacity was revealed. Calm and emotionless, urged by some hiddenpower, he should try each individual to see of what he was made; observingthe man under all possible circumstances, and at times enmeshing newcircumstances about him. He should sacrifice himself continually if by sodoing he could find the deep roots of the other man's selfishness, and, conversely, be utterly selfish if necessary to discover the other's powerof self-sacrifice. 

Unknowingly, he had ceased to be a man and had become a ferret. It was nolight payment exacted in return for the pleasure of writing about Elaine. He had the ability to live in any place or century he pleased, but he hadpaid for it by putting his present reality upon precisely the samefooting. Detachment was his continually. Henceforth he was a spectatormerely, without any particular concern in what passed before his eyes. Some people he should know at a glance, others in a week, a month, or ayear. Across the emptiness between them, some one should clasp his hand, yet share no more his inner life than one who lies beside a dreamer andthinks thus to know where the other wanders on the strange trails ofsleep. 

In the dregs of the Cup lay the potential power to cast off his presentlife as a mollusk leaves his shell, and as completely forget it. For Love, and Death, and Pain are only symbols to him who is enslaved by the pen. Moreover, he suffers always the pangs of an unsatisfied hunger, theexquisite torture of an unappeased and unappeasable thirst, for somethingwhich, like a will-o'-the-wisp, hovers ever above and beyond him, past thepower of words to interpret or express. 

It is often reproachfully said that one "makes copy" of himself and hisfriends--that nothing is too intimately sacred to be seized upon anddissected in print. Not so long ago, it was said that a certain man was"botanising on his mother's grave, " a pardonable confusion, perhaps, offacts and realities. The bitter truth is that the writer lives hisbooks--and not much else. From title to colophon, he escapes no pang, misses no joy. The life of the book is his from beginning to end. At theclose of it, he has lived what his dream people have lived and borne thesorrows of half a dozen entire lifetimes, mercilessly concentrated intothe few short months of writing. 

One by one, his former pleasures vanish. Even the divine consolation ofbooks is partly if not wholly gone. Behind the printed page, he sees everthe machinery of composition, the preparation for climax, the repetitionin its proper place, the introduction and interweaving of major and minor, of theme and contrast. For the fine, glowing fancy of the other man hasnot appeared in his book, and to the eye of the fellow-craftsman only themechanism is there. Mask-like, the author stands behind his Punch-and-Judybox, twitching the strings that move his marionettes, heedless of the factthat in his audience there must be a few who know him surely for what heis. 

If only the transfiguring might of the Vision could be put into print, there would be little in the world save books. Happily heedless of themockery of it all, Harlan laboured on, destined fully to sense his entirepayment much later, suffer vicariously for a few hours on account of it, then to forget. 

Dorothy, meanwhile, was learning a hard lesson. Harlan's changelesspreoccupation hurt her cruelly, but, woman-like, she considered it amanifestation of genius and endeavoured to be proud accordingly. It hadnot occurred to her that there could ever be anything in Harlan's thoughtinto which she was not privileged to go. She had thought of marriage as asort of miraculous welding of two individualities into one, and wasperceiving that it changed nothing very much; that souls went on their wayunaltered. She saw, too, that there was no one in the wide world who couldshare her every mood and tense, that ultimately each one of us lives anddies alone, within the sanctuary of his own inner self, cheered only bysome passing mood of friend or stranger, which chances to chime with his. 

It was Dick who, blindly enough, helped her over many a hard place, andquickened her sense of humour into something upon which she might securelylean. He was too young and too much occupied with the obvious to lookfurther, but he felt that Dorothy was troubled, and that it was his duty, as a man and a gentleman, to cheer her up. 

Privately, he considered Harlan an amiable kind of a fool, who shuthimself up needlessly in a musty library when he might be outdoors, ortalking with a charming woman, or both. When he discovered that Harlan hadhitherto earned his living by writing and hoped to continue doing it, helooked upon his host with profound pity. Books, to Dick, were among thethings which kept life from being wholly pleasant and agreeable. He hadgone through college because otherwise he would have been separated fromhis friends, and because a small legacy from a distant relative, who hadconsiderately died at an opportune moment, enabled him to pay for histuition and his despised books. 

"I was never a pig, though, " he explained to Dorothy, in a confidentialmoment. "There was one chump in our class who wanted to know all there wasin the book, and made himself sick trying to cram it in. All of a sudden, he graduated. He left college feet first, three on a side, with the classwalking slow behind him. I never was like that. I was sort of an epicurewhen it came to knowledge, tasting delicately here and there, and nevergreedy. Why, as far back as when I was studying algebra, I nobly refusedto learn the binomial theorem. I just read it through once, hastily, liketaking one sniff at a violet, and then let it alone. The other fellowsfairly gorged themselves with it, but I didn't--I had too much sense. "

When Mr. Chester had been there a week, he gave Dorothy two worn andcrumpled two-dollar bills. 

"What's this?" she asked, curiously. "Where did you find it?"

"'Find it' is good, " laughed Dick. "I earned it, my dear lady, in hard anduncongenial toil. It's my week's board. "

"You're not going to pay any board here. You're a guest. "

"Not on your life. You don't suppose I'm going to sponge my keep offanybody, do you? I paid Uncle Ebeneezer board right straight along andthere's no reason why I shouldn't pay you. You can put that away in yoursock, or wherever it is that women keep money, or else I take the nexttrain. If you don't want to lose me, you have to accept four plunks everyMonday. I've got lots of four plunks, " he added, with a winning smile. 

"Very well, " said Dorothy, quite certain that she could not spare Dick. "If it will make you feel any better about staying, I'll take it. "

He had quickly made friends with Elaine, and the three made a moreharmonious group than might have been expected under the circumstances. With returning strength and health, Miss St. Clair began to take more ofan interest in her surroundings. She gathered the white clover blossoms inwhich Dorothy tied up her pats of sweet butter, picked berries in thegarden, skimmed the milk, helped churn, and fed the chickens. 

Dick took entire charge of the cow, thus relieving Mrs. Smithers of anuncongenial task and winning her heartfelt gratitude. She repaid him withunnumbered biscuits of his favourite kind and with many a savoury "snack"between meals. He also helped Dorothy in many other ways. It was Dick whocollected the eggs every morning and took them to the sanitarium, alongwith such other produce as might be ready for the market. He securedastonishing prices for the things he sold, and set it down to man'ssuperior business ability when questioned by his hostess. Dorothy neverguessed that most of the money came out of his own pocket, and was chargedup, in the ragged memorandum book which he carried, to "Elaine's board. "

Miss St. Clair had never thought of offering compensation, and no onesuggested it to her, but Dick privately determined to make good thedeficiency, sure that a woman married to "a writing chump" would soon bein need of ready money if not actually starving at the time. That peopleshould pay for what Harlan wrote seemed well-nigh incredible. Besides, though Dick had never read that "love is an insane desire on the part of aman to pay a woman's board bill for life, " he took a definite satisfactionout of this secret expenditure, which he did not stop to analyse. 

He brought back full price for everything he took to the "repair-shop, " ashe had irreverently christened the sanitarium, though he seldom sold much. On the other side of the hill he had a small but select graveyard where heburied such unsalable articles as he could not eat. His appetite wascapricious, and Dorothy had frequently observed that when he came backfrom the long walk to the sanitarium, he ate nothing at all. 

He established a furniture factory under a spreading apple tree at arespectable distance from the house, and began to remodel the black-walnutrelics which were evidence of his kinsman's poor taste. He took many a bedapart, scraped off the disfiguring varnish, sandpapered and oiled thewood, and put it together in new and beautiful forms. He made severaltables, a cabinet, a bench, half a dozen chairs, a set of hanging shelves, and even aspired to a desk, which, owing to the limitations of thematerial, was not wholly successful. 

Dorothy and Elaine sat in rocking-chairs under the tree and encouraged himwhile he worked. One of them embroidered a simple design upon a burlapcurtain while the other read aloud, and together they planned a shapelyremodelling of the Jack-o'-Lantern. Fortunately, the woodwork was plain, and the ceilings not too high. 

"I think, " said Elaine, "that the big living room with the casementwindows will be perfectly beautiful. You couldn't have anything lovelierthan this dull walnut with the yellow walls. "

Whatever Mrs. Carr's thoughts might be, this simple sentence was usuallysufficient to turn the current into more pleasant channels. She hadplanned to have needless partitions taken out, and make the whole lowerfloor into one room, with only a dining-room, kitchen, and pantry back ofit. She would take up the unsightly carpets, over which impossible plantswandered persistently, and have them woven into rag rugs, with green andbrown and yellow borders. The floor was to be stained brown and the pinewoodwork a soft, old green. Yellow walls and white net curtains, with thebeautiful furniture Dick was making, completed a very charming picture inthe eyes of a woman who loved her home. 

Outspeeding it in her fancy was the finer, truer living which she believedlay beyond. Some day she and Harlan, alone once more, with the cobwebs ofestrangement swept away, should begin a new and happier honeymoon in thetransformed house. When the book was done--ah, when the book was done! Buthe was not reading any part of it to her now and would not let her begincopying it on the typewriter. 

"I'll do it myself, when I'm ready, " he said, coldly. "I can use atypewriter just as well as you can. "

Dorothy sighed, unconsciously, for the woman's part is always to waitpatiently while men achieve, and she who has learned to wait patiently, and be happy meanwhile, has learned the finest art of all--the art oflife. 

"Now, " said Dick, "that's a peach of a table, if I do say it asshouldn't. "

They readily agreed with him, for it was low and massive, built on simple, dignified lines, and beautifully finished. The headboards of threeponderous walnut beds and the supporting columns of a hideous sideboardhad gone into its composition, thus illustrating, as Dorothy said, thatugliness may be changed to beauty by one who knows how and is willing towork for it. 

The noon train whistled shrilly in the distance, and Dorothy started outof her chair. "She's afraid, " laughed Dick, instantly comprehending. "She's afraid somebody is coming on it. "

"More twins?" queried Elaine, from the depths of her rocker. "Surely therecan't be any more twins?"

"I don't know, " answered Dorothy, vaguely troubled. "Someway, I feel asthough something terrible were going to happen. "

Nothing happened, however, until after luncheon, just as she had begun tobreathe peacefully again. Willie saw the procession first and ran backwith gleeful shouts to make the announcement. So it was that the entirehousehold, including Harlan, formed a reception committee on the frontporch. 

Up the hill, drawn by two straining horses, came what appeared at first tobe a pyramid of furniture, but later resolved itself into the componentparts of a more ponderous bed than the ingenuity of man had yet contrived. It was made of black walnut, and was at least three times as heavy as anyof those in the Jack-o'-Lantern. On the top of the mass was perched alittle old man in a skull cap, a slippered foot in a scarlet sock airilywaving at one side. A bright green coil closely clutched in his witheredhands was the bed cord appertaining to the bed--a sainted possession fromwhich its owner sternly refused to part. 

"By Jove!" shouted Dick; "it's Uncle Israel and his crib!"

Paying no heed to the assembled group, Uncle Israel dismounted nimblyenough, and directed the men to take his bed upstairs, which they did, while Harlan and Dorothy stood by helplessly. Here, under his profane andinvolved direction, the structure was finally set in place, even to thepatchwork quilt, fearfully and wonderfully made, which surmounted it all. 

Financial settlement was waved aside by Uncle Israel as a matter in whichhe was not interested, and it was Dick who counted out two dimes and anickel to secure peace. A supplementary procession appeared with a small, weather-beaten trunk, a folding bath-cabinet, and a huge case which, fromUncle Israel's perturbation, evidently contained numerous fragile articlesof great value. 

"Tell Ebeneezer, " wheezed the newcomer, "that I have arrived. "

"Ebeneezer, " replied Dick, in wicked imitation of the old man's asthmaticspeech, "has been dead for some time. "

"Then, " creaked Uncle Israel, waving a tremulous, bony hand suggestivelytoward the door, "kindly leave me alone with my grief. "

X

Still More

Uncle Israel, whose other name was Skiles, adjusted himself to his griefin short order. The sounds which issued from his room were not thosecommonly associated with mourning. Dick, fully accustomed to variousnoises, explained them for the edification of the Carrs, who at presentwere sorely in need of edification. 

"That's the bath cabinet, " remarked Mr. Chester, with the air of aconnoisseur. "He's setting it up near enough to the door so that ifanybody should come in unexpectedly while it's working, the whole thingwill be tipped over and the house set on fire. Uncle Israel won't have anylock or bolt on his door for fear he should die in the night. He relieswholly on the bath cabinet and moral suasion. Nobody knocks on doors here, anyway--just goes in. 

"That's his trunk. He keeps it under the window. The bed is set up first, then the bath cabinet, then the trunk, and last, but not least, themedicine chest. He keeps his entire pharmacopoeia on a table at the headof his bed, with a candle and matches, so that if he feels badly in thenight, the proper remedy is instantly at hand. He prepares some of hismedicines himself, but he isn't bigoted about it. He buys the rest atwholesale, and I'll eat my hat if he hasn't got a full-sized bottle ofevery patent medicine that's on sale anywhere in the United States. "

"How old, " asked Harlan, speaking for the first time, "is Uncle Israel?"

"Something over ninety, I believe, " returned Dick. "I've lost my book ofvital statistics, so I don't know, exactly. "

"How long, " inquired Dorothy, with a forced smile, "does Uncle Israelstay?"

"Lord bless you, my dear lady, Uncle Israel stays all Summer. Hello--thereare some more!"

A private conveyance of uncertain age and purposes drew up before thedoor. From it dismounted a very slender young man of medium height, whoselong auburn hair hung over his coat-collar and at times partially obscuredhis soulful grey eyes. It resembled the mane of a lion, except in colour. He carried a small black valise, and a roll of manuscript tied with abadly soiled ribbon. 

An old lady followed, stepping cautiously, but still finding opportunityto scrutinise the group in the doorway, peering sharply over hergold-bowed spectacles. It was she who paid the driver, and even before thetwo reached the house, it was evident that they were not on speakingterms. 

The young man offered Mr. Chester a thin, tremulous hand which lay onDick's broad palm in a nerveless, clammy fashion. "Pray, " he said, in ahigh, squeaky voice, "convey my greetings to dear Uncle Ebeneezer, andinform him that I have arrived. "

"I am at present holding no communication with Uncle Ebeneezer, " explainedDick. "The wires are down. "

"Where is Ebeneezer?" demanded the old lady. 

"Dead, " answered Dorothy, wearily; "dead, dead. He's been dead a longtime. This is our house--he left it to my husband and me. "

"Don't let that disturb you a mite, " said the old lady, cheerfully. "Ilike your looks a whole lot, an' I'd just as soon stay with you as withEbeneezer. I dunno but I'd ruther. "

She must have been well past sixty, but her scanty hair was as yetuntouched with grey. She wore it parted in the middle, after an ancientfashion, and twisted at the back into a tight little knob, from which theends of a wire hairpin protruded threateningly. Dorothy reflected, unhappily, that the whole thing was done up almost tight enough to play atune on. 

For the rest, her attire was neat, though careless. One had always thedelusion that part or all of it was on the point of coming off. 

The young man was wiping his weak eyes upon a voluminous silk handkerchiefwhich had evidently seen long service since its last washing. "Dear UncleEbeneezer, " he breathed, running his long, bony fingers through his hair. "I cannot tell you how heavily this blow falls upon me. Dear UncleEbeneezer was a distinguished patron of the arts. Our country needs moremen like him, men with fine appreciation, vowed to the service of theIdeal. If you will pardon me, I will now retire to my apartment and remainthere a short time in seclusion. "

So saying, he ran lightly upstairs, as one who was thoroughly at home. 

"Who in--" began Harlan. 

"Mr. Harold Vernon Perkins, poet, " said Dick. "He's got his rhymingdictionary and all his odes with him. "

"Without knowing, " said Dorothy, "I should have thought his name wasHarold or Arthur or Paul. He looks it. "

"It wa'n't my fault, " interjected the old lady, "that he come. I didn'teven sense that he was on the same train as me till I hired the carriageat the junction an' he clim' in. He said he might as well come along as wewas both goin' to the same place, an' it would save him walkin', an' notcost me no more than 't would anyway. "

While she was speaking, she had taken off her outer layer of drapery andher bonnet. "I'll just put these things in my room, my dear, " she said toDorothy, "an' then I'll come back an' talk to you. I like your looksfirst-rate. "

"Who in--, " said Harlan, again, as the old lady vanished into one of thelower wings. 

"Mrs. Belinda something, " answered Dick. "I don't know who she's marriedto now. She's had bad luck with her husbands. "

Mrs. Carr, deeply troubled, was leaning against the wall in the hall, andDick patted her hand soothingly. "Don't you fret, " he said, cheerily; "I'mhere to see you through. "

"That being the case, " remarked Harlan, with a certain acidity in histone, "I'll go back to my work. "

The old lady appeared again as Harlan slammed the library door, andsuggested that Dick should go away. 

"Polite hint, " commented Mr. Chester, not at all disturbed. "See youlater. " He went out, whistling, with his cap on the back of his head andhis hands in his pockets. 

"I reckon you're a new relative, be n't you?" asked the lady guest, eyeingDorothy closely. "I disremember seein' you before. "

"I am Mrs. Carr, " repeated Dorothy, mechanically. "My husband, HarlanCarr, is Uncle Ebeneezer's nephew, and the house was left to him. "

"Do tell!" ejaculated the other. "I wouldn't have thought it of Ebeneezer. I'm Belinda Dodd, relict of Benjamin Dodd, deceased. How many are therehere, my dear?"

"Miss St. Clair, Mr. Chester, Mrs. Holmes and her three children, UncleIsrael Skiles, and you two, besides Mr. Carr, Mrs. Smithers, and myself. "

"Is that all?" asked the visitor, in evident surprise. 

"All!" repeated Dorothy. "Isn't that enough?"

"Lord love you, my dear, it's plain to be seen that you ain't never beenhere before. Only them few an' so late in the season, too. Why, there'sCousin Si Martin, an' his wife, an' their eight children, some of thechildren bein' married an' havin' other children, an' Sister-in-law FannyWood with her invalid husband, her second husband, that is, an' Rebecca'sUncle James's third wife with her two daughters, an' Rebecca's sister'ssecond husband with his new wife an' their little boy, an' Uncle Jason an'his stepson, the one that has fits, an' Cousin Sally Simmons an' herdaughter, an' the four little Riley children an' their Aunt Lucretia, an'Step-cousin Betsey Skiles with her two nieces, though I misdoubt theircomin' this year. The youngest niece had typhoid fever here last Summerfor eight weeks, an' Betsey thinks the location ain't healthy, in spite ofit's bein' so near the sanitarium. She was threatenin' to get the healthdepartment or somethin' after Ebeneezer an' have the drinkin' water lookedinto, so's they didn't part on the pleasantest terms, but in the mainwe've all got along well together. 

"If Betsey knowed Ebeneezer was dead, she wouldn't hesitate none aboutcomin', typhoid or no typhoid. Mebbe it was her fault some, for Ebeneezerwa'n't to blame for his drinkin' water no more 'n I'd be. Our ministerused to say that there was no discipline for the soul like livin' withfolks, year in an' year out hand-runnin', an' Betsey is naturally thatkind. Ebeneezer always lived plain, but we're all simple folks, not carin'much for style, so we never minded it. The air's good up here an' I dunnoany better place to spend the Summer. My gracious! You be n't sick, beyou?"

"I don't know what to do, " murmured Dorothy, her white lips scarcelymoving; "I don't know what to do. "

"Well, now, " responded Mrs. Dodd, "I can see that I've upset you some. Perhaps you're one of them people that don't like to have other folksaround you. I've heard of such, comin' from the city. Why, I knew a womanthat lived in the city, an' she said she didn't know the name of the womannext door to her after livin' there over eight months, --an' their windowslookin' right into each other, too. "

"I hate people!" cried Dorothy, in a passion of anger. "I don't wantanybody here but my husband and Mrs. Smithers!"

"Set quiet, my dear, an' make your mind easy. I'm sure Ebeneezer neverintended his death to make any difference in my spendin' the Summer here, especially when I'm fresh from another bereavement, but if you're inearnest about closin' your doors on your poor dead aunt's relations, whyI'll see what I can do. "

"Oh, if you could!" Dorothy almost screamed the words. "If you can keepany more people from coming here, I'll bless you for ever. "

"Poor child, I can see that you're considerable upset. Just get me the penan' ink an' some paper an' envelopes an' I'll set down right now an' writeto the connection an' tell 'em that Ebeneezer's dead an' bein' of unsoundmind at the last has willed the house to strangers who refuse to opentheir doors to the blood relations of poor dead Rebecca. That's all I cando an' I can't promise that it'll work. Ebeneezer writ several times to usall that he didn't feel like havin' no more company, but Rebecca'srelatives was all of a forgivin' disposition an' never laid it up againsthim. We all kep' on a-comin' just the same. "

"Tell them, " cried Dorothy her eyes unusually bright and her cheeksburning, "that we've got smallpox here, or diphtheria, or a lunaticasylum, or anything you like. Tell them there's a big dog in the yard thatwon't let anybody open the gate. Tell them anything!"

"Just you leave it all to me, my dear, " said Mrs. Dodd, soothingly. "Onaccount of the connection bein' so differently constituted, I'll have totell 'em all different. Disease would keep away some an' fetch others. Betsey Skiles, now, she feels to turn her hand to nursin' an' I've knowedher to go miles in the dead of Winter to set up with a stranger that hadsome disease she wa'n't familiar with. Dogs would bring others an' onlyscare a few. Just you leave it all to me. There ain't never no use inborrerin' trouble an' givin' up your peace of mind as security, 'cause youdon't never get the security back. I've been married enough to know thatthere's plenty of trouble in life besides what's looked for, an' it'll getin, without your holdin' open the door an' spreadin' a mat out with'Welcome' on it. Did Ebeneezer leave any property?"

"Only the house and furniture, " answered Dorothy, feeling that the wholeburden of the world had been suddenly shifted to her young shoulders. 

"Rebecca had a big diamond pin, " said Mrs. Dodd, after a brief silence, "that she allers said was to be mine when she got through with it. Ebeneezer give it to her for a weddin' present. You ain't seen it layin'around, have you?"

"No, I haven't seen it 'laying around, '" retorted Dorothy, conscious thatshe was juggling with the truth. 

"Well, " continued Mrs. Dodd, easily, nibbling her pen holder, "when itcomes to light, just remember that it's mine. I don't doubt it'll turn upsometime. An' now, my dear, I'll just begin on them letters. Cousin SiMartin's folks are a-packin' an' expectin' to get here next week. Isuppose you're willin' to furnish the stamps?"

"Willing!" cried Dorothy, "I should say yes!"

Mrs. Dodd toiled long at her self-imposed task, and, having finished it, went out into the kitchen, where for an hour or more she exchangedmortuary gossip with Mrs. Smithers, every detail of the conversation beingkeenly relished by both ladies. 

At dinner-time, eleven people sat down to partake of the excellent repastfurnished by Mrs. Smithers under the stimulus of pleasant talk. Harlan wasat the head, with Miss St. Clair on his right and Mrs. Dodd on his left. Next to Miss St. Clair was the poet, whose deep sorrow did not interferewith his appetite. The twins were next to him, then Mrs. Holmes, thenWillie, then Dorothy, at the foot of the table. On her right was Dick, thespace between Dick and Mrs. Dodd being occupied by Uncle Israel. 

To a careless observer, it might have seemed that Uncle Israel had morethan his share of the table, but such in reality was not the case. Hisplate was flanked by a goodly array of medicine bottles, and cups andbowls of predigested and patent food. Uncle Israel, as Dick conciselyexpressed it, was "pie for the cranks. "

"My third husband, " remarked Mrs. Dodd, pleasantly, well aware that shewas touching her neighbour's sorest spot, "was terribly afflicted withstomach trouble. "

"The only stomach trouble I've ever had, " commented Mr. Chester, airilyspearing another biscuit with his fork, "was in getting enough to put intoit. "

"Have a care, young man, " wheezed Uncle Israel, warningly. "There ain'tnothin' so bad for the system as hot bread. "

"It would be bad for my system, " resumed Dick, "not to be able to getit. "

"My third husband, " continued Mrs. Dodd, disregarding the interruption, "wouldn't have no bread in the house at all. He et these little strawmattresses, same as you've got, so constant that he finally died from thetic doleroo. Will you please pass me them biscuits, Mis' Carr?"

Mrs. Dodd was obliged to rise and reach past Uncle Israel, who declined tobe contaminated by passing the plate, before she attained her desiredbiscuit. 

"Next time, Aunt Belinda, " said Dick, "I'll throw you one. SufferingMoses, what new dope is that?"

A powerful and peculiarly penetrating odour filled the room. Presently itbecame evident that Uncle Israel had uncorked a fresh bottle of medicine. Miss St. Clair coughed and hastily excused herself. 

"It's time for me to take my pain-killer, " murmured Uncle Israel, pouringout a tablespoonful of a thick, brown mixture. "This here cured aCongressman in less 'n half a bottle of a gnawin' pain in his vitals. Iain't never took none of it yet, but I aim to now. "

The vapour of it had already made the twins cry and brought tears to Mrs. Dodd's eyes, but Uncle Israel took it clear and smacked his lips over itenjoyably. "It seems to be a searchin' medicine, " he commented, after aninterval of silence. "I don't misdoubt that it'll locate that pain thatwas movin' up and down my back all night last night. "

Uncle Israel's wizened old face, with its fringe of white whisker, beamedwith the joy of a scientist who has made a new and important discovery. Hehad a long, hooked nose, and was painfully near-sighted, but refused towear glasses. Just now he sniffed inquiringly at the open bottle ofmedicine. "Yes, " he said, nodding his bald head sagely, "I don't misdoubtthis here can locate it. "

"I don't, either, " said Harlan, grimly, putting his handkerchief to hisnose. "Will you excuse me, Dorothy?"

"Certainly. "

Mrs. Holmes took the weeping twins away from the table, and Willie, hismentor gone, began to eat happily with his fingers. The poet rose and drewa roll of manuscript from his coat pocket. 

"This afternoon, " he said, clearing his throat, "I employed my sparemoments in composing an ode to the memory of our sainted relative, underwhose hospitable roof we are all now so pleasantly gathered. I will readit to you. "

Mrs. Dodd hastily left the table, muttering indistinctly, and Dickfollowed her. Willie slipped from his chair, crawled under the table, andby stealthily sticking a pin into Uncle Israel's ankle, produced a violentdisturbance, during which the pain-killer was badly spilled. When the airfinally cleared, there was no one in the room but the poet, who sadlyrolled up his manuscript. 

"I will read it at breakfast, " he thought. "I will give them all thepleasure of hearing it. Art is for the many, not for the few. I must useit to elevate humanity to the Ideal. "

He went back to his own room to add some final reverent touches to themasterpiece, and to meditate upon the delicate blonde beauty of Miss St. Clair. 

From Mrs. Dodd, meanwhile, Dick had gathered the pleasing purport of hervoluminous correspondence, and insisted on posting all the letters thatvery night, though morning would have done just as well. When he had gonedownhill on his errand of mercy, whistling cheerily as was his wont, Mrs. Dodd went into her own room and locked the door, immediately beginning acareful search of the entire apartment. 

She scrutinised the walls closely, and rapped softly here and there, listening intently for a hollow sound. Standing on a chair, she felt allalong the mouldings and window-casings, taking unto herself much dust inthe process. She spent half an hour in the stuffy closet, investigatingthe shelves and recesses, then she got down on her rheumatic old knees andcrept laboriously over the carpet, systematically taking it breadth bybreadth, and paying special attention to that section of it which wasunder the bed. 

"When you've found where anythin' ain't, " she said to herself, "you'vegone a long way toward findin' where 't is. It's just like Ebeneezer tohave hid it. "

She took down the pictures, which were mainly family portraits, life-size, presented to the master of the house by devoted relatives, and rapidlyunframed them. In one of them she found a sealed envelope, which sheeagerly tore open. Inside was a personal communication which, thoughbrief, was very much to the point. 

"Dear Cousin Belinda, " it read, "I hope you're taking pleasure in yourhunt. I have kept my word to you and in this very room, somewhere, is asum of money which represents my estimate of your worth, as nearly assordid coin can hope to do. It is all in cash, for greater convenience inhandling. I trust you will not spend it all in one store, and that youwill, out of your abundance, be generous to the poor. It might be well touse a part of it in making a visit to New York. When you find this, Ishall be out in the cemetery all by myself, and very comfortable. 

 "Yours, Ebeneezer Judson. "

"I knowed it, " she said to herself, excitedly. "Ebeneezer was a hard man, but he always kep' his word. Dear me! What makes me so trembly!"

She removed all the bedclothes and pounded the pillows and mattress invain, then turned her attention to the furniture. It was almost oneo'clock when Mrs. Dodd finally retired, worn in body and jaded in spirit, but still far from discouraged. 

"Ebeneezer must have mistook the room, " she said to herself, "but howcould he unless his mind was failin'? I've had this now, goin' on tenyear. "

In the night she dreamed of finding money in the bureau, and got up to seeif by chance she had not received mysterious guidance from an unknownsource. There was money in the bureau, sure enough, but it was only twoworn copper cents wrapped in many thicknesses of old newspaper, and shewent unsuspiciously back to bed. 

"He's mistook the room, " she breathed, drowsily, as she sank into troubledslumber, "an' to-morrer I'll have it changed. It's just as well I'vescared them others off, if so be I have. "

XI

Mrs. Dodd's Third Husband

Insidiously, a single idea took possession of the entire household. Mrs. Smithers kept a spade near at hand and systematically dug, as opportunityoffered. Dorothy became accustomed to an odorous lantern which stood nearthe back door in the daytime and bobbed about among the shrubbery atnight. 

There was definite method in the madness of Mrs. Smithers, however, forshe had once seen the departed Mr. Judson going out to the orchard with atin box under his arm and her own spade but partially concealed under hislong overcoat. When he came back, he was smiling, which was so unusualthat she forgot all about the box, and did not observe whether or not hehad brought it back with him. Long afterward, however, the incidentassumed greater significance. 

"If I'd 'ave 'ad the sense to 'ave gone out there the next day, " shemuttered, "and 'ave seen where 'e 'ad dug, I might be a rich woman now, that's wot I might. 'E was a clever one, 'e was, and 'e's 'id it. The oldskinflint wasn't doin' no work, 'e wasn't, and 'e lived on 'ere from yearto year, a-payin' 'is bills like a Christian gent, and it stands to reasonthere's money 'id somewheres. Findin' is keepin', and it's for me to keepmy 'ead shut and a sharp lookout. Them Carrs don't suspect nothink. "

She was only half right, however. Harlan, lost in his book, was heedlessof everything that went on around him, but Mrs. Dodd's reference to thediamond pin, and her own recollection of the money she had found in thebureau drawer, began to work stealthily upon Dorothy's mind, surrounded, as she was, by people who were continually thinking of the same thing. 

Then, too, their funds were getting low. There was little to send to thesanitarium now, for eleven people, as students of domestic economics haveoften observed, eat more than one or two. Dick was also affected by thecurrent financial depression, and at length conceived the idea that UncleEbeneezer's worldly goods were somewhere on the premises. 

Mrs. Holmes spent a great deal of time in the attic, while the care-freechildren, utterly beyond control, rioted madly through the house. Dorothydiscovered Mr. Perkins, the poet, half-way up the parlour chimney, and satdown to see what he would do when he came out and found her there. He hadseemed somewhat embarrassed when he wiped the soot from his face, but hadquickly explained that he was writing a poem on chimney-swallows and hadcome to a point where original research was essential. 

Even Elaine, not knowing what she sought, began to investigate, idlyenough, the furniture and hangings in her room, and Mrs. Dodd, eagerlyseizing opportunities, was forever keen on the scent. Uncle Israel, owingto the poor state of his health, was one of the last to be affected by thesurrounding atmosphere, but when he caught the idea, he made up for losttime. 

He was up with the chickens, and invariably took a long afternoon nap, sothat, during the night, there was bound to be a wakeful interval. Ordinarily, he took a sleeping potion to tide him over till morning, butsoon decided that a little mild exercise with some pleasant purposeanimating it, would be far better for his nerves. 

Mrs. Dodd was awakened one night by the feeling that some one was in herroom. A vague, mysterious Presence gradually made itself known. At firstshe was frightened, then the Presence wheezed, and reassured her. Acrossthe path of moonlight that lay on her floor, Uncle Israel movedcautiously. 

He was clad in a piebald dressing-gown which had been so patched withvarious materials that the original fabric was uncertain. An old-fashionednightcap was on his head, the tassel bobbing freakishly in the back, andhe wore carpet slippers. 

Mrs. Dodd sat up in bed, keenly relishing the situation. When he opened abureau drawer, she screamed out: "What are you looking for?"

Uncle Israel started violently. "Money, " he answered, in a shrill whisper, taken altogether by surprise. 

"Then, " said Mrs. Dodd, kindly, "I'll get right up and help you!"

"Don't, Belinda, " pleaded the old man. "You'll wake up everybody. I ama-walkin' in my sleep, I guess. I was a-dreamin' of money that I was tofind and give to you, and I suppose that's why I've come to your room. Youlay still, Belinda, and don't tell nobody. I am a-goin' right away. "

Before she could answer in a way that seemed suitable, he was gone, andthe next day he renewed his explanations. "I dunno, Belinda, how I evercome to be a-walkin' in my sleep. I ain't never done such a thing since Iwas a child, and then only wunst. How dretful it would have been if I hadgone into any other room and mebbe have been shot or have scared someyoung and unprotected female into fits. To think of me, with myuntarnished reputation, and at my age, a-doin' such a thing! You don'treckon it was my new pain-killer, do you?"

"I don't misdoubt it had sunthin' to do with payin', " returned Mrs. Dodd, greatly pleased with her own poor joke, "an', as you say, it might havebeen dretful. But I am a friend to you, Israel, an' I don't 'low to makeyour misfortune public, but, by workin' private, help you overcome it. "

"What air you a-layin' out to do?" demanded Uncle Israel, fearfully. 

"I ain't rightly made up my mind as yet, Israel, " she answered, pleasantlyenough, "but I don't intend to have it happen to you again. Sunthin' cansurely be done that'll cure you of it. "

"Don't, Belinda, " wheezed her victim; "I don't think I'll ever have itagain. "

"Don't you fret about it, Israel, 'cause you ain't goin' to have it nomore. I'll attend to it. It 's a most distressin' disease an' must be tookearly, but I think I know how to fix it. "

During her various investigations, she had found a huge bunch of keysbeneath a pile of rubbish on the floor of a closet in an unoccupied room. It was altogether possible, as she told herself, that one of these keysshould fit the somnambulist's door. 

While Uncle Israel was brewing a fresh supply of medicine on the kitchenstove, she found, as she had suspected that one of them did fit, andthereafter, every night, when Uncle Israel had retired, she locked him in, letting him out shortly after seven each morning. When he remonstratedwith her, she replied, triumphantly, that it was necessary--otherwise hewould never have known that the door was locked. 

On her first visit to "town" she made it her business to call upon LawyerBradford and inquire as to Mr. Judson's last will and testament. Shelearned that it did not concern her at all, and was to be probated, inaccordance with the dead man's instructions, at the Fall term of court. 

"Then, as yet, " she said, with a gleam of satisfaction in her small, beadyeyes, "they ain't holdin' the house legal. Any of us has the same right tostay as them Carrs. "

"That's as you look at it, " returned Mr. Bradford, squirming uneasily inhis chair. 

Try as she might, she could extract no further information, but she atleast had a bit of knowledge to work on. She went back, earnestly desiringquiet, that she might study the problem without hindrance, but, unfortunately for her purpose, the interior of the Jack-o'-Lanternresembled pandemonium let loose. 

Willie was sliding down the railing part of the time, and at frequentintervals coasting downstairs on Mrs. Smithers's tea tray, vocallyexpressing his pleasure with each trip. The twins, seated in front of thelibrary door, were pounding furiously on a milk-pan, which had not beenempty when they dragged it into the hall, but was now. Mrs. Smithers wassinging: "We have our trials here below, Oh, Glory, Hallelujah, " and asickening odour from a fresh concoction of Uncle Israel's permeated thepremises. Having irreverently detached the false front from the keys ofthe melodeon, Mr. Perkins was playing a sad, funereal composition of hisown, with all the power of the instrument turned loose on it. Upstairs, Dick was whistling, with shrill and maddening persistence, and Dorothy, quite helpless, sat miserably on the porch with her fingers in her ears. 

Harlan burst out of the library, just as Mrs. Dodd came up the walk, histemper not improved by stumbling over the twins and the milk-pan, andabove their united wails loudly censured Dorothy for the noise andconfusion. "How in the devil do you expect me to work?" he demanded, irritably. "If you can't keep the house quiet, I'll go back to New York!"

Too crushed in spirit to reply, Dorothy said nothing, and Harlan whiskedback into the library again, barely escaping Mrs. Dodd. 

"Poor child, " she said to Dorothy; "you look plum beat out. "

"I am, " confessed Mrs. Carr, the quick tears coming to her eyes. 

"There, there, my dear, rest easy. I reckon this is the first time you'vebeen married, ain't it?"

"Yes, " returned Dorothy, forcing a pitiful little smile. 

"I thought so. Now, when you're as used to it as I be, you won't take itso hard. You may think men folks is all different, but there's a dretfulsameness to 'em after they've been through a marriage ceremony. Marriageis just like findin' a new penny on the walk. When you first see it, it'sall shiny an' a'most like gold, an' it tickles you a'most to pieces tothink you're gettin' it, but after you've picked it up you see that whatyou've got is half wild Indian, or mebbe more--I ain't never been in nomint. You may depend upon it, my dear, there's two sides to all of us, an'before marriage, you see the wreath--afterwards a savage. 

"I've had seven of 'em, " she continued, "an' I know. My father give me acemetery lot for a weddin' present, with a noble grey marble monumint init shaped like a octagon--leastways that's what a school-teacher whatboarded with us said it was, but I call it a eight-sided piece. I'mspeakin' of my first marriage now, my dear. My father never give me noweddin' present but the once. An' I can't never marry again, 'causethere's a husband lyin' now on seven sides of the monumint an' only oneplace left for me. I was told once that I could have further husbandscremationed an' set around the lot in vases, but I don't take to no suchheathenish custom as that. 

"So I've got to go through my declinin' years without no suitablecompanion an' I call it hard, when one's so used to marryin' as what Ibe. "

"If they're all savages, " suggested Dorothy, "why did you keep onmarrying?"

"Because I hadn't no other way to get my livin' an' I was kinder in thehabit of it. There's some little variety, even in savages, an' it's humannatur' to keep on a-hopin. ' I've had 'em stingy an' generous, drunk an'sober, peaceful an' disturbin'. After the first few times, I learned totake real pleasure out'n their queer notions. When you've learned to enjoyseein' your husband make a fool of himself an' have got enoughself-control not to tell him he's doin' it, nor to let him see where yourpleasure lies, you've got marryin' down to a fine point. 

"The third time, it was, I got a food crank, an' let me tell you rightnow, my dear, them's the worst kind. A man what's queer about his food isgoin' to be queerer about a'most everything else. Give me any man that caneat three square meals a day an' enjoy 'em, an' I'll undertake to livewith him peaceful, but I don't go to the altar again with no food crank, if I know it. 

"It was partly my own fault, too, as I see later. I'd seen him a-carryin'a passel of health food around in his pocket an' a-nibblin' at it, but Isupposed it was because the poor creeter had never had no one to cookproper for him, an' I took a lot of pleasure out of thinkin' how tickledhe'd be when I made him one of my chicken pies. 

"After we was married, we took a honeymoon to his folks, an' I'll tell youright now, my dear, that if there was more honeymoons took beforehand toeach other's folks, there'd be less marryin' done than what there is. Theywas all a-eatin' hay an' straw an' oats just like the dumb creeters theydisdained, an' a-carryin' wheat an' corn around in their pockets to pieceout with between greens. 

"So the day we got home, never knowin' what I was a-stirrin' up formyself, I turned in an' made a chicken an' oyster pie, an' it couldn't bebeat, not if I do say it as shouldn't. The crust was as soft an' flaky an'brown an' crisp at the edges as any I ever turned out, an' the inside wasall chicken an' oysters well-nigh smothered in a thick, creamy yellowgravy. 

"Well, sir, I brung in that pie, an' I set it on the table, an' I chirpedout that dinner was ready, an' he come, an'--my dear! You never saw suchgoins'-on in all your born days! Considerin' that not eatin' animals makespeople's dispositions mild an' pleasant, it was sunthin' terrible, an' meall the time as innercent as a lamb!

"I can't begin to tell you the things my new-made husband said to me. Ifchickens an' oysters was human, I'll bet they'd have sued him for slander. He said that oysters was 'the scavengers of the sea'--yes'm, them's hisvery words, an' that chickens was even worse. He went on to tell me howthey et worms an' potato bugs an' beetles an' goodness knows what else, an' that he wa'n't goin' to turn the temple of his body into noslaughter-house. He asked me if I desired to eat dead animals, an' when heinsisted on an answer, I told him I certainly shouldn't care to eat 'emless'n they _was_ dead, and from then on it was worse 'n ever. 

"He said that no dead animal was goin' to be interred in the insides ofhim or his lawful wife, an' he was goin' to see to it. It come out thenthat he'd never tasted meat an' hadn't rightly sensed what he wasmissin'. 

"Well, my dear, some women would have took the wrong tack an' would haveargyfied with him. There's never no use in argyfyin' with a husband, an'never no need to, 'cause if you're set on it, there's all the rest of theworld to choose from. When he'd talked himself hoarse an' was beginnin' tocalm down again, I took the floor. 

"'Say no more, ' says I, calm an' collected-like. 'This here is your housean' the things you're accustomed to eatin' can be cooked in it, no matterwhat they be. If I don't know how to put the slops together, I reckon Ican learn, not being a plum idjit. If you want baked chicken feed andboiled hay, I'm here to bake 'em and boil 'em for you. All you have to dois to speak once in a polite manner and it'll be done. I must insist onthe politeness, howsumever, ' says I. 'I don't propose to live with any manwhat gets the notion a woman ceases to be a lady when she marries him. Acreeter that thinks so poor of himself as that ain't fit to be myhusband, ' says I, 'nor no other decent woman's. '

"At that he apologised some, an' when a husband apologises, my dear, it'sthe same as if he'd et dirt at your feet. 'The least said the soonestmended, ' says I, an' after that, he never had nothin' to complain of. 

"But I knowed what his poor, cranky system needed, an' I knowed how to getit into him, especially as he'd never tasted meat in all his life. Fromthat time on, he never saw no meat on our table, nor no chickens, nor seascavengers, nor nothin', but all day, while he was gone, I was busy withmy soup pot, a-makin' condensed extracts of meat for flavourin' vegetablesan' sauces an' so on. 

"He took mightily to my cookin' an' frequently said he'd never et suchexquisite victuals. I'd make cream soups for him, an' in every one, there'd be over a cupful of solid meat jelly, as rich as the juice youfind in the pan when you cook a first-class roast of beef. I'd stewpotatoes in veal stock, and cook rice slow in water that had had a chickenboiled to rags in it. Once I put a cupful of raw beef juice in a can oftomatoes I was cookin' and he et a'most all of 'em. 

"As he kep' on havin' more confidence in me, I kep' on usin' more an'more, an' a-usin' oyster liquor for flavourin' in most everything durin'the R months. Once he found nearly a bushel of clam-shells out behind thehouse an' wanted to know what they was an' what they was doin' there. Itold him the fish man had give 'em to me for a border for my flower beds, which was true. I'd only paid for the clams--there wa'n't nothin' saidabout the shells--an' the juice from them clams livened up his soup an'vegetables for over a week. There wa'n't no day that he didn't have thevital elements of from one to four pounds of meat put in his food, an' allthe time, he was gettin' happier an' healthier an' more peaceful to livewith. When he died, he was as mild as a spring lamb with mint sauce onit. 

"Now, my dear, some women would have told him what they was doin', eitherafter he got to likin' the cookin' or when he was on his death-bed an'couldn't help himself, but I never did. I own that it took self-controlnot to do it, but I'd learned my lesson from havin' been married twicetbefore an' never havin' fit any to speak of. I had to take my pleasurefrom seein' him eat a bowl of rice that had a whole chicken in it, exceptin' only the bones and fibres of its mortal frame, an' a-lappin' upmebbe a pint of tomato soup that was founded on eight nice pork chops. I'ma-tellin' you all this merely to show you my point. Every day, Henry wasmakin' a blame fool of himself without knowin' it. He'd prattle by thehour of slaughter-houses an' human cemeteries an' all the time he'd behonin' for his next meal. 

"He used to say as how it was dretful wicked to kill the dumb animals forfood, an' I allers said that there was nothin' to hinder his buyin' asmany as he could afford to an' savin' their lives by pennin' 'em up in theback yard, an' a-feedin' 'em the things they liked best to eat till theydied of old age or sunthin'. I told him they was all vegetarians, the sameas he was, an' they could live together peaceful an' happy. I even pointedout that it was his duty to do it, an' that if all believers would do thesame, the dread slaughter-houses would soon be a thing of the past, but Iain't never seen no food crank yet that's advanced that far in hishumanity. 

"I never told him a single word about it, nor even hinted it to him, nortold nobody else, though I often felt wicked to think I was keepin' somuch pleasure to myself, but my time is comin'. 

"When I'm dead an' have gone to heaven, the first thing I'm goin' to do isto hunt up Henry. They say there ain't no marriage nor givin' in marriageup there, but I reckon there's seven men there that'll at least recognisetheir wife when they see her a-comin' in. I'm goin' to pick up my skirtsan' take off my glasses, so's I'll be all ready to skedaddle, for I expectto leave my rheumatiz behind me, my dear, when I go to heaven--leastways, no place will be heaven for me that's got rheumatiz in it--an' then I'mgoin' to say: 'Henry, in all the four years you was livin' with me, youwas eatin' meat, an' you never knowed it. You're nothin' but a humancemetery. ' Oh, my dear, it's worth while dyin' when you know you're goin'to have pleasure like that at the other end!"

XII

Her Gift to the World

"I regret, my dear madam, " said Lawyer Bradford, twisting uneasily in hischair, "that I can offer you no encouragement whatsoever. The will isclear and explicit in every detail, and there are no grounds for acontest. I am, perhaps, trespassing upon the wishes of my client in givingyou this information, but if you are remaining here with the hope ofpecuniary profit, you are remaining here unnecessarily. "

He rose as though to indicate that the interview was at an end, but Mrs. Holmes was not to be put away in that fashion. Her eyes were blazing andher weak chin trembled with anger. 

"Do you mean to tell me, " she demanded, "that Ebeneezer voluntarily diedwithout making some sort of provision for me and my helpless littlechildren?"

"Your distinguished relation, " answered Mr. Bradford, slowly, "certainlydied voluntarily. He announced the date of his death some weeks before itactually occurred, and superintended the making of his own coffin. Hewrote out minute directions for his obsequies, had his grave dug, and hisshroud made, burned his papers, rearranged his books, made his will--andwas found dead in his bed on the morning of the day set for his departure. A methodical person, " muttered the old man, half to himself; "a mostmethodical and systematic person. "

Mrs. Holmes shuddered. She was not ordinarily a superstitious woman, butthere was something uncanny in this open partnership with Death. 

"There was a diamond pin, " she suggested, moodily, "worth, I should think, some fifteen or sixteen hundred dollars. Ebeneezer gave it to dear Rebeccaon their wedding day, and she always said it was to be mine. Have you anyidea where it is?"

Mr. Bradford fidgeted. "If it was intended for you, " he said, finally, "itwill be given to you at the proper time, or you will be directed to itslocation. Mrs. Judson died, did she not, about three weeks after theirmarriage?"

"Yes, " snapped Mrs. Holmes, readily perceiving the line of his thought, "and I saw her twice in those three weeks. Both times she spoke of thepin, which she wore constantly, and said that if anything happened to her, she wanted me to have it, but that old miser hung on to it. "

"Madam, " said Mr. Bradford, a faint flush mounting to his temples as heopened the office door, "you are speaking of my Colonel, under whom Iserved in the war. He was my best friend, and though he is dead, it isstill my privilege to protect him. I bid you good afternoon!"

She did not perceive until long afterward that she had practically beenejected from the legal presence. Even then, she was so intent upon thepoint at issue that she was not offended, as at another time she certainlywould have been. 

"He's lying, " she said to herself, "they're all lying. There's moneyhidden in that house, and I know it, and what's more, I'm going to haveit!"

She had searched her own rooms on the night of her arrival, but foundnothing, and the attic, so far, had yielded her naught save discouragementand dust. "To think, " she continued, mentally, "that after two of mychildren were born here and named for them, that we are left in this way!I call it a shame, a disgrace, an outrage!"

Her anger swiftly cooled, however, as she went into the house, and herfond sight rested upon her darlings. Willie had a ball and had alreadybroken two of the front windows. The small Rebecca was under the sofa, tempering the pleasure of life for Claudius Tiberius, while youngEbeneezer, having found a knife somewhere, was diligently scratching themelodeon. 

"Just look, " said Mrs. Holmes, in delighted awe, as Dorothy entered theroom. "Don't make any noise, or you will disturb Ebbie. He is such asensitive child that the sound of a strange voice will upset him. Did youever see anything like those figures he is drawing on the melodeon? Ibelieve he's going to be an artist!"

Crushed as she was in spirit by her uncongenial surroundings, Dorothystill had enough temper left to be furiously angry. In these latter days, however, she had gained largely in self-control, and now only bit her lipswithout answering. 

But Mrs. Holmes would not have heard her, even if she had replied. Asudden yowl from the distressed Claudius impelled Dorothy to move the sofaand rescue him. 

"How cruel you are!" commented Mrs. Holmes. "The idea of taking Rebbie'splaything away from her! Give it back this instant!"

Mrs. Carr put the cat out and returned with a defiant expression on herface, which roused Mrs. Holmes to action. "Willie, " she commanded, "go outand get the kitty for your little sister. There, there, Rebbie, darling, don't cry any more! Brother has gone to get the kitty. Don't cry!"

But "brother" had not gone. "Chase it yourself, " he remarked, coolly. "I'mgoing out to the barn. "

"Dear Willie's individuality is developing every day, " Mrs. Holmes wenton, smoothly. "There, there, Rebbie, don't cry any more. Go and tell Mrs. Smithers to give you a big piece of bread with lots of butter and jam onit. Tell her mamma said so. Run along, that's a nice little girl. "

Rude squares, triangles, and circles appeared as by magic on the shiningsurface of the melodeon, the young artist being not at all disturbed bythe confusion about him. 

"I am blessed in my children, " Mrs. Holmes went on, happily. "I oftenwonder what I have done that I should have so perfect a boy as Willie formy very own. Everybody admires him so that I dwell in constant fear ofkidnappers. "

"I wouldn't worry, " said Dorothy, with ill-concealed sarcasm. "Anybody whotook him would bring him back inside of two hours. "

"I try to think so, " returned the mother, with a deep sigh. "Willie'sindomitable will is my deepest comfort. He gets it from my side of thefamily. None of the children take after their father at all. Ebbie was alittle like his father's folks at first, but I soon got it out of him andmade him altogether like my people. I do not think anybody could keepWillie away from me except by superior physical force. He absolutelyadores his mother, as my other children do. You never saw such beautifulsentiment as they have. The other day, now, when I went away and leftRebbie alone in my apartment, she took down my best hat and put it on. Thepoor little thing wanted to be near her mother. Is it not touching?"

"It is indeed, " Dorothy assented, dryly. 

"My children have never been punished, " continued Mrs. Holmes, nowauspiciously launched upon her favourite theme. "It has never beennecessary. I rule them entirely through love, and they are so accustomedto my methods that they bitterly resent any interference by outsiders. Why, just before we came here, Ebbie, young as he is, put out the left eyeof a woman who tried to take his dog away from him. He did it with hislittle fist and with apparently no effort at all. Is it not wonderful tosee such strength and power of direction in one so young? The woman was inthe hospital when we came away, and I trust by this time, she has learnednot to interfere with Ebbie. No one is allowed to interfere with mychildren. "

"Apparently not, " remarked Mrs. Carr, somewhat cynically. 

"It is beautiful to be a mother--the most beautiful thing on earth! Justthink how much I have done for the world!" Her sallow face glowed with theconscious virtue bestowed by one of the animal functions upon those whohave performed it. 

"In what way?" queried Mrs. Carr, wholly missing the point. 

"Why, in raising Willie and Ebbie and Rebbie! No public service can for amoment be compared with that! All other things sink into insignificancebeside the glorious gift of maternity. Look at Willie--a form that asculptor might dream of for a lifetime and never hope to imitate--a headthat already has inspired great artists! The gentleman who took Willie'slast tintype said that he had never seen such perfect lines, and insistedon taking several for fear something should happen to Willie. He wanted tokeep some of them for himself--it was pathetic, the way he pleaded, but Imade him sell me all of them. Willie is mine and I have the first right tohis tintypes. And a lady once painted Willie at his play in black andwhite and sent it to one of the popular weeklies. I have no doubt theygave her a fortune for it, but it never occurred to her to give usanything more than one copy of the paper. "

"Which paper was it?"

"One of the so-called comic weeklies. You know they publish superbartistic things. I think they are doing a wonderful work in educating themasses to a true appreciation of art. One of the wonderful parts of it wasthat Willie knew all about it and was not in the least conceited. Anyother child would have been set up at being a model for a great artist, but Willie was not affected at all. He has so much character!"

At this point the small Rebecca entered, dragging her doll by one arm, andmunching a thick slice of bread, thinly coated with molasses. 

"I distinctly said jam, " remarked Mrs. Holmes. "Servants are so heedless. I do not know that molasses is good for Rebbie. What would you think, Mrs. Carr?"

"I don't think it will hurt her if she doesn't get too much of it. "

"There's no danger of her getting too much of it. Mrs. Smithers is toostingy for that. Why, only yesterday, Willie told me that she refused tolet him dip his dry bread in the cream, and gave him a cup of plain milkinstead. Willie knows when his system needs cream and I want him to haveall the nourishment he can get. The idea that she should think she knewmore about it than Willie! She was properly punished for it, however. Imyself saw Willie throw a stick of stove wood at her and hit her foolishhead with it. I think Willie is going to be a soldier, a commander of anarmy. He has so much executive ability and never misses what he aims at. 

"Rebbie, don't chew on that side, darling; remember your loose tooth isthere. Mamma doesn't want it to come out. "

"Why?" asked Dorothy, with a gleam of interest. 

"Because I can't bear to have her little baby teeth come out and make hergrow up! I want to keep her just as she is. I have all my children'steeth, and some day I am going to have them set into a beautiful bracelet. Look at that! How generous and unselfish of Rebbie! She is trying to shareher bread with her doll. I believe Rebbie is going to be a philanthropist, or a college-settlement worker. See, she is trying to give the doll themolasses--the very best part of it. Did you ever see such a beautifulspirit in one so young?"

Before Mrs. Carr could answer, young Ebeneezer had finished his woodcarving and had grabbed his protesting twin by the hair. 

"There, there, Rebbie, " soothed the mother, "don't cry. Brother was onlyloving little sister. Be careful, Ebbie. You can take hold of sister'shair, but not too hard. They love each other so, " she went on. "Ebbie isreally sentimental about Rebbie. He loves to touch and stroke her gloriousblonde hair. Did you ever see such hair as Rebbie's?"

It came into Mrs. Carr's mind that "Rebbie's" hair looked more like aplate of cold-slaw than anything else, but she was too wise to put thethought into words. 

Willie slid down the railing and landed in the hall with a loud whoop ofglee. "How beautiful to hear the sounds of childish mirth, " said Mrs. Holmes. "How----"

From upstairs came a cry of "Help! Help!"

Muffled though the voice was, it plainly issued from Uncle Israel's room, and under the impression that the bath cabinet had finally set the houseon fire, Mrs. Carr ran hastily upstairs, followed closely by Mrs. Holmes, who was flanked at the rear by the grinning Willie and the interestedtwins. 

From a confused heap of bedding, Uncle Israel's scarlet ankles wavedfrantically. "Help! Help!" he cried again, his voice being almost whollydeadened by the pillows, which had fallen on him after the collapse. 

Dorothy helped the trembling old man to his feet. He took a copiousdraught from the pain-killer, then sat down on his trunk, much perturbed. 

Investigation proved that the bed cord had been cut in a dozen places bysome one working underneath, and that the entire structure had instantlycaved in when Uncle Israel had crept up to the summit of his bed and laindown to take his afternoon nap. When questioned, Willie proudly admittedthat he had done it. 

"Go down and ask Mrs. Smithers for the clothes-line, " commanded Dorothy, sternly. 

"I won't, " said Willie, smartly, putting his hands in his pockets. 

"You had better go yourself, Mrs. Carr, " suggested Mrs. Holmes. "Willie istired. He has played hard all day and needs rest. He must not on anyaccount over-exert himself, and, besides, I never allow any one else tosend my children on errands. They obey me and me alone. "

"Go yourself, " said Willie, having gathered encouragement from thematernal source. 

"I'll go, " wheezed Uncle Israel. "I can't sleep in no other bed. Ebeneezer's beds is all terrible drafty, and I took two colds at oncesleepin' in one of 'em when I knowed better 'n to try it. " He tottered outof the room, the very picture of wretchedness. 

"Was it not clever of Willie?" whispered Mrs. Holmes, admiringly, toDorothy. "So much ingenuity--such a fine sense of humor!"

"If he were my child, " snapped Dorothy, at last losing her admirablecontrol of a tempestuous temper, "he'd be soundly thrashed at least threetimes a week!"

"I do not doubt it, " replied Mrs. Holmes, contemptuously. "These marriedold maids, who have no children of their own, are always wholly out ofsympathy with a child's nature. "

"When I was young, " retorted Mrs. Carr, "children were not allowed to rulethe entire household. There was a current superstition to the effect thatolder people had some rights. "

"And yet, " Mrs. Holmes continued, meditatively, "as the editor of _TheLadies' Own_ so pertinently asks, what is a house for if not to bring up achild in? The purpose of architecture is defeated, where there are nochildren. "

Uncle Israel, accompanied by Dick, hobbled into the room with theclothes-line. Mrs. Holmes discreetly retired, followed by her offspring, and, late in the afternoon, when Dorothy and Dick were well-nigh faggedout, the structure was in place again. Tremulously the exhausted owner laydown upon it, and asked that his supper be sent to his room. 

By skilful manoeuvring with Mrs. Smithers, Dick compelled theproud-spirited Willie to take up Uncle Israel's tray and wait for it. "I'll tell my mother, " whimpered the sorrowful one. 

"I hope you will, " replied Dick, significantly; but for some reason of hisown, Willie neglected to mention it. 

At dinner-time, Mr. Perkins drew a rolled manuscript, tied with a blackribbon, from his breast pocket, and, without preliminary, proceeded toread as follows:

TO THE MEMORY OF EBENEEZER JUDSON

 A face we loved has vanished, A voice we adored is now still, There is no longer any music In the tinkling rill. 

 His hat is empty of his head, His snuff-box has no sneezer, His cane is idle in the hall For gone is Ebeneezer. 

 Within the house we miss him, Let fall the sorrowing tear, Yet shall we gather as was our wont Year after sunny year. 

 He took such joy in all his friends That he would have it so; He left his house to relatives But none of us need go. 

 In fact, we're all related, Sister, friend, and brother; And in this hour of our grief We must console each other. 

 He would not like to have us sad, Our smiles were once his pleasure And though we cannot smile at him, His memory is our treasure. 

When he had finished, there was a solemn silence, which was at lastrelieved by Mrs. Dodd. "Poetry broke out in my first husband's family, "she said, "but with sulphur an' molasses an' quinine an' plenty ofwet-sheet packs it was finally cured. "

"You do not understand, " said the poet, indulgently. "Your aura is notharmonious with mine. "

"Your--what?" demanded Mrs. Dodd, pricking up her ears. 

"My aura, " explained Mr. Perkins, flushing faintly. "Each individualitygives out a spiritual vapour, like a cloud, which surrounds one. These areall in different colours, and the colours change with the thoughts wethink. Black and purple are the gloomy, morose colours; deep blue and thepaler shades show a sombre outlook on life; green is more cheerful, thoughstill serious; yellow and orange show ambition and envy, and red and whiteare emblematic of all the virtues--red of the noble, martial qualities ofman and white of the angelic disposition of woman, " he concluded, with ameaning glance at Elaine, who had been much interested all along. 

"What perfectly lovely ideas, " she said, in a tone which made Dick's bloodboil. "Are they original with you, Mr. Perkins?"

The poet cleared his throat. "I cannot say that they are wholly originalwith me, " he admitted, reluctantly, "though of course I have modified andamplified them to accord with my own individuality. They are doingwonderful things now in the psychological laboratories. They have a systemof tubes so finely constructed that by breathing into one of them aperson's mental state is actually expressed. An angry person, breathinginto one of these finely organised tubes, makes a decided change in thecolour of the vapour. "

"Humph!" snorted Mrs. Dodd, pushing back her chair briskly. "I've beenmarried seven times, an' I never had to breathe into no tube to let any ofmy husbands know when I was mad!"

The poet crimsoned, but otherwise ignored the comment. "If you will comeinto the parlour just as twilight is falling, " he said to the others, "Iwill gladly recite my ode on Spring. "

Subdued thanks came from the company, though Harlan excused himself on thescore of his work, and Mrs. Holmes was obliged to put the twins to bed. When twilight fell, no one was at the rendezvous but Elaine and the poet. 

"It is just as well, " he said, in a low tone. "There are several underdear Uncle Ebeneezer's roof who are afflicted with an inharmonious aura. With yours only am I in full accord. It is a great pleasure to an artistto feel such beautiful sympathy with his work. Shall I say it now?"

"If you will, " murmured Elaine, deeply honoured by acquaintance with areal poet. 

Mr. Perkins drew his chair close to hers, leaned over with an air ofloving confidence, and began:

 Spring, oh Spring, dear, gentle Spring, My poet's garland do I bring To lay upon thy shining hair Where rests a wreath of flowers so fair. There is a music in the brook Which answers to thy tender look And in thy eyes there is a spell Of soft enchantment too sweet to tell. My heart to thine shall ever turn For thou hast made my soul to burn With rapture far beyond----

Elaine screamed, and in a twinkling was on her chair with her skirtsgathered about her. It was only Claudius Tiberius, dressed in Rebecca'sdoll's clothes, scooting madly toward the front door, but it servedeffectually to break up the entertainment. 

XIII

A Sensitive Soul

Uncle Israel was securely locked in for the night, and was correspondinglyrestless. He felt like a caged animal, and sleep, though earnestly wooed, failed to come to his relief. A powerful draught of his usual sleepingpotion had been like so much water, as far as effect was concerned. 

At length he got up, his lifelong habit of cautious movement assertingitself even here, and with tremulous, withered hands, lighted his candle. Then he put on his piebald dressing-gown and his carpet slippers, and saton the declivity of his bed, blinking at the light, as wide awake as anyowl. 

Presently it came to him that he had not as yet made a thorough search ofhis own apartment, so he began at the foundation, so to speak, and crawledpainfully over the carpet, paying special attention to the edges. Next, hefingered the baseboards carefully, rapping here and there, as though heexpected some significant sound to penetrate his deafness. Rising, he wentover the wall systematically, and at length, with the aid of a chair, reached up to the picture-moulding. He had gone nearly around the room, without any definite idea of what he was searching for, when hisquestioning fingers touched a small, metallic object. 

A smile of childlike pleasure transfigured Uncle Israel's wizened oldface. Trembling, he slipped down from the chair, falling over the bathcabinet in his descent, and tried the key in the lock. It fitted, and theold man fairly chuckled. 

"Wait till I tell Belinda, " he muttered, delightedly. Then a crafty secondthought suggested that it might be wiser to keep "Belinda" in the dark, lest she might in some way gain possession of the duplicate key. 

"Lor', " he thought, "but how I pity them husbands of her'n. Bet theirgraves felt good when they got into 'em, the hull seven graves. What withsneerin' at medicines and things a person eats, it must have been awful, not to mention stealin' of keys and a-lockin' 'em in nights. S'pose thehouse had got afire, where'd I be now?" Grasping his treasure closely, Uncle Israel blew out his candle and tottered to bed, thereafter sleepingthe sleep of the just. 

Mrs. Dodd detected subdued animation in his demeanour when he appeared atbreakfast the following morning, and wondered what had occurred. 

"You look 's if sunthin' pleasant had happened, Israel, " she began in asprightly manner. 

"Sunthin' pleasant has happened, " he returned, applying himself to hisimitation coffee with renewed vigour. "I disremember when I've felt sogood about anythin' before. "

"Something pleasant happens every day, " put in Elaine. The country air hadmade roses bloom on her pale cheeks. Her blue eyes had new light in them, and her golden hair fairly shone. She was far more beautiful than the sad, frail young woman who had come to the Jack-o'-Lantern not so many weeksbefore. 

"How optimistic you are!" sighed Mr. Perkins, who was eating Mrs. Smithers's crisp, hot rolls with a very unpoetic appetite. "To me, theworld grows worse every day. It is only a few noble souls devoted to theIdeal and holding their heads steadfastly above the mire of commercialismthat keep our so-called civilisation from becoming an absolute hotbed ofgreed--yes, a hotbed of greed, " he repeated, the words soundingunexpectedly well. 

"Your aura seems to have a purple tinge this morning, " commented Dorothy, slyly. 

"What's a aura, ma?" demanded Willie, with an unusual thirst forknowledge. 

"Something that goes with a soft person, Willie, dear, " responded Mrs. Holmes, quite audibly. "You know there are some people who have nobackbone at all, like the jelly-fish we saw at the seashore the yearbefore dear papa died. "

"I've knowed folks, " continued Mrs. Dodd, taking up the wandering threadof the discourse, "what was so soft when they was little that their mashad to carry 'em around in a pail for fear they'd slop over and spile thecarpet. "

"And when they grew up, too, " Dick ventured. 

"Some people, " said Harlan, in a polite attempt to change theconversation, "never grow up at all. Their minds remain at a fixed point. We all know them. "

"Yes, " sighed Mrs. Dodd, looking straight at the poet, "we all knowthem. "

At this juncture the sensitive Mr. Perkins rose and begged to be excused. It was the small Ebeneezer who observed that he took a buttered roll withhim, and gratuitously gave the information to the rest of the company. 

Elaine flushed painfully, and presently excused herself, following thecrestfallen Mr. Perkins to the orchard, where, entirely unsuspected by theothers, they had a trysting-place. At intervals, they met, safely screenedby the friendly trees, and communed upon the old, idyllic subject ofpoetry, especially as represented by the unpublished works of HaroldVernon Perkins. 

"I cannot tell you, Mr. Perkins, " Elaine began, "how deeply I appreciateyour fine, uncommercial attitude. As you say, the world is sordid, and itneeds men like you. "

The soulful one ran his long, bony fingers through his mane of auburnhair, and assented with a pleased grunt. "There are few, Miss St. Clair, "he said, "who have your fine discernment. It is almost ideal. "

"Yet it seems too bad, " she went on, "that the world-wide appreciation ofyour artistic devotion should not take some tangible form. Dollars may bevulgar and sordid, as you say, but still, in our primitive era, they areour only expression of value. I have even heard it said, " she went on, rapidly, "that the amount of wealth honestly acquired by any individualwas, after all, only the measure of his usefulness to his race. "

"Miss St. Clair!" exclaimed the poet, deeply shocked; "do I understandthat you are actually advising me to sell a poem?"

"Far from it, Mr. Perkins, " Elaine reassured him. "I was only thinkingthat by having your work printed in a volume, or perhaps in the pages of amagazine, you could reach a wider audience, and thus accomplish your idealof uplifting the multitude. "

"I am pained, " breathed the poet; "inexpressibly pained. "

"Then I am sorry, " answered Elaine. "I was only trying to help. "

"To think, " continued Mr. Perkins, bitterly, "of the soiled fingers of alabouring man, a printer, actually touching these fancies that even Ihesitate to pen! Once I saw the fair white page of a book that had beenthrough that painful experience. You never would have known it, my dearMiss St. Clair--it was actually filthy!"

"I see, " murmured Elaine, duly impressed, "but are there not morefavourable conditions?"

"I have thought there might be, " returned the poet, after a significantsilence, "indeed, I have prayed there might be. In some little nook amongthe pines, where the brook for ever sings and the petals of the appleblossoms glide away to fairyland upon its shining surface, whilebutterflies float lazily here and there, if reverent hands might put theflowering of my genius into a modest little book--I should be tempted, yes, sorely tempted. "

"Dear Mr. Perkins, " cried Elaine, ecstatically clapping her hands, "howperfectly glorious that would be! To think how much sweetness and beautywould go into the book, if that were done!"

"Additionally, " corrected Mr. Perkins, with a slight flush. 

"Yes, of course I mean additionally. One could smell the apple blossomsthrough the printed page. Oh, Mr. Perkins, if I only had the means, howgladly would I devote my all to this wonderful, uplifting work!"

The poet glanced around furtively, then drew closer to Elaine. "I may tellyou, " he murmured, "in strict confidence, something which my lips havenever breathed before, with the assurance that it will be as thoughunsaid, may I not?"

"Indeed you may!"

"Then, " whispered Mr. Perkins, "I am living in that hope. My dear UncleEbeneezer, though now departed, was a distinguished patron of the arts. Many a time have I read him my work, assured of his deep, thoughunexpressed sympathy, and, lulled by the rhythm of our spoken speech, hehas passed without a jar from my dreamland to his own. I know he wouldnever speak of it to any one--dear Uncle Ebeneezer was too finely grainedfor that--but still I feel assured that somewhere within the walls of thatsorely afflicted house, a sum of--of money--has been placed, in the hopethat I might find it and carry out this beautiful work. "

"Have you hunted?" demanded Elaine, her eyes wide with wonder. 

"No--not hunted. I beg you, do not use so coarse a word. It jars upon mypoet's soul with almost physical pain. "

"I beg your pardon, " returned Elaine, "but----"

"Sometimes, " interrupted the poet, in a low tone, "when I have feltespecially near to Uncle Ebeneezer's spirit, I have barely glanced insecret places where I have felt he might expect me to look for it, but, sofar, I have been wholly unsuccessful, though I know that I plainly readhis thought. "

"Some word--some clue--did he give you none?"

"None whatever, except that once or twice he said that he would see that Iwas suitably provided for. He intimated that he intended me to have a sumapportioned to my deserts. "

"Which would be a generous one; but now--Oh, Mr. Perkins, how can I helpyou?"

"You have never suspected, have you, " asked Mr. Perkins, colouring to histemples, "that the room you now occupy might once have been my own? Haveno poet's dreams, lingering in the untenanted spaces, claimed yourbeauteous spirit in sleep?"

"Oh, Mr. Perkins, have I your room? I will so gladly give it up--I----"

The poet raised his hand. "No. The place where you have walked is holyground. Not for the world would I dispossess you, but----"

A meaning look did the rest. "I see, " said Elaine, quickly guessing histhought, "you want to hunt in my room. Oh, Mr. Perkins, I havethoughtlessly pained you again. Can you ever forgive me?"

"My thoughts, " breathed Mr. Perkins, "are perhaps too finely phrased formodern speech. I would not trespass upon the place you have made your own, but----"

There was a brief silence, then Elaine understood. "I see, " she said, submissively, "I will hunt myself. I mean, I will glance about in the hopethat the spirit of Uncle Ebeneezer may make plain to me what you seek. And----"

"And, " interjected the poet, quite practical for the moment, "whatever youfind is mine, for it was once my room. It is only on account of UncleEbeneezer's fine nature and his constant devotion to the Ideal that he didnot give it to me direct. He knew it would pain me if he did so. You willremember?"

"I will remember. You need not fear to trust me. "

"Then let us shake hands upon our compact. " For a moment, Elaine's warm, rosy hand rested in the clammy, nerveless palm of Harold Vernon Perkins. "Last night, " he sighed, "I could not sleep. I was distressed by noiseswhich appeared to emanate from the apartment of Mr. Skiles. Did you hearnothing?"

"Nothing, " returned Elaine; "I sleep very soundly. "

"The privilege of unpoetic souls, " commented Mr. Perkins. "But, as usual, my restlessness was not without definite and beautiful result. In thestill watches of the night, I achieved a--poem. "

"Read it, " cried Elaine, rapturously. "Oh, if I might hear it!"

Thus encouraged, Mr. Perkins drew a roll from his breast pocket. A freshblue ribbon held it in cylindrical form, and the drooping ends waved incareless, artistic fashion. 

"As you might expect, if you knew about such things, " he began, clearinghis throat, and all unconscious of the rapid approach of Mr. Chester, "itis upon sleep. It is done in the sonnet form, a very beautiful measurewhich I have made my own. I will read it now. 

 "SONNET ON SLEEP

 "O Sleep, that fillst the human breast with peace, When night's dim curtains swing from out the West, In what way, in what manner, could we rest Were thy beneficent offices to cease? O Sleep, thou art indeed the snowy fleece Upon Day's lamb. A welcome guest That comest alike to palace and to nest And givest the cares of life a glad release. O Sleep, I beg thee, rest upon my eyes, For I am weary, worn, and sad, --indeed, Of thy great mercies have I piteous need So come and lead me off to Paradise. "

His voice broke at the end, not so much from the intrinsic beauty of thelines as from perceiving Mr. Chester close at hand, grinning like thefabled pussy-cat of Cheshire, except that he did not fade away, leavingonly the grin. 

Elaine felt the alien presence and looked around. Woman-like, she quicklygrasped the situation. 

"I have been having a rare treat, Mr. Chester, " she said, in her smoothesttones. "Mr. Perkins has very kindly been reading to me his beautiful_Sonnet on Sleep_, composed during a period of wakefulness last night. Didyou hear it? Is it not a most unusual sonnet?"

"It is, indeed, " answered Dick, dryly. "I never before had the privilegeof hearing one that contained only twelve lines. Dante and Petrarch andShakespeare and all those other ducks put fourteen lines in every blamedsonnet, for good measure. "

Hurt to the quick, the sensitive poet walked away. 

"How can you speak so!" cried Elaine, angrily. "Is not Mr. Perkinsprivileged to create a form?"

"To create a form, yes, " returned Dick, easily, "but not to monkey with anold one. There's a difference. "

Elaine would have followed the injured one had not Dick interfered. Hecaught her hand quickly, a new and unaccountable lump in his throatsuddenly choking his utterance. "I say, Elaine, " he said, huskily, "you'renot thinking of hooking up with that red-furred lobster, are you?"

"I do not know, " responded Elaine, with icy dignity, "what your uncouthlanguage may mean, but I tolerate no interference whatever with mypersonal affairs. " In a moment she was gone, and Dick watched the slender, pink-clad figure returning to the house with ill-concealed emotion. 

All Summer, so far, he and Elaine had been good friends. They had laughedand joked and worked together in a care-free, happy-go-lucky fashion. Thearrival of Mr. Perkins and his sudden admiration of Elaine hadcrystallised the situation. Dick knew now what caused the violent anticsof his heart--a peaceful and well-behaved organ which had never beforebeen so disturbed by a woman. 

"I've got it, " said Dick, to himself, deeply shamed. "Moonlight, poetry, mit-holding, and all the rest of it. Never having had it before, it'sgoing hard with me. Why in the devil wasn't I taught to write doggerelwhen I was in college? A fellow don't stand any show nowadays unless he'sa pocket edition of Byron. "

He went on through the orchard at a run, instinctively healing a troubledmind by wearying the body. At the outer edge of it, he paused. 

Suspended by a singularly strong bit of twine, a small, grinning skullhung from the lower branch of an apple tree, far out on the limb. "Cat'sskull, " thought Dick. "Wonder who hung it up there?"

He lingered, idly, for a moment or two, then observed that a small patchof grass directly underneath it was of that season's growth. His curiosityfully awake, he determined to dig a bit, though he had dug fruitlessly inmany places since he came to the Jack-o'-Lantern. 

"Uncle couldn't do anything conventional, " he said to himself, "and I'mpretty sure he wouldn't want any of his relations to have his money. Heregoes, just for luck!"

He went back to the barn for the spade, which already had fresh earth onit--the evidence of an early morning excavation privately made by Mrs. Smithers in a spot where she had dreamed gold was hidden. He went off tothe orchard with it, whistling, his progress being furtively watched withgreat interest by the sour-faced handmaiden in the kitchen. 

Back in the orchard again, he worked feverishly, possessed by a pleasantthrill of excitement, somewhat similar to that conceivably enlivening thehumdrum existence of Captain Kidd. Dick was far from surprised when hisspade struck something hard, and, his hands trembling with eagerness, helifted out a tin box of the kind commonly used for private papers. 

It was locked, but a twist of his muscular hands sufficed to break itopen. Then he saw that it was a spring lock, and that, with grim, characteristic humour, Uncle Ebeneezer had placed the key inside the box. There were papers there--and money, the coins and bills being looselyscattered about, and the papers firmly sealed in an envelope addressed "ToWhom it May Concern. "

Dick counted the coins and smoothed out the bills, more puzzled than hehad ever been in his life. He was tempted to open the envelope, butrefrained, not at all sure that he was among those whom it concerned. Forthe space of half an hour he stood there, frowning, then he laughed. 

"I'll just put it back, " he said to himself. "It's not for me to monkeywith Uncle Ebeneezer's purposes. "

He buried the box in its old place, and even cut a bit of sod from adistant part of the orchard to hide the traces of his work. When all wassmooth again, he went back to the barn, swinging the spade carelessly butno longer whistling. 

"The old devil, " he muttered, with keen appreciation. "The wise olddevil!"

XIV

Mrs. Dodd's Fifth Fate

_Morning lay fair upon the land, and yet the Lady Elaine was weary. Like adrooping lily she swayed in her saddle, sick at heart and cast down. Earnestly her company of gallant knights strove to cheer her, but in vain. Even the merry quips of the fool in motley, who still rode at her side, brought no smile to her beautiful face. _

_Presently, he became silent, his heart deeply troubled because of her. Anhour passed so, and no word was spoken, then, timidly enough, he venturedanother jest. _

_The Lady Elaine turned. "Say no more, fool, " she commanded, "but get outthy writing tablet and compose me a poem. I would fain hear something sadand tender in place of this endless folly. "_

_Le Jongleur bowed. "And the subject, Princess?"_

_Elaine laughed bitterly. "Myself, " she cried. "Why not? Myself, Elaine, and this foolish quest of mine!"_

_Then, for a space, there was silence upon the road, since the fool, withhis writing tablet, had dropped back to the rear of the company, and thegallant knights, perceiving the mood of their mistress, spoke not. _

_At noon, when the white sun trembled at the zenith, Le Jongleur urged hisdonkey forward, and presented to Elaine a glorious rose which he had foundblooming at the wayside. _

_"The poem is finished, your highness, " he breathed, doffing his cap, "but'tis all unworthy, so I bring thee this rose also, that something in myoffering may of a certainty be sweet. "_

_He would have put the scroll into her hand, but she swerved her palfreyaside. "Read it, " she said, impatiently; "I have no mind to try my witswith thy poor scrawls. "_

_So, with his voice trembling, and overwhelmed with self-consciousness, the fool read as follows:_

 The vineyards, purple with their bloom, Elaine, hast thou forgotten? The maidens in thy lonely room, Thy tapestry on silent loom-- But hush! Where is Elaine? Elaine, hast thou forgotten?

 Thy castle in the valley lies, Elaine, hast thou forgotten? Where swift the homing swallow flies And in the sunset daylight dies-- But hush! Where is Elaine? Elaine, hast thou forgotten?

 Night comes at last on dreamy wings, Elaine, hast thou forgotten? 'Mid gleaming clouds the pale moon swings, Thy taper light a faint star brings, But hush! Where is Elaine? Elaine, hast thou forgotten?

Harlan had never written any poetry before, but it had always seemed easy. Now, as he read the verses over again, he was tremendously satisfied withhis achievement. Unconsciously, he had modelled it upon an exquisitelittle bit by some one else, which had once been reprinted beneath a"story" of his own when he was on the paper. He read it aloud, to see howit sounded, and was more pleased than ever with the swing of the verse andthe music of the words. "It's pretty close to art, " he said to himself, "if it isn't the real thing. "

Just then the luncheon bell rang, and he went out to the midday"gab-fest, " as he inwardly characterised it. The meal proceeded to dessertwithout any unusual disturbance, then the diminutive Ebeneezer threw theremnants of his cup of milk into his mother's face, and was carried off, howling, to be spanked. Like many other mothers, Mrs. Holmes resented herchildren's conduct when it incommoded her, but not otherwise, and thoughmilk baths are said to be fine for the complexion, she was not altogetherpleased with the manner of application. 

Amid the vocal pyrotechnics from the Holmes apartments, Harlan escapedinto the library, but his poem was gone. He searched for it vainly, thensat down to write it over before he should forget it. This done, he wenton with Elaine and her adventures, and presently forgot all about the lostpage. 

"Don't that do your heart good?" inquired Mrs. Dodd, of Dorothy, incliningher head toward Mrs. Holmes's door. 

"Be it ever so humble, " sang Dick, strolling out of the room, "there's noplace like Holmes's. "

Mrs. Carr admitted that her ears were not yet so calloused but that thesound gave her distinct pleasure. 

"If that there little limb of Satan had have throwed his milk in anybodyelse's face, " went on Mrs. Dodd, "all she'd have said would have been:'Ebbie, don't spill your nice milk. That's naughty. '"

Her imitation of the fond mother's tone and manner was so wickedly exactthat Dorothy laughed heartily. The others had fled to a more quiet spot, except Willie and Rebecca, who were fighting for a place at the keyhole oftheir mother's door. Finally, Willie gained possession of the keyhole, andthe ingenious Rebecca, lying flat on her small stomach, peered under thedoor, and obtained a pleasing view of what was going on inside. 

"Listen at that!" cried Mrs. Dodd, her countenance fairly beaming withinnocent pleasure. "I'm gettin' most as much good out of it as I wouldfrom goin' to the circus. Reckon it's a slipper, for it sounds just likelittle Jimmie Young's weepin' did the night I come home from my fifthhoneymoon. 

"That's the only time, " she went on, reminiscently, "as I was ever astep-ma to children what wasn't growed up. You'd think a woman as had beenmarried four times afore would have knowed better 'n to get her fool headinto a noose like that, but there seems to be only one way for folks tolearn things, an' that's by their own experience. If we could only useother folks' experience, this here world would be heaven in about threegenerations, but we're so constituted that we never believe fire 'll burntill we poke our own fingers into it to see. Other folks' scars don't gono ways at all toward convincin' us. 

"You read lots of novels about the sorrers of step-children, but I ain'tnever come up with no epic as yet portrayin' the sufferin's of a step-ma. If I had a talent like your husband's got, I'll be blest if I wouldn't doit. What I went through with them children aged me ten years in less 'nthree. 

"It was like this, " she prattled on. "I'd never seen a one of 'em, theylivin' far away from their pa, as was necessary if their pa was to get anypeace an' happiness out 'n life, an' that lyin' creeter I married told methere was only three. My dear, there was eight, an' sixteen ordinary youngones couldn't have been no worse. 

"Our courtin' was done mainly in the cemetery. I'd just laid my fourthaway in his proper place an' had the letterin' all cut nice on his side ofthe monumint, an' I was doin' the plantin' on the grave when I met myfate--my fifth fate, I'm speakin' of now. I allers aimed to do right by myhusbands when they was dead no less 'n when they was livin', an' I allersplanted each one's favourite flower on his last restin'-place, an' plantedit thick, so 's when the last trump sounded an' they all riz up, therewouldn't be no one of 'em that could accuse me of bein' partial. 

"Some of the flowers was funny for a graveyard. One of 'em lovedsunflowers, an' when blossomin'-time come, you could see a spot of lightin my lot clear from the gate when you went in, an' on sunny days evenfrom quite a piece outside. 

"Geraniums was on the next grave, red an' pink together, as William lovedto see 'em, an' most fittin' an' appropriate. He was a queer-lookin' man, William was, all bald except for a little fringe of red hair around hishead, an' his bald spot gettin' as pink as anythin' when he got mad. Inever could abide red an' pink together, so I did my best not to rile him;but la sakes, my dear, red-haired folks is that touchy that you never cantell what's goin' to rile 'em an' what ain't. Some innercent little remarkis as likely to set 'em off as anythin' else. All the time it's likecarryin' a light into a fireworks place. Drop it once an' the air 'll befull of sky-rockets, roman candles, pinwheels, an' set pieces till you'rethat dazed you don't know where you're livin'. Don't never take nored-haired one, my dear, if you're anyways set on peace. I never took butone, but that was enough to set me dead against the breed. 

"Well, as I was a-sayin', James begun to woo me in the cemetery. Wheneveryou see a man in a cemetery, my dear, you can take it for granted thathe's a new-made widower. After the first week or two, he ain't got no timeto go to no grave, he's so busy lookin' out for the next one. When I seeJames a-waterin' an' a-weedin' on the next lot to mine, therefore, Iknowed his sorrer was new, even though the band of crape on his hat wasrusty an' old. 

"Bein' fellow-mourners, in a way, we struck up kind of a melancholyfriendship, an' finally got to borrerin' water from each other'ssprinklin' cans an' exchangin' flower seeds an' slips, an' even hullplants. That old deceiver told me it was his first wife that was a-lyin'there, an' showed me her name on the monumint. She was buried in her ownfolks' lot, an' I never knowed till it was too late that his own lot wasplum full of wives, an' this here was a annex, so to speak. I dunno how Icome to be so took in, but anyways, when James's grief had subsidedsomewhat, we decided to travel on the remainin' stretch through this valeof tears together. 

"He told me he had a beautiful home in Taylorville, but was a-livin' wherehe was so 's to be near the cemetery an' where he could look after dearAnnie's grave. The sentiment made me think all the more of him, so 's Ididn't hesitate, an' was even willin' to be married with one of my oldrings, to save the expense of a new one. James allers was thrifty, an' theway he put it, it sounded quite reasonable, so 's that's how it comes, mydear, that in spite of havin' had seven husbands, I've only got sixweddin'-rings. 

"I put each one on when its own proper anniversary comes around an' wearit till the next one, when I change again, though for one of the rings itmakes only one day, because the fourth and seventh times I was married sonear together. That sounds queer, my dear, but if you think it over, you'll see what I mean. It's fortunate, too, in a way, 'cause I found outby accident years afterward that my fourth weddin'-ring come out of apawn-shop, an' I never took much joy out of wearin' it. Bein' just alike, I wore another one mostly, even when Samuel was alive, but he nevernoticed. Besides, I reckon 't wouldn't make no difference, for a manthat'll go to a pawn-shop for a weddin'-ring ain't one to make a row abouthis wife's changin' it. When I spoke sharp to him about it, he snickered, an' said it was appropriate enough, though to this day I've never figuredout precisely just what the old serpent meant by it. 

"Well, as I was sayin', my dear, the minister married us in good an'proper form, an' I must say that, though I've had all kinds of ceremonies, I take to the 'Piscopal one the most, in spite of havin' been brought upMethodis', an' hereafter I'll be married by it if the occasion shouldarise--an' we drove over to Taylorville. 

"The roads was dretful, but bein' experienced in marriage, I could seethat it wasn't that that was makin' James drop the whip, an' pull back onthe lines when he wanted the horses to go faster, an' not hear things Iwas a-sayin' to him. Finally, I says, very distinct: 'James, dear, howmany children did you say you had?'

"'Eight, ' says he, clearin' his throat proud and haughty like. 

"'You're lyin', ' says I, 'an' you know you're lyin'. You allers told meyou had three. '

"'I was speakin' of those by my first wife, ' says he. 'My other wives allleft one apiece. Ain't I never told you about 'em? I thought I had, ' hewent on, speakin' quick, 'but if I haven't, it 's because your beauty hasmade me forget all the pain an' sorrer of the past. '

"With that he clicked to the horses so sudden that I was near threw out ofthe rig, but it wasn't half so bad as the other jolt he'd just give me. For a long time I didn't say nothin', an' there's nothin' that makes a manso uneasy as a woman that don't say nothin', my dear, so you just writethat down in your little book, an' remember it. It'll come in handy longbefore you're through with your first marriage an' have begun on yoursecond. Havin' been through four, I was well skilled in keepin' my mouthshut, an' I never said a word till we drove into the yard of the mostdisconsolate-lookin' premises I ever seen since I was took to thepoorhouse on a visit. 

"'James, ' says I, cool but firm, 'is this your magnificent residence?'

"'It is, ' says he, very soft, 'an' it is here that I welcome my bride. Have you ever seen anythin' like this view?'

"'No, ' says I, 'I never have'; an' it was gospel truth I was speakin', too, for never before had I been to a place where the pigsty was infront. 

"'It is a wonderful view, ' says I, sarcastic like, 'but before I linger toadmire it more, I would love to look upon the scenery inside the house. '

"When we went in, I thought I was either dreamin' or had got to Bedlam. The seven youngest children was raisin' particular Cain, an' the oldest, apretty little girl of thirteen, was doin' her best to quiet 'em. There wassix others besides what had been accounted for, but I soon found that theybelonged to a neighbour, an' was just visitin' to relieve the monotony. 

"The woman James had left takin' care of 'em had been gone two weeks an'more, with a month's wages still comin' to her, which James never feltcalled on to pay, on account of her havin' left without notice. James wasdretful thrifty. The youngest one was puttin' the cat into thewater-pitcher, an' as soon as I found out what his name was, I called himsharp by it an' told him to quit. He put his tongue out at me as sassy asyou please, an' says: 'I won't. '

"Well, my dear, I didn't wait to hear no more, but I opened my satchel an'took out one of my slippers an' give that child a lickin' that he'llremember when he's a grandparent. 'Hereafter, ' says I, 'when I tell you todo anythin', you'll do it. I'll speak kind the first time an' firm thesecond, and the third time the whole thing will be illustrated so plainthat nobody can't misunderstand it. Your pa has took me into a confidencegame, ' says I, speakin' to all the children, 'but I was never one to drawback from what I'd put my hand to, an' I aim to do right by you if you doright by me. You mind, ' says I, 'an' you won't have no trouble; an' thesame thing, ' says I to James, 'applies to you. '

"I felt sorry for all those poor little motherless things, with a liar fora pa, an' all the time I lived there, I tried to make up to 'em what Icould, but step-mas have their sorrers, my dear, that's what they do, an'I ain't never seen no piece about it in the paper yet, either. 

"If you'll excuse me now, my dear, I'll go to my room. It's just come tomy mind now that this here is one of my anniversaries, an' I'll have tolook up the facts in my family Bible, an' change my ring. "

At dinner-time the chastised and chastened twin appeared in freshlystarched raiment. His eyes were swollen and his face flushed, butotherwise his recent painful experience had remarkably improved him. Hesaid "please" and "thank you, " and did not even resent it when Willieslyly dropped a small piece of watermelon down his neck. 

"This afternoon, " said Elaine, "Mr. Perkins composed a beautiful poem. Iknow it is beautiful, though I have not yet heard it. I do not wish to beselfish in my pleasure, so I will ask him to read it to us all. "

The poet's face suddenly became the colour of his hair. He dropped hisnapkin, and swiftly whispered to Elaine, while he was picking it up, thatshe herself was the subject of the poem. 

"How perfectly charming, " said Elaine, clearly. "Did you hear, Mrs. Carr?Poor little, insignificant me has actually inspired a great poem. Oh, doread it, Mr. Perkins? We are all dying to hear it!"

Fairly cornered, the poet muttered that he had lost it--some othertime--wait until to-morrow--and so on. 

"No need to wait, " said Dick, with an ironical smile. "It was lost, butnow is found. I came upon it myself, blowing around unheeded under thelibrary window, quite like a common bit of paper. "

Mr. Perkins was transfixed with amazement, for his cherished poem was atthat minute in his breast pocket. He clutched at it spasmodically, to besure it was still safe. 

Very different emotions possessed Harlan, who choked on his food. Heinstinctively guessed the worst, and saw his home in lurid ruin about him, but was powerless to avert the catastrophe. 

"Read it, Dick, " said Mrs. Dodd, kindly. "We are all a-perishin' to hearit. I can't eat another bite until I do. I reckon it'll sound like avalentine, " she concluded, with a malicious glance at Mr. Perkins. 

"I have taken the liberty, " chuckled Dick, "of changing a word or twooccasionally, to make better sense of it, and of leaving out some linesaltogether. Every one is privileged to vary an established form. " Withoutfurther preliminary, he read the improved version. 

 "The little doggie sheds his coat, Elaine, have you forgotten? What is it goes around a button? I thought you knew that simple thing, But ideas in your head take wing. Elaine, have you forgotten? The answer is a goat. 

 "How much is three times humpty-steen? Elaine, have you forgotten? Why does a chicken cross the road? Who carries home a toper's load? You are so very stupid, dear! Elaine, have you forgotten?

 "You think a mop of scarlet hair And pale green eyes----"

"That will do, " said Miss St. Clair, crisply. "Mr. Perkins, may I ask as afavour that you will not speak to me again?" She marched out with her headhigh, and Mr. Perkins, wholly unstrung, buried his face in his napkin. 

Harlan laughed--a loud, ringing laugh, such as Dorothy had not heard fromhim for months, and striding around the table, he grasped Dick's hand intremendous relief. 

"Let me have it, " he cried, eagerly. "Give me all of it!"

"Sure, " said Dick, readily, passing over both sheets of paper. 

Harlan went into the library with the composition, and presently, whenDick was walking around the house and saw bits of torn paper flutteringout of the open window, a light broke through his usual density. 

"Whew!" he said to himself. "I'll be darned! I'll be everlastingly darned!Idiot!" he continued, savagely. "Oh, if I could only kick myself! PoorDorothy! I wonder if she knows!"

XV

Treasure-Trove

The August moon swung high in the heavens, and the crickets chirpedunbearably. The luminous dew lay heavily upon the surrounding fields, andnow and then a stray breeze, amid the overhanging branches of the treesthat lined the roadway, aroused in the consciousness of the singlewayfarer a feeling closely akin to panic. When he reached the summit ofthe hill, he was trembling violently. 

In the dooryard of the Jack-o'-Lantern, he paused. It was dark, save for asingle round window. In an upper front room a night-lamp, turned low, gaveone leering eye to the grotesque exterior of the house. 

With his heart thumping loudly, Mr. Bradford leaned against a tree anddivested himself of his shoes. From a package under his arm, he took out apair of soft felt slippers, the paper rattling loudly as he did so. He putthem on, hesitated, then went cautiously up the walk. 

"In all my seventy-eight years, " he thought, "I have never done anythinglike this. If I had not promised the Colonel--but a promise to a dying manis sacred, especially when he is one's best friend. "

The sound of the key in the lock seemed almost like an explosion ofdynamite. Mr. Bradford wiped the cold perspiration from his forehead, turned the door slowly upon its squeaky hinges, and went in, feeling likea burglar. 

"I am not a burglar, " he thought, his hands shaking. "I have come to give, not to take away. "

Fearfully, he tiptoed into the parlour, expecting at any moment to arousethe house. Feeling his way carefully along the wall, and guided by themoonlight which streamed in at the side windows, he came to the wingoccupied by Mrs. Holmes and her exuberant offspring. Here he stooped, awkwardly, and slipped a sealed and addressed letter under the door, heaving a sigh of relief as he got away without having wakened any one. 

The sounds which came from Mrs. Dodd's room were reassuringly suggestiveof sleep. Hastily, he slipped another letter under her door, then made hisway cautiously to the kitchen. The missive intended for Mrs. Smithers wasleft on the door-mat outside, for, as Mr. Bradford well knew, the ears ofthe handmaiden were uncomfortably keen. 

At the foot of the stairs he hesitated again, but by the time he reachedthe top, his heart had ceased to beat audibly. He tiptoed down thecorridor to Uncle Israel's room, then, further on, to Dick's. The letterintended for Mr. Perkins was slipped under Elaine's door, Mr. Bradford notbeing aware that the poet had changed his room. Having safely accomplishedhis last errand, the tension relaxed, and he went downstairs with moreassurance, his pace being unduly hastened by a subdued howl from one ofthe twins. 

Bidding himself be calm, he got to the front door, and drew a long breathof relief as he closed it noiselessly. There was a light in Mrs. Holmes'sroom now, and Mr. Bradford did not wish to linger. He gathered up hisshoes and fairly ran downhill, arriving at his office much shaken in mindand body, nearly two hours after he had started. 

"I do not know, " he said to himself, "why the Colonel should have been soparticular as to dates and hours, but he knew his own business best. "Then, further in accordance with his instructions, he burned a number ofletters which could not be delivered personally. 

If Mr. Bradford could have seen the company which met at the breakfasttable the following morning, he would have been amply repaid for hissupreme effort of the night before, had he been blessed with any sense ofhumour at all. The Carrs were untroubled, and Elaine appeared as usual, except for her haughty indifference to Mr. Perkins. She thought he hadwritten a letter to himself and slipped it under her door, in order tocompel her to speak to him, but she had tactfully avoided that difficultyby leaving it on his own threshold. Dick's eyes were dancing and atintervals his mirth bubbled over, needlessly, as every one else appearedto think. 

"I doesn't know wot folks finds to laugh at, " remarked Mrs. Smithers, asshe brought in the coffee; "that's wot I doesn't. It's a solemn time, Itake it, when the sheeted spectres of the dead walks abroad by night, that's wot it is. It's time for folks to be thinkin' about their immortalsouls. "

This enigmatical utterance produced a startling effect. Mr. Perkins turneda pale green and hastily excused himself, his breakfast wholly untouched. Mrs. Holmes dropped her fork and recovered it in evident confusion. Mrs. Dodd's face was a bright scarlet and appeared about to burst, but she kepther lips compressed into a thin, tight line. Uncle Israel nodded over hispredigested food. "Just so, " he mumbled; "a solemn time. "

Eagerly watching for an opportunity, Mrs. Holmes dived into the barn, andemerged, cautiously, with the spade concealed under her skirts. Shecarried it into her own apartment and hid it under Willie's bed. Mrs. Smithers went to look for it a little later, and, discovering that it wasunaccountably missing, excavated her own private spade from beneath thehay. During the afternoon, the poet was observed lashing the fire-shovelto the other end of a decrepit rake. Uncle Israel, after a fruitlesssearch of the premises, actually went to town and came back with a bulkyand awkward parcel, which he hid in the shrubbery. 

Meanwhile, Willie had gone whimpering to Mrs. Dodd, who was in serioustrouble of her own. "I'm afraid, " he admitted, when closely questioned. 

"Afraid of what?" demanded his counsellor, sharply. 

"I'm afraid of ma, " sobbed Willie. "She's a-goin' to bury me. She's gotthe spade hid under my bed now. "

Sudden emotion completely changed Mrs. Dodd's countenance. "There, there, Willie, " she said, stroking him kindly. "Where is your ma?"

"She's out in the orchard with Ebbie and Rebbie. "

"Well now, deary, don't you say nothin' at all to your ma, an' we'll foolher. The idea of buryin' a nice little boy like you! You just go an' getme that spade an' I'll hide it in my room. Then, when your ma asks for it, you don't know nothin' about it. See?"

Willie's troubled face brightened, and presently the implement was underMrs. Dodd's own bed, and her door locked. Much relieved in his mind andcherishing kindly sentiments toward his benefactor, Willie slid down thebanisters, unrebuked, the rest of the afternoon. 

Meanwhile Mrs. Dodd sat on the porch and meditated. "I'd never havethought, " she said to herself, "that Ebeneezer would intend that Holmeswoman to have any of it, but you never can tell what folks'll do whentheir minds gets to failin' at the end. Ebeneezer's mind must have faileddretful, for I know he didn't make no promise to her, same as he did tome, an' if she don't suspect nothin', what did she go an' get the spadefor? Dretful likely hand it is, for spirit writin'. "

Looking about furtively to make sure that she was not observed, Mrs. Dodddrew out of the mysterious recesses of her garments, the crumpledcommunication of the night before. It was dated, "Heaven, August 12th, "and the penmanship was Uncle Ebeneezer's to the life. 

"Dear Belinda, " it read. "I find myself at the last moment obliged tochange my plans. If you will go to the orchard at exactly twelve o'clockon the night of August 13th, you will find there what you seek. Gostraight ahead to the ninth row of apple trees, then seven trees to theleft. A cat's skull hangs from the lower branch, if it hasn't blown downor been taken away. Dig here and you will find a tin box containing what Ihave always meant you to have. 

"I charge you by all you hold sacred to obey these directions in everyparticular, and unless you want to lose it all, to say nothing about it toany one who may be in the house. 

"I am sorry to put you to this inconvenience, but the limitations of thespirit world cannot well be explained to mortals. I hope you will make awise use of the money and not spend it all on clothes, as women are apt todo. 

"In conclusion, let me say that I am very happy in heaven, though it isconsiderably more quiet than any place I ever lived in before. I have meta great many friends here, but no relatives except my wife. Farewell, as Ishall probably never see you again. 

"Yours, "Ebeneezer Judson. 

"P. S. All of your previous husbands are here, in the sunny section setaside for martyrs. None of them give you a good reputation. 

 "E. J. "

"Don't it beat all, " muttered Mrs. Dodd to herself, excitedly. "Here wasEbeneezer at my door last night, an' I never knowed it. Sakes alive, if Ihad knowed it, I wouldn't have slep' like I did. Here comes that Holmeshussy. Wonder what she knows!"

"Do you believe in spirits, Mrs. Dodd?" inquired Mrs. Holmes, in acareless tone that did not deceive her listener. 

"Depends, " returned the other, with an evident distaste for the subject. 

"Do you believe spirits can walk?"

"I ain't never seen no spirits walk, but I've seen folks try to walk thatwas full of spirits, and there wa'n't no visible improvement in theirsteppin'. " This was a pleasant allusion to the departed Mr. Holmes, whowas currently said to have "drunk hisself to death. "

A scarlet flush, which mounted to the roots of Mrs. Holmes's hair, indicated that the shot had told, and Mrs. Dodd went to her own room, where she carefully locked herself in. She was determined to sit upon herprecious spade until midnight, if it were necessary, to keep it. 

Mrs. Smithers was sitting up in bed with the cold perspiration oozing fromevery pore, when the kitchen clock struck twelve sharp, quick strokes. Theother clocks in the house took up the echo and made merry with it. Thegrandfather's clock in the hall was the last to strike, and the twelvedeep-toned notes boomed a solemn warning which, to more than one quakinglistener, bore a strong suggestion of another world--an uncanny world atthat. 

"Guess I'll go along, " said Dick to himself, yawning and stretching. "Imight just as well see the fun. "

Mrs. Smithers, with her private spade and her odorous lantern, was at thespot first, closely seconded by Mrs. Dodd, in a voluminous garment of redflannel which had seen all of its best days and not a few of its worst. Trembling from head to foot, came Mrs. Holmes, carrying a pair of shears, which she had snatched up at the last moment when she discovered the spadewas missing. Mr. Perkins, fully garbed, appeared with his improvisedshovel. Uncle Israel, in his piebald dressing-gown, tottered along in therear, bearing his spade, still unwrapped, his bedroom candle, and a box ofmatches. Dick surveyed the scene from a safe, shadowy distance, and on abranch near the skull, Claudius Tiberius was stretched at full length, purring with a loud, resonant purr which could be heard from afar. 

After the first shock of surprise, which was especially keen on the partof Mrs. Dodd, when she saw Uncle Israel in the company, Mrs. Smithersbroke the silence. 

"It's nothink more nor a wild-goose chase, " she said, resentfully. "A-gettin' us all out'n our beds at this time o' night! It's a sufferin'and dyin' shame, that's wot it is, and if sperrits was like other folks, 't wouldn't 'ave happened. "

"Sarah, " said Mrs. Dodd, firmly, "keep your mouth shut. Israel, will youdig?"

"We'll all dig, " said Mrs. Holmes, in the voice of authority, andthereafter the dirt flew briskly enough, accompanied by the labouredbreathing of perspiring humanity. 

It was Uncle Israel's spade that first touched the box, and, with a cry ofdelight, he stooped for it, as did everybody else. By sheer force ofmuscle, Mrs. Dodd got it away from him. 

"This wrangle, " sighed Mr. Perkins, "is both unseemly and sordid. Let usall agree to abide by dear Uncle Ebeneezer's last bequests. "

"There won't be no desire not to abide by 'em, " snorted Mrs. Smithers, "wot with cats as can't stay buried and sheeted spectres of the deada-walkin' through the house by night!"

By this time, Mrs. Dodd had the box open, and a cry of astonishment brokefrom her lips. Several heads were badly bumped in the effort to peep intothe box, and an unprotected sneeze from Uncle Israel added to the generalunpleasantness. 

"You can all go away, " cried Mrs. Dodd, shrilly. "There's two one-dollarbills here, two quarters, an' two nickels an' eight pennies. 'T aintnothin' to be fit over. "

"But the letter, " suggested Mr. Perkins, hopefully. "Is there not a letterfrom dear Uncle Ebeneezer? Let us gather around the box in a reverentspirit and listen to dear Uncle Ebeneezer's last words. "

"You can read 'em, " snapped Mrs. Holmes, "if you're set on hearing. "

Uncle Israel wheezed so loudly that for the moment he drowned the deeppurr of Claudius Tiberius. When quiet was restored, Mr. Perkins broke theseal of the envelope and unfolded the communication within. Uncle Israelheld the dripping candle on one side and Mrs. Smithers the smoking lanternon the other, while near by, Dick watched the midnight assembly with anunholy glee which, in spite of his efforts, nearly became audible. 

"How beautiful, " said Mr. Perkins, "to think that dear Uncle Ebeneezer'slast words should be given to us in this unexpected but original way. "

"Shut up, " said Mrs. Smithers, emphatically, "and read them last words. I'm gettin' the pneumony now, that's wot I am. "

"You're the only one, " chirped Mrs. Dodd, hysterically. "The money in thishere box is all old. " It was, indeed. Mr. Judson seemed to have purposelychosen ragged bills and coins worn smooth. 

"'Dear Relations, '" began Mr. Perkins. "'As every one of you have at onetime or another routed me out of bed to let you in when you have come tomy house on the night train, and always uninvited----'"

"I never did, " interrupted Mrs. Holmes. "I always came in the daytime. "

"Nobody ain't come at night, " explained Mrs. Smithers, "since 'e fixed the'ouse over into a face. One female fainted dead away when 'er started upthe hill and see it a-winkin' at 'er, yes sir, that's wot 'er did!"

"'It seems only fitting and appropriate, '" continued Mr. Perkins, "'thatyou should all see how it seems. '" The poet wiped his massive brow withhis soiled handkerchief. "Dear uncle!" he commented. 

"Yes, " wheezed Uncle Israel, "'dear uncle!' Damn his stingy old soul, " headded, with uncalled-for emphasis. 

"It gives me pleasure to explain in this fashion my disposal of myestate, " the reader went on, huskily. 

"Of all the connection on both sides, there is only one that has neverbeen to see me, unless I've forgotten some, and that is my beloved nephew, James Harlan Carr. "

"Him, " creaked Uncle Israel. "Him, as never see Ebeneezer. "

"He has never, " continued the poet, with difficulty, "rung my door bell atnight, nor eaten me out of house and home, nor written begging letters--"this phrase was well-nigh inaudible--"nor had fits on me----"

Here there was a pause and all eyes were fastened upon Uncle Israel. 

"'T wa'n't a fit!" he screamed. "It was a involuntary spasm brought on bytakin' two searchin' medicines too near together. 'T wa'n't a fit!"

"Nor children----"

"The idea!" snapped Mrs. Holmes. "Poor little Ebbie and Rebbie had to beborn somewhere. "

"Nor paralysis----"

"That was Cousin Si Martin, " said Mrs. Dodd, half to herself. "He was tookbad with it in the night. "

"He has never come to spend Christmas with me and remained until theensuing dog days, nor sent me a crayon portrait of himself"--Mr. Perkinsfaltered here, but nobly went on--"nor had typhoid fever, nor finished uphis tuberculosis, nor cut teeth, nor set the house on fire with a bathcabinet----"

At this juncture Uncle Israel was so overcome with violent emotion that itwas some time before the reading could proceed. 

"Never having come into any kind of relations with my dear nephew, JamesHarlan Carr, " continued Mr. Perkins, in troubled tones, "I have shown mygratitude in this humble way. To him I give the house and all myfurniture, my books and personal effects of every kind, my farm in HillCounty, two thousand acres, all improved and clear of incumbrance, exceptblooded stock, ----"

"I never knowed 'e 'ad no farm, " interrupted Mrs. Smithers. 

"And the ten thousand and eighty-four dollars in the City Bank which atthis writing is there to my credit, but will be duly transferred, and mydear Rebecca's diamond pin to be given to my beloved nephew's wife when hemarries. It is all in my will, which my dear friend Jeremiah Bradford has, and which he will read at the proper time to those concerned. "

"The old snake!" shrieked Mrs. Holmes. 

"Further, " went on the poet, almost past speech by this time, "I directthat the remainder of my estate, which is here in this box, shall bedivided as follows:

"Eight cents each to that loafer, Si Martin, his lazy wife, and theireight badly brought-up children, with instructions to be generous to anyadditions to said children through matrimony or natural causes; Fanny Woodand that poor, white-livered creature she married, thereby proving her ownidiocy if it needed proof; Uncle James's cross-eyed third wife and her twosilly daughters; Rebecca's sister's scoundrelly second husband, with hisfoolish wife and their little boy with a face like a pug dog; Uncle Jason, who has needed a bath ever since I knew him--I want he should spend hislegacy for soap--and his epileptic stepson, whose name I forget, though helived with me five years hand-running; lying Sally Simmons and herhalf-witted daughter; that old hen, Belinda Dodd; that skunk, HaroldVernon Perkins, who never did a stroke of honest work in his life till hebegan to dig for this box; monkey-faced Lucretia and the four thievinglittle Riley children, who are likely to get into prison when they growup; that human undertaker's waggon, Betsey Skiles, and her two impudentnieces; that grand old perambulating drug store, Israel Skiles; thatHolmes fool with the three reprints of her ugliness--eight cents apiece, and may you get all possible good out of it. 

"Dick Chester, however, having always paid his board, and tried to be ahelp to me in several small ways, and in spite of having lived with meeight Summers or more without having been asked to do so, gets twothousand two hundred and fifty dollars which is deposited for him in thesavings department of the Metropolitan Bank, plus the three hundred andseventy dollars he paid me for board without my asking him for it. SarahSmithers, being in the main a good woman, though sharp-tongued at times, and having been faithful all the time my house has been full of lowdowncusses too lazy to work for their living, gets twelve hundred and fiftydollars which is in the same bank as Dick's. The rest of you take youreight cents apiece and be damned. You can get the money changed at thestore. If any have been left out, it is my desire that those rememberedshould divide with the unfortunate. 

"If you had not all claimed to be Rebecca's relatives, you would have beenkicked out of my house years ago, but since writing this, I have seenRebecca and made it right with her. It was not her desire that I should beimposed upon. 

"Get out of my house, every one of you, before noon to-morrow, and thedevil has my sincere sympathy when you go to live with him and make hellwhat you have made my house ever since Rebecca's death. GET OUT!!!

 "Ebeneezer Judson. "

The letter was badly written and incoherent, yet there could be no doubtof its meaning, nor of the state of mind in which it had been penned. Fora moment, there was a tense silence, then Mrs. Dodd titteredhysterically. 

"We thought diamonds was goin' to be trumps, " she observed, "an' it turnedout to be spades. "

Uncle Israel wheezed again and Mrs. Smithers smacked her lips with intensesatisfaction. Mrs. Holmes was pale with anger, and, under cover of thenight, Dick sneaked back to his room, shame-faced, yet happy. ClaudiusTiberius still purred, sticking his claws into the bark with everyevidence of pleasure. 

"I do not know, " said Mr. Perkins, sadly, running his fingers through hismane, "whether we are obliged to take as final these vagaries of a dyingman. Dear Uncle Ebeneezer could not have been sane when he penned thiscruel letter. I do not believe it was his desire to have any of us go awaybefore the usual time. " Under cover of these forgiving sentiments, hepocketed all the money in the box. 

"Me neither, " said Mrs. Dodd. "Anyhow, I'm goin' to stay. No sheetedspectre can't scare me away from a place I've always stayed in Summers, 'specially, " she added, sarcastically, "when I'm remembered in the will. "

Mrs. Smithers clucked disagreeably and went back to the house. UncleIsrael looked after her with dismay. "Do you suppose, " he queried, infalsetto, "that she'll tell the Carrs?"

"Hush, Israel, " replied Mrs. Dodd. "She can't tell them Carrs about ourdiggin' all night in the orchard, 'cause she was here herself. They didn'tget no spirit communication an' they won't suspect nothin'. We'll juststay where we be an' go on 's if nothin' had happened. "

Indeed, this seemed the wisest plan, and, shivering with the cold, thebaffled ones filed back to the Jack-o'-Lantern. "How did you get out, Israel?" whispered Mrs. Dodd, as they approached the house. 

The old man snickered. It was the only moment of the evening he hadthoroughly enjoyed. "The same spirit that give me the letter, Belinda, " hereturned, pleasantly, "also give me a key. You didn't think I had noflyin' machine, did you?"

"Humph" grunted Mrs. Dodd. "Spirits don't carry no keys!"

At the threshold they paused, the sensitive poet quite unstrung by thenight's adventure. From the depths of the Jack-o'-Lantern came a shrill, infantile cry. 

"Is that Ebbie, " asked Mrs. Dodd, "or Rebbie?"

Mrs. Holmes turned upon her with suppressed fury. "Don't you ever dare toallude to my children in that manner again, " she commanded, hoarsely. 

"What is their names?" quavered Uncle Israel, lighting his candle. 

"Their names, " returned Mrs. Holmes, with a vast accession of dignity, "are Gladys Gwendolen and Algernon Paul! Good night!"

Just before dawn, a sheeted spectre appeared at the side of SarahSmither's bed, and swore the trembling woman to secrecy. It was long pastsunrise before the frightened handmaiden came to her senses enough torecall that the voice of the apparition had been strangely like Mrs. Dodd's. 

XVI

Good Fortune

The next morning, Harlan and Dorothy ate breakfast by themselves. Therewas suppressed excitement in the manner of Mrs. Smithers, who by this timehad quite recovered from her fright, and, as they readily saw, not whollyof an unpleasant kind. From time to time she tittered audibly--a thingwhich had never happened before. 

"It's just as if a tombstone should giggle, " remarked Harlan. His tone waslow, but unfortunately, it carried well. 

"Tombstone or not, just as you like, " responded Mrs. Smithers, as she camein with the bacon. "I'd be careful 'ow I spoke disrespectfully oftombstones if I was in your places, that's wot I would. Tombstones is kindto some and cussed to others, that's wot they are, and if you don't likethe monument wot's at present in your kitchen, you know wot you can do. "

After breakfast, she beckoned Dorothy into the kitchen, and "gavenotice. "

"Oh, Mrs. Smithers, " cried Dorothy, almost moved to tears, "please don'tleave me in the lurch! What should I do without you, with all these peopleon my hands? Don't think of such a thing as leaving me!"

"Miss Carr, " said Mrs. Smithers, solemnly, with one long bony finger laidalongside of her hooked nose, "'t ain't necessary for you to run no Summerhotel, that's what it ain't. These 'ere all be relations of your uncle'swife and none of his'n except by marriage. Wot's more, your uncle don'twant 'em 'ere, that's wot 'e don't. "

Mrs. Smithers's tone was so confident that for the moment Dorothy wasstartled, remembering yesterday's vague allusion to "sheeted spectres ofthe dead. "

"What do you mean?" she demanded. 

"Miss Carr, " returned Mrs. Smithers, with due dignity, "ever since I come'ere, I've been invited to shut my 'ead whenever I opened it about thatthere cat or your uncle or anythink, as you well knows. I was never onewot was fond of 'avin' my 'ead shut up. "

"Go on, " said Dorothy, her curiosity fully alive, "and tell me what youmean. "

"You gives me your solemn oath, Miss, that you won't tell me to shut my'ead?" queried Mrs. Smithers. 

"Of course, " returned Dorothy, trying to be practical, though theatmosphere was sepulchral enough. 

"Well, then, you knows wot I told you about that there cat. 'E was kilt byyour uncle, that's wot 'e was, and your uncle couldn't never abide cats. 'E was that feared of 'em 'e couldn't even bury 'em when they was kilt, and one of my duties, Miss, as long as I lived with 'im, was buryin' ofcats, and until this one, I never come up with one wot couldn't stayburied, that's wot I 'aven't. 

"'E 'ated 'em like poison, that's wot 'e did. The week afore your uncledied, he kilt this 'ere cat wot's chasin' the chickens now, and I buried'im with my own hands, but could 'e stay buried? 'E could not. No sooneris your uncle dead and gone than this 'ere cat comes back, and it's thetruth, Miss Carr, for where 'e was buried, there ain't no sign of a catnow. Wot's worse, this 'ere cat looks per-cisely like your uncle, greeneyes, white shirt front, black tie and all. It's enough to give a body theshivers to see 'im a-settin' on the kitchen floor lappin' up 'is mush andmilk, the which your uncle was so powerful fond of. 

"Wot's more, " continued Mrs. Smithers, in tones of awe, "I'll a'most betmy immortal soul that if you'll dig in the cemetery where your uncle wasburied good and proper, you won't find nothin' but the empty coffin andmaybe 'is grave clothes. Your uncle's been livin' with us all along inthat there cat, " she added, triumphantly. "It's 'is punishment, for 'ecouldn't never abide 'em, that's wot 'e couldn't. "

Mrs. Carr opened her mouth to speak, then, remembering her promise, tookrefuge in flight. 

"'Er's scared, " muttered Mrs. Smithers, "and no wonder. Wot with cats ascan't stay buried, writin' letters and deliverin' 'em in the dead ofnight, and a purrin' like mad while blamed fools digs for eight cents, most folks would be scared, I take it, that's wot they would. "

Dorothy was pale when she went into the library where Harlan was at work. He frowned at the interruption and Dorothy smiled back at him--it seemedso normal and sane. 

"What is it, Dorothy?" he asked, not unkindly. 

"Oh--just Mrs. Smithers's nonsense. She's upset me. "

"What about, dear?" Harlan put his work aside readily enough now. 

"Oh, the same old story about the cat and Uncle Ebeneezer. And I'mafraid----"

"Afraid of what?"

"I know it's foolish, but I'm afraid she's going to dig in the cemetery tosee if Uncle Ebeneezer is still there. She thinks he's in the cat. "

For the moment, Harlan thought Dorothy had suddenly lost her reason, thenhe laughed heartily. 

"Don't worry, " he said, "she won't do anything of the kind, and, besides, what if she did? It's a free country, isn't it?"

"And--there's another thing, Harlan. " For days she had dreaded to speak ofit, but now it could be put off no longer. 

"It's--it's money, " she went on, unwillingly. "I'm afraid I haven'tmanaged very well, or else it's cost so much for everything, butwe're--we're almost broke, Harlan, " she concluded, bravely, trying tosmile. 

Harlan put his hands in his pockets and began to walk back and forth. "IfI can only finish the book, " he said, at length, "I think we'll be allright, but I can't leave it now. There's only two more chapters to write, and then----"

"And then, " cried Dorothy, her beautiful belief in him transfiguring herface, "then we'll be rich, won't we?"

"I am already rich, " returned Harlan, "when you have such faith in me asthat. "

For a moment the shimmering veil of estrangement which so long had hungbetween them, seemed to part, and reveal soul to soul. As swiftly the moodchanged and Dorothy felt it first, like a chill mist in the air. Neitherdreamed that with the writing of the first paragraph in the book, thespell had claimed one of them for ever--that cobweb after cobweb, ofgossamer fineness, should make a fabric never to be broken; that on oneside of it should stand a man who had exchanged his dreams for realitiesand his realities for dreams, and on the other, a woman, blindly hurt, eternally straining to see beyond the veil. 

"What can we do?" asked Harlan, unwontedly practical for the nonce. 

"I don't know, " said Dorothy. "There are the diamonds, you know, that wefound. I don't care for any diamonds, except the one you gave me. If wecould sell those----"

"Dorothy, don't. I don't believe they're ours, and if they were, theyshouldn't be sold. You should keep them. "

"My engagement ring, then, " suggested Dorothy, her lips trembling. "That'sours. "

"Don't be foolish, " said Harlan, a little roughly. "I'll finish this andthen we'll see what's to be done. "

Feeling her dismissal, Dorothy went out, and, all unknowingly, straightinto the sunshine. 

Elaine was coming downstairs, fresh and sweet as the morning itself. "Am Itoo late to have any breakfast, Mrs. Carr?" she asked, gaily. "I know Idon't deserve any. "

"Of course you shall have breakfast. I'll see to it. "

Elaine took her place at the table and Dorothy, reluctant to put furtherstrain on the frail bond that anchored Mrs. Smithers to her service, brought in the breakfast herself. 

"You're so good to me, " said the girl, gratefully, as Dorothy poured out acup of steaming coffee. "To think how beautiful you've been to me, when Inever saw either one of you in my whole life, till I came here ill andbroken-hearted! See what you've made of me--see how well and strong Iam!"

Swiftly, Dorothy bent and kissed Elaine, a strange, shadowy cloud for everlifted from her heart. She had not known how heavy it was nor how chargedwith foreboding, until it was gone. 

"I want to do something for you, " Elaine went on, laughing to hide themist in her eyes, "and I've just thought what I can do. My mother had somebeautiful old mahogany furniture, just loads of it, and some wonderfullaces, and I'm going to divide with you. "

"No, you're not, " returned Dorothy, warmly. She felt that Elaine hadalready given her enough. 

"It isn't meant for payment, Mrs. Carr, " the girl went on, her big blueeyes fixed upon Dorothy, "but you're to take it from me just as I've takenthis lovely Summer from you. You took in a stranger, weak and helpless andhalf-crazed with grief, and you've made her into a happy woman again. "

Before Dorothy could answer, Dick lounged in, frankly sleepy. "Second callin the dining car?" he asked, taking Mrs. Dodd's place, across the tablefrom Elaine. 

"Third call, " returned Dorothy, brightly, "and, if you don't mind, I'llleave you two to wait on yourselves. " She went upstairs, her heart light, not so much from reality as from prescience. "How true it is, " shethought, "that if you only wait and do the best you can, things all workout straight again. I've had to learn it, but I know it now. "

"Bully bunch, the Carrs, " remarked Dick, pushing his cup to Elaine. 

"They're lovely, " she answered, with conviction. 

The sun streamed brightly into the dining-room of the Jack-o'-Lantern andchanged its hideousness into cheer. Seeing Elaine across from him, gracefully pouring his coffee, affected Dick strangely. Since the daybefore, he had seen clearly something which he must do. 

"I say, Elaine, " he began, awkwardly. "That beast of a poem I read theother day----"

Her face paled, ever so slightly. "Yes?"

"Well, Perkins didn't write it, you know, " Dick went on, hastily. "I didit myself. Or, rather I found it, blowing around, outside, just as I said, and I fixed it. "

At length he became restless under the calm scrutiny of Elaine's cleareyes. "I beg your pardon, " he continued. 

"Did you think, " she asked, "that it was nice to make fun of a lady inthat way?"

"I didn't think, " returned Dick, truthfully. "I never thought for a minutethat it was making fun of you, but only of that--that pup, Perkins, " heconcluded, viciously. 

"Under the circumstances, " said Elaine, ignoring the epithet, "the silenceof Mr. Perkins has been very noble. I shall tell him so. "

"Do, " answered Dick, with difficulty. "He's ambling up to thelunch-counter now. " Mr. Chester went out by way of the window, swallowinghard. 

"I have just been told, " said Miss St. Clair to the poet, "thatthe--er--poem was not written by you, and I apologise for what I said. "

Mr. Perkins bowed in acknowledgment. "It is a small matter, " he said, wearily, running his fingers through his hair. It was, indeed, comparedwith deep sorrow of a penetrating kind, and a sleepless night, but Elainedid not relish the comment. 

"Were--were you restless in the night?" she asked, conventionally. 

"I was. I did not sleep at all until after four o'clock, and then only fora few moments. "

"I'm sorry. Did--did you write anything?"

"I began an epic, " answered the poet, touched, for the moment, by thisunexpected sympathy. "An epic in blank verse, on 'Disappointment. '"

"I'm sure it's beautiful, " continued Elaine, coldly. "And that reminds me. I have hunted through my room, in every possible place, and foundnothing. "

A flood of painful emotion overwhelmed the poet, and he buried his face inhis hands. In a flash, Elaine was violently angry, though she could nothave told why. She marched out of the dining-room and slammed the door. "Delicate, sensitive soul, " she said to herself, scornfully. "Wants peopleto hunt for money he thinks may be hidden in his room, and yet is so farabove sordidness that he can't hear it spoken of!"

Seeing Mr. Chester pacing back and forth moodily at some distance from thehouse, Elaine rushed out to him. "Dick, " she cried, "he _is_ a lobster!"

Dick's clouded face brightened. "Is he?" he asked, eagerly, knowinginstinctively whom she meant. "Elaine, you're a brick!" They shook handsin token of absolute agreement upon one subject at least, and the girl'sright hand hurt her for some little time afterward. 

Left to himself, Mr. Perkins mused upon the dread prospect before him. Foryears he had calculated upon a generous proportion of his UncleEbeneezer's estate, and had even borrowed money upon the strength of hisexpectations. These debts now loomed up inconveniently. 

The vulgar, commercial people from whom Mr. Perkins had borrowed filthycoin were quite capable of speaking of the matter, and in an unpleasantmanner at that. The fine soul of Mr. Perkins shrank from the ordeal. Hehad that particular disdain of commercialism which is inseparable from theincapable and unsuccessful, and yet, if the light of his genius were toilluminate a desolate world, Mr. Perkins must have money. 

He might even have to degrade himself by coarse toil--and hitherto, he hadbeen too proud to work. The thought was terrible. Pegasus hitched to theplough was nothing compared with the prospect of Mr. Perkins being obligedto earn three or four dollars a week in some humble, common capacity. 

Then a bright idea came to his rescue. "Mr. Carr, " he thought, "thegentleman who is now entertaining me--he is doing my own kind of work, though of course it is less fine in quality. Perhaps he would like theopportunity of going down to posterity as the humble Mæcenas of a newHorace. "

Borne to the library in the rush of this attractive idea, Mr. Perkinsopened the door, which Harlan had forgotten to lock, and without in anyway announcing himself, broke in on Harlan's chapter. 

"What do you mean?" demanded the irate author. "What business have youbutting in here like this? Get out!"

"I--" stammered Mr. Perkins. 

"Get out!" thundered Harlan. It sounded strangely like the last phrase of"dear Uncle Ebeneezer's last communication, " and, trembling, thedisconsolate poet obeyed. He fled to his own room as a storm-tossed shipto its last harbour, and renewed the composition of his epic on"Disappointment, " for which, by this time, he had additional material. 

Harlan went back to his work, but the mood was gone. The living, radiantpicture had wholly vanished, and in its place was a heap of dead, dry, meaningless words. "Did I write it?" asked Harlan, of himself, "and if so, why?"

Like the mocking fantasy of a dream as seen in the instant of waking, Elaine and her company had gone, as if to return no more. Only twochapters were yet to be written, and he knew, vaguely, what Elaine wasabout to do when he left her, but his pen had lost the trick of writing. 

Deeply troubled, Harlan went to the window, where the outer world stillhad the curious appearance of unreality. It was as though a sheet of glasswere between him and the life of the rest of the world. He could seethrough it clearly, but the barrier was there, and must always be there. Upon the edge of this glass, the light of life should break and resolveitself into prismatic colours, of which he should see one at a time, nowand then more, and often a clear, pitiless view of the world should givehim no colour at all. 

Presently Lawyer Bradford came up the hill, dressed for a formal call. Ina flash it brought back to Harlan the day the old man had first come tothe Jack-o'-Lantern, when Dorothy was a happy girl with a care-free boyfor a husband. How much had happened since, and how old and grey the worldhad grown!

"I desire to see the distinguished author, Mr. Carr, " the thin, pipingvoice was saying at the door, "upon a matter of immediate and personalimportance. And Mrs. Carr also, if she is at leisure. Privacy isabsolutely essential. "

"Come into the library, " said Harlan, from the doorway. Anotherinterruption made no difference now. Dorothy soon followed, much mystifiedby the way in which Mrs. Smithers had summoned her. 

Remembering the inopportune intrusion of Mr. Perkins, Harlan locked thedoor. "Now, Mr. Bradford, " he said, easily, "what is it?"

"I should have told you before, " began the old lawyer, "had not the bondsof silence been laid upon me by one whom we all revere and who is now pastcarrying out his own desires. The house is yours, as my letters of anearlier date apprised you, and the will is to be probated at the Fall termof court. 

"Your uncle, " went on Mr. Bradford, unwillingly, "was a great suffererfrom--from relations, " he added, lowering his voice to a shrill whisper, "and he has chosen to revenge himself for his sufferings in his own way. Of this I am not at liberty to speak, though no definite silence wasrequired of me later than yesterday. 

"There is, however, a farm of two thousand acres, all improved, which isstill to come to you, and a sum of money amounting to something over tenthousand dollars, in the bank to your credit. The multitudinous duties inconnection with the practice of my profession have prevented me frommaking myself familiar with the exact amount. 

"And, " he went on, looking at Dorothy, "there is a very beautiful diamondpin, the gift of my lamented friend to his lovely young wife upon the dayof the solemnisation of their nuptials, which was to be given to the wifeof Mr. Judson's nephew when he should marry. It is sewn in a mattress inthe room at the end of the north wing. "

The earth whirled beneath Dorothy's feet. At first, she had not fullycomprehended what Mr. Bradford was saying, but now she realised that theyhad passed from pinching poverty to affluence--at least it seemed so toher. Harlan was not so readily confused, but none the less, he, too, wasdazed. Neither of them could speak. 

"I should be grateful, " the old man was saying, "if you would ask Mr. Richard Chester and Mrs. Sarah Smithers to come to my office at theirearliest convenience. I will not trespass upon their valuable time atpresent. "

There was a long silence, during which Mr. Bradford cleared his throat, and wiped his glasses several times. "The farm has always been held in myname, " he continued, "to protect our lamented friend and benefactor fromadditional disturbance. If--if the relations had known, his life wouldhave been even less peaceful than it was. A further farm, valued at twelvethousand dollars, and also held in my name, is my friend's last gift tome, as I discovered by opening a personal letter which was to be keptsealed until this morning. I did not open it until late in the morning, not wishing to show unseemly eagerness to pry into my friend's affairs. Iam too much affected to speak of it--I feel his loss too keenly. He was myColonel--I served under him in the war. "

A mist filled the old man's eyes and he fumbled for the door-knob. Harlanfound it for him, turned the key, and opened the door. Mrs. Dodd, Mrs. Holmes, Mrs. Smithers, and the suffering poet were all in the hall, theirattitudes plainly indicating that they had been listening at the door, butsomething in Mr. Bradford's face made them huddle back into the corner, ashamed. 

Feeling his way with his cane, he went to the parlour door, where he stoodfor a moment at the threshold, his streaming eyes fixed upon the portraitover the mantel. The simple dignity of his grief forbade a word from anyone. At length he straightened himself, brought his trembling hand to hisforehead in a feeble military salute, and, wiping his eyes, tottered offdownhill. 

XVII

The Lady Elaine knows her Heart

_It was on a dark and stormy midnight, when the thunders boomed and thedread fury of the lightnings scarred the overhanging cliffs, that the LadyElaine at last came to know her heart. _

_She was in a cave, safe from all but the noise of the storm. A cheeryfire blazed at her door, and her bed within was made soft with pine boughsand skins. For weeks they had journeyed here and there, yet there had beenno knight in whose face Elaine could find what she sought. _

_As she lay on her couch, she reflected upon the faithful wayfarers whohad travelled with her, who had ever been gentle and courtly, saving herfrom all annoyance and all harm. Yet above them all, there was one who, from the time of their starting, had kept vigilant guard. He was thehumblest of them all, but it was he who made her rest in shady places bythe wayside when she herself scarce knew that she was weary; had given hercool spring water in a cup cunningly woven of leaves before she hadrealised her thirst; had brought her berries and strange, luscious fruitsbefore she had thought of hunger; and who had cheered her, many a time, when no one else had guessed that she was sad. _

_Outside, he was guarding her now, all heedless of the rain. She could seehim dimly in the shadow, then, all at once, more clearly in the firelight. His head was bowed and his arms folded, yet in the strong lines of hisbody there was no hint of weariness. Well did the Lady Elaine know thatuntil Dawn spun her web of enchantment upon the mysterious loom of theEast, he would march sleeplessly before her door, replenishing the fire, listening now and then for her deep breathing, and, upon the morrow, gailytell her of his dreams. _

_Dreams they were, indeed, but not the dreams of sleep. Upon thesemidnight marchings, her sentinel gave his wandering fancy free rein. Andbecause of the dumb pain in his heart, these fancies were all the merrier;more golden with the sun of laughter, more gemmed with the pearl oftears. _

_Proud-hearted, yet strangely homesick, the Lady Elaine was restless thisnight. "I must go back, " she thought, "to the Castle of Content, where mydear father would fain have his child again. And yet I dread to go backwith my errand undone, my quest unrewarded. _

_"What is it, " thought Elaine, in sudden self-searching, "that I seek?What must this man be, to whom I would surrender the keeping of my heart?What do I ask that is so hard to find?_

_"Am I seeking for a god? Nay, surely not, but only for a man. Valorous hemust be, indeed, but not in the lists--'tis not a soldier, for I have seenthem by the hundred since I left my home in the valley. 'Tis not a modelfor the tapestry weaver that my heart would have, for I have seen the mostbeautiful youths of my country since I came forth upon my quest. _

_"Some one, perchance, " mused the Lady Elaine, "whose beauty my eyes aloneshould perceive, whose valour only I should guess before there was need totest it. Some one great of heart and clean of mind, in whose eyes thereshould never be that which makes a woman ashamed. Some one fine-fibred andstrong-souled, not above tenderness when a maid was tired. One who shouldmake a shield of his love, to keep her not only from the great hurts butfrom the little ones as well, and yet with whom she might fare onward, shoulder to shoulder, as God meant mates should fare. _

_"Surely 'tis not so unusual, this thing that I ask--only an honest manwith human faults and human virtues, transfigured by a great love. And whyis it that in this quest of mine, I have found him not?"_

_"Princess, " said a voice at her doorway, "thou art surely still awake. The storm is lessening and there is naught to fear. I pray thee, try tosleep. And if there is aught I can do for thee, thou knowest thou hastonly to speak. "_

_From the warm darkness where she lay, Elaine saw his face with thefirelight upon it, and all at once she knew. _

_"There is naught, " she answered, with what he thought was coldness. "Ibid thee leave me and take thine own rest. "_

_"As thou wilt, " he responded, submissively, but though the sound was nowfaint and far away, she still could hear him walking back and forth, keeping his unremitting guard. _

_So it was that at last Love came to the Lady Elaine. She had dreamed ofsome fair stranger, into whose eyes she should look and instantly know himfor her lord, never guessing that her lord had gone with her when she leftthe Castle of Content. There was none of those leaps of the heart of whichone of the maids at the Castle had read from the books while the othersworked at the tapestry frames. It was nothing new, but only a light uponsomething which had always been, and which, because of her own blindness, she had not seen. _

_All through this foolish journey, Love had ridden beside the Lady Elaine, asking nothing but the privilege of serving her; demanding only the rightto give, to sacrifice, to shield. And at last she knew. _

_The doubting in her heart was for ever stilled and in its place was agreat peace. There was an unspeakable tenderness and a measurelesscompassion, so wide and so deep that it sheltered all the world. For, strangely enough, the love of the many comes first through the love of theone. _

_The Lady Elaine did not need to ask whether he loved her, for, unerringly, she knew. Mated past all power of change, they two were onehenceforward, though seas should roll between. Mated through suffering aswell, for, in this new bond, as the Lady Elaine dimly perceived, there wasgreat possibility of hurt. Yet there was no end or no beginning; it simplywas, and at last she knew. _

_At length, she slept. When she awoke the morning was fair upon themountains, but still he paced back and forth before her door. Rising, shebathed her face in the cool water he had brought her, braided her gloriousgolden hair, changed her soiled habit for a fresh robe of white satintraced with gold, donned her red embroidered slippers, and stepped outinto the sunrise, shading her eyes with her hand until they grewaccustomed to the dawn. _

_"Good morrow, Princess, " he said. "We----"_

_Of a sudden, he stopped and fled like a wild thing into the forest, forby her eyes, he saw what was in her heart, and his hot words, strugglingfor utterance, choked him. "At last, " he breathed, with his clenched handson his breast; "at last--but no, 'tis another dream of mine that I darenot believe. "_

_His senses reeled, for love comes not to a man as to a woman, but ratherwith the sound of trumpets and the glare of white light. The cloisteredpeace that fills her soul rests seldom upon him, and instead he is stirredwith high ambition and spurred on to glorious achievement. For to her, love is the end of life; to him it is the means. _

_The knights thought it but another caprice when the Lady Elaine gaveorders to return to the Castle of Content, at once, and by the shortestway--all save one of them. With his heart rioting madly through hisbreast, he knew, but he did not dare to look at Elaine. He was as one longblinded, who suddenly sees the sun. _

_So it was that though he still served her, he rode no longer by her side, and Elaine, hurt at first, at length understood, and smiled because of herunderstanding. All the way back, the Lady Elaine sang little songs toherself, and, the while she rode upon her palfrey, touched her zither intogentle harmonies. After many days, they came within sight of the Castle ofContent. _

_As before, it was sunset, and the long light lay upon the hills, whilethe valley was in shadow. Purple were the vineyards, heavy with theirclustered treasure, over which the tiny weavers had made their lace, andpurple, too, were the many-spired cliffs, behind which the sunset shone. _

_A courier, riding swiftly in advance, had apprised the Lord of the Castleof Content of the return of the Lady Elaine, and the maids from thetapestry room, and the keeper of the wine-cellar, and the stable-boys, andthe candle-makers, and the light-bearers all rushed out, heedless of theirmanners, for, one and all, they loved the Lady Elaine, and were eager tobehold their beautiful mistress again. _

_But the Lord of the Castle of Content, speaking somewhat sternly, orderedthem one and all back to their places, and, shamefacedly, they obeyed. "Iwould not be selfish, " he muttered to himself, "but surely, Elaine ismine, and the first gleam of her beauty belongs of right to these mistyold eyes of mine, that have long strained across the dark for the firsthint of her coming. Of a truth her quest has been long. "_

_So it came to pass that when the company reached the road that led downinto the valley, the Lord of the Castle of Content was on the porticoalone, though he could not have known that behind every shuttered windowof the Castle, a humble servitor of Elaine's was waiting anxiously for hercoming. _

_As before, Elaine rode at the head, waving her hand to her father, whilethe cymbals and the bugles crashed out a welcome. She could not see, butshe guessed that he was there, and in return he waved a tremulous hand ather, though well he knew that in the fast gathering twilight, the child ofhis heart could not see the one who awaited her. _

_One by one, as they came in single file down the precipice, the old mancounted them, much astonished to see that there was no new member of thecompany--that as many were coming back as had gone away. For the momenthis heart was glad, then he reproached himself bitterly for hisselfishness, and was truthfully most tender toward Elaine, because she hadfailed upon her quest. _

_The light gleamed capriciously upon the bauble of the fool, which hestill carried, though now it hung downward from his saddle, foolishlyenough. "A most merry fool, " said the Lord of Content to himself. "I waswise to insist upon his accompanying this wayward child of mine. "_

_Wayward she might be, yet her father's eyes were dim when she came downinto the valley, where there was no light save the evening star, a taperlight at an upper window of the Castle, and her illumined face. _

_"How hast thou fared upon thy quest, Elaine?" he asked in tremblingtones, when at last she released herself from his eager embrace. Hedreaded to hear her make known her disappointment, yet his sorrow was allfor her, and not in the least for himself. _

_"I have found him, father, " she said, the gladness in her voice betrayingitself as surely as the music in a stream when Spring sets it free again, "and, forsooth, he rode with me all the time. "_

_"Which knight hast thou chosen, Elaine?" he asked, a little sadly. _

_"No knight at all, dear father. I have found my knight in stranger guisethan in armour and shield. He bears no lance, save for those who wouldinjure me. " And then, she beckoned to the fool. _

_"He is here, my father, " she went on, her great love making her allunconscious of the shame she should feel. _

_"Elaine!" thundered her father, while the fool hung his head, "hast thoutaken leave of thy senses? Of a truth, this is a sorry jest thou hastchosen to greet me with on thy return. "_

_"Father, " said Elaine, made bold by the silent pressure of the hand thatsecretly clasped hers, "'tis no jest. If thou art pained, indeed I amsorry, but if thou choosest to banish me, then this night will I go gladlywith him I have chosen to be my lord. The true heart which Heaven has sentfor me beats beneath his motley, and with him I must go. Dear father, "cried Elaine, piteously, "do not send us away!"_

_The stern eyes of the Lord of the Castle of Content were fixed upon thefool, and in the gathering darkness they gleamed like live coals. "Andthou, " he said, scornfully; "what hast thou to say?"_

_"Only this, " answered the fool; "that the Princess has spoken truly. Weare mated by a higher law than that of thy land or mine, and 'tis this lawthat we must obey. If thou sayest the word, we will set forth to mycountry this very night, though we are both weary with much journeying. "_

_"Thy land, " said the Lord of the Castle, with measureless contempt, "andwhat land hast thou? Even the six feet of ground thou needest for a gravemust be given thee at the last, unless, perchance, thou hast a handful ofstolen earth hidden somewhere among thy other jewels!"_

_"Your lordship, " cried the fool, with a clear ring in his voice, "thoushall not speak so to the man who is to wed thy daughter. I had notthought to tell even her till after the priests had made us one, but forour own protection, I am stung into speech. _

_"Know then, that I am no fool, but a Prince of the House of Bernard. Myacres and my vineyards cover five times the space of this little realm ofthine. Chests of gold and jewels I have, storehouses overflowing withgrain and fine fabrics, three castles and a royal retinue. Of a truth, thou art blind since thou canst see naught but the raiment. May not aPrince wear motley if he chooses, thus to find a maid who will love himfor himself alone?"_

_"Prince Bernard, " muttered the Lord of Content, "the son of my oldfriend, whom I have long dreamed in secret shouldst wed my dear daughterElaine! Your Highness, I beg you to forgive me, and to take my hand. "_

_But Prince Bernard did not hear, nor see the outstretched hand, forElaine was in his arms for the first time, her sweet lips close on his. "My Prince, oh my Prince, " she murmured, when at length he set her free;"my eyes could not see, but my heart knew!"_

_So ended the Quest of the Lady Elaine. _

With a sigh, Harlan wrote the last words and pushed the paper from him, staring blankly at the wall and seeing nothing. His labour was at an end, all save the final copying, and the painstaking daily revision which wouldtake weeks longer. The exaltation he had expected to be conscious of wasutterly absent; instead of it, he had a sense of loss, of change. 

His surroundings seemed hopelessly sordid and ugly, now that the glow wasgone. All unknowingly, when Harlan pencilled: "The End, " in fancifulletters at the bottom of the last page, he had had practically his lastjoy of his book. The torturing process of revision was to take all thelife out of it. Sentences born of surging emotion would seem vapid andfoolish when subjected to the cold, critical eye of his reason, yet heknew, dimly, that he must not change it too much. 

"I'll let it get cool, " he thought, "before I do anything more to it. "

Yet, now, it was difficult to stop working. The rented typewriter, withits enticing bank of keys, was close at hand. A thousand sheets of paperand a box of carbon waited in the drawer of Uncle Ebeneezer's desk. Hisworn _Thesaurus of English Words and Phrases_ was at his elbow. And theywere poor. Then Harlan laughed, for they were no longer poor, and he hadwholly forgotten it. 

There was a step upon the porch outside, then Dorothy came into the hall. She paused outside the library door for a moment, ostensibly to tie hershoe, but in reality to listen. A wave of remorseful tendernessoverwhelmed Harlan and he unlocked the door. "Come in, " he said, smiling. "You needn't be afraid to come in any more. The book is all done. "

"O Harlan, is it truly done?" There was no gladness in her voice, onlyrelief. Doubt was in every intonation of her sentence; incredulity inevery line of her body. 

With this pitiless new insight of his, Harlan saw how she had felt forthese last weeks and became very tenderly anxious not to hurt her; toshield his transformed self from her quick understanding. 

"Really, " he answered. "Have I been a beast, Dorothy?"

The question was so like the boy she used to know that her heart leapedwildly, then became portentously still. 

"Rather, " she admitted, grudgingly, from the shelter of his arms. 

"I'm sorry. If you say so, I'll burn it. Nothing is coming between you andme. " The words sounded hollow and meaningless, as he knew they were. 

She put her hand over his mouth. "You won't do any such thing, " she said. Dorothy had learned the bitterness of the woman's part, to stand by, utterly lonely, and dream, and wait, while men achieve. 

"Can I read it now?" she asked, timidly. 

"You couldn't make it out, Dorothy. When it's all done, and every word isjust as I want it, I'll read it to you. That will be better, won't it?"

"Can Dick come, too?" She asked the question thoughtlessly, then flushedas Harlan took her face between his hands. 

"Dorothy, did you know Dick before we were married?"

"Why, Harlan! I never saw him in all my life till the day he came here. Did you think I had?"

Harlan only grunted, but she understood, and, in return, asked herquestion. "Did you write the book about Elaine?" she began, half ashamed. 

"Dear little idiot, " said Harlan, softly. "I'd begun the book before shecame or before I knew she was coming. I never saw her till she came tolive with us. You're foolish, dearest, don't you think you are?"

He was swiftly perceiving the necessity of creating a new harmony to takethe place of that old one, now so strangely lost. 

"There are two of us, " returned Dorothy, with conviction, wiping hereyes. 

"I wish you'd ask me things, " said Harlan, a little later. "I'm no mindreader. And, besides, the seventh son of a seventh son, born with a caul, and having three trances regularly every day after meals, never could hopeto understand a woman unless she was willing to help him out a little, occasionally. "

Which, after all, was more or less true. 

XVIII

Uncle Ebeneezer's Diary

Harlan had taken his work upstairs, that the ceaseless clatter of thetypewriter might not add to the confusion which normally prevailed in theJack-o'-Lantern. Thus it happened that Dorothy was able to begin herlong-cherished project of dusting, rearranging, and cataloguing thebooks. 

There is a fine spiritual essence which exhales from the covers of a book. Shall one touch a copy of Shakespeare with other than reverent hands, ortake up his Boswell without a smile? Through the worn covers and brokenbinding the master-spirit still speaks, no less than through the centurieswhich lie between. The man who had the wishing carpet, upon which he satand wished and was thence immediately transported to the ends of theearth, was not possessed of a finer magic than one who takes his Boswellin his hands and then, for a golden quarter of an hour, lives in a bygoneLondon with Doctor Johnson. 

When the book-lover enters his library, no matter what storm and tumultmay be in his heart, he has come to the inmost chamber of Peace. Theindescribable, musty odour which breathes from the printed page isfragrant incense to him who loves his books. In unseemly caskets histreasures may be hidden, yet, when the cover is reverently lifted, thejewels shine with no fading light. The old, immortal beauty is stillthere, for any one who seeks it in the right way. 

Dorothy had two willing assistants in Dick and Elaine. One morning, immediately after breakfast, the three went to the library and locked thedoor. Outside, the twins rioted unheeded and the perennially joyous Williecapered unceasingly. Mr. Perkins, gloomy and morose, wrote reams of poetryin his own room, distressed beyond measure by the rumble of thetypewriter, but too much cast down to demand that it be stopped. 

Mrs. Dodd and Mrs. Holmes, closely united through misfortune, werewell-nigh inseparable now, while Mrs. Smithers, still sepulchral, sangcontinually in a loud, cracked voice, never by any chance happening uponthe right note. As Dorothy said, when there are only eight tones in theoctave, it would seem that sometime, somewhere, a warbler must coincidefor a brief interval with the tune, but as Dick further commented, industry and patience can do wonders when rightly exercised. 

Uncle Israel's midnight excursion to the orchard had given him a freshattack of a familiar and distressing ailment to which he always alluded as"the brown kittys. " Fortunately, however, the cure for asthma andbronchitis was contained in the same quart bottle, and needed only to beheated in order to work upon both diseases simultaneously. 

Elaine rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt-waist, and turned in hercollar, thereby producing an effect which Dick privately considereddistractingly pretty. Dorothy was enveloped from head to foot in avoluminous blue gingham apron, and a dust cap, airily poised upon hersmooth brown hair, completed a most becoming costume. Dick, having dulyobtained permission, took off his coat and put on his hat, after which thelibrary force was ready for action. 

"First, " said Dorothy, "we'll take down all the books. " It sounded simple, but it took a good share of the day to do it, and the clouds of dustdisturbed by the process produced sneezes which put Uncle Israel's feebleefforts to shame. When dusting the shelves, after they were empty, Elainecame upon a panel in the wall which slid back. 

"Here's a secret drawer!" she cried, in wild delight. "How perfectlylovely! Do you suppose there's anything in it?"

Dorothy instantly thought of money and diamonds, but the concealedtreasure proved to be merely a book. It was a respectable volume, however, at least as far as size was concerned, for Elaine and Dorothy togethercould scarcely lift it. 

It was a leather-bound ledger, of the most ponderous kind, and wasfastened with a lock and key. The key, of course, was missing, but Dicksoon pried open the fastening. 

All but the last few pages in the book were covered with fine writing, inink which was brown and faded, but still legible. It was Uncle Ebeneezer'spenmanship throughout, except for a few entries at the beginning, in afine, flowing feminine hand, which Dorothy instantly knew was AuntRebecca's. 

"On the night of our wedding, " the book began, "we begin this record ofour lives, for until to-day we have not truly lived. " This was signed byboth. Then, in the woman's hand, was written a description of herwedding-gown, which was a simple white muslin, made by herself. Herornaments were set down briefly--only a wreath of roses in her hair, astring of coral beads, and the diamond brooch which was at that moment inDorothy's jewel-box. 

For three weeks there were alternate entries, then suddenly, without date, were two words so badly written as to be scarcely readable: "She died. "For days thereafter was only this: "I cannot write. " These simple wordswere the key to a world of pain, for the pages were blistered with a man'shot tears. 

Then came this: "She would want me to go on writing it, so I will, thoughI have no heart for it. "

From thence onward the book proceeded without interruption, a minute andfaithful record of the man's inner life. Long extracts copied from booksfilled page after page of this strange diary, interspersed with records ofbusiness transactions, of letters received and answered, of wages paid, and of the visits of Jeremiah Bradford. 

"We talked long to-night upon the immortality of the soul, " one entry ran. "Jeremiah does not believe it, but I must--or die. "

Dick soon lost interest in the book, and finding solitary toil at theshelves uncongenial, went out, whistling. Elaine and Dorothy read ontogether, scarcely noting his absence. 

The book had begun in the Spring. Early in June was chronicled the arrivalof "a woman calling herself Cousin Elmira, blood relation of my Rebecca. Was not aware my Rebecca had a blood relation named Elmira, but there ismuch in the world that I do not know. "

According to the diary, Cousin Elmira had remained six weeks and hadgreatly distressed her unwilling host. "Women are peculiar, " UncleEbeneezer had written, "all being possessed of the devil, except mysainted Rebecca, who was an angel if there ever was one. 

"Cousin Elmira is a curious woman. To-day she desired to know what hadbecome of my Rebecca's wedding garments, her linen sheets andtable-cloths. Answered that I did not know, and immediately put a lockupon the chest containing them. Have always been truthful up to now, butRebecca would not desire to have any blood relation handling her sheets. Of this I am sure. 

"Aug. 9. To-day came Cousin Silas Martin and his wife to spend theirhoneymoon. Much grieved to hear of Rebecca's death. Said she had invitedthem to spend their honeymoon with her when they married. Did not know ofthis, but our happiness was of such short duration that my Rebecca did nothave time to tell me of all her wishes. Company is very hard to bear, butI would do much for my Rebecca. 

"Aug. 10. This world can never be perfect under any circumstances, andtrials are the common lot of humanity. We must all endeavour to bear upunder affliction. Sarah Smithers is a good woman, most faithful, and doesnot talk a great deal, considering her sex. Not intending any reflectionupon my Rebecca, whose sweet voice I could never hear too often. 

 * * * * *

"Aug. 20. Came Uncle Israel Skiles with a bad cough. Thinks the air ofJudson Centre must be considered healthy as they are to build a sanitariumhere. Did not know of the sanitarium. 

 * * * * *

"Aug. 22. Came Cousin Betsey Skiles to look after Uncle Israel. UncleIsrael not desiring to be looked after has produced some disturbance in myhouse. 

 * * * * *

"Aug. 23. Cousin Betsey Skiles and Cousin Jane Wood, the latter arrivingunexpectedly this morning, have fought, and Cousin Jane has gone awayagain. Had never met Cousin Jane Wood. 

"Aug. 24. Was set upon by Cousin Silas Martin, demanding to know whetherhis wife was to be insulted by Cousin Betsey Skiles. Answered that I didnot know. 

"Aug. 25. Was obliged to settle a dispute between Sarah Smithers andCousin Betsey Skiles. Decided in favour of S. S. , thereby angering B. S. Uncle Israel accidentally spilled his tonic on Cousin Betsey's cleanapron. Much disturbance in my house. 

 * * * * *

"Aug. 28. Cousin Silas Martin and wife went away, telling me they could nolonger live with Cousin Betsey Skiles. B. S. Is unpleasant, but has hervirtues. 

 * * * * *

"Sept. 5. Uncle Israel thinks air of Judson Centre is now too chilly forhis cough. Does not like his bed, considering it drafty. Says SarahSmithers does not give him nourishing food. 

 * * * * *

"Sept. 8. Uncle Israel has gone. 

 * * * * *

"Sept. 10. Cousin Betsey Skiles has gone to continue looking after UncleIsrael. Sarah Smithers and myself now alone in peace. 

 * * * * *

All that Winter, the writing was of books, interspersed with occasionalbusiness details. In the Spring, the influx of blood relations began againand continued until Fall. The diary revealed the gradual transformation ofa sunny disposition into a dark one, of a man with gregarious instinctsinto a wild beast asking only for solitude. Additions to the house werechronicled from time to time, with now and then a pathetic comment uponthe futility of the additions. 

Once there was this item: "Would go away for ever were it not that thiswas my Rebecca's home. Where we had hoped to be so happy, there is now agreat emptiness and unnumbered Relations. How shall I endure Relations?Still they are all of her blood, though the most gentle blood does seem totake strange turns. "

Again: "Do not think my Rebecca would desire to have all her kin visit herat once. Still, would do anything for my Rebecca. Have ordered five morebeds. "

As the years went by, the bitterness became more and more apparent. Longbefore the end, the record was frankly profane, and saddest of all was theevidence that under the stress of annoyance the great love for "myRebecca" was slowly, but surely, becoming tainted. From simple profanity, Uncle Ebeneezer descended into blasphemous comment, modified at times byremorseful tenderness toward the dead. 

"To-day, " he wrote, "under pressure of my questioning, Sister-in-law FannyWood admitted that Rebecca had never invited her to come and see her. Asked Sister-in-law why she was here. Responded that Rebecca would haveasked her if she had lived. Perhaps others have surmised the same. Fear oflate I may have been unjust to my Rebecca. "

Later on, "my Rebecca" was mentioned but rarely. She became "my dearcompanion, " "my wife, " or "my partner. " The building of wings and thepurchase of additional beds by this time had become a permanent feature, though, as the writer admitted, it was "a roundabout way. "

"The easiest way would be to turn all out. Forgetting my duty to thememory of my dear companion, and sore pressed by many annoyances, did turnout Cousin Betsey Skiles, who forgave me for it without being sorequested, and remained. 

"Trains to Judson Centre, " he wrote, at one time, "have been mostgrievously changed. One arrives just after breakfast, the other at threein the morning. Do not understand why this is, and anticipate new troublefrom it. "

The entries farther on were full of "trouble, " being minute and intimateportrayals of the emotions of one roused from sleep at three in themorning to admit undesired guests, interlarded with pardonable profanity. "Seems that house might be altered in some way, but do not know. Willconsult with Jeremiah. "

After this came the record of an interview with the village carpenter, andrough sketches of proposed alterations. "Putting in new window in middleand making two upper windows round instead of square, with newporch-railing and two new narrow windows downstairs will do it. Housefortunately planned by original architect for such alteration. Taking downcurtains and keeping lights in windows nights should have some effect, though much doubt whether anything would affect Relations. "

Soon afterward the oppressed one chronicled with great glee how a lonefemale, arriving on the night train, was found half-dead from fright bythe roadside in the morning. "House _is_ fearsome, " wrote Uncle Ebeneezer, with evident relish. "Have been to Jeremiah's of an evening and, returning, found it wonderful to behold. "

Presently, Dorothy came to an intimate analysis of some of the uninvitedones at present under her roof. The poet was given a full page of scathingcomment, illustrated by rude caricatures, which were so suggestive thateven Elaine thoroughly enjoyed them. 

Pleased with his contribution to literature, Uncle Ebeneezer had written along and keenly comprehensive essay upon each relation. These bits ofvivid portraiture were numbered in this way: "Relation Number 8, MissBetsey Skiles, Claiming to be Cousin. " At the end of this series was avery beautiful tribute to "My Dearly Beloved Nephew, James Harlan Carr, Who Has Never Come to See Me. "

Frequently, thereafter, came pathetic references to "Dear Nephew James, ""Unknown Recipient of an Old Man's Gratitude, " "Discerning and AdmirableJames, " and so on. 

One entry ran as follows: "Have been approached this season by eachRelation present in regard to disposal of my estate. Will fix surprise forall Relations before leaving to join my wife. Shall leave money to everyone, though perhaps not as much as each expects. Jeremiah advises me toleave something to each. Laws are such, I believe, that no one rememberedcan claim more. Desire to be just, but strongly incline to dear NephewJames. "

On the last page of all was a significant paragraph. "Dreamed of seeing myRebecca once more, who told me we should be together again April 7th. Shall make all arrangements for leaving on that day, and prepare Surprisesspoken of. Shall be very quiet in my grave with no Relations at hand, butshould like to hear and see effect of Surprise. Jeremiah will attend. "

The last lines were written on April sixth. "To-morrow I shall join myloved Rebecca and leave all Relations here to fight by themselves. Do notfear Death, but shudder at Relations. Relations keep life from beingpleasant. Did not know my Rebecca was possessed of such numbers nor ofsuch kinds, but forgive her all. Shall see her to-morrow. "

Then, on the line below, in a hand that did not falter, was written: "TheEnd. "

Dorothy wiped her eyes on a corner of Elaine's apron, for Uncle Ebeneezerhad been found dead in his bed on the morning of April seventh. "Elaine, "she said, "what would you do?"

"Do?" repeated Elaine. "I'd strike one blow for poor old Uncle Ebeneezer!I'd order every single one of them out of the house to-morrow!"

"To-night!" cried Dorothy, fired with high resolve. "I'll do it this verynight! Poor old Uncle Ebeneezer! Our sufferings have been nothing, compared to his. "

"Are you going to tell Mr. Carr?" asked Elaine, wonderingly. 

"Tell him nothing, " rejoined Dorothy, with spirit. "He's got some old fogynotions about your house being a sacred spot where everybody in creationcan impose on you if they want to, just because it is your house. Isuppose he got it by being related to poor old uncle. "

"Do I have to go, too?" queried Elaine, rubbing her soft cheek againstDorothy's. 

"Not much, " answered Mrs. Carr, with a sisterly embrace. "You'll stay, andDick 'll stay, and that old tombstone in the kitchen will stay, and sowill Claudius Tiberius, but the rest--MOVE!"

Consequently, Elaine looked forward to the dinner-hour with mixedanticipations. Mr. Perkins, Uncle Israel, Mrs. Dodd, and Mrs. Holmes eachfound a note under their plates when they sat down. Uncle Israel's facerelaxed into an expression of childlike joy when he found the envelopeaddressed to him. "Valentine, I reckon, " he said, "or mebbe it's sunthin'from Santa Claus. "

"Queer acting for Santa Claus, " snorted Mrs. Holmes, who had swiftly tornopen her note. "Here we are, all ordered away from what's been our homefor years, by some upstart relations who never saw poor, dear uncle. Areyou going to keep boarders?" she asked, insolently, turning to Dorothy. 

"No longer, " returned that young woman, imperturbably. "I have done itjust as long as I intend to. "

Harlan was gazing curiously at Dorothy, but she avoided his eyes, andcontinued to eat as though nothing had happened. Dick, guessing rightly, choked, and had to be excused. Elaine's cheeks were flushed and her eyessparkled, the flush deepening when Mrs. Dodd inquired where _her_valentine was. Mr. Perkins was openly dejected, and Mrs. Dodd, receivingno answer to her question, compressed her thin lips into a forcedsilence. 

But Uncle Israel was moved to protesting speech. "'T is queer doin's forSanta Claus, " he mumbled, pouring out a double dose of his nerve tonic. "'T ain't such a thing as he'd do, even if he was drunk. Turnin' a poorold man outdoor, what ain't got no place to go exceptin' to Betsey's, an'nobody can't live with Betsey. She's all the time mad at herself onaccount of bein' obliged to live with such a woman as she be. Summers I'veallers stayed here an' never made no trouble. I've cooked my own food an'brought most of it, an' provided all my own medicines, an' even took mybed with me, goin' an' comin'. Ebeneezer's beds is all terrible drafty--Itook two colds to once sleepin' in one of 'em--an' at my time of life 'tain't proper to change beds. Sleepin' in a drafty bed would undo all thegood of bein' near the sanitarium. Most likely I'll have a fever orsunthin' now an' die. "

"Shut up, Israel, " said Mrs. Dodd, abruptly. "You ain't goin' to die. Itwouldn't surprise me none if you had to be shot on the Day of Judgmentbefore you could be resurrected. Folks past ninety-five that's pickled inpatent medicine from the inside out, ain't goin' to die of no fever. "

"Ninety-six, Belinda, " said the old man, proudly. "I'll be ninety-six nextweek, an' I'm as young as I ever was. "

"Then, " rejoined Mrs. Dodd, tartly, "what you want to look out for ismeasles an' chicken-pox, to say nothin' of croup. "

"Come, Gladys Gwendolen and Algernon Paul, " interrupted Mrs. Holmes, in ahigh key; "we must go and pack now, to go away from dear uncle's. Dearuncle is dead, you know, and can't help his dear ones being ordered out ofhis house by upstarts. "

"What's a upstart, ma?" inquired Willie. 

"People who turn their dead uncle's relations out of his house in order totake boarders, " returned Mrs. Holmes, clearly. 

"Mis' Carr, " said Mrs. Dodd, sliding up into Dick's vacant place, "have Iunderstood that you want me to go away to-morrow?"

"Everybody is going away to-morrow, " returned Dorothy, coldly. 

"After all I've done for you?" persisted Mrs. Dodd. 

"What have you done for me?" parried Dorothy, with a pleading look atElaine. 

"Kep' the others away, " returned Mrs. Dodd, significantly. 

"Uncle Ebeneezer does not want any of you here, " said Dorothy, after apainful silence. The impression made by the diary was so vividly presentwith her that she felt as though she were delivering an actual message. 

Much to her surprise, Mrs. Dodd paled and left the room hastily. UncleIsrael tottered after her, leaving his predigested food untouched on hisplate and his imitation coffee steaming malodorously in his cup. Mr. Perkins bowed his head upon his hands for a moment; then, with a sigh, lightly dropped out of the open window. The name of Uncle Ebeneezer seemedto be one to conjure with. 

"Dorothy, " said Harlan, "might an obedient husband modestly inquire whatyou have done?"

"Elaine and I found Uncle Ebeneezer's diary to-day, " explained Dorothy, "and the poor old soul was nagged all his life by relatives. So, ingratitude for what he's done for us, I've turned 'em out. I know he'd liketo have me do it. "

Harlan left his place and came to Dorothy, where, bending over her chair, he kissed her tenderly. "Good girl, " he said, patting her shoulder. "Whyin thunder didn't you do it months ago?"

"Isn't that just like a man?" asked Dorothy, gazing after his retreatingfigure. 

"I don't know, " answered Elaine, with a pretty blush, "but I guess itis. "

XIX

Various Departures

"Algernon Paul, " called Mrs. Holmes, shrilly, "let the kitty alone!"

Every one else on the premises heard the command, but "Algernon Paul, "perhaps because he was not yet fully accustomed to his new name, continuedforcing Claudius Tiberius to walk about on his fore feet, the rest of himbeing held uncomfortably in the air by the guiding influence. 

"Algernon!" The voice was so close this time that the cat was freed by hispersecutor's violent start. Seeing that it was only his mother, AlgernonPaul attempted to recover his treasure again, and was badly scratched bythat selfsame treasure. Whereupon Mrs. Holmes soundly cuffed ClaudiusTiberius "for scratching dear little Ebbie, I mean Algernon Paul, " andreceived a bite or two on her own account. 

"Come, Ebbie, dear, " she continued, "we are going now. We have been drivenaway from dear uncle's. Where is sister?"

"Sister" was discovered in the forbidden Paradise of the chicken-coop, anddragged out, howling. Willie, not desiring to leave "dear uncle's, " wasforcibly retrieved by Dick from the roof of the barn. 

Mr. Harold Vernon Perkins had silently disappeared in the night, but noone feared foul play. "He'll be waitin' at the train, I reckon, " said Mrs. Dodd, "an' most likely composin' a poem on 'Departure' or else breathin'into a tube to see if he's mad. "

She had taken her dismissal very calmly after the first shock. "A womanwhat's been married seven times, same as I be, " she explained to Dorothy, "gets used to bein' moved around from place to place. My sixth husband hadthe movin' habit terrible. No sooner would we get settled nice an'comfortable in a place, an' I got enough acquainted to borrow sugar an'tea an' molasses from my new neighbours, than Thomas would decide to move, an' more 'n likely, it'd be to some new town where there was a greatopenin' in some new business that he'd never tried his hand at yet. 

"My dear, I've been the wife of a undertaker, a livery-stable keeper, apatent medicine man, a grocer, a butcher, a farmer, an' a justice of thepeace, all in one an' the same marriage. Seems 's if there wa'n't nobusiness Thomas couldn't feel to turn his hand to, an' he knowed how theyall ought to be run. If anybody was makin' a failure of anythin', Thomasknowed just why it was failin' an' I must say he ought to know, too, for Inever see no more steady failer than Thomas. 

"They say a rollin' stone never gets no moss on it, but it gets wornterrible smooth, an' by the time I 'd moved to eight or ten differenttowns an' got as many as 'leven houses all fixed up, the corners was allbroke off 'n me as well as off 'n the furniture. My third husband left mewell provided with furniture, but when I went to my seventh altar, Ididn't have nothin' left but a soap box an' half a red blanket, on accountof havin' moved around so much. 

"I got so's I'd never unpack all the things in any one place, but keep 'emin their dry-goods boxes an' barrels nice an' handy to go on again. Whenthe movin' fit come on Thomas, I was always in such light marchin' orderthat I could go on a day's notice, an' that's the way we usually went. Itold him once it'd be easier an' cheaper to fit up a prairie schooner suchas they used to cross the plains in, an' then when we wanted to move, allwe'd have to do would be to put a dipper of water on the fire an' tell themules to get ap, but it riled him so terrible that I never said nothin'about it again, though all through my sixth marriage, it seemed a dretfullikely notion. 

"A woman with much marryin' experience soon learns not to rile a husbandwhen 't ain't necessary. Sometimes I think the poor creeters has enough tocontend with outside without bein' obliged to fight at home, though itdoes beat all, my dear, what a terrible exertion 't is for most men toearn a livin'. None of my husbands was ever obliged to fight at home an' Itake great comfort thinkin' how peaceful they all was when they was livin'with me, an' how peaceful they all be now, though I think it's more 'nlikely that Thomas is a-sufferin' because he can't move no more atpresent. "

Her monologue was interrupted by the arrival of the stage, which Harlanhad gladly ordered. Mrs. Holmes and the children climbed into it withoutvouchsafing a word to anybody, but Mrs. Dodd shook hands all around andwould have kissed both Dorothy and Elaine had they not dodged the caress. 

"Remember, my dear, " said Mrs. Dodd to Dorothy; "I don't bear you nogrudge, though I never was turned out of no place before. It's all in alifetime, the same as marryin', and if I should ever marry again an' havea home of my own to invite you to, you an' your husband'll be welcome tocome and stay with me as long as I've stayed with you, or longer, if youfelt 'twas pleasant, an' I'd try to make it so. "

The kindly speech made Dorothy very much ashamed of herself, though shedid not know exactly why, and Gladys Gwendolen, with a cherubic smile, leaned out of the stage window and waved a chubby hand, saying: "Bye bye!"Mrs. Holmes alone seemed hard and unforgiving, as she sat sternly upright, looking neither to the right nor the left. 

"Rather unusual, isn't it?" whispered Elaine, as the ponderous vehicleturned into the yard, "to see so many of one's friends going on the stageat once?"

"Not at all, " chuckled Dick. "Everybody goes on the stage when they leavethe Carrs. "

"Good bye, Belinda, " yelled Uncle Israel, putting his flannel bandagedhead out of one of the round upper windows. He had climbed up on a chairto do it. "I don't reckon I'll ever hear from you again exceptin' whereLazarus heard from the rich man!"

"Don't let that trouble you, Israel, " shrieked Mrs. Dodd, piercingly. "Itake it the rich man was diggin' for eight cents in Satan's orchard, an'didn't have no time to look up his friends. "

The rejoinder seemed not to affect Uncle Israel, but it sent Dick into aspasm of merriment from which he recovered only when Harlan pounded him onthe back. 

"Come on, " said Harlan, "it's not time to laugh yet. We've got to packUncle Israel's bed. "

Uncle Israel was going on the afternoon train, and in another direction. He sat on his trunk and issued minute instructions, occasionally havingthe whole thing taken apart to be put together in a different kind of aparcel. As an especial favour, Dick was allowed to crate the bath cabinet, though as a rule, no profane hands were permitted to touch this instrumentof health. Uncle Israel himself arranged his bottles, and boxes, andpowders; a hand-satchel containing his medicines for the journey and thenight. 

"I reckon, " he said, "if I take a double dose of my pain-killer, thisnoon, an' a double dose of my nerve tonic just before I get on the cars, Ic'n get along with these few remedies till I get to Betsey's, where I'llhave to take a full course of treatment to pay for all this travellin'. The pain-killer bottle an' the nerve tonic bottle is both dretful heavy, in spite of bein' only half full. "

"How would it do, " suggested Harlan, kindly, "to pour the nerve tonic intothe pain-killer, and then you'd have only one bottle to carry. You mixthem inside, anyway. "

"You seem real intelligent, nephew, " quavered Uncle Israel. "I neverknowed I had no such smart relations. As you say, I mix 'em in my systemanyway, an' it can't do no harm to do it in the bottle first. "

No sooner said than done, but, strangely enough, the mixture turned avivid emerald green, and had such a peculiarly vile odour that even UncleIsrael refused to have anything further to do with it. 

"I shouldn't wonder but what you'd done me a real service, nephew, "continued Uncle Israel. "Here I've been takin' this, month after month, an' never suspectin' what it was doin' in my insides. I've suspicioned forsome time that the pain-killer wan't doin' me no good, an' I've been goin'to try Doctor Jones's Squaw Remedy, anyhow. I shouldn't wonder if my wholeinsides was green instead of red as they orter be. The next time I go tothe City, I'm goin' to take this here compound to the healin' emporiumwhere I bought it, an' ask 'em what there is in it that paints folk'sinsides. 'Tain't nothin' more 'n green paint. "

The patient was so interested in this new development that he demanded apaint-brush and experimented on the porch railing, where it seemed, indeed, to be "green paint. " In getting a nearer view, he touched his noseto it and acquired a bright green spot on the tip of that highly usefulorgan. Desiring to test it by every sense, he next put his ear down to therailing, as though he expected to hear the elements of the compoundrushing together explosively. 

"My hearin' is bad, " he explained. "I wish you'd listen to this here aminute or two, nephew, an' see if you don't hear sunthin'. " But Harlan, with his handkerchief pressed tightly to his nose, politely declined. 

"I don't feel, " continued Uncle Israel, tottering into the house, "asthough a poor, sick man with green insides instead of red orter be turnedout. Judson Centre is a terrible healthy place, or the sanitarium wouldn'thave been built here, an' travellin' on the cars would shake me upconsiderable. I feel as though I was goin' to be took bad, an' as if Iought not to go. If somebody'll set up my bed, I'll just lay down on itan' die now. Ebeneezer would be willin' for me to die in his house, Iknow, for he's often said it'd be a reel pleasure to him to pay my funeralexpenses if I c'd only make up my mind to claim 'em, an', " went on the oldman pitifully, "I feel to claim 'em now. Set up my bed, " he wheezed, "an'let me die. I'm bein' took bad. "

He was swiftly reasoning himself into abject helplessness when Dick camevaliantly to the rescue. "I'll tell you what, Uncle Israel, " he said, "ifyou're going to be sick, and of course you know whether you are or not, we'll just get a carriage and take you over to the sanitarium. I'll payyour board there for a week, myself, and by that time we'll know justwhat's the matter with you. "

The patient brightened amazingly at the mention of the sanitarium, and wasmore than willing to go. "I've took all kinds of treatment, " he creaked, "but I ain't never been to no sanitarium, an' I misdoubt whether they'veever had anybody with green insides. 

"I reckon, " he added, proudly, "that that wanderin' pain in my spine'llstump 'em some to know what it is. Even in the big store where they keepall kinds of medicines, there couldn't nobody tell me. I know what disease'tis, but I won't tell nobody. A man knows his own system best an' Ireckon them smart doctors up at the sanitarium 'll be scratchin' theirheads over such a complicated case as I be. Send my bed on to Betsey's butwrite on it that it ain't to be set up till I come. 'Twouldn't be worthwhile settin' it up at the sanitarium for a week, an' I'm minded to try amedical bed, anyways. I ain't never had none. Get the carriage, quick, forI feel an ailment comin' on me powerful hard every minute. "

"Suppose, " said Harlan, in a swift aside, "that they refuse to take thepatient? What shall we do then?"

"We won't discuss that, " answered Dick, in a low tone. "My plan is toleave the patient, drive away swiftly, and, an hour or so later, walk backand settle with the head of the repair shop for a week's mending inadvance. "

Harlan laughed gleefully, at which Uncle Israel pricked up his ears. "I'min on the bill, " he continued; "we'll go halves on the mending. "

"Laughin'" said Uncle Israel, scornfully, "at your poor old uncle whatain't goin' to live much longer. If your insides was all turned green, youwouldn't be laughin'--you'd be thinkin' about your immortal souls. "

It was late afternoon when the bed was finally dumped on the side track toawait the arrival of the freight train, being securely covered with acanvas tarpaulin to keep it from the night dew and stray, malicious germs, seeking that which they might devour. Uncle Israel insisted uponoverseeing this job himself, so that he did not reach the sanitarium untilalmost nightfall. Dick and Harlan were driving, and they shamelessly leftthe patient at the door of the Temple of Healing, with his crated bathcabinet, his few personal belongings, and his medicines. 

Turning back at the foot of the hill, they saw that the wanderer had beentaken in, though the bath cabinet still remained outside. 

"Mean trick to play on a respectable institution, " observed Dick, lashingthe horses into a gallop, "but I'll go over in the morning and square itwith 'em. "

"I'll go with you, " volunteered Harlan. "It's just as well to have two ofus, for we won't be popular. The survivor can take back the farewellmessage to the wife and family of the other. "

He meant it for a jest, but even in the gathering darkness, he could seethe dull red mounting to Dick's temples. "I'll be darned, " thought Harlan, seeing the whole situation instantly. Then, moved by a brotherly impulse, he said, cheerfully: "Go in and win, old man. Good luck to you!"

"Thanks, " muttered Dick, huskily, "but it's no use. She won't look at me. She wants a nice lady-like poet, that's what she wants. "

"No, she doesn't, " returned Harlan, with deep conviction. "I don't claimto be a specialist, but when a man and a poet are entered for thematrimonial handicap, I'll put my money on the man, every time. "

Dick swiftly changed the subject, and began to speculate on probablehappenings at the sanitarium. They left the conveyance in the village, from whence it had been taken, and walked uphill. 

Lights gleamed from every window of the Jack-o'-Lantern, but the eccentricface of the house had, for the first time, a friendly aspect. Warmth andcheer were in the blinking eyes and the grinning mouth, though, as Dicksaid, it seemed impossible that "no pumpkin seeds were left inside. "

Those who do not believe in personal influence should go into a housewhich uninvited and undesired guests have regretfully left. Every alienelement had gone from the house on the hill, yet the very walls were stillvocal with discord. One expected, every moment, to hear Uncle Israel'swheeze, the shrill, spiteful comment of Mrs. Holmes, or a howl from one ofthe twins. 

"What shall we do, " asked Harlan, "to celebrate the day of emancipation?"

"I know, " answered Dorothy, with a little laugh. "We'll burn a bed. "

"Whose bed?" queried Dick. 

"Mr. Perkins's bed, " responded Elaine, readily. The tone of her voice senta warm glow to Dick's heart, and he went to work at the heavy walnutstructure with more gladness than exercise of that particular kind hadever given him before. 

Harlan rummaged through the cellar and found a bottle of Uncle Ebeneezer'sold port, which, for some occult reason, had hitherto escaped. Mrs. Smithers, moved to joyful song, did herself proud in the matter of friedchicken and flaky biscuit. Dorothy had taken all the leaves out of thetable, so that now it was cosily set for four, and placed a battered oldbrass candlestick, with a tallow candle in it, in the centre. 

"Seems like living, doesn't it?" asked Harlan. Until now, he had not knownhow surely though secretly distressed he had been by Aunt Rebecca'spersistent kin. Claudius Tiberius apparently felt the prevailingcheerfulness, and purred vigorously, in Elaine's lap. 

Afterward, they made a fire in the parlour, even though the night was sowarm that they were obliged to have all the windows open, and, inspired bythe portrait of Uncle Ebeneezer, discussed the peculiarities of hisself-invited guests. 

The sacrificial flame arising from the poet's bed directed theconversation to Mr. Perkins and his gift of song. Dick, though feelingmore deeply upon the subject than any of the rest, was wise enough not tosay too much. 

"I found something under his mattress, " remarked Dick, when theconversation flagged, "while I was taking his blooming crib apart to chopit up. I guess it must be a poem. "

He drew a sorely flattened roll from his pocket, and slipped off thecrumpled blue ribbon. It was, indeed, a poem, entitled "Farewell. "

"I thought he might have been polite enough to say good bye, " saidDorothy. "Perhaps it was easier to write it. "

"Read it, " cried Elaine, her eyes dancing. "Please do!"

So Dick read as follows:

 All happy times must reach an end Sometime, someday, somewhere, A great soul seldom has a friend Anyway or anywhere. But one devoted to the Ideal Must pass these things all by, His eyes fixed ever on his Art, Which lives, though he must die. 

 Amid the tide of cruel greed Which laps upon our shore, No one takes thought of the poet's need Nor how his griefs may pour Upon his poor, devoted head And his sad, troubled heart; But all these things each one must take, Who gives his life to Art. 

 His crust of bread, his tick of straw His enemies deny, And at the last his patron saint Will even pass him by; The wide world is his resting place, All o'er it he may roam, And none will take the poet in, Or offer him a home. 

 The tears of sorrow blind him now, Misunderstood is he, But thus great souls have always been, And always they will be; His eyes fixed ever on the Ideal Will be there till he die, To-night he goes, but leaves a poem To say good bye, good bye!

"Poor Mr. Perkins, " commented Dorothy, softly. 

"Yes, " mimicked Harlan, "poor Mr. Perkins. I don't see but what he'll haveto work now, like any plain, ordinary mortal, with no 'gift'. "

"What is the Ideal, anyway?" queried Elaine, looking thoughtfully into theembers of the poet's bedstead. 

"That's easy, " answered Dick, not without evident feeling. "It's whateverMr. Perkins happens to be doing, or trying to do. He fixes it for the restof us. "

"I think, " suggested Dorothy, after a momentary silence, "that the Idealconsists in minding your own business and gently, but firmly, assistingothers to mind theirs. "

All unknowingly, Dorothy had expressed the dominant idea of the deadmaster of the house. She fancied that the pictured face over the mantelwas about to smile at her. Dorothy and Uncle Ebeneezer understood eachother now, and she no longer wished to have the portrait moved. 

Before they separated for the night, Dick told them all about the midnightgathering in the orchard, which he had witnessed from afar, and which theothers enjoyed beyond his expectations. 

"That's what uncle meant, " said Elaine, "by 'fixing a surprise forrelations. '" "I don't blame him, " observed Harlan, "not a blooming bit. Iwish the poor old duck could have been here to see it. Why wasn't I in onit?" he demanded of Dick, somewhat resentfully. "When anything like thatwas going on, why didn't you take me in?"

"It wasn't for me to interfere with his doings, " protested Dick, "but I dowish you could have seen Uncle Israel. "

At the recollection he went off into a spasm of merriment which bid fairto prove fatal. The rest laughed with him, not knowing just what it wasabout, such was the infectious quality of Dick's mirth. 

"They've all gone, " laughed Elaine, happily, taking her bedroom candlefrom Dorothy's hand, "they've all gone, every single one, and now we'regoing to have some good times. "

Dick watched her as she went upstairs, the candlelight shining tenderlyupon her sweet face, and thus betrayed himself to Dorothy, who hadsuspected for some time that he loved Elaine. 

"Oh Lord!" grumbled Dick to himself, when he was safely in his own room. "Everybody knows it now, except her. I'll bet even Sis Smithers and thecat are dead next to me. I might as well tell her to-morrow as any time, the result will be just the same. Better do it and have it over with. Thecat'll tell her if nobody else does. "

But that night, strangely enough, Claudius Tiberius disappeared, to beseen or heard of no more. 

XX

The Love of Another Elaine

When Dick and Harlan ventured up to the sanitarium, they were confrontedby the astonishing fact that Uncle Israel was, indeed, ill. Laterdevelopements proved that he was in a measure personally responsible forhis condition, since he had, surreptitiously, in the night, mixed two orthree medicines of his own brewing with the liberal dose of a differentdrug which the night nurse gave him, in accordance with her instructions. 

Far from being unconscious, however, Uncle Israel was even now ragingviolently against further restraint, and demanding to be sent home beforehe was "murdered. "

"He's being killed with kindness, " whispered Dick, "like the man who wasrun over by an ambulance. "

Harlan arranged for Uncle Israel to stay until he was quite healed of thislast complication, and then wrote out the address of Cousin Betsey Skiles, with which Dick was fortunately familiar. "And, " added Dick, "if he'stroublesome, crate him and send him by freight. We don't want to see himagain. "

Less than a week later, Uncle Israel and his bed were safely installed atCousin Betsey's, and he was able to write twelve pages of foolscap, fullyexpressing his opinion of Harlan and Dick and the sanitarium staff, andUncle Ebeneezer, and the rest of the world in general, conveying it byregistered mail to "J. H. Car & Familey. " The composition revealed anastonishing command of English, particularly in the way of vituperation. Had Uncle Israel known more profanity, he undoubtedly would haveincorporated it in the text. 

"It reminds me, " said Elaine, who was permitted to read it, "of a littlecoloured boy we used to know. A playmate quarrelled with him and began tocall him names, using all the big words he had ever heard, regardless oftheir meaning. When his vocabulary was exhausted, our little friend asked, quietly: 'Is you froo?' 'Yes, ' returned the other, 'I's froo. ' 'Wellthen, ' said the master of the situation, calmly, turning on his heel, 'allthose things what you called me, you is. '"

"That's right, " laughed Dick. "All those things Uncle Israel has calledus, he is, but it makes him a pretty tough old customer. "

A blessed peace had descended upon the house and its occupants. Harlan'swork was swiftly nearing completion, and in another day or two, he wouldbe ready to read the neatly typed pages to the members of his household. Dorothy could scarcely wait to hear it, and stole many a secret glance atthe manuscript when Harlan was out of the house. Lover-like, she expectedgreat things from it, and she saw the world of readers, literally, at herhusband's feet. So great was her faith in him that she never for aninstant suspected that there might possibly be difficulty at thestart--that any publisher could be wary of this masterpiece by anunknown. 

The Carrs had planned to remain where they were until the book wasfinished, then to take the precious manuscript, and go forth to conquerthe City. Afterward, perhaps, a second honeymoon journey, for both weresorely in need of rest and recreation. 

Elaine was going with them, and Dorothy was to interview the Personagewhose private secretary she had once been, and see if that position or onefully as desirable could not be found for her friend. Also, Elaine was tomake her home with the Carrs. "I won't let you live in a New York boardinghouse, " said Dorothy warmly, "as long as we've any kind of a roof over ourheads. "

Dick had discovered that, as he expressed it, he must "quit fooling andget a job. " Hitherto, Mr. Chester had preferred care-free idleness to anykind of toil, and a modest sum, carefully hoarded, represented to Dickonly freedom to do as he pleased until it gave out. Then he began toconsider work again, but as he seldom did the same kind of work twice, hewas not particularly proficient in any one line. 

Still, Dick had no false ideas about labour. At college he had canvassedfor subscription books, solicited life and fire insurance, swept walks, shovelled snow, carried out ashes, and even handled trunks for the expresscompany, all with the same cheerful equanimity. His small but certainincome sufficed for his tuition and other necessary expenses, but forboard at Uncle Ebeneezer's and a few small luxuries, he was obliged towork. 

Just now, unwonted ambition fired his soul. "It's funny, " he mused, "what's come over me. I never hankered to work, even in my wildestmoments, and yet I pine for it this minute--even street-sweeping would bewelcome, though that sort of thing isn't going to be much in my line fromnow on. With the start uncle's given me, I can surely get along all right, and, anyhow, I've got two hands, two feet, and one head, all good of theirkind, so there's no call to worry. "

Worrying had never been among Dick's accomplishments, but he was restless, and eager for something to do. He plunged into furniture-making withrenewed energy, inspired by the presence of Elaine, who with her book orembroidery sat in her low rocker under the apple tree and watched him athis work. 

Quite often she read aloud, sometimes a paragraph, now and then an entirechapter, to which Dick submitted pleasantly. He loved the smooth, softcadence of Elaine's low voice, whether she read or spoke, so, in a way, itdid not matter. But, one day, when she had read uninterruptedly for overan hour, Dick was seized with a violent fit of coughing. 

"I say, " he began, when the paroxysm had ceased; "you like books, don'tyou?"

"Indeed I do--don't you?"

"Er--yes, of course, but say--aren't you tired of reading?"

"Not at all. You needn't worry about me. When I'm tired, I'll stop. "

She was pleased with his kindly thought for her comfort, and thereafterread a great deal by way of reward. As for Dick, he burned the midnightcandle over many a book which he found inexpressibly dull, and skilfullyled the conversation to it the next day. Soon, even Harlan was impressedby his wide knowledge of literature, though no one noted that about booksnot in Uncle Ebeneezer's library, Dick knew nothing at all. 

Dorothy spent much of her time in her own room, thus forcing Dick andElaine to depend upon each other for society. Quite often she was lonely, and longed for their cheery chatter, but sternly reminded herself that shewas being sacrificed in a good cause. She built many an air castle forthem as well as for herself, furnishing both, impartially, with Elaine'sold mahogany and the simple furniture Dick was making out of UncleEbeneezer's relics. 

By this time the Jack-o'-Lantern was nearly stripped of everything whichmight prove useful, and they were burning the rest of it in the fireplaceat night. "Varnished hardwood, " as Dick said, "makes a peach of a blaze. "

Meanwhile Harlan was labouring steadfastly at his manuscript. The glowingfancy from which the book had sprung was quite gone. Still, as he cut, rearranged, changed, interlined, reconstructed and polished, he was notwholly unsatisfied with his work. "It may not be very good, " he said tohimself, "but it's the best I can do--now. The next will be better, I'msure. " He knew, even then, that there would be a "next one, " for theeternal thirst which knows no quenching had seized upon his inmost soul. 

Hereafter, by an inexplicably swift reversion, he should see all life asliterature, and literature as life. Friends and acquaintances should allbe, in his inmost consciousness, ephemeral. And Dorothy--dearly as heloved her, was separated from him as by a veil. 

Still, as he worked, he came gradually to a better adjustment, and wasvery tenderly anxious that Dorothy should see no change in him. He had notyet reached the point, however, where he would give it all up for the sakeof finding things real again, if only for an hour. 

Day after day, his work went on. Sometimes he would spend an hoursearching for a single word, rightly to express his meaning. Page afterpage was re-copied upon the typewriter, for, with the nice conscience of agood workman, Harlan desired a perfect manuscript, at least in mechanicaldetails. 

Finally, he came to the last page and printed "The End" in capitals withdeep satisfaction. "When it's sandpapered, " he said to himself, "and thedust blown off, I suppose it will be done. "

The "sandpapering" took a week longer. At the end of that time, Harlanconcluded that any manuscript was done when the writer had read itcarefully a dozen times without making a single change in it. On aSaturday night, just as the hall clock was booming eleven, he pushed itaside, and sat staring blankly at the wall for a long time. 

"I don't know what I've got, " he thought, "but I've certainly got twohundred and fifty pages of typed manuscript. It should be good forsomething--even at space rates. "

After dinner, Sunday, he told them that the book was ready, and they allwent out into the orchard. Dick was resigned, Elaine pleasantly excited, Dorothy eager and aflame with triumphant pride, Harlan self-conscious, and, in a way, ashamed. 

As he read, however, he forgot everything else. The mere sound of thewords came with caressing music to his ears. At times his voice waveredand his hands trembled, but he kept on, until it grew so dark that hecould no longer see. 

They went into the house silently, and Dick touched a match to the firealready laid in the fireplace, while Dorothy lighted the candles and thereading lamp. The afterglow faded and the moon rose, yet still they rodewith Elaine and her company, through mountain passes and over blossomingfields, past many dangers and strange happenings, and ever away from theCastle of Content. 

Harlan's deep, vibrant voice, now stern, now tender, gave new meaning tohis work. His secret belief in it gave it a beauty which no one else wouldever see. Dorothy, listening so intently that it was almost pain, nevertook her eyes from his face. In that hour, if Harlan could have known it, her woman's soul was kneeling before his, naked and unashamed. 

Dick privately considered the whole thing more or less of a nuisance, butthe candlelight touched Elaine's golden hair lovingly, and the glow fromthe fire seemed to rest caressingly upon her face. All along, he saw aclear resemblance between his Elaine and the lady of the book, also, morekeenly, a closer likeness between himself and the fool who rode at herside. 

When Harlan came to the song which the fool had written, and which he hadso shamelessly revised and read aloud at the table, Dick seriouslyconsidered a private and permanent departure, like the nocturnal vanishingof Mr. Perkins, without even a poem for farewell. 

Elaine, lost in the story, was heedless of her surroundings. It was onlyat the last chapter that she became conscious of self at all. Then, suddenly, in her turn, she perceived a parallel, and quivered painfullywith a new emotion. 

_"Some one, perchance, " mused the Lady Elaine, "whose beauty my eyes aloneshould perceive, whose valour only I should guess before there was need totest it. Some one great of heart and clean of mind, in whose eyes thereshould never be that which makes a woman ashamed. Some one fine-fibred andstrong-souled, not above tenderness when a maid was tired. One who shouldmake a shield of his love, to keep her not only from the great hurts butfrom the little ones as well, and yet with whom she might fare onward, shoulder to shoulder, as God meant mates should fare. "_

Like the other Elaine, she saw who had served her secretly, asking for norecognition; who had always kept watch over her so unobtrusively andquietly that she never guessed it till now. Like many another woman, Elaine had dreamed of her Prince as a paragon of beauty and perfection, with unconscious vanity deeming such an one her true mate. Now herstory-book lover had gone for ever, and in his place was Dick;sunny-hearted, mischievous, whistling, clear-eyed Dick, who had laughedand joked with her all Summer, and now--must never know. 

In a fierce agony of shame, she wondered if he had already guessed hersecret--if she had betrayed it to him before she was conscious of itherself; if that was why he had been so kind. Harlan was reading the lastpage, and Elaine shaded her face with her hand, determined, at all costs, to avoid Dick, and to go away to-morrow, somewhere, anywhere. 

_But Prince Bernard did not hear_, read Harlan, _nor see the outstretchedhand, for Elaine was in his arms for the first time, her sweet lips closeon his. "My Prince, Oh, my Prince, " she murmured, when at length he sether free; "my eyes did not see but my heart knew!"_

_So ended the Quest of the Lady Elaine. _

The last page of the manuscript fluttered, face downward, upon the table, and Dorothy wiped her eyes. Elaine's mouth was parched, but she staggeredto her feet, knowing that she must say some conventional words ofcongratulation to Harlan, then go to her own room. 

Blindly, she put out her hand, trying to speak; then, for a singleilluminating instant, her eyes looked into Dick's. 

With a little cry, Elaine fled from the room, overwhelmed with shame. In atwinkling, she was out of the house, and flying toward the orchard as fastas her light feet would carry her, her heart beating wildly in herbreast. 

By the sure instinct of a lover, Dick knew that his hour had come. Hedropped out of the window and overtook her just as she reached her littlerocking-chair, which, damp with the Autumn dew, was still under the appletree. 

"Elaine!" cried Dick, crushing her into his arms, all the joy of youth andlove in his voice. "Elaine! My Elaine!"

"The audience, " remarked Harlan, in an unnatural tone, "appears to havegone. Only my faithful wife stands by me. "

"Oh, Harlan, " answered Dorothy, with a swift rush of feeling, "you'llnever know till your dying day how proud and happy I am. It's the verybeautifullest book that anybody ever wrote, and I'm so glad! Mrs. Shakespeare could never have been half as pleased as I am! I----, " but therest was lost, for Dorothy was in his arms, crying her heart out for sheerjoy. 

"There, there, " said Harlan, patting her shoulders awkwardly, and rubbinghis rough cheek against her tear-wet face; "it wasn't meant to makeanybody cry. "

"Why can't I cry if I want to?" demanded Dorothy, resentfully, betweensobs. Harlan's voice was far from even and his own eyes were misty as heanswered: "Because you are my own darling girl and I love you, that'swhy. "

They sat hand in hand for a long time, looking into the embers of thedying fire, in the depths of that wedded silence which has no need ofwords. The portraits of Uncle Ebeneezer and Aunt Rebecca seemed fully inaccord, and, though mute, eloquent with understanding. 

"He'd be so proud, " whispered Dorothy, looking up at the stern face overthe mantel, "if he knew what you had done here in his house. He lovedbooks, and now, because of his kindness, you can always write them. You'llnever have to go back on the paper again. "

Harlan smiled reminiscently, for the hurrying, ceaseless grind of thenewspaper office was, indeed, a thing of the past. The dim, quiet room washis, not the battle-ground of the street. Still, as he knew, the smell ofprinter's ink in his nostrils would be like the sound of a bugle to an oldcavalry horse, and even now, he would not quite trust himself to walk downNewspaper Row. 

"I love Uncle Ebeneezer and Aunt Rebecca, " went on Dorothy, happily. "Ilove everybody. I've love enough to-night to spare some for the wholeworld. "

"Dear little saint, " said Harlan, softly, "I believe you have. "

The clock struck ten and the fire died down. A candle flickered in itssocket, then went out. The chill Autumn mist was rising, and through itthe new moon gleamed faintly, like veiled pearl. 

"I wonder, " said Harlan, "where the rest of the audience is? If everybodywho reads the book is going to disappear suddenly and mysteriously, Iwon't be the popular author that I pine to be. "

"Hush, " responded Dorothy; "I think they are coming now. I'll go and letthem in. "

Only a single candle was burning in the hall, and when Dorothy opened thedoor, it went out suddenly, but in that brief instant, she had seen theirglorified faces and understood it all. The library door was open, and thedimly lighted room seemed like a haven of refuge to Elaine, radiantlyself-conscious, and blushing with sweet shame. 

"Hello, " said Dick, awkwardly, with a tremendous effort to appear natural, "we've just been out to get a breath of fresh air. "

It had taken them two hours, but Dorothy was too wise to say anything. Sheonly laughed--a happy, tender, musical little laugh. Then she impulsivelykissed them both, pushed Elaine gently into the library, and went backinto the parlour to tell Harlan. 

THE END