PEOPLE OF THE WHIRLPOOL

FROM THE EXPERIENCE BOOK OF A COMMUTER'S WIFE

BY MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT

1903

CONTENTS

 CHAPTER I ON THE ADVANTAGE OF TWINS

 CHAPTER II MISS LAVINIA'S LETTERS TO BARBARA

 CHAPTER III MARTIN CORTRIGHT'S LETTERS

 CHAPTER IV WHEN BARBARA GOES TO TOWN

 CHAPTER V FEBRUARY VIOLETS

 CHAPTER VI ENTER A MAN

 CHAPTER VII SYLVIA LATHAM

 CHAPTER VIII THE SWEATING OF THE CORN

 CHAPTER IX A WAYSIDE COMEDY

 CHAPTER X THE WHIRL BEGINS

 CHAPTER XI REARRANGED FAMILIES

 CHAPTER XII HIS MOTHER

 CHAPTER XIII GOSSIP AND THE BUG HUNTERS

 CHAPTER XIV THE OASIS

I

ON THE ADVANTAGE OF TWINS

_February 2_. Candlemas and mild, gray weather. If the woodchuck stirsup his banked life-fire and ventures forth, he will not see his shadow, and must straightway arrange with winter for a rebate in our favour. To-day, however, it seems like the very dawn of winter, and as if thecloud brooms were abroad gathering snow from remote and chilly cornersof the sky. 

Six years ago I began the planting of my garden, and at the same time mygirlish habit of journal keeping veered into the making of a "GardenBoke, " to be a reversible signal, crying danger in face of forgottenmistakes, then turning to give back glints of summer sunshine when readin the attic of winter days and blue Mondays. Now once again I am in theattic, writing. Not in a garden diary, but in my "Social Experience Boke"this time, for it is "human warious, " and its first volume, alreadyfilled out, is lying in the old desk. Martin Cortright said, one stormyday last autumn when he was sitting in the corner I have loaned him of myprecious attic retreat, that, owing to the incursion of the Bluff Colonyof New Yorkers, which we had been discussing, I should call this secondvolume "People of the Whirlpool, " because--ah, but I must wait and huntamong my papers for his very words as I wrote them down. 

My desk needs cleaning out and rearranging, for the dust flies up as Irummage among the papers and letters that are a blending of past, present, and future. All my pet pens are rusty, and must be replaced fromthe box of stubs, for a stub pen assists one to straightforward, truthfulexpression, while a fine point suggests evasion, polite equivocation, orthin ideas. Even Lavinia Dorman's letters, whose cream-white envelopes, with a curlicue monogram on the flap, quite cover the litter below, havebeen, if possible, more satisfactory since she has adopted a fountainstub that Evan gave her at Christmas. 

There are many other things in the desk now beside the hickory-nut beadsand old papers. Little whiffs of subtle fragrance call me backwardthrough time faster than thought, and make me pinch myself to be surethat I am awake, like the little old woman with the cutabout petticoats, who was sure that if she was herself, her little dog would know her, --butthen he _didn't!_

I am awake and surely myself, yet my old dog is not near to recognize me. This ring of rough, reddish hair, tied with a cigar ribbon and lying atopthe beads, was Bluff's best tail curl. Dear, happy, brave-hearted Bluffwith the human eyes; after an honourable life of fifteen years he stoleoff to the happy hunting grounds of perpetual open season, quail andrabbit, two years ago at beginning of winter, as quietly as he used toslip out the back door and away to the fields on the first fall morningthat brings the hunting fever. For a long while not only I, but neitherfather nor Evan could speak of him, it hurt so. Yet by a blesseddispensation a good dog lives on in his race, and may be renewed (Iprefer that word to _replaced_) after a season, in a way in which ourbest human friends may not be, so that we do not lack dogs. Lark issenior now, and Timothy Saunders's sheep dog, The Orphan, is also aveteran; the foxhounds are in their prime, while Martha Corkle, as weshall always call her, is raising a promising pair of collie pups. 

Beside the curl, and covering mother's diaries, lies a square whitevolume, the first part of my "Experience Boke" before mentioned, and uponit two queer fat little pairs of bronze kid shoes, buttonless and muchworn on the toes, telling a tale of feet that dragged and ankles thatwobbled through inexperience in walking. Ah yes! I'm quite awake and thesame Barbara, though looking over a wider and eye-opening horizon, havinghad three rows of candles, ten in a row, around my last birthday cake andone extra in the middle, which extravagance has constrained the family touse lopsided, tearful, pink candles ever since. 

And the two pairs of feet that first touched good earth so hesitatinglywith those crumpled shoes are now standing firmly in wool-lined rubberboots topped by brown corduroy trousers, upon the winter slat walk thatleads to the tool house, while their owners, touched by the swish of theWhirlpool that has recently drawn this peaceful town into its eddies, arebusy trying to turn their patrol wagon, that for a year has led a mostconservative existence as a hay wain and a stage-coach dragged by acuriously assorted team of dogs and goat, into the semblance of someweird sort of autocart, by the aid of bits of old garden hose, cast-awaybicycle gearing, a watering-pot, and an oil lantern. 

I have wondered for a week past what yeast was working in their brains. Of course, the seven-year-old Vanderveer boy on the Bluffs had anelectric runabout for a Christmas gift, also a man to run it! CorneyDelaney, as Evan named the majestic gray goat--of firm dispositionblended with a keen sense of humour--that father gave the boys lastspring and who has been their best beloved ever since, has for many daysbeen left in duress with the calves in the stack-yard, where the all-daydiet of cornstalks is fatally bulging his once straight-fronted figure. 

In fact, it is the doings of these two pairs of precious feet, with thebodies, heads, and arms that belong to them, that have caused the dust togather in my desk, and the "Garden Boke, " though not the garden, which ismore of a joy than ever, to be suspended and take a different form. Flesh-and-blood books that write themselves are so compelling andabsorbing that one often wonders at the existence of any other kind, and, feeling this strongly, yet I turn to paper pages as silent confidants. Why? Heredity and its understudy, Habit, the two _h_'s that control boththe making of solitary tartlets as well as family pies. 

So the last entry in the "Garden Boke" was made a week before the dayrecorded in the white book with the cherubs' heads painted on it thatunderlies the shoes. 

It seems both strange and significant to me now that this book chanced tobe given me by Lavinia Dorman, mother's school friend and bridesmaid, aspinster of fifty-five, and was really the beginning of the transfer ofher friendship to me, the only woman friendship that I have ever had, andits quality has that fragrant pungence that comes from sweet herbs, thatof all garden odours are the most lasting. 

I suppose that it is one of the strongest human habits to write down thevery things that one is least likely to forget, and _vice-versa;_ forcertainly I shall never forget the date and double record on that firstfair page beneath the illuminated word _Born_, --yet I often steal up hereto peep at it, --and live the intervening five years backward for purejoy. January 10, 189-, Richard Russell------ and John Evan------. 

Every time I read the names anew I wonder what I should have done ifthere had been a single name upon the page. I must then have chosenbetween naming him for father _or_ Evan--an impossibility; for even ifthe names had been combined, whose should I have put first?

No, the twins are in every way an advantage. To Evan, in providing him atonce with a commuted family sufficient for his means; to father, amongother reasons, by giving him the pleasure of saying, to friends who feltit necessary to visit him in the privacy of his study and beapologetically sympathetic, "I have observed that the first editions ofvery important books are frequently in two volumes, " sending them awaywondering what he really meant; to me by saving the rack of argument, theform of evil I most detest, and to their own chubby selves no less, inthat neither one has been handicapped for a single day by thedisadvantage of being an only child!

It doubtless seems very odd for me to feel this last to be adisadvantage, being myself an only child, and always a happy one, sharingwith mother all the space in father's big heart. But this is because Godhas been very good to me, leaving me safe in the shelter of the homenest. Suppose it had been otherwise and I had been forced to face theworld, how it would have hurt, for individual love is cruelly precioussometimes, and an "onliest" cannot in the very nature of things be asunselfish and adaptable as one of many. 

I was selfish even when the twins came. I was so glad that they weremen-children. I could not bear to think of other woman hands ministeringto father and Evan, and I rejoiced in the promise of two more champions. I often wonder how mother felt when I was born and what she thought. Was she glad or disappointed? I wish that she had left written words toguide me, if ever so few, --they would mean so much now; and let me knowif in her day social things surprised and troubled her as for the firsttime they now stir me, and therefore belong to all awakening motherhood. Her diaries were a blending of simple household happenings and gardenlore, nothing more; for when I was five years old and her son came, hestayed but a few short hours and then stole her away with him. 

I wonder if my boys, when they are grown and begin to realize woman, willcare to look into this book of mine, and read in and between the lines ofits jumble of scraps and letters what their mother thought of them, andhow things appeared to her in the days of their babyhood. Perhaps; whoknows? At present, being but five years old, they are centred in whateverthing the particular day brings forth, and but that they are leashed fastby an almost prenatal and unconscious affection, they are as unlike indisposition, temperament, and colouring as they are alike in feature. Richard is dark, like father and me, very quiet, except in the matter ofaffection, in which he is clingingly demonstrative, slow to receiveimpressions, but withal tenacious. He clearly inherits father's medicalinstinct of preserving life, and the very thought of suffering on thepart of man or beast arouses him to action. When he was only a littleover three years old, I found him carefully mending some windfall robins'eggs, cracked by their tumble, with bits of rubber sticking-plaster, thenputting them hopefully back into the nest, with an admonition to theanxious parents to "sit very still and don't stwatch. " While last summerhe unfortunately saw a chicken decapitated over at the farm barn, and, inMartha Corkle's language, "the way he wound a bit o' paper round its poorneck to stop its bleedin' went straight to my stummick, so it did, Mrs. Evan;" for be it said here that Martha has fulfilled my wildestexpectations, and whereas, as queen of the kitchen, she was a trifleunexpected and uncomfortable, as Mrs. Timothy Saunders, now comfortablysettled in the new cottage above the stable at the north corner of thehayland, she is a veritable guardian angel, ready to swoop down withstrong wings at a moment's notice, in sickness or health, day or night, and seize the nursery helm. 

It is owing to her that I have never been obliged to have a nursemaidunder my feet or tagging after the boys, to the ruin of theirindependence. For the first few years Effie, whose fiery locks have notyet found their affinity, helped me, but now merely sees to buttons, strings, and darns. 

I found out long ago that those who get the best return from their flowergardens were those who kept no gardeners, and it is the same way with thechild garden; those who are too overbusy, irresponsible, ignorant, orrich to do without the orthodox nurse, never can know precisely what theylose. To watch a baby untrammelled with clothes, dimple, glow, and expandin its bath, is in an intense personal degree like watching, early of aJune morning, the first opening bud of a rose that you have coaxed andraised from a mere cutting. You hoped and believed that it would be fairand beautiful, but ah, what a glorious surprise it is!

And so it is at the other end of day, when sleep comes over the gardenand all the flowers that have been basking in sun vigour relax and theircolours are subdued, blended by the brush of darkness, and the night windsteals new perfumes from them, and wings of all but a few night birdshave ceased to cleave the air. As you walk among the flowers and touchthem, or throw back the casement and look out, you read new meaningseverywhere. In the white cribs in the alcove the same change comes, bright eyes, hair, cheeks, and lips lie blended in the shadow, the onlysound is the even breath of night, and when you press your lips behindthe ear where a curl curves and neck and garments meet, there comes alittle fragrance born of sweet flesh and new flannel, and the only motionis that of the half-open hand that seems to recognize and closes aboutyour fingers as a vine to its trellis, or as a sleeping bird clings toits perch. 

A gardener or a nurse is equally a door between one and these silentpleasures, for who would not steal up now and then from a troubleddream to satisfy with sight and touch that the babes are really thereand all is well?

 * * * * *

Richard has a clinging way even in sleep, and his speech, though verydirect for his age, is soft and cooing; he says "mother" in a lingeringtone that might belong to a girl, and there are what are called femininetraits in him. 

Ian (to save confusion, we called him from the first by the pretty Scotchequivalent of Evan's first name) is of a wholly masculine mould, and likehis father in light hair, gray eyes, and determination. His very speechis quick and staccato, his tendency is to overcome, to fight rather thanassuage, though he is the champion of everything he loves. From the timehe could form distinct sounds he has called me Barbara, and no amount ofreasoning will make him do otherwise, while the imitation of his father'spronunciation of the word goes to my heart. 

Recently, now that he is fully able to comprehend, Evan took him quietlyon his knee and told him that he must say "mother" and that he was notrespectful to me. He thought a few minutes, as if reasoning with himself, and then the big gray eyes filled with tears, a very rare occurrence, ashe seemed to feel that he could not yield, and he said, trying very hardto steady his voice, "Favver, I truly can't, I _think it _muvver_ inside, but you and I, we must _say it_ Barbara, " and I confess that my heartleaped with joy, and I begged Evan to let the matter end here. To becalled, if it so may be, by one name from the beginning to the end oflife by the only true lovers that can never be rivals, is bliss enoughfor any woman. 

Equally resolved, but in a thing of minor importance, is Ian about hisheadgear. As a baby of three, when he first tasted the liberty of goingout of garden bounds daily into the daisy field beyond the wild walk, while Richard clung to his protecting baby sunbonnet, Ian spurned headcovering of any kind, and blinked away at the sun through his tangledcurls whenever he had the chance, in primitive directness until hischeeks glowed like burnished copper; and his present compromise is alittle cap worn visor backward. 

When the twins were very young, people were most funny in the way inwhich they seemed to think it necessary to feel carefully about to makesure whether condolence or congratulations were in order. The SeverelyProtestant was greatly agitated, as, being himself the possessor of anoverflowing quiverful, his position was difficult. After making surewhich was the right side of the fence, and placing himself on it, hetugged painfully at his starved red beard, and made an elaborate addressending in a parallel, --the idea of the complete Bible being in twovolumes, the Old and New Testament, each being so necessary to the other, and so inseparable, that they were only comparable to twins!

Father and Evan were present at the time, --I dared not look ateither, --and as soon as we were again alone, the room shook withlaughter, until Martha Corkle, who was then in temporary residence, popped in to be sure that I was not being unduly agitated. 

"The Old and New Testament, I wonder which is which?" gasped father, going upstairs to look at the uninteresting if promising woolly bundlesby light of this startling suggestion. 

Now, however, the joke has developed a serious side, as their twocharacters, though in no wise precocious, have become distinctive. Ianrepresents the Old, primitive and direct, the "sword of the Lord andGideon" type, while Richard is the New, the reconciler and peacemaker. 

 * * * * *

The various congratulations that the twins were boys, from my standpointI took as a matter of course, even though I had always heard that boysgave the most worry and girls were referred to among our friends andneighbours as the greatest comforts in a home unless they did somethingdecidedly unusual, fitting into nooks, and often taking up and bearingburdens the brothers left behind. But when many people who had eitherdaughters or nieces of their own, and might be said to be in that mysticring called "Society, " congratulated me pointedly about the boys, I beganto ponder about the matter mother-wise. Then, three years ago the NewYork Colony seized upon the broad acres along the Bluffs, and dotted twomiles with the elaborate stone and brick houses they call cottages; notfor permanent summer homes (the very rich, the spenders, have no homes), but merely hotels in series. These, for the spring and fall betweenseasons and week-end parties and golfing, men and girls gay in red andgreen coats, replaced the wild flowers in the shorn outlying fields. Iwatched these girls, and, beginning to understand, wondered if I hadgrown old before my time, or if I were too young to comprehend theirpoint of view, for, to their strange enlightenment I was practically asyet unborn. 

Lavinia Dorman says caustically that I really belong with her in themiddle of the last century, and she, born to what father says was reallythe best society and privilege of New York life, like his college chumMartin Cortright, is now swept quite aside by the swirl. 

"Yes, dear child, " she insists (how different this use of the wordsounds from when the Lady of the Bluffs uses the universal "my dear"impartially to mistress and maid, shopgirl and guest), "you not onlybelong to the last century, but as far back in it as myself, and I amfifty-five, full measure. 

"The new idea among the richer and consequently more privileged classesis, that girls are to be fitted not only to go out into the world andshine in different ways unknown to their grandmothers, but to besuperior to home, which of necessity unfits them for a return trip if theexcursion is unsuccessful. 

"What with high ideas, high rents, and higher education, the home myth isspeedily following Santa Claus out of female education, and, argue as onemay, New York is the social pace-maker 'East of the Rockies, ' as the freedelivery furniture companies advertise. I congratulate you anew that thetwins are boys!"

I laughed to myself over Miss Lavinia's letter; she is always sodeliciously in earnest and so perturbed over any change in the socialways of her dearly beloved New York, that I'm wondering how she finds it, on her return after two years or more abroad (she was becoming agitatedbefore she left), and whether she will ask me down for another of thosequaint little visits, where she so faithfully tours me through the shopsand a few select teas, when, to wind it up, Evan buys opera box seats sothat she may have the satisfaction of having her hair dressed, wearingher point lace bertha and aigret, and showing us who is who, and theremainder who are not. For she is well born, intricately related to theoriginal weavers of the social cobweb, and knows every one by name andsight; but has found lately, I judge, that this knowledge unbacked bymoney is no longer a social power that carries beyond mixed tea andcharity entertainments. Never mind, Lavinia Dorman is a dear! Ah, if shewould only come out here, and return my many little visits by a longstay, and act as a key to the riddle the Whirlpool people are to me. Butof course she will not; for she frankly detests the country, --that is, except Newport and Staten Island, --is wedded even in summer to her trimback-yard that looks like a picture in a seed catalogue, and, like afaithful spouse, declines to leave it or Josephus for more than a fewdays. Josephus is a large, sleek, black cat, a fence-top sphinx, who sitsall day in summer wearing a silver collar, watching the sparrows and theneighbourhood's wash with impartial interest, while at night he goes onexcursions of his own to a stable down a crooked street in "GreenwichVillage, " where they still keep pigeons. Some day he won't come back!

Yet Martin Cortright, the Bookworm, was a pavement worshipper too, and hecame last fall for over a Sunday to wake father up; for I believe mensometimes need the society of others of their own age and past, as muchas children need childlife, and Martin stayed a month, and is promisingto return next spring. I wonder if the Sylvia Latham who has beentravelling with Miss Lavinia is any kin of the Lathams who are buildingthe great colonial home above the Jenks-Smiths. I have never seen any ofthe family except Mrs. Latham, a tall, colourless blonde, who reminds oneof a handsome unlit lamp. She seems to be superintending the work bycoming up now and then, and I met her at the butcher's where she wasbuying sweetbreads--"a trifle for luncheon. " Accusation No. 1, againstthe Whirlpoolers: Since their advent sweetbreads have risen from twopairs for a quarter, and "thank you kindly for taking them off ourhands, " to fifty cents to a dollar a "set. " We no longer care forsweetbreads!

 * * * * *

I was therefore amused, but no longer surprised, at the exaggerated wayin which the childless Lady of the Bluffs, --her step-daughter having tenyears back made a foolish foreign marriage, --gave me her views upon thedrawbacks of the daughters of her world, when she made me, on her returnfrom a European trip, a visit upon the twins' first birthday, --bearing, with her usually reckless generosity, a pair of costly gold apostlespoons, as she said, "to cut their teeth on. " I admired, but frugallypopped them into the applewood treasure chests that father has had madefor the boys from the "mother tree, " that was finally laid low by atornado the winter of their birth and is now succeeded by a younger oneof Richard's choice. 

"My dear woman, " she gasped, turning my face toward the light anddropping into a chair at the same time, "how well you look; not a bitupset by the double dose and sitting up nights and all that. But then, maybe, they sleep and you haven't; for it's always the unexpected andunusual that happens in your case, as this proves. But then, they areboys, and that's everything nowadays, the way society's going, especiallyto people like you, whose husband's trade, though pretty, is too open andabove-board to be a well-paying one, and yet you're thoroughbredsunderneath. " (Poor vulgar soul, she didn't in the least realize how Imight take her stricture any more than she saw my desire to laugh. )

"Of course here and there a girl in society does turn out well and ridesan elephant or a coronet, --of course I mean wears a coronet, --though tento one it jams the hairpins into her head, but mostly daughters areregular hornets, --that is, if you're ambitious and mean to keep insociety. Of course you're not in it, and, being comfortably poor, so tospeak, might be content to see your girls marry their best chance, evenif it wasn't worth much a year, and settle down to babies and mindingtheir own business; but then they mightn't agree to that, and where wouldyou and Evan be?

"This nice old house and garden of yours wouldn't hold 'em after they gotthrough with dolls, and some girls don't even have any doll-days now. Itwould be town and travel and change, and you haven't got the price ofthat between you all, and to keep this going, too. You'd have to go toN'York, for a couple of months at least, to a hotel, and what would thatEvan of yours do trailing round to dances? For you're not built for it, though I did once think you'd be a go in society with that innocent-wiseway, and your nose in the air, when you don't like people, would pass forfamily pride. I'd wager soon, in a few years, he'd stop pickingboutonnières in the garden every morning and sailing down to that 8:15train as cool as if he owned time, if those boys were girls! Though ifJenks-Smith gets the Bluff Colony he's planned under way next spring, there'll soon be some riding and golfing men hereabouts that'll shakethings up a bit, --bridge whist, poker, and perhaps red and black to helpout in the between-seasons. " (I little thought then what this colony andshaking would come to mean. )

"Money or not, it's hard lines with daughters now--work and poor pay forthe mothers mostly. You know that Mrs. Townley that used to visit me? Hewas a banker and very rich; died four years ago, and left his wife withone son, who lived west, and five daughters, four that travelled in pairsand an odd one, --all well fixed and living in a big house in one of thoseswell streets, east of the park, where never less than ten in help arekept. Well, if you'll believe it, she's living alone with a pet dog and acompanion, except in summer, when the Chicago son and his wife and babiesmake her a good visit down at North East, the only home comfort she has. 

"All the girls married to foreigners? Not a blessed one. Two were bookishand called literary, but not enough to break out into anything; theydidn't agree with society (had impossible foreheads that ran nearly backto their necks, and thin hair); they went to college just to get the nameof it and to kill time, but when they got through they didn't rub alongwell at home; called taking an interest in the house beneath them and thepair that liked society frivolous; so they took a flat (I meanapartment--a flat is when it's less than a hundred a month and only hasone bathroom), and set up for bachelor girls. The younger pair didsociety for a while, and poor Mrs. Townley chaperoned round after them, as befitted her duty and position, and had gorgeous Worth gowns, all laceand jets, that I do believe shortened her breath, until one night in aslippery music-room she walked up the back of a polar bear rug, fell offhis head, and had an awful coast on the floor, that racked her knee sothat she could stay at home without causing remark, which she cheerfullydid. The two youngest girls were pretty, but they were snobs, and carriedtheir money on their sleeves in such plain sight that they were toosuspicious, and seemed to expect every man that said 'good evening' waswaiting to grab it. So they weren't popular, and started off for Europeto study art and music. Of course when they came back they had a lot oflingo about the art atmosphere and all that; home was a misfit andimpossible, so they went to live in a swell studio with two maids and aJap butler in costume, and do really give bang-up musicals, with paidtalent of course. I went to one. 

"That left Georgie, the odd one, who was the eldest, with poor Mrs. Townley. By this time the old lady was kind of broken-spirited, andworried a good deal as to why all her girls left her, --'she'd alwaystried to do her duty, '--and all that. This discouraged Georgie; she gotblue and nervous, had indigestion, and, mistaking it for religion, vamoosed into a high-church retreat. And I call it mighty hard lines forthe old lady. "

I thought "too much money, " but I didn't say it, for this brutally directbut well-meaning woman could not imagine such a thing, and she continued:"Yet Mrs. Townley had a soft snap compared to some, for she was in theright set at the start, with both feet well up on the ladder, and didn'thave to climb; but Heaven help those with daughters who have thin pursesand have to stretch a long neck and keep it stiff, so, in a crowd atleast, nobody'll notice their feet are dangling and haven't any hold. 

"Ah, but this isn't the worst yet; that's the clever 'new daughter' kindthat sticks by her ma, who was herself once a particular housekeeper, andtakes charge of her long before there's any need; regulates her clothesand her food and her callers, drags her around Europe to rheumatismdoctors, and pushes her into mud baths; jerks her south in winter andnorth in summer, for her 'health and amusement, ' so she needn't grownarrow, when all the poor soul needs and asks is to be let stay in hernice old-fashioned country house, and have the village children in tomake flannel petticoats; entertain the bishop when he comes to confirm, with a clerical dinner the same as she used to; spoil a lot ofgrandchildren, of which there aren't any; and once in a while to beallowed to go into the pantry between meals, when the butler isn'tlooking, and eat something out of the refrigerator with her fingers tomake sure she's got them!

"No, my dear, rather than that, I choose the lap dog and poor relation, who is generally too dejected to object to anything. Besides, lap dogsare much better now than in the days when the choice lay only betweensore-eyed white poodles and pugs. Boston bulls are such darlings that forcompanions they beat half the people one knows!"

I am doubly glad that the twins are boys! Well, so be it, for women dooften frighten me and I misunderstand them, but men are so easy tocomprehend and love. While now, when Richard and Ian puzzle me, all Ineed to do is to point to father and Evan, and say, "Look! ask them, forthey can tell you all you need to know!"

 * * * * *

Almost sunset, the boys climbing up stairs, and Effie bringing a letter?Yes, and from Lavinia Dorman, pages and pages--the dear soul! I must waitfor a light. What is this?--she wishes to see me--will make me a longvisit--in May--if I like--has no longer the conscience to ask me to leavethe twins to come to her--boys of their age need so much care--thensomething about Josephus! Yes, Sylvia Latham is the daughter of the newhouse on the Bluffs, etc. You blessed twins! here is another advantage Iowe to you--at last a promised visit from Lavinia Dorman!

Ah, as I push my book into the desk the reason for its title turns upbefore me, worded in Martin Cortright's precise language:--

"Everything, my dear Barbara, has a precedent in history or the basis ofit. It is well known that the Indian tribes have taken their distinctivenames chiefly from geographical features, and these often in turn controlthe pace of the people. The name for the island since called NewAmsterdam and York was Mon-ah-tan-uk, a phrase descriptive of the rushingwaters of Hell Gate that separated them from their Long Islandneighbours, the inhabitants themselves being called by these neighboursMon-ah-tans, _anglice_ Manhattans, literally, _People of the Whirlpool_, a title which, even though the termagant humour of the waters be abated, it beseems me as aptly fits them at this day. "

II

MISS LAVINIA'S LETTERS TO BARBARA

NEW YORK, "GREENWICH VILLAGE, " January 20, 19--. 

"So you are glad that I have returned? I wish that I could say so also, in your hearty tone of conviction. Every day of the two years that I havebeen scattering myself about Europe I have wished myself at home in thehouse where I was born, and have wandered through the rooms in my dreams;yet now that I am here, I find that I was mixing the past impossibly withthe present, in a way common to those over fifty. Yes, you see I nolonger pretend, wear unsuitable headgear, and blink obliviously at my ageas I did in those trying later forties. I not only face it squarely, butexaggerate it, for it is so much more comfortable to have people say'Fifty-five! Is it possible?'

"By the way, do you know that you and I share a distinction in common? Weare both living in the houses where we were born, for the reason that wewish to and not because we cannot help ourselves. Since I have been awayit appears that every one I know, of my own age, has made a change ofsome sort, and joined the two streams that are flowing steadily upward, east and west of the Park; while the people who were neither my financialnor social equals thirty years ago are dividing the year into quarters, with a house for each. A few months in town, a few of hotel life for'rest' in the south, then a 'between-season' residence near by, seasidenext, mountains in early autumn, and the 'between-season' again beforethe winter cruise through the Whirlpool. 

"I like that name that your Martin Cortright gives to New York. Before Iwent abroad I should have resented it bitterly, but the two months sincemy return have convinced me of its truth, which I have fought against formany years; for even the most staid of us who, either of choice ornecessity, give the social vortex a wide berth, cannot escape from theunrest of it, or sight of the wreckage it from time to time gives forth. It is strange that I have not met this Cortright, or never even knew thathe shared your father's admiration of your mother, though owing to ourschool tie we were like sisters. Yet it was like her to regret and holdsacred any pain she might have caused, no matter how unwillingly. Did hiselder sister marry _a_ Schuyler, though not one of _the_ well-knownbranch, and did he as a boy live in one of those houses on the west sideof Lafayette Place that were later turned into an hotel?

"The worst of it all appears to me to be that the increase of wealth inthe upper class is exterminating the home idea, to which I cling, singlewoman as I am; and consequently the middle classes, as blind copyists, also are tending to throw it over. 

"The rich, having no particular reason for remaining in any particularplace until they become attached to it, live in half a dozen houses, which seems to have a deteriorating effect upon their domesticity; justas the Sultan, with fifty wives that may be dropped or replaced accordingto will, cannot prize them as does the husband of only one. 

"Your letters are so full of questions and wonderments about ways in yourmother's day, that they set me rambling in the backwoods of the sixties, when women were sending their lovers to the Civil War, and then bravelysitting down and rolling their own hearts up with the bandages with whichthey busied their fingers. I suppose you are wondering if I lost a loverin those days, or why I have not married, as I am in no wise opposed tothe institution, but consider it quite necessary to happiness. The truthis, I never saw but two men whose tastes so harmonized with mine that Iconsidered them possible as companions, and when I first met them neitherwas eligible, one being my own father and the other yours! I shall haveto list your queries, to be answered deliberately, write my letters insections, day by day, and send them off packet-wise, like thecorrespondence of the time of two-shilling post and hand messengers. Tobegin with, I will pick out the three easiest:--

"1. What is it in particular that has so upset me on my home-coming?

"2. Do I think that I could break through my habits sufficiently to makeyou a real country visit this spring or early summer, before themosquitoes come? (Confessing with your altogether out-of-date franknessthat there are mosquitoes, a word usually dropped from the vocabularyof commuters and their wives, even though they live in Staten Island orNew Jersey. )

"3. Is the Sylvia Latham, to whom I have been a friendly chaperon duringmy recent travels, related to the Lathams who are building the finesthouse on the Bluffs? You have never seen the head of the house, but hisinitials are S. J. ; he is said to be a power in Wall Street, and thefamily consists of a son and daughter, neither of whom has yet appeared, although the house is quite ready for occupancy. 

"(My German teacher has arrived. )"

 * * * * *

"January 22d. 

"1. Why am I upset? For several reasons, some of which have been cloudingthe horizon for many years, others crashing up like a thunder-storm. 

"I have for a long time past noticed a certain apathy in the socialatmosphere of the little circle that formed my world. I gave up anypretensions to general New York society after my father's death, whichcame at a time when the social centre was splitting into several cliques;distances increased, New Year's calling ceased, going to the country foreven midwinter holidays came in vogue, and cosmopolitanism finallyovercame the neighbourhood community interest of my girlhood. Peoplestopped making evening calls uninvited; you no longer knew who lived inthe street or even next house, save by accident; the cosey row of privatedwellings opposite turned to lodging houses and sometimes worse; friendswho had not seen me for a few months seemed surprised to find me livingin the same place. When I began to go about again, one day CordeliaMartin (she was a Bleecker--your father will remember her) met me in thestreet and asked me to come in the next evening informally to dinner andmeet her sister, an army officer's wife, who would be there _en route_from one post to another, and have an old-time game of whist. 

"I went, glad to see old friends, and anticipating a pleasant evening. Iwore a new soft black satin gown slightly V in front, some of my bestlace, and my pearl ornaments; I even wondered if the latter were in goodtaste at a family dinner. You know I never dwell much upon attire, but itis sometimes necessary when it is in a way epoch making. 

"A butler had supplanted Cordelia's usual cordial waitress; he presenteda tray for the card that I had not brought and said 'second story front. 'This seemed strange to me, as Cordelia herself had always come to thestairway to greet me when the door opened. 

"The 'second story front' had been done over into a picturesque butuseless boudoir, a wood floor polished like glass was dotted by white furislands; the rich velvet carpets, put down a few years before, had infact disappeared from the entire house. A maid, anything but cordial, removed my wrap, looking me and it over very deliberately as she did so. I wondered if by mistake I had been bidden to a grand function--no, therewere no visible signs of other guests. 

"Not a word was spoken, so I made my way down to where the libraryliving-room had been, not a little curious to see what would come next. Thick portières covered the doorway, and by them stood the butler, whoasked my name. Really, for a moment I could not remember it, I was sostartled at this sudden ceremony in the house of a friend, of such longstanding that I had jumped rope on the sidewalk with her, makingoccasional trips arm-in-arm around the corner to Taffy John's little shopfor molasses peppermints and 'blubber rubbers. '

"My hesitation seemed to add to the distrust that my appearance had insome way created. The butler also swept me from head to foot with hiscritical stare, and at the same moment I became internally aware that Ihad forgotten to remove my arctic over-boots. Never mind, my gown waslong, I would curl up my toes, but return to the dressing-room in fullsight of that man, I whose forbears had outbowled Peter Stuyvesant, and, I fear, outdrunk him--never! Then the portières flew apart, and facinga glare of bilious-hued electric light, I heard the shouted announcementof 'Miss Doormat' as I stumbled over a tiger rug into the room. I believethe fellow did it on purpose. However, it was very funny, and myrubber-soled arctics probably prevented my either coasting straightacross into the open fireplace, or having a nasty fall, while the laughthat the announcement created on the part of my host, Archie Martin, saved me from an awkward moment, for from a sort of gilt throne-likearrangement at one side of the hearth, arrayed in brocaded satin gownscut very low and very long, heads crimped to a crisp, and fastened tomeagre shoulders by jewelled collars, the whole topped by a group ofthree 'Prince of Wales' feathers, Cordelia and her sister came forwardtwo steps to greet me. 

"Of course, I thought to myself, they are going to a ball later on. Inaturally made no comment, and we went in to dinner. The dining room wasvery cold, as extensions usually are, and the ladies presently had whitefur capes brought to cover their exposure, while I, sitting in thedraught from the butler's pantry, was grateful for my arctics. The mealwas more pretentious than edible, --a strange commentary upon manydelightful little four or at most five course affairs I had eaten in thesame room. I soon found that there was no ball in prospect, also thatCordelia and her sister seemed ill at ease, while Archie had a look ofsuppressed mischief on his face, which in spite of warning signals brokeforth as soon as, the coffee being served, the butler left. 

"One great comfort about men is that they do not take easily to beingunnatural. Archie and I, having been brought up like brother and sisterfrom the time we went to a little mixed school over in old Clinton Hall, were always on cordial terms. 

"'Well, Lavvy, ' he began, 'I see you're surprised at the change of basehere, and _I'm_ going to let you in on the ground floor, if Cordeliawon't. You see, Janet (she's not in town to-night, by the way) is comingout next month, and we are getting in training for what her mother thinksis her duty toward her, or else what they both think is their duty tosociety, or something else equally uncomfortable. '

"'Archie!' remonstrated Cordelia, but he good-naturedly ignored her andcontinued: 'Now I want Janet to have a jolly winter and marry a goodfellow when the time comes, but as we've got the nicest sort of friends, educated and all that, who have travelled along with us, as you have, from the beginning, why should we change our habits and feathers and tryto fly for a different roost?'

"'Archibald, ' said Cordelia, in such a tone that she was not to begainsaid, 'Lavinia, as a woman of the world, will understand what yourefuse to: that it is very important that our daughter should have thesurroundings that are now customary to the social set with whom she hasbeen educated, and into which, if she is to be happy, she must marry. Ifshe is to meet the right people, she must be rightly presented. All herset wear low gowns at dinner, whether guests are present or not, just asmuch as men wear their evening dress at night and their business suits inthe morning. That we have kept up our old-fogy habits so long has nothingto do with the present question. '

"'Except that I have to strain my purse to bring up everything else tosuit the clothes, as naturally gaslight, a leg of mutton, and twovegetables do not make a good foreground to bare shoulders and a whitevest! And I'd rather fund the cash as a nest-egg for Jenny. '

"'Archie, you are too absurd!' snapped Cordelia, yet more than halfinclined to laugh; for she used to be the jolliest woman in the worldbefore the spray of the Whirlpool got into her eyes. 

"'As to meeting suitable people to marry, and all that rubbish, ' pursuedArchie, relentlessly, 'I was considered fairly eligible in my time, anddid you meet me at any of the dances you went to, or at the Assemblies atFourteenth Street Delmonico's that were the swell thing in those days?No; I pulled you out of an old Broadway stage that had lost a wheel andkeeled over into a pile of snow opposite father's office, when you werepractically standing on your head. You didn't fuss, and I got to know youbetter in five minutes than any one could in five years of this rottenfuss and feathers. '

"'That was purely accidental, and I wish you wouldn't mention it sooften, ' said Cordelia, flushing; and so the conversation, at firstplayful, gradually working toward a painful dispute, went on, until myfaithful Lucy came to escort me home, without our having our game ofwhist, that excuse for intelligent and silent companionship. "

 * * * * *

"January 25th. 

"I dwelt on that little dinner episode, my dear Barbara, because in ityou will find an answer to several questions I read between your lines. Since my return I find that practically all my old friends have flown towhat Archie Martin called 'a different roost, ' or else failing, or havingno desire so to do, have left the city altogether, leaving me verylonely. Not only those with daughters to bring out, but many of myspinster contemporaries are listed with the buds at balls and dinnerdances, and their gowns and jewels described. Ah, what a fatal memory forages one has in regard to schoolmates! Josephine Ponsonby was but oneclass behind us, and she is dancing away yet. 

"The middle-aged French women who now, as always, hold their own inpublic life have better tact, and make the cultivation of someintellectual quality or political scheme at least the excuse for holdingtheir salons, and not the mere excuse of rivalry in money spending. 

"I find the very vocabulary altered--for _rest_ read _change_, for_sleep_ read _stimulation_, etc, _ad infin_. 

"Born a clergyman's daughter of the old regime, I was always obliged tobe more conservative than was really natural to my temperament; even so, I find myself at middle life with comfortable means (owing to that bit ofrock and mud of grandma's on the old Bloomingdale road that fatherpersistently kept through thick and thin), either obliged to compromisemyself, alter my dress and habits, go to luncheons where the prelude is acocktail, and the after entertainment to play cards for money, contractbronchitis by buzzing at afternoon teas, make a vocation of charity, or--stay by myself, --these being the only forms of amusement left open, and none offering the intimate form of social intercourse I need. 

"I did mission schools and parish visiting pretty thoroughly andconscientiously during forty years of my life, --on my return anecclesiastical, also, as well as a social shock awaited me. St. Jacob'shas been made a free church, and my special department has been given incharge of two newly adopted Deaconesses, 'both for the betterment ofparish work and reaching of the poor. ' So be it, but Heaven help thosewho are neither rich nor poor enough to be of consequence and yet arespiritually hungry. 

"The church system is necessarily reduced to mathematics. The rector hasoffice hours, so have the curates, and they will 'cheerfully come inresponse to any call. ' It was pleasant to have one's pastor drop in nowand then in a sympathetic sort of way, pleasant to have a chance to askhis advice without formally sending for him as if you wished to be prayedover! But everything has grown so big and mechanical that there is nottime. The clergy in many high places are emancipating themselves from theBible and preaching politics, history, fiction, local sensation, and whatnot, or lauding in print the moral qualities of a drama in which thefriendship between Mary Magdalene and Judas Iscariot is dwelt on and thelatter adjudged a patriot. I don't like it, and I don't like hurrying tochurch that I may secure my seat in the corner of our once family pew, where as a child I loved to think that the light that shone across myface from a particular star in one of the stained-glass windows was aspecial message to me. It all hurts, and I do not deny that I am bitter. Those in charge of gathering in new souls should take heed how theyignore or trample on the old crop!

"So I attend to my household duties, marketing, take my exercise, andkeep up my French and German; but when evening comes, no one rings thebell except some intoxicated person looking for one of the lodging housesopposite, and the silence is positively asphyxiating--if they would onlyplay an accordion in the kitchen I should be grateful. I'm reallythinking of offering the maids a piano and refreshments if they will givean 'at home' once a week, as the only men in the neighbourhood seem to bethe butchers and grocery clerks and the police. There is an inordinatebanging going on in the rear of the house, and I must break off to seewhat it _is_. "

 * * * * *

"January 3th. 

"MY DEAR CHILD:--

"Your second question, regarding visiting you the coming season, wasanswering itself the other day when I was writing. Life here, except inwinter, is becoming impossible to me. I have lost not only Josephus, butmy back yard! The stable where they keep the pigeons has changed hands. Yes, you were right, --he did haunt the place, the postman says; and Isuppose they did not understand that he was merely playful, and nothungry, or who he was, else maybe he was too careless about sitting onthe side fence by the street. I _could_ replace Josephus, but not theyard, --there are no more back yards to be had; their decadence iscomplete. I've closed my eyes for years to the ash heap my neighbour onthe right kept in hers; also to the cast-off teeth that came over fromthe 'painless' dentist's on the left. 

"When the great tenement flat ran up on the north, where I could, not solong ago, see the masts of the shipping in the Hudson, I sighed, andprayed that the tins and bottles that I gathered up each morning mightnot single me out when I was tying up my vines in the moonlight of earlysummer nights. 

"Josephus resented these missiles, however, and his foolish habit ofsitting on the low side fence under the ailantus tree then began. Next, Iwas obliged to give up growing roses, because, as you know, they arefresh-air lovers; and so much air and light was cut off by the highbuilding that they yielded only leaves and worms. Still I struggled, andadapted myself to new conditions, and grew more of the stronger summerbedding plants. 

"Five days ago I heard a banging and pounding. Only that morning Lucy hadbeen told that the low, rambling carpenter's shop, that occupied a doublelot along the 'street to the southwest, had been sold, and we anxiouslywaited developments. We were spared long suspense; for, on hearing thenoise, and going to the little tea-room extension where I keep my winterplants, I saw a horde of men rapidly demolishing the shop, underdirections of a superintendent, who was absolutely sitting on top of myhoneysuckle trellis. After swallowing six times, --a trick father oncetaught me to cure explosive speech, --I went down and asked him if hecould tell me to what use the lot was to be put. He replied: 'My job isonly to clean it up; but the plans call for a twelve-storystructure, --warehouse, I guess. But you needn't fret; it's to befireproof. '

"'Fireproof! What do I care?' I cried, gazing around my poor garden--orrather I must have fairly snorted, for he looked down quickly and took inthe situation at a glance, gave a whistle and added: 'I see, you'll beplanted in; but, marm, that's what's got to happen in a pushing city--itdon't stop even for graveyards, but just plants 'em in. '

"My afternoon sun gone. Not for one minute in the day will its light reston my garden, and _finis_ is already written on it, and I see it an aridmud bank. I wonder if you can realize, you open-air Barbara, with yourgarden and fields and all space around you, how a city-bred woman, towhom crowds are more vital than nature, still loves her back yard. I hada cockney nature calendar planted in mine, that began with a bunch ofsnowdrops, ran through hot poppy days, and ended in a glow ofchrysanthemums, but all the while I worked among these I felt the breathof civilization about me and the solid pavement under my feet. 

"I believe that every woman primarily has concealed in the three roundedcorners of her heart, waiting development, love of home, love ofchildren, and love of nature, and my nature love has yet only developedto the size of a back yard. 

"Yes, I will come to visit you at Oaklands gladly, though it's a poorcompliment under the circumstances. The mother of twins should be gone_to_; but tremble! you may never get rid of me, for I may supplant MarthaCorkle, the miraculous, in spoiling the boys. "

 * * * * *

"February 1st. 

"One more question to answer and this budget of letters will go to thepost with at least four stamps on it, for since you have yoked me to astub pen and begged me not to criss-cross the sheets, my bills for stampsand stationery have increased. 

"Sylvia Latham _is_ the daughter of your Bluff people. Her father's nameis Sylvester Johns Latham, and he is a Wall Street broker and promoter, with a deal of money, and ability for pulling the wires, but not muchliked socially, I should judge, --that is, outside of a certaincommercial group. 

"Mrs. Latham was, at the time of her marriage, a pretty southern girl, Vivian Carhart, with only a face for a fortune. In a way she is abeautiful woman now, has quite a social following, a gift forentertaining, and, I judge, unbounded vanity and ambition. 

"Quite recently some apparently valueless western land, belonging to herpeople, has developed fabulous ore, and they say that she is now moreopulent than her husband. 

"They were pewholders at St. Jacob's for many years, until threeseasons ago, when they moved from a side street near Washington Squareto 'Millionaire Row, ' on the east side of the Park. There are twochildren, Sylvia, the younger, and a son, Carhart, a fine-looking blondfellow when I knew him, but who got into some bad scrape the year afterhe left college, --a gambling debt, I think, that his father repudiated, and sent him to try ranch life in the West. There was a good deal oftalk at the time, and it was said that the boy fell into bad company athis mother's own card table, and that it has caused a chillinessbetween Mr. And Mrs. Latham. 

"However it may be, Sylvia, who is an unspoiled girl of the frank andintellectual type, tall, and radiant with warm-hearted health, was keptmuch away at boarding-school for three years, and then went to collegefor a special two years' course in literature. She had barely returnedhome when her mother, hearing that I was going abroad, asked me to takeSylvia with me, as she was deficient in languages, which would be adrawback to her social career. 

"It seemed a trifle strange to me, as she was then nineteen, an age whenmost girls of her class are brought out, and had been away forpractically five years. But I took her gladly, and she has been a mostlovable companion and friend. She called me Aunt, to overcome the formalMiss, and I wish she were my daughter. I'm only wondering if her high, unworldly standpoint, absorbed from wise teachers, and the halo that shehas constructed from imagination and desire about her parents during theyears of her separation from them, will not embarrass them a little, nowthat she is at home for good. 

"By the way, we met in England last spring a young sub-professor, HoraceBradford, a most unusual young man for nowadays, but of old New Englandstock. He was one of Sylvia's literature instructors at RockcliffeCollege, and he joined our party during the month we spent in theShakespeare country. It was his first trip, and, I take it, earned bygreat self-sacrifice; and his scholarly yet boyish enthusiasm addedhugely to our enjoyment. 

"He spoke constantly of his mother. Do you know her? She lives on the oldplace, which was a farm of the better class, I take it, his father havingbeen the local judge, tax collector, and general consulting factotum ofhis county. It is at Pine Ridge Centre, which, if I remember rightly, isnot far from your town. I should like you to know him. 

"I have only seen Sylvia twice since our return, but she lunches with meto-morrow. You and she should be fast friends, for she is of your ilk;and if this happens, I shall not regret the advent of the WhirlpoolColony in your beloved Oaklands as much as I do now. 

"I am really beginning to look forward to my country visit, and am gladto see that some 'advance season' tops are spinning on the pavement infront of the house, and a game of marbles is in progress in my front yarditself, safe from the annoying skirts of passers-by. For you should know, dear Madam Pan, that marbles and tops are the city's first spring sign. 

"By the way, I am sure that Horace Bradford and Sylvia are keeping up aliterary correspondence. They are perfectly suited to each other for anyand every grade of friendship, yet from her family standpoint no onecould be more unwelcome. He has no social backing; his mother is areligious little country woman, who doubtless says 'riz' and 'reckon, 'and he only has what he can earn by mental effort. But this is neitherhere nor there, and I'm sure you and I will have an interesting summercroon in spite of your qualms and resentment of the moneyedinvasion. --Not another word, Lucy is waiting to take this to thepost-box. 

"Yours faithfully, "LAVINIA DORMAN. 

"P. S. --Josephus has just come back! Lean, and singed by hot ashes, Ijudge. I dread the shock to him when he knows about the yard!"

III

MARTIN CORTRIGHT'S LETTERS TO BARBARA AND DOCTOR RICHARD RUSSELL

"December 10, 19--. 

"MY DEAR BARBARA:--

"You have often asked me to write you something of myself, my youth, butwhere shall I begin?

"I sometimes think that I must have been born facing backward, and afatality has kept me walking in that direction ever since, so wide aspace there seems to be to-day between myself and those whose age showsthem to be my contemporaries. 

"My father, being a man of solid position both in commerce and society, and having a far greater admiration for men of art and letters than wouldhave been tolerated by his wholly commercial Knickerbocker forbears, I, his youngest child and only son, grew up to man's estate among the set ofcontemporaries that formed his world, men of literary and social parts, whose like I may safely say, for none will contradict, are unknown to therising generation of New Yorkers; for not only have types changed, butalso the circumstances and appreciations under which the development ofthose types was possible. 

"In my nineteenth year events occurred that altered the entire course ofmy life, for not only did the almost fatal accident and illness that laidme low bar my study of a profession, but it rendered me at the same time, though I did not then realize it, that most unfortunate of beings, thesemi-dependent son of parents whose overzeal to preserve a boy's lifethat is precious, causes them to deprive him of the untrammelled manhoodthat alone makes the life worth living. 

"I always had a bent for research, a passion for following the history ofmy country and city to its fountain heads. I devoured old books, journals, and the precious documents to which my father had ready access, that passed from the attic treasure chests of the old houses in declineto the keeping of the Historical Society. As a lad I besought every grayhead at my father's table to tell me a story, so what more natural, underthe circumstances, than that my father should make me free of hislibrary, and say: 'I do not expect or desire you to earn your living; Ican provide for you. Here are companions, follow your inclinations, liveyour own life, and do not be troubled by outside affairs. ' At first Iwas too broken in health and disappointed in ambition to rebel, theninertia became a habit. 

"As my health unexpectedly improved and energy moved me to reassertmyself and step out, a soft hand was laid on mine--the hand of my mother, invalided at my birth, retired at forty from a world where she had shoneby force of beauty and wit--and a gentle voice would say: 'Stay with me, my son, my baby. Oh, bear with me a little longer. If you only knew thecomfort it is to feel that you are in the house, to hear your voice. Youwill pen a history some day that will bring you fame, and you will readit to me here--we two, all alone in my chamber, before the world hearsit. ' So I stayed on. How mother love often blinds the eyes to its ownselfishness. 

"That fatal twentieth year, the time of my overthrow, brought me one goodgift, your father's friendship. It was a strange chance, that meeting, and it was my love of hearing of past events and the questions concerningthem that brought it about. Has your father ever told you of it?

"Likely not, for his life work has been the good physician's, to bringforth and keep alive, and mine the antiquarian's, dreaming and gropingamong ruins for doubtful treasure of fallen walls. 

"My mother came of English, not Knickerbocker stock like my father, though both belong distinctly to New York; and female education being ina somewhat chaotic state between the old regime and new, her parents, desirous of having her receive the genteel polish of courtly manners, music, and dancing, sent her, when about fifteen, to Mrs. Rowson'sschool, then located at Hollis Street, Boston. The fame of this schoolhad travelled far and wide, for not only had the preceptress in heryouth, as Susanna Haswell, been governess to the children of thebeautiful Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, one of the most accomplishedwomen of her day, and profited by her fine taste, but her own high moralsand literary gifts made her tutorship a much sought privilege. 

"While there my mother met the little New England girl who was longafterward to become your grandmother. She had also come to study music, for which she had a talent. My mother related to me, when I was a littlelad and used to burrow in her carved oak treasure chest and beg forstories of the articles it contained, many fascinating tales of those twoschool years, a pretty colour coming to her cheeks as she told of thedances learned together, pas-de-deux and minuet, from old 'Doctor'Shaffer, who was at the time second violin of the Boston Theatre, aswell as authority in the correct methods of bowing and courtesying forgentlewomen. Your grandmother married first, and the letter telling of itwas stored away with others in the oak chest. 

"Some months before the steamboat accident that shattered my nerves, andpreceded the long illness, I was browsing at a bookstall, on my way upfrom college homeward, when I came across a copy of Charlotte Temple--oneof the dozen later editions--printed in New York by one R. Hobbs, in1827, its distinguishing interest lying in a frontispiece depictingCharlotte's flight from Portsmouth. 

"The story had long been a familiar one, and I, in common with others ofmany times my age and judgment, had lingered before the slab that bearsher name in the graveyard of old Trinity, and sometimes laid a flower onit for sympathy's sake, as I have done many times since. 

"On my return home I showed the little book to my mother, and as she heldit in her hinds and read a word here and there, she too began to journeybackward to her school days, and asked my father to bring out hertreasure chest, and from it she took her school relics, --a tatteredribbon watch-guard fastened by a flat gold buckle that Mrs. Rowson hadgiven her as a reward for good conduct, and a package of letters. Shespent an hour reading these, and old ties strengthened as she read. I cansee her now as she sat bolstered by pillows in her reclining chair, awriting tray upon her knees, penning a long letter. 

"A few months afterward, as I lay in my bed too weak even to stir, yourfather stood there, looking across the footboard at me, --the answer tothat letter. Your father, tall and strong of body and brain, a Harvardgraduate drawn to New York to study medicine at the College of Physiciansand Surgeons. His eyes of strengthening manly pity looked into mine anddrew me slowly back to life with them. 

"His long absence as surgeon in the Civil War, the settling down as acountry doctor, and even loving the same woman, has not separated us. Never more than a few months passed but our thoughts met on paper, or ourhands clasped. His solicitude in a large measure restored my health, sothat at sixty-three, physically, I can hold my own with any man of myage, and to-day I walk my ten miles with less ado than many younger men. Because of my intense dislike of the modern means of streettransportation, I have kept on walking ever since the time that yourfather and I footed it from Washington Park to Van Cortlandt Manor, through the muskrat marshes whereon the park plaza now stands, upthrough the wilds of the future Central Park, McGowan's Pass, andnorthwestward across the Harlem to our destination. He will recollect. Wewere two days picking our way in going and two days on the return, for wescorned the 'bus route, and that was only in the later fifties. Nevermind, if we ever do get back to small clothes and silk stockings, MartinCortright can show a rounded calf, if he has been esteemed little morethan a crawling bookworm these many years. 

"Methinks I hear you yawn and crumple these sheets together in your hand, saying: 'What ails the man--is he grown doity? I thought he wascontented, even if sluggishly serene. '

"And so he was, as one grown used to numbness, until last summer oneMistress Barbara visited the man-snail in his shell and exorcised him tocome forth for an outing, to feed among fresh green leaves and breathethe perfume of flowers and young lives. When lo and behold, on thesnail's return, the shell had grown too small!

"Faithfully, "M. C. "

 * * * * *

(To R. R. )

"December 22, 19--. 

"So social change has also cast its shadow across even your countrypathway, dear Hippocrates? I wish it had spared you, but I feared as muchwhen I heard that your peaceful town had been invaded by an advance guardof those same People of the Whirlpool who keep the social life of theirown city in a ferment. 

"You ask what is the matter, what the cause of the increasingrestlessness that appears on every side, driving the conservativethinking class of moderate means to seek home shelter beyond city limits, and drawing the rest into a swirl that, sooner or later, either caststhem forth as wrecks or sucks them wholly down. 

"The question is difficult of answer, but there are two things that arepotent causes of the third. Money too quickly earned, or rather won, causes an unwise expansion, and a fictitious prosperity that has degradedthe life standard. Except in exclusively academic circles, the man isgauged by his power of financial purchase and control, and the dollar ishis hall mark. He is forced to buy, not win, his way. Of course, ifpedigree and private character correspond in quantity, so much thebetter, but their importance is strictly held in abeyance. 

"Even in the legendary classic shades of learning, the cold pressure ofthe golden thumb crowds down and chills penniless brains. All students donot have equal _chance_ and equal _rights_. How can they, when theexclusiveness of many fraternities is not by intellectual gauge or thecapability for comradeship, but the power to pay high dues and spendlavishly. Of later years, in several conspicuous cases, even the choiceof college officials of high control has been guided rather by theircapacity as financiers than for ripened and inspiring scholarship. 

"Then, too, the rack of constant change is detrimental to the finer gradeof civic sentiment. It would seem that the Island's significant Indianname was wrought into its physical construction like the curse that keptthe Jew of fable a wanderer. Periodically the city is rent and upheavedin unison with the surrounding changes of tide. Here one does not need tolive out his threescore years and ten to see the city of his youth slipaway from him. Even his Alma Mater packs her trunks and moves about toorapidly to foster the undying loyal home spirit among her sons--mycollege has lived in three houses since my freshman year. How I envy thesons of Harvard, Yale, and all the rest who can go back, and, feeling atleast a scrap of the old campus turf beneath their feet, close their eyesand be young again for one brief minute. Is not this the reason why somany of Columbia's sons, in spite of the magnificent opportunities sheoffers, send _their_ sons elsewhere, because they realize the value ofassociations they have missed, and recognize the Whirlpool'schangefulness?

"What would be the feelings of an Oxford man, on returning from his lifestruggle in India or Australia, to visit his old haunts, if he found, asa sign of vaunted progress, the Bodleian Library turned into anapartment house!

"The primal difference between civilized men and the nameless savage islove of home, and the powerful races are those in whom this instinct isthe strongest. Such fealty is _not_ born in the shifting almosttent-dwellers of Manhattan. 

"It was in the late seventies, the winter before his passing, that onemild night I walked home from a meeting of the Goethe Club in companywith the poet Bryant. He and my father had been stanch comrades, and manya time had I studied his Homeric head silhouetted by firelight on ourlibrary wall. As we crossed the Park front going from Fifth Avenue eastto west, he paused, and leaning on his cane gazed skyward, where theoutlines of some buildings, in process of construction on Fifty-ninthStreet, and then considered high, stood out against the sky. "'Poor NewYork, ' he said, half to himself, half to me, 'created and yet cramped byforce of her watery boundaries, where shall her sons and daughters findsafe dwelling-places? They have covered the ground with theirhabitations, and even now they are climbing into the sky. ' And he went onleaving his question unanswered. 

 * * * * *

"A caller interrupted me yesterday, a most persistent fellow and adangerous one to the purse of the tyro collector of Americana, though notto me. He was a man of some pretence to classic education, andsuperficially versed in lore of title, date, and _editio princeps_. Hehad half a dozen prints of rarity and value had they not been forgeries, and a book ... That I had long sought after in its original form, but theonly copy I had seen for many years when put up at auction lacked thetitle page and fully half a dozen leaves, besides having some otherdefects. Would you believe it, Dick, this copy was that from the auction, its defects repaired, its missing leaves replaced by careful forgery, andwhat is more, I know the vender was aware of the deceit. But he will sellit to some young moneyed sprig who will not know. 

"I was angry, Dick, very angry, and yet all this is a trivial part ofwhat we have a long time been discussing. The sudden glint of wealth incertain quarters has changed the aspect of even book collecting, thatonce most individual of occupations, and syndicated it. 

"Once a book collection was the natural accumulation, more or lessperfect according to purse and opportunity, of one following a certainline of thought, and bore the stamp of individuality; but as thesebibliophiles of the old regime pass away, the ranks are recruited by mento whom money is of no account, whose competition forces irrationalprices and creates false values. Methinks I see the finish of the smallcollectors like ourselves. Meanwhile, just so much intellectual pleasureis wrested from the modern scholar of small means who dares not makebeginning. I do not like it, Dick, indeed I do not. 

"But we were discussing domesticity, I think, when this wretch rang thebell. The restlessness I speak of as born of undisciplined bigness, ofmoneyed magnitude, is visible everywhere, and more so in the hours ofrelaxation than those of business. 

"We have acquired the knowledge of many arts in these late years, and weneeded it; but we have lost one that is irreparable--sociality. There isno longer time to know oneself, how then shall we know our neighbours?

"The verb _to entertain_ has largely driven the verb _to enjoy_ from thesocial page. It is not too extreme, I think, to say the home andplayhouse have changed places. Many conservative people that I know turnto the theatre as the only safe means of relaxation and enjoyment withintheir reach, the stress and penalty of criticism in entertaining moderncompany being unbearable to them. 

"To the bachelor who, like myself, has a modest hearthstone, yet no handbut his own to stir the fire, the dinner tables of his married friendsand his clubs have been supposed to replace, in a measure at least, theneed of family ties. Once they did this as far as such things may, butthe easy sociality of the family board has almost ceased, and theaverage club has so expanded that it savours more of hotel freedom thanhome cosiness. 

"I am not a misanthrope or a woman hater, as you know, yet from what Igather I fear that, in the upper middle class at least, it is the womenwho are responsible for this increased formality that most men naturallywould avoid. Led by personal ambition, or that of young daughters, theyseek to maintain a standard just enough beyond their easy grasp to feelill at ease, if not humiliated, to be caught off guard. I remember oncewhen I was a mere boy hearing my father say in a sorrowing tone to myeldest sister, who was giving fugitive reasons for not being able toarray herself quickly for some festivity for which the invitation hadbeen delayed, yet to which she longed to go: 'Wherever woman enterssocially, then complications begin that are wholly of her own making. Iwarrant before Eve had finished her fig-leaf petticoat she was botheringAdam to know if he thought there could be another woman anywhere who hada garment of rarer leaves than her own. '

"The clubs do somewhat better, being under male management, but thoseamong them that ranked as so conservative that membership was the hallmark of intellectual acquirements and stamped a man as either author, artist, or amateur of letters and the fine arts, have had their doorspushed open by many of those who wish to wear in public the name ofbeing without good right, and so the little groups of kindred spiritshave broken away, the authors in one direction, the followers of thedrama to habitations of their own, artists who are too independent to beoverborne by money in another, and thus the splitting spirit increasesuntil it vanishes in a maze of cliques and coteries. The names may standon the lists, the faces are absent, and one must wander through half adozen clubs to really meet the aggregation of thinkers and workers ofthe grade who gathered in the snug corners of the Century's old clubhouse in East Fifteenth Street when we were young fellows, and my fathersecured us cards for an occasional monthly meeting as the greatestfavour he could do us. 

"Come down if you can, take a holiday, or rather night, and go with me tothe January meeting, and we will also stroll among some of our oldhaunts. You may perhaps realize, what I cannot altogether explain, thereason why I feel almost a stranger though at home. "

 * * * * *

(To DR. R. R. )

"January 10, 19--. 

"Could not get away, you conscientious old Medicus, because of thestrange accidents and holiday doings of the Whirlpool Colony atthe Bluffs!

"Well, well! I read your last with infinite amusement. You are in a fairway to have enlightenment borne in upon you without leaving your surgery, or at least travelling farther than your substantial gig will take you. 

"Meanwhile I have had what should be a crushing blow to my vanity, and inanalyzing it I've made an important discovery. One night last week I wassitting quietly in the card room at the Dibdin Club, awaiting my whistmates (for here at least one may be reasonably sure of finding a groupwith bibliographic interests in common, and the pleasures of anon-commercial game of cards), when I heard a voice, one of a groupoutside, belonging to a wholesome, smooth-faced young fellow, with goodtastes and instincts, say:--

"'I don't know what happened to the old boy when he took that unheard-ofvacation of his last fall, or where he went, but one thing's very sure, since his return Cortright's grown _pudgy_ and he's waked bang up. Wonderif he's finished that Colonial History, that's to be his monument, he'sbeen working on all his life, or if he's fallen in love?'

"'If he'd fall in love, he might stand more chance of finishing hishistory, ' replied a graybeard friend in deep didactic tones; 'he hasmaterial in plenty, but no vital stimulus for focussing his work. '

"I gave an unpremeditated laugh that dwindled to a chuckle, as if it wereproduced by a choking process. Two heads appeared a second at the doorwayof the room they had thought empty, and then vanished!

"When I came home I sat a long while before my den fireplace thinking. They were right in two things, though not in the falling in love--thatwas done thirty-five years ago once and for all. I wondered if I hadgrown _pudgy_, dreadful word; _stout_ carries a certain dignity, butpudgy suggests bunchy, wabbling flesh. I've noticed my gloves go onlingeringly, clinging at the joints, but I read that to mean rheumatism!

"That night I stood before the mirror and studied my face as I unbuttonedmy vest and loosened my shirt band at the neck. Suddenly I experiencedgreat relief. For several months past I have felt a strange asphyxiationand a vertigo sensation when wearing formal clothes of any kind, enjoyingcomplete comfort only in the loose neckcloth and wrapper of my privatehours. I had thought of asking medical advice, but having acquired adistrust of general physic in my youth, and hoping you might come down, Iput it off. 

"Unfasten your own top button, and now prepare to laugh--Martin Cortrightis not threatened with apoplexy or heart failure, he's grown _pudgy_, andhis clothes are all too small! Yet but for that boy's good-temperedridicule he might not have discovered it. 

"Think of it, Richard! I, whom my mother considered interesting and ofsomewhat distinguished mien, owing to my pallor and slim stature! Apudgy worm belongs to chestnuts, not to books. A pudgy antiquarian is athing unheard of since monastic days, when annal making was not deemedout of place if mingled with the rotund jollity of a Friar Tuck. Youmust bear half the blame, for it must be the butter habit that yourMartha Corkle's fresh churned pats inoculated me with, for I alwaysdetested the stuff before. 

"Graybeard's stricture, however, struck a deeper chord--'He has materialin plenty for his book, but no vital stimulus. ' This, too, is deeplytrue, and I have felt it vaguely so for some time, but no more realizedit than I did my pudginess. 

"No matter how much material one collects, if the vitalizing spirit isnot there, no matter how realistically the stage may be set if the actorsare mere dummies. The only use of the past is to illuminate and sustainthe present. 

"Your own home life and work, the honest questions of little Richard andIan waken me from a long sleep, I believe, and set me thinking. What isa man remembered by the longest? Brain work, memorial building, or hearttouching? Do you recollect once meeting old Moore--Clement ClarkMoore--at my father's? He was a profound scholar in Greek and Hebrewlexicology, and gave what was once his country house and garden in oldChelsea Village to the theological seminary of his professorship. Howmany people remember this, or his scholarship? But before that oldrooftree was laid low, he wrote beneath it, quite offhand, a littlepoem, 'The Night Before Christmas, ' that blends with childhood's dreamsanew each Christmas Eve--a few short verses holding more vitality thanall his learning. 

"If my book ever takes body, my friend, it will be under your roof, whereyou and yours can vitalize it. This is no fishing for invitations--weknow each other too frankly well for that. What I wish to do is to comeinto your neighbourhood next springtime, without encroaching on yourhospitality, and work some hours every day in the library, or that cornerof her charmed attic that Barbara has shared with me. It is bewitching. Upon my word, I do not wonder that she sees the world rose-colour as shelooks upon it from that window. I, too, had long reveries there, in whichexperience and tradition mixed themselves so cleverly that for the time Icould not tell whether it was my father or myself who had sometimesproudly escorted the lovely Carroll sisters upon their afternoonpromenade down Broadway, from Prince Street to the Bowling Green, eachleading her pet greyhound by a ribbon leash, or which of us it was that, in seeking to recapture an escaping hound, was upset by it in the mud, tothe audible delight of some rivals in a 'bus and his own discomfiture, being rendered thereby unseemly for the beauty's further company. "

 * * * * *

"January 20, 19--. 

"Thank you, dear Richard, for your brotherly letter. I make noprotestations, for I know your invitation would not be given if you feltmy presence would in any way be a drawback or impose care on any memberof your household, and the four little hearts that Barbara drew, with herown, Evan's, and the boys' initials in them, are seals upon theinvitation. 

"Do not deplore, however, the lack of nearness of my haunts in Astor andLenox libraries. Times are changed, and the new order condemns me to sithere if I read, there if I take out pencil and pad to copy--the red tapedistracts me. The old Historical Society alone remains in comfortableconfusion, and that is soon to move upward half a day's walk. 

"But, as it chances, you have collected many of the volumes that arenecessary to me, and I will use them freely, for some day, friend ofmine, my books will be joined to yours, and also feel the touch of littleRichard's and Ian's fingers, and of their sons, also, I hope. 

"I declare, I'm growing childishly expectant and impatient for spring, like Barbara with her packages of flower seeds. 

"You ask if I ever remember meeting one Lavinia Dorman. I think I used tosee her with a bevy of girls from Miss Black's school, who used sometimesto attend lectures at the Historical Society rooms, and had an unlimitedappetite for the chocolate and sandwiches that were served below in the'tombs' afterward, which appetite I may have helped to appease, for youknow father was always a sort of mine host at those functions. 

"The girls must have all been eight or ten years my junior, and you knowhow a fellow of twenty-three or four regards giggling schoolgirls--theyseem quite like kittens to him. 

"Stop, was she one of the older girls, the special friend of--Barbara'smother? If so, I remember her face, though she did not walk in the schoolprocession with the other 'convicts, ' as the boys called them; but I wasnever presented. 

"I'm sending a small birthday token to the boys--a little printing-press. Richard showed no small skill in setting the letters of my rubber stamp. It is some days late, but that will separate it from the glut of theChristmas market. Ask Evan to notify me if he and Barbara go to town. 

"Gratefully, "M. C. "

IV

WHEN BARBARA GOES TO TOWN

_March_ 4. I like to go to a plain people's play, where the spectatorsgroan and hiss the villain. It is a wholesome sort of clearing housewhere one may be freed from pent-up emotion under cover of other people'stears and smiles; the smiles triumphing at the end, which always winds upwith a sudden recoil, leaving the nerves in a healthy thrill. I believethat I can only comprehend the primal emotions and what is called inintellectual jargon mental dissipation, and the problem play, in its manyphases, appeals to me even less than crude physical dissipation. 

We have seen a drama of the people played quite recently, having been toNew York to spend part of a "midwinter" week's vacation, which fatherinsisted that Evan should take between two rather complex andeye-straining pieces of work. Speaking by the almanac, it wasn'tmidwinter at all, but pre-spring, which, in spite of lengthening _days_, is the only uncompromisingly disagreeable season in the country--the timewhen measles usually invades the village school, the dogs come slinkingin guiltily to the fire, pasted with frozen mud, the boys have snufflecolds, in spite of father's precautions, and I grow desperate and floutthe jonquils in my window garden, it seems so very long since summer, andlonger yet to real budding spring. We arrived at home last night in thewildest snowstorm of the season, and this morning Evan, having smoothedout his mental wrinkles by means of our mild city diversions, is nowfilling his lungs and straightening his shoulders by building a wonderfulsnow fort for the boys. Presently I shall go down to help them bombardhim in it, and try to persuade them that it will last longer if they donot squeeze the snowballs too hard, for Evan has prohibited "baking"altogether. 

The "baking" of snowballs consists of making up quite a batch at once, then dipping them in water and leaving them out until they are hard asrocks, and really wicked missiles. 

The process, unknown in polite circles here, though practised by thefactory town "muskrats, " was taught my babies by the Vanderveer boyduring the Christmas holidays, which, being snowy and bright, drew thecolony to the Bluffs for coasting, skating, etc. , giving father such ariver of senseless accidents to wade through that he threatens to absenthimself and take refuge with Martin Cortright in his Irving Place den forholiday week next year. Father has ridden many a night when the roadswould not admit of wheeling, without thought of complaint, to thecharcoal camp to tend a new mother, a baby, or a woodchopper suddenlystricken with pneumonia, that is so common a disease among men living asthese do on poor food, in tiny close cabins, and continually gettingchecks of perspiration in the variable climate. During the holidays hewas called to the Bluffs in the middle of two consecutive nights, firstto the Vanderveers, and requested to "drug" the second assistant butler, who was wildly drunk, and being a recent acquisition had been brought toofficiate at the house party without due trial, "so that he wouldn't beused up the next day, " and then to the Ponsonby's, where the family hadevidently not yet gone to bed. Here he found that the patient, a visitingschool friend of one of the daughters, from up the state, and evidentlynot used to the whirl of the pool, had skated all day, and, kept going byunaccustomed stimulants, taken half from ignorance, half from bravado, had danced the evening through at the club house, and then collapsed. Herhostess, careless through familiarity with it, had given her a dose ofone of the chloral mixtures "to let her have a good night's sleep"; butinstead it had sent her into hysterics, and she was calling wildly forher mother to come and take her home. Father returned from both visitsfairly white with rage. Not at the unfortunates themselves, be it said, but at the cool nonchalance of those who summoned him. 

The butler's was a common enough case. That of the young girl moved himto pity, and then indignation, as he sifted, out the cause of the attack, in order to treat her intelligently. This questioning Mrs. Ponsonbyresented most emphatically, telling him "to attend to his business andnot treat ladies as if they were criminals. " This to a man of father'sprofessional ability, and one of over sixty years of age in the bargain. 

"Madam, " said he, "you _are_ a criminal; for to my thinking allpreventable illness, such as this, is a crime. Leave the room, and when Ihave soothed this poor child I will go home; and remember, do not sendfor me again; it will be useless. "

Never a word did he say of the matter at home, though I read part in hisface; but the Ponsonby's housekeeper, a countrywoman of Martha Corkle's, took the news to her, adding "and the missus stepped lively too, shedid; only, law's sakes, by next mornin' she'd forgot all about it, and, we being short-handed, wanted me to go down with James and get the Doctorup to spray her throat for a hoarseness, and I remindin' her what he'dsaid, she laughed and answered, 'He had a bear's manners, ' but to go tellhim she'd pay him city prices, and she bet that would mend him and them!"

I took good care not to repeat this to father, for he would be wounded. He is beginning to see that they use him as a sort of ambulance surgeon, but he does not yet understand the absolute money insolence of thesepeople to those not of their "set, " whom they consider socially orfinancially beneath them, and I hope he never may. He is so full of goodwill to all men, so pitiful toward weakness and sin, and has kept hisfaith in human nature through thirty-five years' practice in a factorytown, hospital wards, charcoal camp, and among the odd characters of thescattering hillsides, that it would be an undying shame to have itshattered by the very people that the others regard with hopeless envy. 

Shame on you, Barbara, but you are growing bitter. Yes, I know you donot yourself mind left-handed snubs and remarks about your being"comfortably poor, " but you won't have that splendid old father of yoursput upon and sneezed at, with cigarette sneezes, too. You should realizethat they don't know any better, also that presently they may becomedreadfully bored after the manner of degenerates and move away from theBluffs, and then companionable, commuting, or summer resident people willhave a chance to buy their houses. 

Shrewd Martha Corkle foresaw the probable outcome the day that thefoundation-stone for the first cottage was laid, even before ourprettiest flower-hedged lane was shorn and torn up to make it into amacadam road, in order to shorten the time, for motor vehicles, betweenthe Bluffs and the station by possibly three minutes. Not that the peoplewere obliged to be on time for early trains, for they are mostly thereapers of other people's sowing; but to men of a certain calibre, bornfor activity, the feeling that, simply for the pleasure of it, they canwait until the very latest moment and still get there, is an amusementsavouring of both chance and power. 

"Yes, Mrs. Evan, " said Martha, with as much of a sniff as she feltcompatible with her dignity, "I knows colernies of folks not born to orloving the soil, but just trying to get something temporary out o' it inthe way o' pleasure, as rabbits, or mayhap bad smelling water for therheumatics. (It was the waters Lunnon swells came for down on the oldestate. ) To my thinkin' these pleasure colernies is bad things; theysettles as senseless as a swarm of bees, just because their leader's litthere first; and when they've buzzed themselves out and moved on, like asnot some sillies as has come gapin' too close is bit fatal or poisonedfor life. "

Well-a-day! Evan says that I take things to heart that belong to the headalone, while father says that, to his mind, feeling is much more of aneed to-day than logic; so what can I do but still stumble alongaccording to feeling. 

A shout from beneath the window, then a soft snowball on it, the signalthat the fort is finished, --yes, and the old Christmas tree stuck up topas a standard. Richard has built a queer-looking snow man with red knobsall over his chest and stomach, while Ian has achieved several mostcurious looking things with carrot horns, --whatever are they? Father hasjust driven in, and is laughing heartily, and Evan is waving to me. 

 * * * * *

Calm reigns again. The fort has surrendered, the final charge having beenled by Corney Delaney. We've had hot milk all around, father has retiredto the study to decipher a complicated letter from Aunt Lot, Evan hastaken the boys into the den for a drawing lesson, and the mystery of thesnow man is solved. 

We do not intend to have the boys learn any regular lessons beforeanother fall, but for the last two years I have managed that theyshould sit still and be occupied with something every morning, so thatthey may learn how to keep quiet without its being a strain, --shellingpeas, cutting papers for jelly pots, stringing popcorn for the hospitalChristmas tree, seeding raisins with a dozen for pay at the end--thislatter is an heroic feat when it is accomplished without drawing thepay on the instalment plan--and many other little tasks, variedaccording to season. 

Ian has a quick eye and comprehension, and he is extremely coloursensitive, but healthily ignorant of book learning, while Richard, how wedo not know, has learned to read in a fashion of his own, not seeming yetto separate letters or words, but "swallowing the sense in lumps, " asMartha puts it. 

Yesterday, before our return, the weather being threatening, and theboys, keyed for mischief, clamouring and uneasy, very much as birds andanimals are before a storm, father invited them to spend the afternoonwith him in the study, and Martha Corkle, who mounts guard during mybrief holidays, saw that their paws were scrubbed, and then relaxed hervigilance, joining Evan in the sewing room. 

After many three-cornered discussions as to what liberty was to beallowed the boys in study and den, we decided that when they learned torespect books in the handling they should be free to browse as theypleased; the curiosities, rarities, and special professional literature, being behind glass doors, could easily be protected by lock and key. Father's theory is that if you want children to love books, no barriersmust be interposed from the beginning, and that being so much with us theboys will only understand what is suited to their age, and therefore theharmful will pass them by. I was never shut from the library shelves, ormysteries made about the plain-spoken literature of other days, in spiteof Aunt Lot's fuming. I did not understand it, so it did not tempt, andas I look back, I realize that the book of life was spread before mewisely and gradually, father turning page after page, then passing thetask to Evan, so that I never had a shock or disillusionment. 

I wonder if mother had lived if I should think differently, and be moreapprehensive about the boys, womanwise? I think not; for I am asun-loving Pagan all through, really born far back in an overlookedcorner of Eden, and I prefer the forceful father influence that teachesone _to overcome_ rather than the mother cult which is _to bear_, for somuch is cumbrously borne in self-glorified martyrdom by women of theirown volition. 

I know that I am very primitive in my instincts and emotions; so are theboys, and that keeps us close, or so close, together. 

Of course illustrated books are now the chief attraction to them in thelibrary, and yesterday, when father went there with the boys, he suppliedIan, as usual, with "The Uncivilized Races of Man, " which always opens ofitself at the Mumbo Jumbo picture, and as a great treat for Richard, tookdown the three quarto volumes of Audubon's "Quadrupeds, " and ranged themon a low stand with a stool in front of it. Then, being tired after ahard morning's work, he drew his big leather chair near the, fire, put onan extra log, and proceeded to--meditate. You will doubtless noticethat when father or husband close their eyes, sitting in comfortablechairs by the fire, they are always meditating, and never sleeping, little nosey protestations to the contrary. 

Father's meditations must have been long and deep, for when he wasstartled from them by the breaking in two of the hickory log, a goryspectacle met his eyes. 

Richard was sitting on the hearth rug, which he had carefully coveredwith newspapers; these, as well as his hands and face, were stained adeep crimson, while with a stout silver fruit-knife he was hacking piecesfrom a great pulpy red mass before him. 

Checking an exclamation of horror father started forward, to meetRichard's cheerful, frank gaze and the request, as he dug awaypersistently, to "Please wait one minute more, dranpa. I've got the heartall done, that big floppy piece is lungs, an' I've most made the liver. Not the good kind that goes wif curly bacon, but a nasty one like what wewear inside. "

Then spying a medical chart with coloured pictures that was propped upagainst the wood box, father found the clew, and comprehended thatRichard was giving himself a practical lesson in anatomy by trying tocarve these organs from a huge mangel wurzel beet that he had rolled infrom the root cellar. Did father scold him for mess-making, or laugh athis attempt that had little shape except in his own baby brain?

No, neither; he carefully closed the door against Martha's possibleentrance, seriously and respectfully put the precious objects on a plate, to which he gave a place of honour on the mantel shelf, and afterremoving as far as possible all traces of beet from face and hands in hissacred office lavatory, he took Richard with him into the depths of thegreat chair and told the happy child his favourite rigmarole, all aboutthe "three gentlemen of high degree, " who do our housework for us. Howthe lungs, who are Siamese twins, called to the heart to pump them upsome blood to air, because they were almost out of work, and how the biglazy liver lay on one side and groaned because he had drunk too muchcoffee for breakfast, and had a headache, --until Richard really felt thathe had achieved something. So the first thing this morning he set aboutmaking a snow man, that he might put the beet vitals in their properplaces, nearly convulsing father by their location. Though, as he toldme, they were accurate, compared to the ideas of many trained nurses withwhom he had come in contact. 

But where was Ian during the beet carving? Father quite forgot himuntil, Richard falling asleep in his arms, he arose to tuck him up onthe sofa. A sound of the slow turning of large pages guided him to thecorner by the bay window where some bookcases, standing back to back, made a sort of alcove. There was Ian, flat upon his stomach, whilebefore him the "Wandering Jew" legend, with the Doré pictures, lay openat the final scene--The Last Judgment--where the Jew, his journey over, looks up at the angels coming to greet him, while little devils pullvainly at his tattered boots. It was not the Jew or the angels, however, that held Ian's attention, and whose outlines he was tracing with hisforefinger, but the devils, one big fellow with cows' horns and wingsdrooping like those of a moulting crow, and a bevy of imps with younghorns and curly tails who were pulling a half-buried body toward thefiery pit by its hair. 

Father explained the pictures in brief, and closed the book as quickly aspossible, thinking the boy might be frightened in his dreams by thedemons. But no, Ian was fascinated, not frightened. He would have likedthe pygmies to come and play with him, and he turned to father with asigh, saying, "They're bully pullers, dranpop. I guess if they and mepulled against Corney Delaney we could get him over the line all right, "one of the boys' favourite pastimes being to play tug-of-war with thegoat, the rope being fastened to its horns, but Corney was alwaysconqueror. 

Neither did Ian forget the imps quickly, as some children do theirimpressions, but strove to model them this morning, making round snowbodies, carrot horns, corncob legs, and funny celery tails; the resultbeing positively startling and "overmuch like witch brats, " as Effiedeclared, with bulging eyes. 

They unfortunately did not perish with the fort, for Richard doesn't likethem; but are now huddled in a group under the old Christmas tree, whereLark is barking at them. 

 * * * * *

I started to record our visit to Lavinia Dorman, but my "humandocuments, " printed on vellum, came between, and I would not miss a wordthey have to say for the "Mechlinia Albertus Magnus, " which father saysis the rarest book in the world, though Evan disputes his preference, andMartin Cortright would doubtless prefer the first edition of Denton's"New York. "

In past times, when we have visited Miss Lavinia, we have been fairlymeek and decorous guests, following the programme that she planned withsuch infinite attention to detail that free will was impossible, and weoften felt like paper dolls. 

We had read her lament on the death of sociability and back yards withmany a smile, and a sigh also, for to one born in the pool, every ripplethat stirs it must be of importance, and it is impossible for outsidersto urge her to step out of the eddies altogether and begin anew, for NewYorkitis seems to be not only a rarely curable disease to those who haveit, but an hereditary one as well. 

As usual, Evan came to the rescue, as we sat in the den the night beforeour departure. "Let us turn tables on Miss Lavinia this time and take herto see our New York, " he said, "since we are all quite tired of hers. Doyou remember the time when we went to town to buy the trappings for theboys' first tree and were detained until Christmas morning by the delayof a cable I had to wait for? After dinner Christmas Eve we coaxed MissLavinia out with us and bought half a bushel of jolly little toys fromstreet fakirs to take home, and then boarded an elevated train and rodeabout the city until after midnight, in and out the downtown streets andalong the outskirts, to see all the poor people's Christmas trees in thesecond stories of tenements, cheap flats, and over little shops. How sheenjoyed it, and said that she never dreamed that tenement people could beso happy; and she finally waxed so enthusiastic that she gave a silverhalf dollar each to four little newsboys crouching over the steam on agrating in Twenty-third Street, and when they cheered her and a policemancame along, we told the dear old soul that he evidently thought her asuspicious character, a counterfeiter at the very least. And she alwaysspoke afterward with bated breath on the dangers of the streets late atnight, and her narrow escape from arrest. We came to New York unsated andwithout responsibilities to push us, and looked from the outside in. 

"No, Barbara, you did better than you knew that day six years ago, whenwe sat in the Somerset garden, and you persuaded me to become a commuterand let you plant a garden, promising never to talk about servants, andyou've kept your word. I was dubious then, but now--if you only knew thetragedies I've seen among men of my means and aims these last few years, the struggle to be in the swim, or rather the backwater of it. Thedisappointment, the debt and despair, the pink teas and blue dinnersgiven in cramped flats, the good fellows afraid to say no to wives whosehearts are set on being thought 'in it, ' and the wives, haggard andhollow-eyed because the husbands wish to keep the pace by joining clubsthat are supposedly the hall-marks of the millionnaire. New York is thebest place for doing everything in but three--to be born in, to live in, and to die in. "

"So you wish us to play bachelor girl and man for a few days, and herdMiss Lavinia about, which I suppose is the pith of these heroics ofyours, " I said, rather astonished, for Evan seldom preaches. "I neverknew that you were such an anti-whirlpooler before, and I've at timesfelt selfish about keeping you at the old home, though not since the boyscame, it's so healthy for them, bless them. Now I feel quite relieved, "and I arranged a little crisp curl that will break loose in spite ofpersistent wetting, for men always seem to discourage curly hair, fatherkeeping his shorn like a prize-fighter. This curl softens the rigour ofEvan's horseshoe scowl, and when I fix it gives him a chance to put hisarm around my waist, which is the only satisfactory way of discussingplans for a pleasure trip. 

We arrived in town duly a little before dinner time. It is one of Evan'scomfortable travelling habits, this always arriving at a new place at theend of day, so as to get the bearings and be adjusted when we awake nextmorning. To arrive in the morning, when paying a visit especially, isreversing the natural order of things; you are absent-minded until lunch, sleepy all the afternoon, dyspeptic at dinner, when, like as not, someone you have wholly forgotten or hoped to is asked to meet you. If thetheatre follows, you recuperate, but if it is cards (of which I must havea prenatal hatred, it is so intense) with the apology, "I thought youmight be tired and prefer a cosey game of whist to going out, " you trumpyour partner's tricks, lead the short suits and mix clubs and spades withequal oblivion, and, finally, going to bed, leave a bad impression behindthat causes your hostess to say, strictly to herself, if she ischaritable, "How Barbara has deteriorated; she used to be a good talker, but then, poor dear, living in the country is _so_ narrowing. "

Of course if you merely go away to spend the day it is different; yougenerally keep on the move and go home to recover from it. And how menusually hate staying in other people's houses, no matter how wide theykeep their doors open or how hospitably inclined they may be themselves. They seem to be self-conscious, and are constrained to alter theirordinary habits, which makes them miserable and feel as if they had givenup their free will and identity. There are only two places that I everdream of taking Evan, and Lavinia Dorman's is one of them. 

When we had made ourselves smart for dinner and joined Miss Lavinia bythe fire in her tiny library, we read by her hair that she was evidentlyintending to stay at home that evening, for her head has its nodes likethe moon. She has naturally pretty, soft wavy hair, with now and then asilver streak running through it. I have often seen Lucy when she brushesit out at night. But because there is a dash of white in the front as ifa powder puff had rested there a moment by accident, it is screwed into alittle knob and covered with skilfully made yet perfectly apparentfrontlets to represent the different styles of hair-dressing affected bywomen of abundant locks. 

No. 1, worn at breakfast, is the most reasonable. It is quite plain, slightly waved, and has a few stray hairs carelessly curved where itjoins the forehead. No. 2 is for rainy weather; the curls are fuzzy andevidently baked in; it requires a durable veil to keep it incountenance. Evan calls it the "rasher of bacon front. " No. 3 is forcalling and all entertainments where the bonnet stays on; it has a babybang edge a trifle curled and a substantial cushion atop to hold the hatpins; while No. 4, the one she wore on our arrival, is an elaborateevening toupie with a pompadour rolling over on itself and droopingslightly over one eye while it melts into a butterfly bow and handful ofpuffs on the crown that in turn end in a single curl behind. 

We had a dainty little dinner, grape fruit, clear soup, smelts, wildduck, salad, fruit, and coffee, and it was daintily served, for MissLavinia always keeps a good cook and remembers our dislike of the variousforms of hash known as entrées. 

The coffee was placed on a low mahogany stand by the library fire, andMiss Lavinia herself handed Evan a quaint little silver lamp by which tolight his cigar, for she has all the cosmopolitan instincts of a womanwho not only knows the world but had heard her father discuss tobacco, and really enjoyed the soothing fragrance of a good cigar. 

As soon as we were settled and poor singed Josephus had tiptoed in bythe fire, evidently trying to make up for his shabby coat by theprofundity of his purr, Evan set forth his scheme to our hostess. Wewere to lodge and breakfast with her, but after that she was to play ourway, and be at our disposal morning, afternoon, and evening, atluncheon, dinner, and supper, and the game was to be the old-fashionedone of "follow the leader!"

At first Miss Lavinia hesitated regretfully, it seemed soinhospitable, --she had thought to take us to several parlour concerts. Mrs. Vanderdonk, she that was a De Leyster, was going to throw open herpicture gallery for charity, which would give us an opportunity to seeher new house. In fact the undertow of the Whirlpool was still pulling ather ankles, even though she had freed her head, and it seemed impossibleto her that there could be any New York other than the one she knew. 

Finally her almost girlish vitality asserted itself, and bargaining thatwe should allow her one evening to have Sylvia Latham to dinner, shesurrendered. 

"Then we will begin at once by going to the theatre, " said Evan, jumpingup and looking at the clock, which pointed at a few minutes of eight. 

"Have you tickets? Isn't this a little sudden?" asked Miss Lavinia with alittle gasp, evidently remembering that her hair was arranged for thehouse only. 

"No, I have no tickets, but Barbara and I always go in this way, and ifwe cannot get in at one place we try another, for usually some good seatsare returned from the outside ticket offices a few minutes before theplay begins. The downtown theatres open the earliest, so we can startnear by and work our way upward, if necessary. "

To my surprise in five minutes Miss Lavinia was ready, and we salliedforth, Evan sandwiched between us. As the old Dorman house is in thenortheastern corner of what was far away Greenwich Village, --at thetime-the Bouerie was a blooming orchard, and is meshed in by a curiousjumble of thoroughfares, that must have originally either followed thetracks of wandering cattle or worthy citizens who had lost theirbearings, for Waverley Place comes to an untimely end in West EleventhStreet, and Fourth Street collides with Horatio and is headed off byThirteenth Street before it has a chance even to catch a glimpse of theriver, --a few steps brought us into Fourteenth Street, where naminggas-jets announced that the play of "Jim Bludso" might be seen. 

"Dear me!" ejaculated Miss Lavinia, "do people still go to this theatre?The last time I came here it was in the seventies to see Mrs. Rousby asRosalind. "

When we took our seats the play, founded, as the bill informed us, upon one of the Pike County Ballads, had begun, and Miss Lavinia soonbecame absorbed. 

It is a great deal to be surrounded by an audience all thoroughly in themood to be swayed by the emotion of the piece, plain people, perhaps, butsolidly honest. Directly in front sat a young couple; the girl, in afresh white silk waist, wore so fat and new a wedding ring upon herungloved hand, which the man held in a tight grip, that I surmised thatthis trip into stageland was perhaps their humble wedding journey, fromwhich they would return to "rooms" made ready by jubilant relatives, eata wonderful supper, and begin life. 

The next couple were not so entirely _en rapport_. The girl, who worea gorgeous garnet engagement ring, also very new, merely rested herhand on her lover's coat sleeve where she could see the light playupon the stones. 

When, after the first act, in answer to hearty rounds of applause, variedwith whistles and shouts from the gallery, the characters steppedforward, not in the unnatural string usual in more genteel play-houses, where victor and vanquished join hands and bow, but one by one, eachbeing greeted by cheers, hisses, or groans, according to the part, andwhen the villain appeared I found myself groaning with the rest, andthough Evan laughed, I know he understood. 

After it was over, as we went out into the night, Evan headed towardSixth Avenue instead of homeward. 

"May I ask where we are going now?" said Miss Lavinia, meekly. She hadreally enjoyed the play, and I know I heard her sniff once or twice atthe proper time, though of course I pretended not to. 

"Going?" echoed Evan. "Only around the corner to get three fries in abox, with the usual pickle and cracker trimmings, there being norestaurant close by that you would care for; then we will carry them homeand have a little supper in the pantry, if your Lucy has not locked upthe forks and taken the key to bed. If she has, we can use woodentoothpicks. "

At first Miss Lavinia seemed to feel guilty at the idea of disturbingLucy's immaculate pantry at such an hour; but liberty is highlyinfectious. She had spent the evening out without previous intent; thenext step was to feel that her soul was her own on her return. Sheunlocked the forks, Evan unpacked the upstairs ice-chest for the dog'shead bass that wise women always have when they expect visitingEnglishmen, even though they are transplanted and acclimated ones, andshe ate the oysters, still steaming from their original package, withgreat satisfaction. After we had finished Miss Lavinia bravely declaredher independence of Lucy. The happy don't-care feeling produced bybroiled oysters and bass on a cold night is a perfect revelation topeople used to after-theatre suppers composed of complications, stickysweets, and champagne. 

When we had finished I thought for a moment that she showed a desire toconceal the invasion by washing the dishes, but she put it aside, and weall went upstairs together. 

A little shopping being in order, Evan took himself off in the morning, leaving Miss Lavinia and me to prowl, after we had promised to meet himat a downtown restaurant at one. 

Little boys are delightful things to shop for, --there is no matching thisand that, no getting a yard too much or too little, everything issubstantial and straight away, and all you have to do when the bundlesare sent home by express is to strengthen the sewing on of buttons andreinforce the seats and knees of everyday pantikins from the inside. 

We strolled about slowly, and at half past one were quite ready to sitstill and not only eat our lunch but watch business mankind eat his. Ifany one wishes to feel the clutch and motive power of the Whirlpool lethim go to the Mazarin any time between twelve-thirty and two o'clock. Thestreets themselves are surging with men, all hurrying first in onedirection, then another, until it seems as if there either must be a firesomewhere, or else a riot afoot. The doors of the restaurant open andshut incessantly, corks pop, knives and forks rattle, everything is beingserved from a sandwich and a glass of beer to an elaborate repast with awine to every course, while through and above it all the stress ofbusiness is felt. Of course the great financiers usually have luncheonserved in their offices, to save them from the crowd; besides, it mightgive common humanity a chance to scrutinize their countenances, andperchance read what they thought upon some question of moment, for itsometimes seems as if the eye of the New York journalist has X-ray power. On the other hand, the humbler grade, with less of either time or moneyto spare, go to the "quick lunch" counters and "dime-in-the-slot"sandwich concerns; yet Evan says that the gathering at the Mazarin isfairly representative. 

Miss Lavinia was bewildered. Her downtown visits to her broker's officewere always made in a cab, with Lucy to stay in it as a preventative ofthe driver's taking a sly glass or a thief snatching her lap-robe--shenever uses public carriage rugs. She clung to the obsolete idea that WallStreet was no place for women, and saw, as in a dream, the daintilydressed stenographers, bookkeepers, and confidential clerks mingling withthe trousered ranks in the street, not to mention the damsels in tidyshirtwaists, with carefully undulated hair and pointed, polished fingernails, who were lunching at near-by tables, sometimes seemingly withtheir employers as well as with other male or female friends. 

"I wonder how much of all this is bad for uptown home life?" Miss Laviniaqueried, gazing around the room; but as she did not address either of usin particular, we did not answer, as we did not know, --who does?

A spare half-hour before closing time we gave to the Stock Exchange, andit was quite enough, for some one was short on something, and pandemoniumreigned. As we stood on the corner of Rector Street and Broadway, hesitating whether to take surface or elevated cars, faint strains oforgan music from Trinity attracted us. 

"Service or choir practice; let us go in a few moments, " said Evan, towhom the organ is a voice that never fails to draw. We took seats farback, and lost ourselves among the shadows. A special service was inprogress, the music half Gregorian, and the congregation was tooscattered to mar the feeling that we had slipped suddenly out of thematerial world. The shadows of the sparrows outside flitted upward on thestained glass windows, until it seemed as if the great chords had brokenfree and taking form were trying to escape. 

Now and then the door would open softly and unaccustomed figures slip inand linger in the open space behind the pews. Aliens, newly landed andwandering about in the vicinity of their water-front lodging-houses, music and a church appealed to their loneliness. Some stood, heads bowed, and some knelt in prayer and crossed themselves on leaving; one woman, lugging a great bundle tied in a blue cloth, a baby on her arm andanother clinging to her skirts, put down her load, bedded the baby uponit, and began to tell her beads. 

The service ended, and the people scattered, but the organist played on, and the boy choir regathered, but less formally. 

"What is it?" we asked of the verger, who was preparing to closethe doors. 

"There will be a funeral of one of the oldest members of thecongregation to-morrow, and they are about to go through the music ofthe office. "

Suddenly a rich bass voice, strong in conviction, trumpeted forth--"I amthe resurrection and the life!" And only a stone's throw away jingled themoney market of the western world. The temple and the table of the moneychangers keep step as of old. Ah, wonderful New York!

 * * * * *

The afternoon was clear staccato and mild withal, and the sun, almost atsetting, lingered above orange and dim cloud banks at the end of thevista Broadway made. 

"Are you tired? Can you walk half a dozen blocks?" asked Evan of MissLavinia, as we came out. 

"No, quite the reverse; I think that I am electrified, " shereplied briskly. 

"Then we will go to Battery Park, " he said, turning south. 

"Battery Park, where all the immigrants and roughs congregate! What anidea! We shall catch smallpox or have our pockets picked!"

"Have you ever _been_ there?" persisted Evan. 

"Yes, once, I think, when steamship passengers lathed at the bargeoffice, and of course I've seen it often in going to Staten Island tovisit Cousin Lucretia. "

Evan's only reply was to keep on walking. We did not cross the "bowlinggreen, " but swung to the right toward Pier I, and took the path betweenold Castle Garden and the sea wall at the point where one of the firepatrol boats was resting, steam up and hose nozzles pointed, lancecouchant wise. 

Ah, what a picture! No wonder Miss Lavinia adjusted her glasses quickly(she is blindly nearsighted), caught her breath, and clung to Evan's armas the fresh sea breeze coming up from the Narrows wheeled her about. Before us Staten Island divided the water left and right, while betweenit and the Long Island shore, just leaving quarantine and dwarfing thesmaller craft, an ocean liner, glistening with ice, was coming on inmajestic haste. All about little tugs puffed and snorted, and freighterspassed crosswise, parting the floating ice and churning it with theirpaddles, scarcely disturbing the gulls, that flew so close above thewater that their wings touched, or floated at leisure. 

The sun that had been gilding everything from masthead to floating spargathered in its forces, and for one moment seemed to rest upon Liberty'storch, throwing the statue into clear relief, and then dropped rapidlybehind the river's night-cloud bank, and presently lights began toglimmer far and near, the night breath rose from the water, and thewave-cradled gulls slept. 

"Do you like our New York?" asked Evan, turning to go. 

"Don't speak, " whispered Miss Lavinia, hanging back. 

But we were no sooner on the elevated train than she found use for hertongue, for whose feet should I stumble over on entering, quite big feettoo, or rather shoes, for the size of the man, but Martin Cortright's, and of course he was duly presented to Miss Lavinia. 

V

FEBRUARY VIOLETS

That night Miss Lavinia was forced to ask "for time for 'forty winks'"before she could even think of dinner, and Evan and I sat them out in thedeep, hospitable chairs by the library fire. We were not tired, simplyheld in check; country vitality shut off from certain ways for six monthsis not quickly exhausted, but, on the other hand, when it is spent, ittakes several months to recuperate. 

The first night that I leave home for these little excursions I have asense of virtue and simmering self-congratulation. I feel that I am doinga sensible thing in making a break from what the theorists call "thenarrowing evenness of domestic existence. " Of course it is a good thingfor me to leave father and the boys, and see and hear something new totake back report of to them; it is better for them to be taughtappreciation of me by absence; change is beneficial to every one, etc. , etc. , and all that jargon. 

The second night I am still true to the theory, but am convinced that tothe highly imaginative, a city day and its doings may appear like theBiblical idea of eternity--reversed--"a thousand years. " The thirdnight I am painfully sure of this, and if I remain away over a fourth, which is very rare, I cast the whole theory out to the winds ofscepticism, and am so restless and disagreeable that Evan usuallysuggests that I take a morning train home and do not wait for him, whichis exactly the responsibility that I wish him to assume, thus saving mefrom absolute surrender. 

We always have a good time on our outings, and yet after each thepleasure of return grows keener, so that occasionally Evan remonstratesand says: "Sometimes I cannot understand your attitude; you appear toenjoy every moment keenly, and yet when you go home you act as if you hadmercifully escaped from a prison that necessitated going through a sortof thanksgiving ceremony. It seems very irrational. "

But when I ask him if it would be more rational to be sorry to come home, he does not answer, --at least not in words. 

"Where do we dine to-night?" I asked Evan, as he was giving unmistakablesigns of "meditation, " and I heard by the footsteps overhead that MissLavinia was stirring. 

"At the Art and Nature Club. You can dress as much or as little as youplease, and we can get a table in a cosey corner, and afterward sit aboutupstairs for an hour, for there will be music to-night. I have askedMartin Cortright to join us. It has its interesting side, this--atransplanted Englishman married to a country girl introducing oldbred-in-the-bone New Yorkers to New Manhattan. "

When I go to town my costuming consists merely in change of waists, asstreet and public conveyances alike are a perpetual menace to one's bestpetticoats, so in a few moments we were on our way uptown. 

We did not tell Miss Lavinia where we were going until we were almostthere, and she was quite upset, as dining at the two or three hotels andother places affected by the Whirlpoolers implies a careful and specialtoilet to run the gantlet of society reporters, for every one is somebodyin one sense, though in another "nobody is really any one. "

She was reassured, however, the moment that she drew her high-backed oakchair up to the table that Evan had reserved in a little alcove near thefireplace. Before the oysters arrived, and Martin Cortright appeared tofill the fourth seat, she had completely relaxed, and was beaming at thebrass jugs and pottery beakers ranged along a shelf above the darkwainscot, and at the general company, while the warmth from the fire logsgave her really a very pretty colour, and she began to question Martin asto who all these people, indicating the rapidly filling-up tables, were. But Martin gazed serenely about and confessed he did not know. 

The people came singly, or in twos and threes, men and women together oralone, a fact at which Miss Lavinia greatly marvelled. Greetings wereexchanged, and there was much visiting from table to table, as if thefooting was that of a private house. 

"Nice-looking people, " said Miss Lavinia, meditatively scrutinizing theroom through her lorgnette without a trace of snobbery in her voice orattitude, yet I was aware that she was mentally drawing herself apart. "Some of them quite unusual, but there is not a face here that I ever sawin society. Are they members of the Club? Where do they come from? Wheredo they live?"

Evan's lips shut together a moment before he answered, and I saw acertain steely gleam in his eye that I always regarded as a dangersignal. 

"Perhaps they might ask the same questions about you, " he answered;"though they are not likely to, their world is so much broader. They aremen and women chiefly having an inspiration, an art or craft, or somevital reason for living besides the mere fact that it has become a habit. They are none of them rich enough to be disagreeable or feel that theyown the right to trample on their fellows. They all live either in ornear New York, as best suits their means, vocations, and temperaments. Men and women together, they represent, as well as a gathering can, thehopeful spirit of our New York of New Manhattan that does not grovel tomere money power. "

Miss Lavinia seemed a little abashed, but Martin Cortright, who had beena silent observer until now, said: "It surprises me to see fraternity ofthis sort in the midst of so many institutions of specializedexclusiveness and the decadence of clubs, that used to be veritablebrotherhoods, by unwise expansion. I like the general atmosphere, itseems cheerful and, if one may blend the terms, conservatively Bohemian. "

"Come upstairs before the music begins, so that we can get comfortablysettled in the background, that I may tell you who some of these'unknown-to-Whirlpool-society' people are. You may be surprised, " saidEvan to Miss Lavinia, who had by this time finished her coffee. 

The rooms were cheerful with artistic simplicity. The piano had beenmoved from the lounging room into the picture gallery opposite to where afine stained glass window was exhibited, backed by electric lights. 

We stowed ourselves away in a deep seat, shaped something like anold-fashioned school form, backed and cushioned with leather, to watchthe audience gather. Every phase of dress was present, from the ball gownto the rainy weather skirt, and enough of each grade to keep one anotherin countenance. About half the men wore evening suits, but those who didnot were completely at their ease. 

There was no regular ushering to seats, but every one was placedeasily and naturally. Evan, who had Miss Lavinia in charge, wasalert, and rather, it seemed to me, on the defensive; but thoughMartin asked questions, he was comfortably soothing, and seemed totake in much at a glance. 

That short man with the fine head, white hair and beard, aquiline nose, and intense eyes is not only a poet, but the first American critic ofpure literature. He lives out of town, but comes to the city daily for acertain stimulus. The petite woman with the pretty colour who has crossedthe room to speak to him is the best known writer of New England romance. That shy-looking fellow standing against the curtain at your right, withthe brown mustache and broad forehead, is the New England sculptor whoseforcible creations are known everywhere, yet he is almost shrinkinglymodest, and he never, it seems, even in thought, has broken theinjunction of "Let another praise thee, not thine own lips. "

Half a dozen promising painters are standing in the doorway talking to ayoung woman who, beginning with newspaper work, has stepped suddenly intoa niche of fiction. The tall, loose-jointed man at the left of the group, the editor of a conservative monthly, has for his vis-à-vis the artistwho has had so much to do with the redemption of American architectureand decoration from the mongrel period of the middle century. Anothernight you may not see a single one of these faces, but another set, yetequally interesting. 

Meanwhile Martin Cortright had discovered a man, a financier and also abook collector of prominence, who was reputed to have a complete set ofsome early records that he had long wished to consult; he had never founda suitable time for meeting him, as the man, owing to having beenoftentime the prey of both unscrupulous dealers and parasitic friends, was esteemed difficult. 

Infected by the freedom of his surroundings, Martin plucked up courageand spoke to him, the result being an interchange of cards, book talk, and an invitation to visit the library. 

Then the music began, and lasted not above an hour, with breathing andchatting intervals, followed by claret cup and lemonade. A pleasantevening's recreation, with no opportunity of accumulating the materialfor either mental or physical headache. 

The night air was very soft, but of that delusive quality that inFebruary portends snow, and not the return of bluebirds, as theuninitiated might expect. Miss Lavinia was fascinated by the lights andmotion of Herald Square, and at her suggestion, it being but a littlepast ten, we strolled homeward down Broadway instead of taking a car. Herdelight at the crowd of promenaders, the picturesque florists' shops, andthe general buzz of night life was almost pathetic. Her after-darkexperience having been to get to and from specified places as quickly aspossible with Lucy for escort, solicitous when in a street car lest theyshould pass their destination, and trembling even more when in a cab lestthe driver should have committed the variable and expansive crime of"taking something. " She bought a "ten o'clock edition" of the _Telegram_, some of "Match Mary's" wares, that perennially middle-aged woman whohaunts the theatre region, and suggested that we have ice-cream soda at aparticularly glittering drug store, but this desire was switched into hotbouillon by Evan, who retains the Englishman's dislike of chilling hisinternals. 

New York is really a fine city by night, that is, in parts at least, andyet it is very strange how comparatively few of the rank and file of itsinhabitants walk abroad to see the spectacle. 

By lamplight the scars and wounds of subways appear less vivid, and theperpetual skeleton of the skyscraper merges in its background. Theoccasional good bit of architecture steps out boldly from the surroundingshadows of daylight discouragement. City life does not seem to be such anexhausting struggle, and even the "misery wagons, " as I always callambulances to myself, look less dreary with the blinking light fore andaft, for you cannot go far in New York without feeling the pitying thrillof their gongs. 

After the brightness of Broadway the side streets seemed cavernous. As weturned westward and crossed Sixth Avenue a dark figure, outlined fulllength against the blazing window of a corner liquor saloon, lined withmirrors, in some way fixed my attention. It was a woman's figure, slight, and a little crouching. The hat was gay and set on puffy hair, the jacketbrave with lace, but the skirt was frayed where it lapped the pavement, and the boot that was pushed from beneath it, as if to steady a swayingframe, was thin and broken. I do not know why I looked back after I hadpassed, but as I did so, I saw the girl, for she was little more, pull ascrap of chamois from a little bag she carried and quickly rub rouge uponher hollow cheeks, using the saloon mirror for a toilet glass. But when Isaw the face itself I stopped short, giving Evan's arm such a tug that healso turned. 

The woman was Jennie, the Oakland baker's only daughter, who had no lackof country beaus, but was flattered by the attentions of one of theJenks-Smith's butlers, whose irreproachable manners of thecount-in-disguise variety made the native youths appear indeed uncouth. She grew discontented, thought it beneath her social position to help hermother in the shop, and went to town to work in a store, it was saiduntil her wedding, which was to be that autumn. Father worried over herand tried to advise, but to no purpose. This was more than two years ago. The butler left the Jenks-Smith's, and we heard that he was a marriedman, with a family who had come to look him up. 

Jennie's mother said she had a fine place in a store, and showed us, fromtime to time, presents the girl had sent her, so thus to find the truthwas a shock indeed. Not but what all women who are grown must bear uponthem the weight of the general knowledge of evil, but it is none theless awful to come face to face on a street corner with one who was thepretty village girl, whom you last saw standing behind the neat counterwith a pitcher of honeysuckles at her elbow as she filled a bag withsugar cookies for your clamouring babies. 

 * * * * *

I suppose that I must have exclaimed aloud, for Jennie started back andsaw us, then dropped her bag and began to grope about for it as if shewas in a dream. 

"Can't we do something?" I whispered to Evan, but he only gravelyshook his head. 

"Give her this for the boys' sake, " I begged, fumbling in his changepocket and finding a bill there. "Tell her it's home money from theDoctor's daughter--and--to go home--or--buy--a--pair of shoes. "

At first I thought she was not going to take it; but having found her bagshe straightened herself a moment, and without looking at Evan gave me aglance, half defiant, half beseeching, grasped the money almost fiercely, and scuttled away in the darkness, and I found that I was crying. ButEvan understood, --he always does, --and I hope that if the boys read thislittle book fifteen or twenty years hence, that they will also. 

[Illustration: FEBRUARY VIOLETS. ]

As we reached the door the first snowflakes fell. Poor Jennie!

 * * * * *

The third day of our stay began in country quiet. In fact we did not wakeup until eight; everything was snowbound, and even the occasional horsecars that pass the front of the house had ceased their primitivetinkling. The milkman did not come, neither did the long crispy Frenchrolls, a New York breakfast institution for which the commutersconfessedly have no substitute, and it was after nine before breakfastwas served. 

Evan, who had disappeared, returned at the right moment with hisnewspaper and two bulky tissue paper bundles all powdered with snow, oneof which he gave to Miss Lavinia, the other to me. I knew their contentsthe moment I set eyes on them, and yet it was none the less aheart-warming surprise. 

Down in a near-by market is a little florist's shop, so small that onemight pass twenty times without noticing it; the man, a local authority, who has kept it for years, makes a specialty of the great long-stemmedsingle violets, whose fleeting fragrance no words may express. They callthem Californias now, but they are evidently the opulent kin of thosesturdy, dark-eyed Russian violets of my mother's garden, and as they meanmore than any other flower to me, Evan always brings them to me when Icome to town. This morning he trudged out in the snow, hardly thinkingthis man would have any, but by mere chance the grower, suspecting snow, brought in his crop the night before, and in spite of the storm I had thefirst morning breath of these flowers of a day. 

Miss Lavinia sniffed and sighed, and then buried her aristocratic, butrather chilly, nose in the mass. "I feel like a young girl with her firstbouquet, " she said presently. 

"Ah, how good it is to be given something with a meaning. Most peoplethink that to be able to buy what they wish, within reason, is perfecthappiness, but it isn't. Barbara, you and this man of yours quiteunsettle me and shake my pet theories. You show sides of things in my ownbirthplace that I never dreamed of looking up, and you convince me, whenI am on the wane, that married friendship is the only thing worth livingfor. It's too bad of you, but fortunately for me the notion passes offafter you have gone away, " and Miss Lavinia, after loving her violets abit longer, put them in a chubby jug of richly chased old silver. Afterbreakfast we tried to coax her to bundle up and come with us toWashington Square to see the crystal trees in all their beauty; but thatwas too unorthodox a feat. To plough through snow in rubber boots in thevery heart of the city was entirely too radical a move. She knew peopleabout the square, and I suppose did not wish to be seen by them, so shewas obliged to content herself with sight of the snow draperies and icejewels that decked the trees and shrubs of the doomed back yard. 

Even though the storm called a halt in our plans for Miss Lavinia, Evan and I had a little errand of our own, our annual pilgrimage tosee the auction room where we first met that February afternoon. Theroom is not there now, to be sure, but we go to see it all the same, and have our little thrill and buy something near the place to takehome to the boys, and we shall continue to come each year unlesspublic improvement causes the thoroughfare itself to be hung up in thesky, which is quite possible. 

Then Evan went down town, and I returned to lunch with Miss Lavinia, for, if possible, we were to call on Sylvia Latham and ask her to dinner onthe morrow, the last day of our stay. Miss Lavinia proposed to inviteSylvia to spend the night also, that we might become acquainted upon abasis less formal than a mere dinner. 

Shortly after three o'clock we started in a coupé with two stout horsesdriven by a man above suspicion of having "taken anything, " at least atthe start. It is a curious fact that eight or ten inches of damp snowcan so nearly paralyze the transportation facilities of a city like NewYork, but such is the case. The elevated rails become slippery, thewheels will not grip, and the entire wheel traffic of the streetsbetakes itself to the tracks of the surface lines, where trolley, truck, and private carriage all move along solemnly in a strange procession, like a funeral I once saw outside of Paris, where the hearse wasfollowed by two finely draped carriages, then by the business wagon ofthe deceased, filled with employees, the draperies on this arranged soas not to disturb the sign, --he kept a pâtisserie, --while a donkey cart, belonging to the market garden that supplied the deceased withvegetables, brought up the rear. 

In the middle and lower parts of New York the streets and their lifedominate the houses; on the east side of the park the houses dominate thestreets, and the flunkies, whose duty it is either to let you in orpreferably to keep you out of these houses, control the entiresituation. I may in the course of time come to respect or even like someof these mariners of the Whirlpool, but as a class their servants arewholly and unendurably objectionable, and the sum of all that is mostaggravating. 

The house faced the park. A carpet was spread down the steps, but wecould not conjecture if it was an ordinary custom in bad weather, or ifsome function was afoot. Evidently the latter, as I had barely touchedthe bell when the door flew open. Two liveried attendants were within, one turned the door knob and the other presented his tray for the cards, while in the distance a third, wearing the dress of a butler ormajordomo, stood by closed portières. 

We had asked for Mrs. And Miss Latham, and evidently the combinationcaused confusion. No. 1 remained by the front door, No. 2, after amoment's hesitation, motioned us to seats near the fireplace in the greatreception hall, a room by itself, wainscoted with carved oak, that alsoformed the banisters and the railing of a sort of balcony above, whilethe walls were hung with rich-hued tapestries, whose colours wererevealed by quaint shield-shaped electroliers of gilded glass. Man No. 3disappeared within the portières bearing our cards. In a moment hereappeared, drew them apart, and stood aside as his mistress swept out, the same cold blond woman I had seen in the market, but now mostexquisitely clad in a pale gray gown of crêpe embroidered with silverfern fronds and held at the neck by a deep collar of splendid pearls, pearl rings alone upon her hands, in her hair a spray of silver mistletoewith pearls for berries. She made an exquisite picture as she advancedswiftly to meet us, a half smile on her lips and one pink-tipped handextended. I love to look at beautiful women, yet the sight of her gave mea sort of Undine shiver. 

"Dear Miss Dorman, so glad to see you, and Mrs. Evan of Oaklands also. Ihave seen, but never met you, I believe, " she said, giving us her hand inturn. "I must ask you to the library, (Perkins, Miss Sylvia, " she said inan aside to No. 2, who immediately vanished upstairs, ) "and then excusemyself regretfully, for this is my afternoon for 'bridge, ' as Monty Belland a friend or two of his are good enough to promise to come and give ushints. Monty is so useful, you know, and so good-natured. I think youknew his mother, didn't you, Miss Lavinia? No, Sylvia is not to play; sheis not up enough for 'bridge. ' I wish you could persuade her to takelessons and an interest in the game, for when Lent begins she will behorribly bored, for there will be a game somewhere every day, andsometimes two and three, and she will be quite out of it, which is veryill-advised for a girl in her first winter, and especially when shestarts as late as Sylvia. I'm afraid that I shall have to take her southto wake her up, and that is not in my schedule this season, I've so muchto oversee at my Oaklands cottage. 

"It is a very cold afternoon for you to have come so far, dear MissLavinia; a cup of tea or something? No? Ah, here comes Sylvia, and I knowyou will forgive me for going, " and Mrs. Latham glided away with a glancetoward the stairs. She evidently was in a desperate hurry to return toher guests, and yet she spoke slowly, with that delightful southerndeliberation that suits women with pretty mouths so well, and still as Ifelt her eyes upon me I knew that to move her in any way against her ownwill would be impossible, and that she could never love anything butherself, and never would. 

I did not look at Miss Lavinia in the brief moment before Sylvia entered, for we were both too well bred to criticise a woman in her own house, even with our eyes, which had they met would have been inevitable. 

At first Sylvia only saw Miss Lavinia, and gathered her into her armsspontaneously, as if she were the elder, as she was by far the bigger ofthe two. Then seeing me, the cards not having been sent up, shehesitated a moment, colouring shyly, as a girl of sixteen might, and thenstraightway greeted me without embarrassment. As we laid aside our wrapsand seated ourselves in a sort of cosey corner nook deep with pillows, and fur rugs nestling about the feet, I drew my first comfortable breathsince entering, and as Miss Lavinia naturally took the lead in theconversation, giving her invitation for the next night, I had ample timeto study Sylvia. She was fine looking rather than handsome, a warmbrunette with copper glints threading her brown hair, thick curvedlashes, big brown eyes, a good straight nose, and a decidedly humorous, but not small mouth, with lips that curled back from even teeth, whileher whole face was punctuated and made winningly feminine by a deepdimple in the chin and a couple of vagrant ones that played about hermouth corners when she spoke, as she always did, looking directly at one. 

Her hands were long and well shaped, not small, but competent looking, agreat contrast to her mother's, as well as to Miss Lavinia's, that couldslip easily into a five-and-a-half glove. She wore a graceful afternoongown of pale blue with lace butterflies on the blouse and skirt, held inat waist and neck by enamelled butterfly buckles. She moved gracefully, and had a strong individuality, a warmth of nature that contrastedkeenly with the statuesque perfection of her mother, and I fell towondering what her father was like, and if she resembled him. 

"Not yet, not until late spring, " I heard her say in answer to MissLavinia's question as to whether her father had returned from hisJapan tour. 

"He is detained by railway business in San Francisco, and cannot gofarther north to settle it until winter breaks. I've written him to askleave to join him and perhaps stop awhile at Los Angeles and go up to seemy brother on his Wyoming ranch in May. I do so hope he will let me. I'vetried to coax mamma to go too, she has had such a wearing life thiswinter in trying to make it pleasant for me and introduce me to herfriends. I wish I could tell her exactly how much I should prefer to bemore alone with her. I do not want her to think me ungrateful, but to goout with her to father and pay dear old Carthy a visit would be simplysplendid. "

Then turning to me she said, I thought with a little quiver in hervoice, "They tell me you live with your father, Mrs. Evan--even thoughyou are married, and I have not seen mine for more than two years, onlythink of it!"

Whereat my heart went out to her, and I prayed mentally that her fathermight have a broad warm shoulder to pillow her head and a ready ear tohear her confidences, for the perfectly rounded neck and shell ear ofthe mother playing cards in the next room would never give harbour orheed, I knew. 

Sylvia was as pleased as a child at the idea of coming down to spend thenight, stipulating that if it was still cold she should be allowed tomake taffy and put it on the shed to harden, saying, with a pout: "Atschool and college there was always somewhere that I could mess withsticky things and cook, but here it is impossible, though mamma says Ishall have an outdoor tea-room at the Oaklands all to myself, and givechafing-dish parties, for they are quite the thing. 'The thing' is myboogy man, I'm afraid. If what you wish to do, no matter how silly, agrees with it, it's all right, but if it doesn't, all the wisdom ofSolomon won't prevail against those two words. "

Man No. 2 at this juncture came in and presented a florist's box andenvelope in a tray, saying, _sotto voce, _ as he did so, "Shall I hopen itand arrange them, miss, or will you wear them?" for, as the result oflavish entertaining and many hothouses as well as friends, flowersshowered upon the Latham house at all hours, and both library and hallwere almost too fragrant. Sylvia glanced at the note, saying, "I willwear them, " to the man, handed the card to Miss Lavinia, her faceflushing with pleasure, while No. 2 extracted a modest bunch ofCalifornia violets from the paper, handed them to his young mistress, andretired with the box on his tray. 

The name on the card was Horace Bradford, the pencilled addressUniversity Club, on the reverse were the words, "May I give myself thepleasure of calling to-morrow night? These February violets are inremembrance of a May ducking. Am in town for two days only on collegebusiness. "

"The day that he rowed us on the Avon and reached too far up the bank topick you wild violets and the boat shot ahead and he fell into thewater, " laughed Miss Lavinia, as pleased as Sylvia at the recollection. 

"But I am going to you to-morrow evening, " said Sylvia, ruefully atthought of missing a friend, but quite heart-free, as Miss Lavinia saw. 

"Let me take the card, and I will ask him to dinner also, " said thedear, comfortable, prim soul, who was still bubbling over with love ofyouth, "and Barbara shall ask her adopted uncle Cortright to keep thenumber even. "

Time, it seems, had flown rapidly. She had barely slipped the card inher case when the door opened and No. 3 approached solemnly andwhispered, "Mrs. Latham requests, Miss, as how you will come and pourtea, likewise bringing the ladies, if _still here_!" How those words_still here_ smote the silence. 

We immediately huddled on our wraps, anxious to be gone and spare Sylviapossible embarrassment, in spite of her protestations. As No. 2 led theway to the door a gentleman crossed the hall from the card-room andgreeted Sylvia with easy familiarity. He was about forty, a rathercolourless blonde, with clean shaven face of the type so commonly seennow that it might belong equally either to footman or master. His eyeshad a slantwise expression, but his dress was immaculate. 

Strolling carelessly by the girl's side I heard him say, "I came to seeif you needed coaxing; some of the ladies are green over their losses, sohave a care for your eyes. " Then he laughed at the wide-eyed look ofwonder she gave him as he begged a violet for his coat. 

But Sylvia drew herself up, full an inch above him, and replied, decidedly, but with perfect good nature, "No, those violets are a messagefrom Shakespeare, --one does not give such away. "

"That is Monty Bell, " said Miss Lavinia, tragically, as soon as thedoor closed. 

"Is there anything the matter with him except that his colouring is likea summer squash?" I asked. 

"He's been divorced by his wife, and it was her mother that was myfriend, not his, as Mrs. Latham hinted. I know the story; it makes meshiver to see him near Sylvia. " Then Miss Lavinia drew into a shell, inwhich she remained until we reached home. 

Meanwhile, as we drove in silence, I remembered that Richard's rubberboots leaked, and I wondered if Martha Corkle would discover it, or if hewas paddling about getting his feet wet and bringing on a sore throat. But when I got home Evan said he had sent the boots to the bicycle tiremender's the morning I came away. It was the third night of my stay, andhe would not have known what to make of it if I had not raised some sortof a ghost. 

 * * * * *

The sidewalks being clear, we dined at the Laurent, giving Miss Laviniaa resurrection of French cooking, manners, women, ogling, ventilation, wine, and music. Then we took her, on the way home, to see some horriblewax figures, listen to a good Hungarian band, and nearly put her eyesout with a cinematograph show of the Coronation and Indian Durbar. Finishing up by brewing French chocolate in the pantry and stirring itwith stick bread, and our guest, in her own house, went to bed fairlygiggling in Gallic gayety, declaring that she felt as if she had spentthe evening on the Paris boulevards, that she liked our New York, andfelt ten years younger. 

VI

ENTER A MAN

If I weather my fourth day in town I am apt to grow a trifle waspish, even though I may not be goaded to the stinging point. This is especiallythe case if, as on this recent visit, I am obliged to do any shopping formyself. Personally, I prefer the rapid transit shopping of ordering bymail, it avoids so many complications. Having made up your mind what youneed, or perhaps, to speak more truthfully, what you want, for one canhardly be quite content with mere necessities until one grows either soold or shapeless that everything is equally unbecoming, samples areforthcoming, from which an intelligent selection can be made without thedemoralizing effect of glib salespeople upon one's judgment. 

I know my own shortcomings by heart, and I should never havedeliberately walked into temptation yesterday morning if Lavinia Dormanhad not said that she wished my advice. Last year I went with theintention of buying substantial blue serge for an outing gown, and wasled astray by some gayly flowered muslins. I have a weakness for gaycolours, especially red. These when made up Evan pronounced "extremelypretty--in the abstract"--which is his way of saying that a thing iseither unsuitable or very unbecoming. When I went to father, hoping forconsolation, he was even less charitable, remarking that he thought nowlong lines were more suitable and graceful for me than bunches andbowknots. True, the boys admired the most thickly flowered gownimmensely for a few minutes, Richard bringing me a posy to match for myhair, while Ian walked about me in silence which he broke suddenly withthe trenchant remark--"Barbara, I think your dwess would be prettier ifit was weeded some!"

All of which is of course perfectly true. I have not been growingthinner all these six years, but this morning, in stooping over one ofthe cold frames to see how the plants within had weathered the storm, itcame quite as a shock to me to feel that, like Martin Cortright, I amgetting stout and in the way of myself when I bend, like an impedimentin a door hinge. 

However, as Miss Lavinia desired guidance in buying some real countryclothes, I felt it my duty to give it. She is already making elaboratepreparations for her visit to me. It seems strange, that simplicity isapparently one of the most laborious things in the world to thoseunaccustomed to it, yet so it is. 

She is about to make her initial venture in shirtwaists, and sheapproaches them with as much caution as if she were experimenting withtights and trunks. The poor little seamstress who is officiating has, tomy certain knowledge, tried one waist on five times, because, as MissLavinia does not "feel it, " she thinks it cannot fit properly. 

Never mind, she will get over all that, of course. The plan that she hasformed of spending five or six months in the real country must appearsomewhat in the light of a revolution to her, and the preparation of aspecial uniform and munitions for the campaign a necessary precaution. Her present plan is to come to me for May, then, if the life suits her, she will either take a small house that one of our farmer neighboursoften rents for the summer months, or else, together with her maid, Lucy, board at one of the hill farms. 

I have told her plainly (for what is friendship worth if one may not befrank) that if after trial we agree with each other, I hope she willstay with us all the season; but as for her maid, I myself will supplyher place, if need be, and Effie do her mending, for I could not haveLucy come. 

Perhaps it may be very narrow and provincial, but to harbour otherpeople's servants seems to me like inviting contagion and subjectingone's kitchen to all the evils of boarding house atmosphere. 

I used to think last summer, when I saw the arrival of various men andmaids belonging to guests of the Bluff Colony, that I should feel muchmore at ease in the presence of royalty, and that I could probablyentertain Queen Alexandra at dinner with less shock to her nerves andtraditions than one of these ladies' maids or gentlemen's gentlemen. 

Martha Corkle expresses her opinion freely upon this subject, and I mustconfess to being a willing listener, for she does not gossip, sheportrays, and often with a masterly touch. The woes of her countrywoman, the Ponsonby's housekeeper, often stir her to the quick. The Ponsonbyhousehold is perhaps one of the most "difficult" on the Bluffs, becauseits members are of widely divergent ages. The three Ponsonby girls rangefrom six to twenty-two, with a college freshman son second from thebeginning, while Josephine, sister of the head of the family, thoughquite Miss Lavinia's age, is the gayest of the gay, and almost outdoesher good-naturedly giddy sister-in-law. 

"It's just hawful, Mrs. Evan, " Martha said one day, when, judging by thecontents of the station 'bus and baggage wagon, almost the entirePonsonby house staff must have left at a swoop; "my eyes fairly bleedsfor poor Mrs. Maggs" (the housekeeper), "that they do. 'Twas bad enoughin the old country, where we knew our places, even though some wasambitioned to get out of them; but here it's like blind man's buff, andenough to turn a body giddy. Mrs. Maggs hasn't a sittin' room of her ownwhere she and the butler and the nurse can have their tea in peace orentertain guests, but she sets two tables in the servants' hall, and apretty time she has of it. 

"The kitchen maid and the laundress's assistant wait on the first table;but one day when, the maid of one of Miss Ponsonby's friends comin' downover late, she was served _with_ instead o' _by_ them, she gave Mrs. Maggs the 'orriblest settin' down, as not knowin' her business in puttin'a lady's lady with servants' servants, the same which Mrs. Maggs doesknow perfectly (accidents bein' unpreventable), bein' child of LordPeacock's steward and his head nurse, and swallowin' it all in with hermother's milk, so to speak, not borrowin' it second hand as some of thegreat folks on the Bluffs themselves do from their servants, not feelin'sure of the kerrect thing, yet desirin' so to do. Mrs. Maggs, poor body, she has more mess with that servants' hall first table than with all thebig dinners the master gives. 

"'Mrs. Corkle, ' says she, bein' used to that name, besides Corkle bein'kin to her husband, 'what I sets before my own household, as it were, they leaves or they eats, it's one to me; but company's got to be handleddifferent, be it upstairs or down, for the name of the 'ouse, but whenMr. Jollie, the French valet that comes here frequent with the master'spartner, wants dripped coffee and the fat scraped clean from his chopshank, else the flavour's spoiled for him, and Bruce the mistress'brother's man wants boiled coffee, and thick fat left on his breakfastham, what stands between my poor 'ead and a h'assleyum? that's what Iwants to know. Three cooks I've had this very season, it really bein' theduty of the first kitchen maid to cook for the servants' hall; but if acook is suited to a kitchen maid, as is most important, she'll stand byher. No, Martha Corkle, wages is 'igh, no doubt, --fortunes to what theywere when we were gells, --but not 'igh for the worry; and bein' inservice ain't what it were. '"

Then I knew that Martha, even as her bosom heaves over her friend'sgrievances, was also sighing with content at thought of Timothy Saundersand her own lot; and I recalled the Lady of the Bluffs' passing remark, and felt that I am only beginning to realize the deliciousness of"comfortable poverty. "

 * * * * *

Miss Lavinia and I spent some time browsing among the shops, finallybringing up at an old conservative dry goods concern in Broadway, themost satisfactory place to shop in New York, because there is never acrowd, and the salesmen, many of them grown gray in the service, take anOld World interest in their wares and in you. 

While I was trying to convince Miss Lavinia as to the need of theserviceable, she was equally determined to decoy me toward the frivolous;and I yielded, I may say fell, to the extent of buying a white crêpeysort of pattern gown that had an open work white lilac patternembroidered on it. It certainly was very lovely, and it is nice to have areally good gown in reserve, even if a plainer one that will standhugging, sticky fingers, and dogs' damp noses is more truly enjoyable. 

N. B. --I must get over apologizing to myself when I buy respectableclothes. It savours too much of Aunt Lot's old habit of saying, everytime she bought a best gown, and I remonstrated with her for the colour(it was always black in those days; since she's married the ReverendJabez she's taken to greens), "When I consider that a black dress wouldbe suitable to be buried in, it seems less like a vain luxury. "

We were admiring the dainty muslins, but only in the "abstract, " when Ilooked up, conscious that some one was coming directly toward us, and sawSylvia Latham crossing the shop from the door, her rapid, swinging gaitbringing her to us before short-sighted Miss Lavinia had a chance toraise her lorgnette. 

Sylvia was genuinely glad to see us, and she expressed it both by lookand speech, without the slightest symptom of gush, yet with the confidingmanner of one who craves companionship. I had, in fact, noticed the samething during our call the afternoon before. 

"Well, and what are we buying to-day?" asked Miss Lavinia, clearing hervoice by a little caressing sound halfway between a purr and a cluck, andpatting the hand that lingered affectionately on hers. 

"I really--don't--know, " answered Sylvia, smiling at her own hesitation. "Mamma says that if I do not get my clothes together before people beginto come back from the South, I shall be nowhere, so she took me withher to Mme. Couteaux's this morning. Mamma goes there because she saysit saves so much trouble. Madame keeps a list of every article hercustomers have, and supplies everything, even down to under linen andhosiery, so she has made for mamma a plan of exactly what she would needfor next season, and after having received her permission, will at oncebegin to carry it out. Of course the clothes will be very beautiful andharmonious, and mamma has so much on her hands, now that father isaway, --the new cottage at Oaklands is being furnished, and me toinitiate in the way I'm supposed to go, --that it certainly simplifiesmatters for her. 

"Me? Ah, I do not like the system at all, or Madame Couteaux either, andthe feeling is mutual, I assure you. Without waiting to be asked, even, she looked me over from head to foot and said that my lines are very bad, that I curve in and out at the wrong places, that I must begin at once bywearing higher heels to throw me forward!

"At first I was indignant, and then the ludicrous climbed uppermost, andI laughed, whereat Madame looked positively shocked, and even mammaseemed aghast and murmured something apologetic about my having been atboarding-school in the country, and at college, where I had riddenhorseback without proper instruction, which had injured my figure. Onlyimagine, Aunt Lavinia, those glorious gallops among the Rockcliffe Hillshurting one's body in any way! But then, I suppose body and figure arewholly different things; at any rate, Madame Couteaux gave a shrug, as ifshedding all responsibility for my future from her fat shoulders, and so, while mamma is there, I am taking a run out in the cold world of rawmaterial and observing for myself. 

"Of course I shall make mistakes, but I have had everything done for meto such an extent, during the last four months, that I really must make apoint of picking and choosing for once. I've had a mad desire since thelast storm to stir up the pools in the gutters with my best shoes, as thehappy little children do with their rubber boots. How I shall enjoy itwhen we go to Oaklands, and there is really something to _do_ instead ofmerely being amused. 

"By the way, Mrs. Evan, won't you and Miss Lavinia join us at luncheon?We are to have it somewhere downtown, to-day, --the Waldorf, Ibelieve, --as mamma expects to spend most of the afternoon at thedecorators, to see the designs for the Oaklands hangings and furniture, and, " glancing at the big clock, between the lifts, as Miss Lavinia madeher last purchase, "it's high time for me to go and pick her up. "

Having a feeling that possibly mamma might not be so cordial, in additionto being due at home for more shirtwaist fittings, Miss Lavinia declined, and reminding Sylvia that dinner would be at the old-fashioned hour ofhalf-past six, we drifted out the door together, Sylvia going towardFifth Avenue, while we turned the corner and sauntered down Broadway, pausing at every attractive window. 

Miss Lavinia's short-sightedness caused her to bump into a man, who wasintently gazing, from the height of six feet, at jewelled bugs, displayedin the window of a dealer in Oriental wares. 

The man, thinking himself to blame, raised his hat in apology, glancingcasually down as he did so, whereupon the hat remained off, and he andMiss Lavinia grasped hands with sudden enthusiasm, followed by a medleyof questions and answers, so that before she remembered me, and turned tointroduce the stranger, I knew that it was Horace Bradford himself. Astrange, but positive, fact about New York is that one may at one time bein it but a few hours and run across half the people of one'sacquaintance, gathered from all parts of the country, and at another, wander about for weeks without seeing a familiar face. 

I liked Bradford from the moment I shook hands with him. There is so muchin the mere touching of hands. His neither crushed as if to compel, norflopped equivocally, but said, as it enclosed yours in its bigness, "I amhere, command me. "

Broadway, during shopping hours, is not an ideal place for theinterchange of either ideas, or more, even, than the merestcourtesies; but after thanking Miss Lavinia for the dinner invitation, to which he had just sent the answer, and inquiring for Sylvia Latham, as he walked beside us for a block or two, it was very evident that hehad something on his mind that he wished to say, and did not know howto compass the matter. 

As he talked to Miss Lavinia in jerky monosyllables, --the only speechthat the noise made possible, --I had a chance to look at him. He did notpossess a single feature of classic proportions, and yet he was ahandsome man, owing to the illumination of his face. Brown, introspectiveeyes, with a merry way of shutting; heavy, dark hair and brows, and a fewthoughtful lines here and there; mustache pulled down at the corners, asif by the unconscious weight of a nervously strong hand; and a firm jaw, but not squared to the point that suggests the dominance of thephysical. He wore a dark gray Inverness coat, evidently one of the fruitsof his English tour, and a well-proportioned soft felt hat, set onfirmly, the crown creased in the precise way necessary to justify thecity use of the article by a man of thirty. He seemed to be in excellent, almost boyish spirits, and so natural and wholesome withal, that I amsure I should not feel at all embarrassed at finding myself alone withhim on a desert island. This is one of my pet similes of approval. 

Finally he blurted out: "Miss Lavinia, I do so wish your advice upon astrictly woman's matter; one, however, that is of great importance to me. I shall have to take the night express back, and this is the only time Ihave left. Would you--could we go in somewhere, do you think, and havesomething while I explain?"

Miss Lavinia looked dubious as to whether his invitation might meandrinks, man fashion, or luncheon. But as at that moment we reached thechief New York residence of well-born ice cream soda, for which I alwayshanker, in spite of snow and slush, much to Evan's disgust, I relievedthe situation by plunging in, saying that I was even more thirsty inwinter than in summer. Whereat Miss Lavinia shivered, but cheerfullyresigned herself to hot chocolate. "The matter in point is, " continuedBradford, feeling boyishly of one of the blocks of ice that decorated thecounter to find if it was real, and speaking directly to Miss Lavinia, "I've had a great happiness come into my life this last week; somethingthat I did not expect to happen for years. My chief has retired, and Ihave been promoted. I will not take your time to go selfishly intodetails now. I can tell you to-night, if you care to hear. I cannot gohome until the Easter holidays, and so I want to send something to mymother by way of celebration. Would you select it for me?" and the bigfellow swept the shop with an indefinite sort of gaze, as if buying candyfor the universe would but feebly express his feelings. 

"Certainly I will, " replied Miss Lavinia, warming at once;--"but whatkind of something?"

"I think, "--hesitating a trifle, --"a very good gown, and an ornament ofsome kind. "

"Would she not prefer choosing the gown herself? People's tastes differso much about clothing, " ventured Miss Lavinia, willing, even anxious, tohelp the man, yet shrinking from the possibility of feminine criticism. 

"No, I think not; that is, it doesn't work well. Beforetimes I've oftenwritten her to buy some little finery to wear for my sake, but my gifthas generally been turned into flannels for poor children or to restockthe chickenyard of some unfortunate neighbour whose fowls have all diedof gapes. While if I send her the articles themselves, she will prize andwear them, even if the gown was a horse blanket and the ornament aPlymouth Rock rooster to wear on her head. You know how mothers are aboutbuying things for themselves, don't you, Mrs. Evan?" he said, turning tome, that I need not consider myself excluded from the conversation. 

"I have no mother, but I have two little sons, " I answered. 

"Ah, then you will know as soon as they grow old enough to wish to buythings for you, " and somehow the soda water flew up my nose, and I had togrope for my handkerchief. 

Miss Lavinia evidently did not like to ask Mrs. Bradford's age, so sheevaded it by asking, "Does your mother wear colours or black, Mr. Bradford?"

"She has worn black ever since my father died; for the last ten years, infact. I wish I could persuade her to adopt something that looks morecheerful, for she is the very essence of cheerfulness herself. Do youthink this would be a good time to give a sort of hint by choosing acoloured gown, --a handsome blue silk, for instance?" "I know preciselyhow you feel, " said Miss Lavinia, laying her hand upon his sleevesympathetically, "men never like mourning; but still I advise you not totry the experiment or force the change. A brocaded black silk gown, witha pretty lace fichu to soften it about the shoulders, and a simple pin tohold it together at the neck, --how would that suit you?" As she spoke shewaved her dainty hands about so expressively in a way of her own that Icould seem to see the folds of the material drape themselves. 

"That is it! You have exactly the idea that I could not formulate. Howclever women are!" he exclaimed, and for a minute I really thought he wasgoing to hug Miss Lavinia. 

"One other favour. Will you buy these things for me? I always feel so outof place and cowardly in the women's shops where such things are sold. Will $100 be enough, think you?" he added a trifle anxiously, I thought, as he drew a small envelope from a compartment of his letter book, whereit had evidently been stowed away for this special purpose. 

"Yes, I can manage nicely with it, " replied Miss Lavinia, cheerfully;"and now you must leave us at once, so that we can do this shopping, andnot be too late for luncheon. Remember, dinner to-night at 6:30. " "Onething more, " he said, as we turned to leave, "I shall not now have timeto present my respects to Miss Latham's mother as I intended; do youthink that she will hold me very rude? I remember that Miss Sylvia oncesaid her mother was very particular in matters of etiquette, --about hergoing out unchaperoned and all that, --and should not wish her to feelslighted. " Miss Lavinia assured him very dryly that he need not worryupon that score, that no notice would be taken of the omission. Notsaying, however, that in all probability he was entirely unconsidered, ranked as a tutor and little better than a governess by the elder woman, even if Sylvia had spoken of him as her instructor. 

So, after holding open the heavy doors for us, he strode off down town, the bright smile still lingering about his eyes, while we retraced oursteps to the shop we had visited early that morning, and then downagain to a jeweller's. The result was a dress pattern of soft blacksilk, brocaded with a small leafy design, a graceful lace-edged, muslinfichu, and an onyx bar pin upon which three butterflies were outlinedby tiny pearls. 

"Isn't he a dear fellow?" asked Miss Lavinia, apparently of a big graytruck horse that blocked the way as we waited at the last crossing beforereaching home. And I replied, "He certainly is, " with rash butunshakable feminine conviction. 

VII

SYLVIA LATHAM

Sylvia came that afternoon well before dark, a trim footman followingfrom the brougham with her suitcase and an enormous box of forced earlyspring flowers, hyacinths, narcissi, tulips, English primroses, lilies-of-the-valley, white lilacs, and some yellow wands of Forsythia, "with Mrs. Latham's compliments to Miss Dorman. "

"What luxury!" exclaimed Miss Lavinia, turning out the flowers upon thetable in the tea room where she kept her window garden, "and how pale andspindling my poor posies look in comparison. Are these from the Bluffs?"

"Oh no, from Newport, " replied Sylvia. "There is to be no glass at theBluffs, only an outdoor garden, mamma says, that will not be too muchtrouble to keep up. Mrs. Jenks-Smith was dining at the house last night, and told me what a lovely garden you have, Mrs. Evan, and I thoughtperhaps, if we do not go to California to meet father, but go to Oaklandsearly in April, you might be good enough to come up and talk my gardenover with me. The landscape architect has, I believe, made a plan for thebeds and walks about the house, but I am to have an acre or two ofground on the opposite side of the highway quite to myself. 

"Oh, please don't squeeze those tulips into the tight high vases, AuntLavinia, " she said, going behind that lady and giving her a hug with onearm, while she rescued the tulips with the other hand; for Miss Lavinia, feeling hurried and embarrassed by the quantity of flowers, was jumblingthem at random into very unsuitable receptacles. 

"May I arrange the dinner table, " Sylvia begged, "like a Dutch garden, with a path all around, beds in the corners, and those dear little silverjugs and the candlesticks for a bower in the middle?

"A month ago, " she continued, as she surveyed the table at a glance andbegan to work with charming enthusiasm, "mamma was giving a veryparticular dinner. She had told the gardener to send on all the flowersthat could possibly be cut, so that there were four great hampers full;but owing to some mistake Darley, the florist, who always comes todecorate the rooms, did not appear. We telephoned, and the men flewabout, but he could not be found, and mamma was fairly pale with anxiety, as Mrs. Center, who gives the swell dinner dances, was to dine with herfor the first time, and it was important to make an impression, so that_I_ might be invited to one or possibly more of these affairs, and soreceive a sort of social hall mark, without which, it seems, no young NewYork woman is complete. I didn't know the whole of the reason then, to besure, or very possibly I should not have worked so hard. Still, poormamma is so in earnest about all these little intricacies, and thinksthem so important to my happiness and fate, or something else she has inview, that I am trying not to undeceive her until the winter is over. "

Sylvia spoke with careless gayety, which was to my mind somehow belied bythe expression of her eyes. 

"I asked Perkins to get out the Dutch silver, toys and all, that mammahas been collecting ever since I can remember, and bring down a longnarrow mirror in a plain silver frame that backs my mantel shelf. Then Ibegged mother to go for her beauty sleep and let me wrestle with theflowers, also to be sure to wear her new Van Dyck gown to dinner. 

"This was not according to her plan, but she went perforce. I knew thatshe felt extremely dubious, and, trembling at my rashness, I set at workto make a Dutch flower garden, with the mirror for a canal down thecentre. Perkins and his understudies, Potts and Parker, stood watching mewith grim faces, exchanging glances that seemed to question my sanitywhen I told Parker to go out to the corner where I had seen workmen thatafternoon dump a load of little white pebbles, such as are used inrepairing the paving, and bring me in a large basketful. But when thegarden was finished, with the addition of the little Delft windmills Ibrought home, and the family of Dutch peasant dolls that we bought at theAntwerp fair, Perkins was absolutely moved to express his approval. "

"What effect did the garden have upon the dance invitations?" asked MissLavinia, highly amused, and also more eager to hear of the doings ofsociety than she would care to confess. 

"Excellent! Mrs. Center asked mother who her decorator was, and said sheshould certainly employ him; which, it seems, was a compliment so rarethat it was equivalent to the falling of the whole social sky at my feet, Mr. Bell said, who let the secret out. I was invited to the last two ofthe series, --for they come to a conspicuous stop and turn into theatreparties when Lent begins, --and I really enjoyed myself, the only drawbackbeing that so few of the really tall and steady men care for dancing. Most of my partners were very short, and loitered so, that I felttop-heavy, and it reminded me of play-days, when I used to practisewaltzing with the library fire tongs. I dislike long elaboratedinners, though mamma delights in them, and says one may observe so muchthat is useful, but I do like to dance with a partner who moves, and notsimply progresses in languid ripples, for dancing is one of the fewindoor things that one is allowed to do for oneself. 

"Now, Aunt Lavinia, you see the garden is all growing and blowing, andthere are only enough tulips left for the Rookwood jars in the library, "Sylvia said, stepping back to look at the table, "and a few for us towear. Lilies-of-the-valley for you, pink tulips for you, Mrs. Evan, --theywill soon close, and look like pointed rosebuds, --yellow daffies to matchmy gown, and you must choose for the two men I do not know. I'll take atuft of these primroses for Mr. Bradford, and play they grew wild. Wealways joked him about these flowers at college until 'The Primrose' cameto be his nickname among ourselves. Why?

"One day when he was lecturing to us on Wordsworth, and readingexamples of different styles and metres, he finished a rathersentimental phrase with

"'A primrose by a river's brimA yellow primrose was to himAnd it was nothing more. '

"Suddenly, the disparity between the bigness of the reader and theslimness of the verse overcame me, and catching his eye, I laughed aloud. Of course, the entire class followed in a chorus, which he, catching thepoint, joined heartily. It sounds silly now, but it seemed very funny atthe time; and it is such little points that make events at school, andeven at college. "

"Mr. Bradford told me some news this morning, " said Miss Lavinia, walkingadmiringly about the table as she spoke. "He is Professor Bradford, ofthe University, not merely the women's college now, or rather will be atthe beginning of the next term. "

"That is pleasant news. I wonder how old Professor Jameson happened tostep out, and why none of the Rockcliffe girls have written me about it. "

"He did not tell me any details; said that they would keep untilto-night. We met him in the street this morning, immediately after weleft you, " and Miss Lavinia gave a brief account of our shopping. 

"That sounds quite like him. All his air castles seemed to be built abouthis mother and the old farm at Pine Ridge. He has often told me how easyit would be to get back the house to the colonial style, with widefireplaces, that it was originally, and he always had longings to be in aposition to coax his mother to come to Northbridge for the winter, andkeep a little apartment for him. Perhaps he will be able to do both now. "

Sylvia spoke with keen but quite impersonal interest, and looking at herI began to wonder if here might not, after all, be the comrade type ofwoman in whose existence I never before believed, --feminine, sympathetic, buoyant, yet capable of absolutely rational and unemotionalfriendship with a man within ten years of her own age. But after all itis common enough to find the first half of such a friendship, it is theunit that is difficult; and I had then had no opportunity of seeing thetwo together. 

We went upstairs together, and lingered by the fire in Miss Lavinia'ssitting room before going to make ready for dinner. The thaw of themorning was again locked by ice, and it was quite a nippy night for theseason. I, revelled mentally in the fact that my dinner waist was crimsonin colour, and abbreviated only in the way of elbow sleeves, and thepretty low corn-coloured crêpe bodice that I saw Lucy unpacking fromSylvia's suit case quite made me shiver. 

The only light in Miss Lavinia's den, other than the fire, was a lowlamp, with a soft-hued amber shade, so that the room seemed to draw closeabout one like protecting arms, country fashion, instead of seeking toturn one out, which is the feeling that so many of the stately apartmentsin the great city houses give me. 

When I am indoors I want space to move and breathe in, of course, but Ilike to feel intrenched; and only when I open the door and step outside, do I wish to give myself up to space, for Nature is the only one whoreally knows how to handle vastness without overdoing it. 

As we sat there in silence I watched the play of firelight onSylvia's face, and the same thought seemed to cross it as she closedher eyes and nestled back in Miss Lavinia's funny little fat sewingchair, that was like a squab done in upholstery. Then, as the clockstruck six, she started, rubbed her eyes, and crossed the hall to herroom half in a dream. 

"She is as like her Grandmother Latham when I first saw her, as a girlof twenty-one can be like a woman of fifty, " said Miss Lavinia, from thelounge close at my elbow. "Not in colouring or feature, but in poiseand gesture. The Lathams were of Massachusetts stock, and have, Iimagine, a good deal of the Plymouth Rock mixture in their back-bones. Her father has the reputation, in fact, of being all rock, if not quiteof the Plymouth variety. Well, I think she will need it, poor child;that is, if any of the rumours that are beginning to float in the airsettle to the ground. "

"Meaning what?" I asked, half unconsciously, and paying little heed, for I then realized that the daily letter from father had not arrived;and Lucy at that moment came in, lit the lamps, and began to rattlethe hair-brushes in Miss Lavinia's bedroom, which I took as a signalfor me to leave. 

The door-bell rang. It was Evan; but before I met him halfway on thestairs, he called up: "I telephoned home an hour ago, and they are allwell. The storm held over last night there. Father says it was the mostshowy snow they have had for years, and he was delayed in getting hisletter to the post. "

"Is that all?" I asked, as I got down far enough to rest my hands on hisshoulders. 

"Yes; the wires buzzed badly and did not encourage gossip. Ah!" (thiswith an effort to appear as if it was an afterthought), "I told him Ithought that you would not wait for me tomorrow, but probably go home onthe 9:30. Not that I really committed you to it if you have other plans!"

 * * * * *

Martin Cortright appeared some five minutes before Horace Bradford. As itchanced, when the latter came in the door Sylvia was on the stairs, sothat her greeting and hearty handshake were given looking down at him, and she waited in the hall, in a perfectly unembarrassed way, as a matterof course, while he freed himself from his heavy coat. His glance at thetall girl, who came down from the darkness above, in her shimmering gown, with golden daffies in her hair and on her breast, like a beam ofwholesome sunshine, was full of honest, personal admiration. If it hadbeen otherwise I should have been disappointed in the man's completeness. Then, looking at them from out of the library shadows, I wondered what hewould have thought if his entry had been at the Latham home instead of atMiss Lavinia's, how he would have passed the ordeal of Perkins, Potts, and Parker, and if his spontaneity would have been marred by theformality. 

Perhaps he would have been oblivious. Some men have the happy gift ofnot being annoyed by things that are thorns in the flesh to otherwisequite independent women. Father, however, is always amused by flunkies, and treats them as an expected part of the show; even as the jovialAutocrat did when, at a grand London house, "it took full six men in redsatin knee-breeches" to admit him and his companion. 

Bradford did not wear an evening suit; neither did he deem apologynecessary. If he thought of the matter at all, which I doubt, heevidently considered that he was among friends, who would make whateverexcuses were necessary from the circumstances of his hurried trip. 

Then we went in to the dining-room, Miss Lavinia leading with MartinCortright, as the most recent acquaintance, and therefore formal guest, the rest of us following in a group. Miss Lavinia, of course, took thehead of the table, Evan opposite, and the two men, Cortright on her rightand Bradford on her left, making Sylvia and me vis-à-vis. 

The men appropriated their buttonhole flowers naturally. Martin smiled atmy choice for him, which was a small, but chubby, red and yellow, uncompromising Dutch tulip, far too stout to be able to follow its familyhabit of night closing, except to contract itself slightly. Evancaressed his lilies-of-the-valley lightly with his finger-tips as hefastened them in place, but Bradford broke into a boyish laugh, and thenblushed to the eyes, when he saw the tiny bunch of primroses, saying:"You have a long memory, Miss Sylvia, yet mine is longer. May I have asprig of that, too?" and he reached over a big-boned hand to where thegreenhouse-bred wands of yellow Forsythia were laid in a formal patternbordering the paths. "That is the first flower that I remember. A greatbush of it used to grow in a protected spot almost against the kitchenwindow at home; and when I see a bit of it in a strange place, for aminute I collapse into the little chap in outrageous gathered trousers, who used to reach out the window for the top twigs, that blossomedearliest, so as to be the first to carry 'yellow bells' to school for ateacher that I used to think was Venus and Minerva rolled in one. I sawher in Boston the other day, and the Venus hallucination is shattered, but the yellow bells look just the same, proving--"

"That every prospect pleasesAnd man (or woman) alone is vile, "

interpolated Evan. 

Grape fruit, with a dash of sherry, or the more wholesome sloe-gin, isMiss Lavinia's compromise with the before-dinner cocktail of society, that is really very awakening to both brain and digestion; and before thequaint silver soup tureen had disappeared, even Martin Cortright had notonly come wholly out of his shell, but might have been said to havefairly perched on top of it, before starting on a reminiscent career withhis hostess, beginning at one of the monthly meetings of the HistoricalSociety; for though Martin's past belonged more to the "Second Avenue"faction of the old east side, and Miss Lavinia to the west, among theenvirons of what had once been Greenwich and Chelsea villages, they hadtrodden the same paths, though not at the same time. While Sylvia and the"Professor, " as she at once began to call him, picked up the web of thecollege loom that takes in threads of silk, wool, and cotton, and mixingor separating them at random, turns out garments of complete fashion andpattern, or misfits full of false starts or dropped stitches that notonly hamper the wearers, but sometimes their families, for life. All thatEvan and I had to do was to maintain a sympathetic silence, kept byoccasional ejaculations and murmurs from growing so profound as to causea draught at our corner of the table. "Yes, we used to go thereregularly, " I heard Miss Lavinia say; "when we were girls Eleanor(Barbara's mother) and I attended the same school--Miss Black's, --Eleanorbeing a boarding and I a day pupil and a clergyman's daughter also, which, in those days, was considered a sort of patent of respectability. Miss Black used to allow her to spend the shorter holidays with me and goto those historical lectures as a matter of course. We never publiclymentioned the fact that Eleanor also liked to come to my house to getthoroughly warmed and take a bath, as one of Miss Black's principles ofeducation was that feminine propriety and cold rooms were synonymous, andthe long room with a glass roof, sacred to bathing, was known as the'refrigerator'; but those atrocities that were committed in the name ofeducation have fortunately been stopped by education itself. I don'tthink that either of us paid much attention to the lectures; the mainthing was to get out and go somewhere; yet I don't think any other latergood times were as breathlessly fascinating. 

"Mother seldom went, the hermetically sealed, air-proof architecture ofthe place not agreeing with her; so father, Eleanor, and I used to walkover, crossing the head of Washington Square, until, as we passed St. Mark's Church and reached the steps of the building, we often headed aprocession as sedate and serious as if going to Sunday meeting, for therewere fewer places to go in those days. Once within, we usually crept wellup front, for my father was one of the executive committee who sat in therow of chairs immediately facing the platform, and to be near him addedseveral inches to my stature and importance, at least in my ownestimation. Then, too, there was always the awesome and fascinatingpossibility that one of these honourable personages might fall audiblyasleep, or slip from his chair in a moment of relaxation. Such events hadbeen known to occur. In fact, my father's habit of settling down untilhis neck rested upon the low chair back, made the slipping accident aperpetual possibility in his case. 

"Then, when the meeting was called to order, and the minutes read withmany h-hems and clearings of the throat, and the various motions put tovote with the mumbled 'All-in-favour-of-the-motion-will-please-signify-by-saying-Ay! Contrary-minded-no-the-motion-is-accepted!' that some onewould only say 'No' was our perpetual wish, and we even once meditateddoing it ourselves, but could not decide which should take the risk. 

"Another one of our amusements was to give odd names to the dignitarieswho presided. One with lurching gait, erectile whiskers, and blinkingeyes we called 'The Owl'; while another, a handsome old man of the'Signer' type, pink-cheeked, deep eyed, with a fine aquiline nose, wenamed 'The Eagle. '"

"Oh, I know whom you mean, exactly!" cried Martin, throwing back his headand laughing as heartily as Bradford might; "and 'The Owl' was supposedto have intentions of perpetuating his name by leaving the society moneyenough for a new building, but he didn't. But then, he doubtlessinherited his thrift from the worthy ancestors of the ilk of those menwho utilized trousers for a land measure. Do you also remember thediscussions that followed the reading of paper or lecture? Sometimesquite heated ones too, if the remarks had ventured to even graze thehistorical bunions that afflicted the feet of many old families. "

"No, I think we were too anxious to have the meeting declared adjournedto heed such things. How we stretched ourselves; the physical oppressionthat had been settling for an hour or two lifting suddenly as we got onour feet and felt that we might speak in our natural voices. 

"Then father would say, 'You may go upstairs and examine the curiositiesbefore joining us in the basement, ' and we would go up timidly andinspect the Egyptian mummy. I wonder how he felt last year when there wasa reception in the hall and a band broke the long stillness with 'The GayTomtit. ' Was ever such chocolate or such sandwiches served in equallysepulchral surroundings as in the long room below stairs. I rememberwondering if the early Christians ever lunched in the catacombs, and howthey felt; and I should not have been surprised if Lazarus himself hadappeared in one of the archways trailing his graveclothes after him, sostrong was the spell of the mummy upon us. 

"It seems really very odd that you were one of those polite young men whoused sometimes to pass the plates of sandwiches to us where we stayedhidden in a corner so that the parental eye need not see how many weconsumed. "

Thus did Martin Cortright and Miss Lavinia meet on common ground anddrift into easy friendship which it would have taken years ofconventional intercourse to accomplish, while opposite, the talk betweenSylvia and Bradford dwelt upon the new professorship and Sylvia'sroommate of two years, who, instead of being able to remain and finishthe course which was to fit her for gaining nominal independence throughteaching, had been obliged to go home and take charge, owing to hermother's illness. 

"Yes, Professor Jameson's decision to give all his time to outsideliterary work was very sudden, " I heard Bradford say. "I thought that itmight happen two or three years hence; but to find myself now not only inpossession of a salary of four thousand dollars a year (hardly a fortunein New York, I suppose), but also freed this season from being tied atNorthbridge to teach in the summer school, and able to be at home inpeace and quiet and get together my little book of the 'Country of theEnglish Poets, ' seems to me almost unbelievable. "

"I have been wondering how the book was coming on, for you never wrote ofit, " answered Sylvia. "I have been trying all winter, without success, toarrange my photographs in scrap-books with merely names and dates. Butthough, as I look back over the four months, everything has been done forme, even to the buttoning of my gloves, while I've seemingly done nothingfor any one, I've barely had a moment that I could call my own. "

"I do not think that it is strange, after having been away practicallyfor six years, that family life and your friends should absorb you. Doubtless you will have time now that Lent has come, " said Bradford, smiling. "Of course we country Congregationalists do not treat theseason as you Anglican Catholics do, and I've often thought it rather apity. It must be good to have a stated time and season for stopping andsitting down to look at oneself. I picked up one of your New York churchpapers in the library the other day, and was fairly surprised at thenumber of services and the scope of the movement and the work of thechurch in general. "

Sylvia looked at him for a moment with an odd expression in her eyes, asif questioning the sincerity of his remarks, and then answered, I thoughta little sadly: "I'm afraid it is very much like other things we read ofin the papers, half truth, half fiction; the churches and the servicesare there, and the good earnest people, too--but as for our stopping! Ah, Mr. Bradford, I can hardly expect to make you understand how it is, for Icannot myself. It was all so different before I went to boarding school, and we lived down in the house in Waverley Place where I was born. Thepeople of mamma's world do not stop; we simply whirl to a slightlydifferent tune. It's like waltzing one way around a ballroom until youare quite dizzy, and then reversing, --there is no sitting down to rest, that is, unless it is to play cards. "

"Yet whist is a restful game in itself, " said Bradford, cheerfully; "anevening of whist, with even fairly intelligent partners, I've alwaysfound a great smoother-out of nerves and wrinkles. "

"They do not play it that way here, " answered Sylvia, laughing, in spiteof herself, at his quiet assumption. "It's 'bridge' for money orexpensive prizes; and compared to the excitement it causes, thetarantella is a sitting-down dance. I'm too stupid with cards to take therisk of playing; even mamma does not advise it yet, though she wishes tohave me coached. So I shall have some time to myself after all, for mydefect puts me out of three Lenten card clubs to which mamma belongs, twoof which meet at our house. That leaves only two sewing classes, threeLenten theatre clubs (one for lunch and matinée and two for dinner andthe evening), and Mr. Bell's cake-walk club, that practises with ateacher at our house on Monday evenings. The club is to have asemi-public performance at the Waldorf for charity, in Easter week, andas the tickets are to be ten dollars each, they expect to make a greatdeal of money. So you see there is very little time allowed us to sitdown and look at ourselves. "

"I cannot excuse cake-walking off the stage, among civilized people, "interpolated Miss Lavinia, catching the word but not the connection, andrealizing that, as hostess, she had inconsiderately lost the thread ofthe conversation. "It appeals to me as the expression of physicalexuberance of a lower race, and for people of our grade of intelligenceto imitate it is certainly lowering! The more successfully it is carriedout the worse it is!"

Miss Lavinia spoke so fiercely that everybody laughed but Sylvia, whocoloured painfully, and Horace Bradford deftly changed the subject in thelull that followed. 

 * * * * *

The men did not care to be left alone with their cigars and coffee, so welingered in the dining-room. Suddenly a shrieking whistle sounded in thestreet, and the rapid clatter of hoofs made us listen, while Evan rushedto the door, seizing his hat on the way. 

"Only the fire engines, " said Miss Lavinia; "you would soon be used tothem if you lived here; the engine house is almost around the corner. "

"Don't you ever go after them?" I asked, without thinking, becauseto Evan and me going to fires is one of the standard attractions ofour New York. 

"Barbara, child, don't be absurd. What should I do traipsing afteran engine?"

"Yet a good fire is a very exciting spectacle. I once had the habit ofgoing, " said Martin Cortright, emerging from a cloud of cigar smoke. "Iremember when Barnum's Museum was burned my father and I ran to the firetogether and stayed out, practically, all night. "

More whistling and a fresh galloping of hoofs indicated that there was asecond call, and the engines from up town were answering. I began to tapmy feet restlessly, and Miss Lavinia noticed it. 

"Don't hesitate to go if you wish to, " she said. At the same moment Evandashed back, calling: "It's a fire on the river front, a lumber yard;plenty of work ahead, with little danger and a wonderful spectacle. Whycan we not all go to see it, for it's only half a dozen blocks away?Bundle up, though, it's bitterly cold. "

Horace Bradford sprang to his feet and Sylvia was halfway upstairs andfairly out of her evening gown when Miss Lavinia made up her mind to goalso, Evan's words having the infection of a stampede. 

"Don't forget the apples, " I called to Evan as I followed my hostess. 

"The shops and stands are closed, I'm afraid, " he called back from thestoop where he was waiting; "perhaps Miss Lavinia has some in the house. "

"Apples, yes, plenty; but for mercy's sake what for? You surely aren'tthinking of pelting the fire out with them!" she gasped, hurryingdownstairs and struggling to disentangle her eyeglasses from her bonnetstrings; a complication that was always happening at crucial moments, such as picking out change in an elevated railway station, and therebyblocking the crowd. 

"No, apples to feed the fire horses; Barbara always does, " Evan answered, dashing down the basement stairs to the kitchen, and returning quicklywith a medley of apples and soup vegetables in a dish-towel bundle, leaving the solemn cook speechlessly astonished. 

Then we started off, Evan leading the way, and the procession stragglingafter in Indian file; for the back streets were not well shovelled, andto go two abreast meant that one foot of each was on a side hill. Evanfairly dragged me along. Sylvia and Bradford, being fleet of foot, had nodifficulty in following, but Martin and Miss Lavinia had rather a bumpytime of it. Still, as pretty much all the uncrippled inhabitants of thedistrict were going the same way, our flight was not conspicuous. 

It was, as Evan had promised, a glorious fire! Long before we reachedthe Hudson the sky rayed and flamed with all the smokeless change of theNorthern Lights. Once there, Evan piloted us through the densely packedcrowd to the side string-piece of a pier, Miss Lavinia giving littleshrieks the while, and begging not to be pushed into the water. 

From this point the great stacks of lumber that made the giant bonfirecould be seen at the two points, from land and water side, where thefire-boats were shooting streams from their well-aimed nozzles. 

As usual, after running the steam-pumping engines as close as desirableto the flames, the horses were detached, blanketed, and tied up safe fromharm, and we found a group of three great intelligent iron-gray beautiesclose behind us, who accepted the contents of the dish-towel with almosthuman appreciation, while a queer, wise, brown dog, an engine mascot, whowas perched on the back of the middle horse, shared the petting with apolitely matter-of-fact air. 

"It is wonderful! I only wish I could see a little better, " murmured MissLavinia, who was short, and buried in the crowd. 

"Why not stand on this barrel?" suggested Bradford, holding out hishand. 

"It's full of garbage and ashes, " she objected. 

"Never mind that, they are frozen hard, " replied Bradford, poking themass practically. 

Three pairs of hands tugged and boosted, and lo! Miss Lavinia was safelyperched; and as there were more barrels Sylvia and I quickly followedsuit, and we soon all became spellbound at the dramatic contrasts, forevery now and again a fresh pile of Georgia pine would be devoured by theflames, the sudden flare coming like a noiseless explosion, making theair fragrantly resinous, while at the same time the outer boundaries ofthe doomed lumber yard were being draped with a fantastic ice fabric fromthe water that froze as it fell. 

As to the firemen! don't talk to me of the bygone bravery of thecrusaders and the lords of feudal times, who spent their lives in thesport of encamping outside of fortresses, at whose walls theyoccasionally butted with rams, lances, and strong language, leaving theirwives and children in badly drained and draughty castles. If any onewishes to see brave men and true, simply come to a fire with Evan and mein our New York. 

We might have stood there on our garbage pedestals half the night ifHorace Bradford had not remembered that he must catch the midnightexpress, glanced at his watch, found that it was already nearly half-pastten, and realized that he had left his grip at Miss Lavinia's. Consequently we dismounted and pushed our way home. 

As we were half groping our way up ill-lighted West Tenth Street MartinCortright paused suddenly and, after looking about, remarked: "This iscertainly a most interesting locality. That building opposite, which haslong been a brewery, was once, in part at least, the first city orState's Prison. How often criminals must have traversed this very routewe are following, on their way to Washington Square to be hanged. For youknow that place, of later years esteemed so select, was once not only thesite of Potter's Field, but of the city gallows as well!"

No one, however, joined more heartily than he in the merriment that hisinapropos reminiscence caused, and we reached home in a good humour thateffectually kept off the cold. 

"Did you succeed in buying the gown?" Horace Bradford asked Miss Lavinia, as he stood in the hall making his farewells. 

"Oh, yes, I had almost forgotten. Here is the package only waiting foryour approval to be tied, " and she led the way to the library. 

Bradford touched the articles with his big fingers, as lovingly as if hewere smoothing his mother's hair, or her hand. 

"They are exactly right, " he said heartily, turning and grasping MissLavinia's hand, as he looked straight into her eyes with an expression ofmingled gratitude and satisfaction. "She will thank you herself, when weall meet next summer, " and with a happy look at Sylvia, who had come tothe library to see the gifts, and was leaning on the table, he graspedbag and parcel, shook hands all round, and hurried away. 

"What do you think?" I asked Evan, as we closed our bedroom door. 

"Of what?" he answered, with the occasional obtuseness that will overtakethe best of men. 

"Of Sylvia and Bradford, of course. Are they in love, do you think?"

"I rather think that _he_ is, " Evan answered, slowly, as if bringinghis mind from afar, "but that he doesn't know it, and I hope he maystay in ignorance, for it will do him no good, for I am sure that sheis not, at least with Bradford. She is drifting about in the Whirlpoolnow. She has not 'found herself' in any way, as yet. She seems acharming girl, but I warn you, Barbara, don't think you scent romance, and try to put a finger in this pie! Your knowledge of complex humannature isn't nearly as big as your heart, and the Latham set are whollybeyond your ken and comprehension. " Then Evan, declining to argue thematter, went promptly to sleep. 

Not so Sylvia. When Miss Lavinia went to her room to see if the girl wascomfortable and have a little go-to-bed chat by the fire, she found herstretched upon the bed; her head hidden between the pillows, in a vaineffort to stifle her passionate sobbing. 

"What is it, my child?" she asked, truly distressed. "Are you tired, orhave you taken cold, or what?"

"No, nothing like that, " she whispered, keeping her face hidden andjerking out disjointed sentences, "but I can't do anything for anybody. No one really depends on me for anything. Helen Baker must leave college, because they need her _at home_, --just think, _need her_! Isn't thathappiness? And Mr. Bradford is so joyful over his new salary, thinks itis a fortune, and with being able to buy those things for hismother, --father has sent me more money during the four months I've beenback, so I may feel independent, he says, than the Professor will earn ina year. Independent? deserted is a better word! I hardly know my ownparents, I find, and they expect nothing from me, even my companionship. 

"Before I went away to school, if mamma was ill, I used to carry up herbreakfast, and brush her hair; now she treats me almost like astranger, --dislikes my going to her room at odd times. I hardly ever seeher, she is always so busy, and if I beg to be with her, as I did once, she says I do not understand her duty to society. 

"People should not have children and then send them away to school untilthey feel like strangers, and their homes drift so far away that they donot know them when they come back, --and there's poor Carthy out west allalone, after the plans we made to be together. It is all so differentfrom what I expected. Why does not father come home, or mother seem tomind that he stays away? What is the matter, Aunt Lavinia? Is mammahiding something, or is the fault all mine?"

Miss Lavinia closed the door, and soothed the excited girl, talking toher for an hour, and in fact slept on the lounge, and did not return toher own room until morning. She was surprised at the storm in a clearsky, but not at the cause. Miss Lavinia was keenly observant, and fromtwo years' daily intercourse, she knew Sylvia's nature thoroughly. Forsome reasons, she wished with all her heart that Sylvia was in love withHorace Bradford, and at the same time feared for it; but before the poorgirl fell asleep, she was convinced that such was not the case, and thatthe trouble that was already rising well up from her horizon wassomething far more complicated. 

VIII

THE SWEATING OF THE CORN

_April_ 14. Every one who has led, even in a partial degree, the lifeoutdoors, must recognize his kinship with the soil. It was the firstrecorded fact of race history embodied in the Old Testament allegory ofthe creation, and it would seem from the beginning that nations have beenstrong or weak, as they acknowledged or sought to suppress it. 

I read a deeper meaning in my garden book as the boys' human calendarruns parallel with it, and I can see month by month and day by day thatit is truly the touch of Nature that makes kindred of us all--the throbof the human heart and not the touch of learning or the arts. 

Everything grows restless as spring comes on--animate, and what is calledinanimate, nature. March is the trying month of indecision, thetug-of-war between winter and spring, pulling us first one way and thenthe other, the victory often being, until the final moment, on the sideof winter. Then comes a languid period of inaction, and a swift recovery. When the world finally throws off frost bondage, sun and the earth call, while humanity, indoors and out, in city tenement as well as infarmhouse, hears the voice, even though its words are meaningless, andgrows restless. 

Lavinia Dorman writes that she is feeling tired and low-spirited, thedoctor has advised a tonic, and she misses the change of planting herback-yard garden. Down in the streets the tenement children are swarmingin the sunny spots, and dancing to the hand-organs. I saw them early lastweek when I was in town for a few hours. 

In one of the downtown parks the youngsters were fairly rolling in thedirt, and rubbing their cheeks on the scanty grass as they furtivelyscooped up handfuls of cement-like soil to make mud pies, in spite of thebig policeman, who, I like to think, was sympathetically blind. 

The same impulse stirs my boys, even though they have all outdoors aroundthem. They have suddenly left their house toys and outdoor games alike tofairly burrow in the soil. The heap of beach sand and pebbles that wascarted from the shore and left under an old shed for their amusement, haslost its charm. They go across the road and claw the fresh earth from anexposed bank, using fingers instead of their little rakes and spades, and decorate the moist brown "pies" they make with dandelion ornaments. 

A few days ago the Vanderveer boy came down to play with them, accompanied by an English head nurse of tyrannical mien, and anassortment of coats and wraps. The poor little chap had been ailing halfthe winter, it seems, with indigestion and various aches, until thedoctor told his mother that she must take him to the country and try achange, as he feared the trouble was chronic appendicitis; so the entireestablishment has arrived to stay until the Newport season, and the boy'severy movement is watched, weighed, and discussed. 

The nurse, having tucked him up in a big chair in the sun on the porch, with the boys for company, and in charge of father, who was looking athim with a pitying and critical medical eye, said she would leave him forhalf an hour while she went up the lane to see Martha Corkle. A fewmoments after, as I glanced across the road, I saw my boys burrowing awayat their dirt bank, and their guest with them. I flew downstairs to callhim in, fearing for the consequences, but father, who was watching theproceedings from the porch, laid a detaining hand upon me, saying: "Hismother has consulted me about the child, and really sent him down herethat I may look him over, and I am doing it, in my own fashion. I've noidea the trouble is appendicitis, though it might be driven that way. Iread it as a plain case of suppressed boyhood. 

"He doesn't know how to play, or run naturally without falling; he'safraid to sit down in the dirt--no wonder with those starched linenclothes; and he keeps looking about for the nurse, first over oneshoulder and then over the other, like a hunted thing. Evidently theyhave weighed his food, measured his exercise, and bought his amusements;his only free will and vent is to get in a temper. They give him nochance to sweat off his irritation, only to fume; while that shaking, snorting teakettle of an automobile they bowl him about in, puts thefinal touch to his nervousness. "

Then I sat down by father and watched the three boys together, whileRichard was preventing his guest from pounding a toad with a stonebecause it preferred to hop away instead of being made into a dirt pie, and I saw the truth of what he said. The seven-year-old child who went toriding school, dancing school, and a military drill, did not know how toexpress his emotions in play, and frozen snowballs and other cruelty washis distorted idea of amusement. Poor rich boy, sad little only son, hewas not allowed the freedom to respond to the voice of nature even as thetenement children that dance in the streets to the hand-organs or stirthe mud in the gutter with their bare toes. It is not the tenementchildren of New York who are to be pitied; it is those that are beingfitted to keep the places, in the unstable and frail crafts of theWhirlpool, that their parents are either striving to seize or strugglingto reserve for them. 

At the end of half an hour the boys came back to the porch, all threedelightfully and completely dirty, and clamouring that they were hungry. The English tyrant not appearing, I took them into the house and, after awashing of hands and faces, gave the boys the usual eleven o'clock lunchof milk and simple cookies to take out in the sun to eat. As they werethus engaged the tyrant appeared on the horizon, horror written in everyfeature, and a volley of correction evidently taking shape on her lips, while an ugly look of cowed defiance spread itself over the child's faceas he caught sight of her. 

There was no scene, however. Father said in the most offhand way, as ifbeing obeyed was a matter of course, "Go back and tell your mistress thatI am carrying out her request, and that after luncheon I will send theboy safely home, with a written message. "

"But his medicines, his hour's rest alone in the dark, his specialfood, --the medical man in New York said--" protested the woman, completely taken aback. 

"You heard my message?" said father, cheerfully, and that was all. 

"What are you going to advise?" I asked, as in the middle of theafternoon father came from his office, where he had given the lad athorough inspection. 

"Simply to turn him loose in light woollen clothes, give him companionsof his age, and let him alone. "

"Can't you word it differently?" I asked. 

"Why, is not that fairly direct?" he replied, looking surprised; "andsurely the direct method is almost always the best. "

"I think this is the one case where it is not, dear old Daddy. In fact, if you are destined, as I see that you are, to pick up and tie thethreads of ravelled health in the Bluff Colony, you will have to becomemore complicated, at least in speech, accustomed as they are to a seriesof specialists, and having importance attached to the very key in which asneeze is pitched. 

"Those few words would savour to the Whirlpoolers of lack of properrespect and consideration. You must give a name to both ailment and cureif you expect to be obeyed. Call the case a 'serious one of physicalsuppression, ' and the remedy the 'fresh earth cure, ' to be taken only inlight woollen clothes, tell them to report progress to you every otherday, and you gain the boy his liberty. "

Father laughed heartily, and his nose twitched in a curious way it haswhen he is secretly amused and convinced against his will; but I think hetook my advice, at least in part, for the next morning Papa Vanderveerdrove down in the brake, announcing in a shout that "De Peyster slept allnight without waking up and crying, for the first time in months, "adding, "And, Dr. Russell, if you've got anything further in this libertyline to suggest, even to getting rid of the Duchess, now's your time. 'The Duchess?' Ah, she is that confounded head nurse woman that Mariawill keep so that things may be done properly, until the poor kid'snearly been done for, I say. The Ponsonbys are crazy to get the woman tobreak in their youngest girl and keep her down and from growing up untilthey marry the others off; so Maria could part with her in the light of afavour to them, don't you see, without spilling blood. Peysey'll have tohave some sort of a chaser, though, or Maria'll not hear of it. "

Mr. Vanderveer glowed all over with delight when father condemned theautomobile as a nerve racker, and suggested that a young man of thecompanionable tutor order, who could either play games, fish, and drivewith the boy and his chums, or at times leave him wholly alone, accordingto need, would be a good substitute for a woman who viewed life as aschool of don'ts, and had either wholly outlived her youth, or else hadmost unpleasant recollections of it. 

"I've got my innings at last, " he said. "You're the first doctor I've hadwho hasn't sided with Maria and shut me out until pay day. "

"I wonder why spring is such a restless season, " I said half to myselfand half to father, as I sat on the porch half an hour later, trying tofocus my mind on writing to Lavinia Dorman, while father, lounging on thesteps opposite, was busy reading his mail. 

"One would think we might be content merely to throw off winter and lookand enjoy, but no, every one is restless, --birds, fourfoots, and humans. Lavinia Dorman writes that Sylvia Latham has just started for Californiato see her brother, and she expects to bring her father back with her. The boys disappeared mysteriously in the direction of Martha Corkle'simmediately after breakfast, Evan went reluctantly to the train, declaring that it seemed impossible to sit still long enough to reach thecity, you are twisting about and shuffling your feet, looking far oftenerat the river woods than at your letters, and as for myself, it seems asif I must go over yonder and seize Bertel's spade and show him how to digthose seed beds more rapidly, so that I can begin to plant and kneel downand get close to the ground. Yesterday when the boys came in with veryearthy faces, and I questioned them, I found that they had stuck theirprecious noses in their mud pies, essaying to play mole and burrowliterally. "

"It is the same mystery as the sweating of the corn, " replied father, gathering his letters in a heap and tossing them into a chair with agesture of impatience; "none of us may escape, even though we do notunderstand it. 

"It was years ago that I first heard the legend from an old farmer of thecorn belt, who, longing for a sight of salt water, had drifted eastwardinto one of the little hill farms beyond the charcoal camp. He had beenbedridden nearly all winter, but uncomplainingly, his wife anddaughter-in-law caring for him, and it was not until the early part ofMay, when all the world was growing green, that he began to mend and atthe same time groan at his confinement. 

"I tried to cheer him up, telling him that the worst was over, and thathe soon would be about again, and he replied: ''Tain't me that's doin' ofit, Doctor, hit's the sweatin' of the corn. You know everywhere in Mayfolks be plantin' corn, the time bein' the sign that frost is over anddone with. ' I nodded assent, and he continued: 'Now naterally there'slots of corn in ear and shelled and ground to meal that isn't planted, and along as when the kernels in the ground begins to swell and sprout, this other corn knows it and begins to heave and sweat, and if it isn'thandled careful-like, and taken in the air and cooled, it'll take on allsorts of moulds and musts, and like as not turn useless. I holds it'sjust the same with folks, --when springtime comes they fetch up restlessand need the air and turning out to sweeten in the sun until they settledown again, else their naturs turn sour, pisen'us, and unwholesome, breedin' worms like sweated corn!'

"Since then I've heard it here and there in other words, but always thesame motive, the old miller holding it all fact and no legend at all, saying that if he can keep his surplus corn from sweating and well airedthrough May and June, he never fears for it in the damper, more potentAugust heat. One thing is certain, that in my practice in countryside, village, and town, if strange doings break out and restlessdiscontentment arises, it is never in winter, when I should expectpartial torpidity to breed unrest, but in the pushing season of renewal, and, as the old man terms it, 'corn sweating. '"

 * * * * *

A little later I was going toward the garden when father called after meto say that he was soon starting for a long trip, quite up to Pine Ridge, and that if I cared to go, taking a lunch for both, it might give me achance to "turn and sweeten" in the sun and cure my restlessness withnatural motion. 

Go? Of course my heart leaped at the very thought, because, in spite ofthe boys, those long drives with father have grown more precious as theygrow more rare. But where were the twins? They had disappeared under myvery eyes; of a surety they must be at Martha's, but my conscience smoteme when, on glancing at the clock, I saw that it was two hours since theyleft the breakfast table in their brand-new sailor suits, with theintention of showing them to her. 

No, they were not at Martha's, and she came hurrying back with me, a veryclucking hen of alarm. Timothy Saunders, who had by that time broughtround the horses in the stanhope, ventured the opinion that they might bebelow, paddling in the duck pond, as all the village children gatheredthere at the first warm weather, "jest fer all the world like gnats thesun's drawd oot. "

They were not there! Father had disappeared to make some preparationsfor the drive, and so I asked Timothy to drive with me along thehighway toward the village. I did not feel exactly worried, but thenone never knows. 

We had gone half a mile perhaps, vainly questioning every one, when Ispied two small figures coming across a field from the east, where theground fell lower and lower for a mile or so until it reached salt water. 

"There be the lads!" shouted Timothy Saunders, as if I had been ahundred yards away, and deaf at that; but the noise meant joy, so it waswelcome. "My, but they're fagged and tattered well to boot!" And so theywere; but they struggled along, hand in hand, waving cheerfully whenthey caught sight of me, and finally crept through the pasture bars bywhich I was waiting, and enveloped me with faint, weary hugs. Then Inoticed that they wore no hats, their fresh suits were grimy with a graydust like cement, the knees of their stockings and underwear were worncompletely through to red, scratched skin, and the tips entirely scrapedfrom their shoes. 

I gathered them into the gig, and sought the explanation as we drovehomeward, Timothy hurried by the vision of tearful Martha, whom he hadseen with the tail of his eye dodge into the kitchen, her apron over herhead, as he turned out the gate. 

"We've been playing we was moles, " said Ian, in answer to the firstquestion as to where they had been. "Yesterday we tried to do it wifour own noses, but we couldn't, 'cause it hurt, and we wanted to goever so far. "

"So we went down to where those big round stone pipes are in the longhole, " said Richard, picking up the story as Ian paused. (Workmen hadbeen laying large cement sewer pipes from the foot of the Bluffs, a thirdof a mile toward the marshes, but were not working that day, owing tolack of material. ) "They made nice mole holes, so I crawled right in, andfor a little it was bully fun. "

"Oh Richard, Richard, what made you?" I cried, holding him so tight thathe squirmed away. "Suppose the other end had been closed, and you hadsmothered in there, and mother had never found you?" for the ghastlypossibility made my knees quake. 

"Oh no, mother, " he pleaded, taking my face between his grimy hands andlooking straight in my eyes, "it wasn't a dark hole. I could see it lightout 'way at the other end, and it didn't look so vely far as it was tocrawl it. And after a little I'd have liked to back out, only--only, well, you see, I couldn't. "

"Why not?" I asked, and, as he did not answer, I again saw a vision oftwo little forms wedged in the pipes. 

"That _why_ was 'cause _I_ was in behind, and I _wouldn't_ back, and soDick couldn't, " said Ian. "You see, Barbara, I really, truly had to be amole and get very far away, not to stay, only just for fun, you know, " headded, as he saw signs of tears in his brother's eyes, and began to feelthe smarting in his own bruised knees. 

One blessed thing about Ian, even though he is sometimes passionate andstubborn, and will probably have lots of trouble with himself by and by, there isn't a drop of sneaky cur blood in him, which is the only traitthat need make a mother tremble. 

What should I do, punish, or act as I longed to, coddle the boys andcomfort the poor knees? True, I had not forbidden them to crawl throughthe sewer pipes, because the idea of their doing it had never occurred tome, so they could not be said to have exactly disobeyed; but, on theother hand, there was an unwritten law that they must not go off theplace without my permission, and the torn stockings furnished a hint. 

"Mother is going away for all day with grandfather, " I said slowly, as Iexamined their knees. "Even though I never told you not to do it, if youhad stopped to think, you would have known it was wrong to crawl throughthe pipes. "

"But, Barbara, " argued Ian, as we reached the porch, "it wasn't us thatcrawled, it was moles, and they just digs right ahead and turns up theground and flowers and everything, and never thinks things, do they, grandpop?"

"Martha will take you in, " I said, steadying my voice with difficulty, "and bathe your knees and let you rest a while before she dresses youagain. Martha, please put away those stockings for me to mend when Ireturn; I cannot ask Effie to darn such holes for two little moles; sheis only engaged to sew for boys. "

"But, mother, you don't like to sew stockings; it makes you tight in yourchest. I heard you tell father so, " objected Richard, while Ian's facequivered and reddened, and he pounded his fists together, saying tohimself, "Barbara shall _not_ sit in the house and mend moles'stockings. I won't let her, " showing that they were both touched in atender spot. 

Father only laughed when they went in, and said: "I'm glad you didn't doanything more than that to the little chaps, daughter; it's only a bit ofboy life and impulse working in them, after all; their natural way ofcooling the 'sweating of the corn. '" Then we drove away through the lanesdraped with birch tassels and willow wands, while bloodroot andmarshmarigold kept pace in the runnels, and I heard the twitter of thefirst barn-swallow of the year. 

As we drove along we talked or were silent without apology and accordingto mood; and as father outlined his route to me, I resolved that I wouldcall upon Horace Bradford's mother, for our way lay in that direction. 

Many things filled father's mind aside from the beauty of the perfectApril day, that held even the proper suggestion of hidden showers behindthe curtain of hazy sunshine. The sweating of the human corn that cameunder father's eye was not always to be cured by air and sun, or rather, those who turned uneasily would not accept the cure. 

The germ of unrest is busy in the village this spring. Not that it iswholly new, for unrest is wherever people congregate. But this year thekey is altered somewhat. The sight of careless ease, life withoutlabour, and a constant change of pleasures, that obtain in the BluffColony, is working harm. True, the people can always read of this life inbook and paper, but to come in direct contact is another thing. Fathersaid the other day that he wished that conservative country places thathad lived respected and respectable lives for years could have the powerto socially quarantine all newcomers before they were allowed to purchaseland and set a pace that lured the young cityward at any cost. I, too, realize that the striving in certain quarters is no longer for home andlove and happy times, but for something new, even if it is merely for thesake of change, and that this infection of social unrest is quicklyspreading downward from the Bluffs, touching the surface of our littlecommunity, if not yet troubling its depths. 

The leading merchant's daughter, Cora Blackburn, fresh from a collegecourse that was a strain upon the family means, finds that she has builta wall four years wide between herself and her family; henceforth lifehere is a vacuum, --she is misunderstood, and is advertising for anopportunity to go to New York and the independence of a dreary back thirdor fourth story hall bedroom. But, as she said the other day, putting onwhat Evan calls her "capability-for-better-things" air, "One's scope isso limited here, and one never can tell whom one may meet in New York, "which is, of course, perfectly true. 

It was only last night that father returned from the hospital, distressedand perplexed, and called me into the office. A young woman oftwenty-two, that I know very well, of a plain middle-class family over intown, had, it seems, sent her name for admission to the training-schoolfor nurses. Father, in his friendly way, stopped at the house on his wayhome to talk with her about the matter, and found from a little sister, who was washing dishes, that the mother of the family was ill and beingcared for by a neighbour. Presently, down tripped the candidate fornursing, well dressed, well shod, and with pink, polished finger nails. 

Father, wondering why she did not care for her mother, asked his usualquestions: "What leads you to wish to take up nursing? Are you interestedin medicine, and fond of caring for the sick? For you should be, to entersuch an exacting life. " She seemed to misunderstand him altogether andtake his inquiry for prying. She coloured, bit her lip, then lost herhead and blurted out: "Interested in the sick! Of course not. Who couldbe, for they are always so aggravating. I don't mean to stay so very longat it, but it's a good chance to go into some swell family, and maybemarry and get into society. "

[Illustration: His Mother]

Poor father was fairly in a rage at the girl's idea of what he deems asacred calling, and it was not until Richard had kissed him from the endof his nose up over his short thick gray hair, and down again to thetickle place in his neck, that he calmed down. Unless my instinct failsme, he will have his social experience considerably widened during thecoming season, even if his trustful nature is not strengthened. 

Father had made three calls, and we had eaten our luncheon by thewayside, unhooking the horses, and baiting them by a low bridge rail thatsloped into the bushes, where they could eat and drink at leisure, beforewe reached Pine Ridge. Once there, he dropped me at the Bradford farm, while he drove westward, along the Ridge, to a consultation with thelocal doctor over a complicated broken leg that would not knit. 

As I closed the neat white picket gate behind me, and walked slowlytoward the porch, a blaze of yellow on the south side of the red brickhouse drew my attention. It was the Forsythia, the great bush of "yellowbells, " of which Horace Bradford had spoken as blooming in advance of anyin the neighbourhood, and for a moment I felt as if I were walking intothe pages of a story-book. 

I wielded the heavy brass knocker on the half-door, with diamond-panedglass top, and paused to look off to where the flower and fruit gardensloped south and west. Presently, as no one answered the knock, I peeredthrough the glass, into an open square, that was evidently both hall andsitting room. In one corner was a chimney place, in which a log burnedlazily, opposite a broad, low window, its shelves filled with flowerpots, near which, in a harp-backed chair, an old lady sat sewing. Shewore a simple black gown, with a small shawl thrown across her shoulders, and her hair, clear steel colour and white, was held in a loose knot byan old-fashioned shell comb. In spite of the droop and lines of age (forHorace Bradford's mother must have been quite seventy), the nose had afine, strong Roman curve, and the brow a thoughtful width. 

What was she thinking of as she sat there alone, this bright Aprilafternoon, shaping a garment, with a smile hovering about her lips? Herson's promotion and bright prospects, perhaps. 

I looked across at the old mahogany chest of drawers behind her, to seeif I could recognize any of the framed photographs that stood there. One, evidently copied from a daguerrotype, was of a curly-haired girl, about fourteen, probably the daughter who died years ago, and another, close at her elbow, was of a lanky boy of eight or ten, wearing a broadstraw hat, and grasping a fishing pole, probably Horace, as a child, butthere was nowhere to be seen the photograph of him in cap, gown, and hoodthat stood on Miss Lavinia's chimney shelf. 

Then as Mrs. Bradford folded her hands over her work, and gazed throughthe plants and window, at some far-away thought, I felt like a detective, spying upon her, and hastily knocked again. 

This time she heard at once, and coming quickly to the door, admittedme, with a cordial smile and a hearty grasp of the hand that remindedme of her son, and was totally unlike the clammy and noncommittal touchof so many of the country folk, bred evidently of their general habitof caution. 

"You are Mrs. Evan, the Doctor's daughter. I know your father well, though I have never met you face to face since you were a little girl. "

Then the conversation drifted easily along to Miss Lavinia, and mymeeting with Horace, his professorship, the prospect of his being at homeall summer, and to the different changes in the community, especiallythat wrought by the colony at the Bluffs, which were really the halfwaymark between Oaklands and Pine Ridge. 

Mrs. Bradford saw the purely commercial and cheerful side of the matter;as yet, few of the new places were well equipped with gardens, --it hadopened a good market for the farmers on the Ridge, and they were nolonger obliged to take their eggs, fruit, poultry, and butter into town. 

In spite of a certain reticence, she was eager to know the names of allthe newcomers; but when I mentioned Mrs. Latham, saying that she was themother of Sylvia, one of her son's pupils, and described the beauty oftheir place, I thought that she gave a little start, and that I heard herspeak the initials S. L. Under her breath; but when I looked up, I coulddetect nothing but a slight quiver of the eyelids. 

Then we went out into the garden, arm in arm, for Mrs. Bradford's footingseemed insecure upon the cobbled walk, and she turned to me at once asnaturally as if I were a neighbour's daughter. Together we grewenthusiastic over the tufts of white violets, early hyacinths, andnarcissi, or equally so over the mere buds of things. For it is therotary promise that is the inspiration of a garden; it is this thatlures us on from year to year, and softens the sharp punctuation ofbirthdays. 

Was there anything in her garden that I had not? She would be so pleasedto exchange plants with me, and had I any of the new cactus Dahlias, andso on, until we reached the walk's end, and turned about under a veterancherry tree that showered us with its almond-scented petals. 

Then Mrs. Bradford relaxed completely, and pulling down a branch, buriedher face in the blossoms, drawing long breaths. 

"I've kept away from the garden all day, " she said, "because I had somesewing to finish, so those unfortunate Hornblower children might beginthe spring term at school to-morrow; and when I once smell the cherryflowers, my very bones ache to be out doors, and I'm not good for a thingbut to potter about the garden from now on, until the strawberries showred, and everything settles down for summer. It's always been the same, since I was a little girl, and used to watch the cherry blooms up throughthe top sash of the schoolhouse windows, when they had screened the lowerpart to keep us from idling, and it's lasted all through my married life. The Squire and I always went on a May picnic by ourselves, until theyear he died, though the neighbours all reckoned us feeble-minded. "

The "Sweating of the Corn, " I almost said aloud. 

"I've reasoned with myself every spring all through the between years, until now I've made up my mind it's something that's meant to be, and I'mgoing to give in to it. Sit down here under the trees, my dear, andEsther Nichols will bring us some tea and fresh cider cake. Yes, I seethat you look surprised to have afternoon tea offered on Pine Ridge, butI got the habit from the English grandmother that reared me, and I'vealways counted it a better hospitality than the customary home-madecordials and syrups that, between ourselves, make one stomach-sick. Yes, there comes Esther now; she always knows my wants. She and her husbandare distant cousins of the Bradfords, and my helpers indoors and out, forI am too old to manage farm hands, especially now that they are mostlySlavs, and it makes Horace feel happier to have kinsfolk here than if Itrusted to transient service. "

So we sipped the well-made breakfast tea beneath the cherry blossoms as Itold her about my boys and Miss Lavinia's expected visit. When fathercalled for me I left reluctantly, feeling as if nobody need be without afamily, when one becomes necessary, for in addition to an aunt in LaviniaDorman I had found a sort of spirit grandmother there in the remote andpeaceful highlands, --a woman at once simple and restful, yet withalhaving no narrowness or crudity to cramp or jar. 

It was nearly five o'clock when we turned into the highway west of theBluffs. We had gone but a few rods when a great clanking of chains andjar of wheels sounded behind. As I stretched out to see what was coming, a horn sounded merrily. 

"A coaching party, " said father. "I will turn out of the road, for thereis a treacherous pitch on the other side, and for me to let them toppleinto the ditch might be profitable, but hardly professional. "

We had barely turned into low bushes when the stage came alongside. Thehorses dropped back to a walk, as they passed, for it was a decided upgrade for thirty yards, so that we had a good chance to view bothequipage and occupants. To my surprise I saw that the coach was theJenks-Smith's. I did not know they had returned from the trip abroadwhere they had been making their annual visit to repair the finances oftheir son-in-law. 

Monty Bell was driving, with Mrs. Jenks-Smith at his side. The robustLady of the Bluffs, evidently having some difficulty in keeping herbalance, was clutching the side bar desperately. She was dressed inbright-figured hues from top to toe, her filmy hat had lurched over oneeye, and all together she looked like a Chinese lantern, or a ballooninflated for its rise but entangled in its moorings. 

Jenks-Smith sat behind, with Mrs. Latham and a very pretty young girl asseatmates, while behind them came a giggling bevy of young people and thegrooms, --Sylvia being of course absent. 

Mrs. Latham was clad in pale violet embroidered with iris in deepertones, her wide hat was irreproachably poised, her veil drapedgracefully, her white parasol, also embroidered with iris, held at asbecoming an angle, and her corsage violets as fresh as if she was butstarting out, while in fact the party must have driven up from New Yorksince morning. 

They did not even glance at the gray horses which had been drawn aside togive them right of way, much less acknowledge the courtesy, but clankedby in a cloud of misty April dust. 

"What a contrast between his mother and hers, " I said unconsciously, half aloud. 

"Which? Whose? I did not quite catch the connection of that remark, "said father, turning toward me with his quizzical expression, for astanding joke of both father and Evan was to thus trip me up when Iuttered fragmentary sentences, as was frequently the case, taking it forgranted, they said, that they either dreamed the connection or couldread my thoughts. 

"I meant what a great contrast there is between Mrs. Bradford and Mrs. Latham, " I explained, at once realizing that there was really no sense inthe comparison outside of my own irrepressibly romantic imagination, evenbefore father said:--

"And why, pray, should they not be different? Under the circumstancesit would be very strange if they were not. And where does the _his_ and_her_ come in? Barbara, child, I think you are 'dreaming pussywillows, ' as you used to say you did in springtime, when you were avery little girl. "

 * * * * *

The boys were having their supper in the hall when I arrived home, for, warm as the days are, it grows cool toward night until we are pastmiddle May. 

The scraped knees were still knobby with bandages, but the lads were ingood spirits, and seemed to have some secret with Martha that involved adeal of whispering and some chuckling. After the traces of bread andbutter were all wiped away, they came hobbling up (for the poor kneeswere sadly stiff and lame), and wedged themselves, one on each side ofme, in the window seat of the den, where I was watching for the smoke ofEvan's train, my signal for going down the road. Ah, how I always missthe sight of the curling smoke and the little confidential walk in thedark winter days!

There was some mystery afoot, I could see, for Martha hovered about thefireplace, asking if a few sticks wouldn't temper the night air, to whichI readily assented, yet still she did not go, and the boys kept the handsclose against their blouse fronts. 

Suddenly Ian threw his arms about my neck and bent my head close to his, saying, in his abrupt voice of command, "Barbara must not stay indoorstomorrow and be sad and mend the moles' stockings. "

"Yes, Barbara must, " I answered firmly, feeling, yet much dreading, thenecessity of the coming collision. 

"No, she can't, " said Ian, trying to look stern, but breaking into littletwinkling smiles at the mouth corners. "She can't, because the moles'stockings haven't any more got holes!" and he pulled something from hisblouse and spread it in my lap, Richard doing likewise. 

There were two stockings mended, fearfully and wonderfully, to be sure, and quite unwearable, but still legally mended. 

"I don't understand, " I said, while the boys, seeing my puzzledexpression, clapped their hands and hopped painfully about as well asthey were able. 

Then Martha Corkle emerged from the background and explained: "The boysthey felt most terrible in their minds, Mrs. Evan, soon after you'd went(their sore knees, I think, also keepin' them in sight of their doings), and they begged me, Mrs. Evan, wouldn't I mend the stockings, which Iwould most cheerfully, only takin' the same as not to be your idea, mum. So I says, says I, somebody havin' to be punished, your ma's goin' to doit to take the punishment herself, that is, in lest you do it your ownselves instead. So, says I, I'll mend one stocking of each if you do theother, Mrs. Evan, and no disrespect intended. 

"I borried Effie's embroidery rings and set the two holes for them andrun them in one way, leavin' them the fillin' to do, which they have, sittin' the whole afternoon at it most perseverin'. "

"Richard did his one stitch, but I did mine four stitch; it ate up thehole quicker, and it's more different, " quoth Ian, waving his stocking, into the knee of which he had managed to introduce a sort ofkindergarten weaving pattern. 

"But mine looks more like Martha's, doesn't it, mother?" pleaded patientRichard, who, though the threads were drawn and gathered, had kept to theregular one up and one down throughout. 

Then the signal of the smoke arose against the opal of the twilight sky, and we went out hand in hand, all three happy, to meet our breadwinner. 

Late that night, when all the household slept, I added a little packageto my treasures in the attic desk, --two long stockings with queer darnedknees, --and upon the paper band that bound them is written a date and"The Sweating of the Corn. "

IX

A WAYSIDE COMEDY

_May 5th_. Madame Etiquette has entered this peaceful village. Not, however, as the court lady of the old French regime, but travelling inthe wake of the Whirlpoolers under dubious aliases, being sometimescalled Good Form and at other The Correct Thing. At present she is havinga hand-to-hand encounter with New England Prejudice, a once stalwart oldlady of firm will, but now considerably weakened by age and the incessantarguing of her great-grandchildren. 

The result of the conflict is quite uncertain, for actually even theSunday question hangs in the balance; while the spectacle is most amusingto the outsider and embarrassing to the referees. 

Father, seeing through medical eyes, regards the matter merely in thelight of a mild epidemic. Evan is rather sarcastic; he much preferredgarden quiet and smoking his evening pipe to the tune of soothingconversation concerning the rural days' doings, to the reflex anxiety ofsettling social problems. In these, lo and behold, I find myselfunwillingly involved, for one New England habit has not beenabandoned--that of consulting the wife of minister and doctor, even ifholes are afterward picked in the result, and in this case a daughterstands in the wife's place. 

The beginning was two years back, when the Bluff colony began to be an, object of speculation, followed in turn by censure, envy, and finallyaspiration that has developed this spring into an outbreak of emulation. 

Ever since I can remember, social life has moved along quite smoothlyhereabout, the doings being regulated by the age and purses of theparticipants. The householders who went to the city for a few wintermonths were a little more precise in their entertaining than the born andbred country folk. As they commonly dined at night, they asked people todinner rather than to supper, which is the country meal of state. Butlawn parties, picnics, and clambakes at the shore were pretty much on thesame scale, those who could afford it having music and employing acaterer, while those who could not made no secret of the cause, and feltneither jealous nor humiliated. A wagon load of neighbourly young peoplemight go on a day's excursion uncriticised, without thought of dragging amother or aunt in their wake as chaperon. In fact, though no one is moreparticular than father in matters of real propriety, I cannot rememberbeing formally chaperoned in my life or of suffering a shadow ofannoyance for the lack. 

Weddings were always home affairs among the strictly country folk, bycommon consent and custom, no matter to what denomination the peoplebelonged. Those with contracted houses went quietly to parsonage orrectory with a few near friends; others were married at the bride's home, the ceremony followed by more or less merrymaking. A church wedding wasregarded as so great a strain upon the families that the young people hadno right to ask it, even if they so desired. 

That has passed, at least for the time being, and all eyes are fixed uponthe movements of the Bluff people, and many feet are stumbling along intheir supposed footsteps. It would be really funny if it were not halfpitiful. The dear simple folk are so terribly in earnest that they do notsee that they are losing their own individuality and gaining nothing toreplace it. 

The Whirlpoolers, though only here for the between seasons, areconstantly entertaining among themselves, and hardly a day passes but acoaching party drives up from town with week-end golfers for whom a danceis given, or stops _en route_ to the Berkshires or some farther point. Afew outsiders are sometimes asked to the more general of thesefestivities, friends of city friends who have places hereabout, theclergy and their wives, and, alas, the Doctor's daughter; butsociety-colonies do not intend associating with the-natives except purelyfor their own convenience, and when they do, pay no heed to the code theyenforce among themselves. 

It is not harsh judgment in me, I feel sure, when I say that Evan wouldnot be asked so often to the Bluffs to dinner if he were not a well-knownlandscape architect whose advice has a commercial value. They alwaysmanage to obtain enough of it in the guise of after-dinner conversationand the discussion of garden plans to make him more than earn his fare. For the Whirlpoolers are very thrifty, the richer the more so, especiallythose of Dutch trading blood, and they are not above stopping father onthe road, engaging in easy converse, praising the boys, and then askinghis opinion about a supposititious case, rather than send for him in theregular way and pay his modest fee. 

In fact, Mrs. Ponsonby asked me to a luncheon last autumn, and itquickly transpired afterward, that she had an open trap for sale suitablefor one horse; she knew that Evan was looking for such a vehicle for me, and suggested that I might like this one. 

A bulky and curious correspondence grew up around the transaction, andthe letters are now lying in my desk marked "Mrs. Ponsonby, and the roadcart. " Finally I took the vehicle out on a trial trip. I noticed that ithad a peculiar gait, and stopping at the blacksmith's, called him toexamine the running gear. He gave one look and burst into a guffaw: "Landalive, Mrs. Evan, that's Missis Ponsonby's cart, that stood so long inthe city stable, with the wheels on, that they're off the circle and nogood. I told her she'd have to get new ones; but her coachman allowedshe'd sell it to some Jay. You ain't bought it, hev yer?"

Good-natured Mrs. Jenks-Smith, the pioneer of the Bluffs, was thefirst one to throw open her grounds, when completed, for an afternoonand evening reception, with all the accompaniments of music, electriclit fountains, and unlimited refreshments. Everybody went, andsatisfaction reigned for the time; but when another season it wasfound that she had no intention of returning calls, greatdisappointment was felt. Others in turn exhibited their grounds forthe benefit of the different churches, while the Ponsonbys gave a lawnparty for the orphan asylum, and considering that they had done theirduty, straightway forgot the village. 

The village did not forget; it had observed and has begun to put inpractice. The first symptom was noticed by Evan. Last summer severalfamily horses of respectable mien and Roman noses appeared with theirtails banged. Not docked, mind you, but squared-off as closely as mightbe without resorting to cruelty; while their venerable heads, accustomed to turn freely and look their drivers in the facereproachfully if kept standing too long, were held in place by overdrawchecks. At the same time the driver's seat in the buggy or runabout wasraised from beneath so as to tilt the occupant forward into an almoststanding posture. This worked well enough in an open wagon, but in abuggy the view was apt to be cut off by the hood, if the driving lady(it was always a woman) was tall. 

The second sign was when Mrs. Barton--a widow of some sixty odd years, with some pretensions to breeding, but who had been virtually driven fromseveral villages where she had located since her widowhood, owing toinaccuracy of speech, beside which the words of the Village Liar and theEmporium were quite harmless--contracted inflammatory rheumatism bychaperoning her daughters' shore party and first wetting her lower halfin clamming and then the upper _via_ a thunder shower. The five "Bartongirls" range from twenty-five to forty, and are so mentally andphysically unattractive and maladroit that it would be impossible toregard them as in any danger if they went unattended to the uttermostparts of the earth. On this particular occasion the party consisted oftwo dozen people, ranging from twenty to fifty, which it would seemafforded ample protection. 

To be chaperoned was the swell thing, however, and chaperoned the "Bartongirls" would be. 

"I cannot compete with multi-millionnaires, " said Mrs. Barton, loweringher voice, when father, on being called in, asked if she had not beenrather rash at her age to go wading in cold water for clams; "but as awoman of the world I must do all that I can to follow the customs of goodsociety, and give my daughters protection from even a breath that mightaffect their reputations. "

The drawling tone was such a good imitation of Mrs. Ponsonby's thatfather could barely control his laughter, especially as she continued: "Ialso feel that I owe it to the neighbourhood to do all in my power toput a stop to buggy riding, the vulgar recreation of the unmarried. Ofcourse all cannot afford suitable traps and grooms to attend them, butgood form should be maintained at all hazards, and mothers should notbegrudge taking trouble. "

Father said that the vision of shy young folks driving miserably alongthe country lanes on Sunday afternoons in the family carryall, with mammaseated in the middle of the back seat, rose so ludicrously before himthat he was obliged to beat a retreat, promising to send a special remedyfor the rheumatism by Timothy Saunders. 

All winter I have noticed that great local interest has been taken in thefashion journals that treat of house decoration and etiquette, and on oneoccasion, when making a call at one of our most comfortable farms, Ifound the worthy Deacon's wife poring over an ornamental volume, entitled"Hints to those about to enter Society. "

After she had welcomed me and asked me to "lay off" my things, shehesitated a moment, and then, opening the book where her fat finger waskeeping the place, she laid it on my lap, saying in a whisper: "Would youtell me if that is true, Mrs. Evan? Lurella says you hobnob some with theBluff folks, and I wanted to make sure before we break it to pa. "

The sentence to which she pointed read, "No gentleman will ever cometo the table without a collar, or be seen on porch or street in hisshirt sleeves. " Here, indeed, was a difficulty and a difference. Howshould I explain?

I compromised feebly and advised her not to worry the Deacon about whatthe Bluff people did or the book said, for it need not apply to the CrossRoads farmers. 

"I'm reel glad you don't hold it necessary fer pa, " she said with a sighof relief; "he'd take it so hard, eatin' gettin' him all het up anyhow. Now between ourselves, Mrs. Evan, don't you think writ out manners isterrible confusin' and contradictin'? I wouldn't hev Lurella hear me sayso, she's so set on keepin' up with things, but she's over to town thisafternoon. 

"I've been readin' for myself some, and observin' too. The Bluff folksthat plays grass hockey, all over what was Bijah Woods's farm, men andgirls both, has their sleeves pushed up as if they were going at a day'swash, and their collars open and hanging to the hind button, which to mymind looks shiftlesser than doin' without. I do hear also that those samegirls when they git in to dinner takes off their waists altogether andsets down to eat all stripped off to a scrap of an underbody. That'strue, for pa saw it when he was takin' cream over to Ponsonby's; thewindows was open on the piazza, and he couldn't refrain from peekin', though I hope you'll not repeat. Of course they may feel dreadful sweatyafter chasin' round in the sun all day, though I wouldn't hold suchsudden coolin' wholesome; but why if women so doin' should they insist onmen folks wearin' collars, say I?"

I told the dear soul that I had never quite been able to understand the_reason why_ of many of these things, and that my ways were also quitedifferent from those of the Bluff people; for though father and Evan hadbeen brought up to wear collars, I had never yet stripped to my underbodyat dinner time. 

Thus emboldened, she beckoned me mysteriously toward the best parlour, saying as she went, "Lurella seen the picture of a Turkey room in thepattern book, and as she's goin' to have a social this spring, she'sfixed a corner of it into our north room. "

When the light was let in I beheld a "cosey corner" composed of a veryhard divan covered with a broché shawl, and piled high with pillows ofvarious hues, while a bamboo fishing-pole fastened crosswise between thetop of the window frames held a sort of beaded string drapery that hungto the floor in front, and was gathered to the ceiling, in the corner, with a red rosette. On close examination I found, to my surprise, thatthe trailers were made of strings of "Job's Tears, " the seed of a sort ofornamental maize, the thought of the labour that the thing had involvedfairly making my eyes ache. 

"That is a very pretty shawl, " I remarked, as no other truthful word ofcommendation seemed possible. 

"Yes, it is handsome, and I miss it dreadful. You see, it belonged topa's mother, and I calkerlated to wear it a lifetime for winter best, butthe fashion papers do say shawls are out of it, and this is the only usefor them, which Lurella holds. I can't ever take the same comfert in abindin' sack, noway; and pa, he's that riled about the shawl bein' usedto set on, I daren't leave the door open. Says the whole thing's a 'pokehole, ' and the curt'in recollects him of 'strings of spinnin'caterpillars, ' and 'no beau that's worth his shoes won't ever get caughtin no such trap, ' which is most tryin' to Lurella, so I hev to actpleased, and smooth things over best I can. "

Well-a-day, it is always easier to answer the riddles that puzzle others, rather than those that confront ourselves. 

Fully a year ago Mrs. Jenks-Smith gave me a well-meaning hint that it isnot "good form" for me to allow father or Evan to smoke while we driveor walk in public together. The very next night we three happened to bedining, why I don't know, at the most socially advanced house on theBluffs. When the moment came for the midway pause in the rotation offoods, that we might tamp down and make secure what we had already eatenby the aid of Roman punch, the gentlemen very nearly discounted theeffort, as far as I was concerned at least, by smoking cigarettes, leaning easily back in their chairs, and with no more than a vague "byyour leave, " to the ladies. What was more, there was a peculiarlysickening sweet odour to the smoke that father afterward told me wasbecause the tobacco was tinctured with opium. Yet it is "bad form" forEvan and father to smoke in my society, out in the road or street underthe big generous roof of the sky. Dear little boys, I wonder what thecustom will be when you are grown, and read your mother's socialexperience book?

 * * * * *

The present crisis to be faced is in the form of a wedding, --anapple-blossom wedding, to take place in St. Peter's Church. I havebeen made a confident in the matter from the very beginning of thewayside comedy which led to it; but I wish it understood that I amnot responsible for the list of invited guests, or the details ofthe ceremony, which have been laboriously compiled from manysources, any more than I shall be for the heartburnings that aresure to follow in its wake. 

 * * * * *

One morning early last summer Fannie Penney was driving home from town, with a rather lopsided load of groceries on the back of the buckboard. Fanny did not enjoy these weekly trips for groceries, but she did notrebel, as her sisters did; and though she had aspirations, they had notdeveloped as quickly in her as in the others, for she was consideredalready an old maid (a state that in the country, strangely enough, setsin long before it does in the city, often beginning quite at noonday) atthe time the Bluff colony began to attract attention. 

The Penney family live in a plain but substantial house on the main road, a little way north of the village, where Mr. Penney combines farming, ablacksmith's shop, and a small line of groceries, for the benefit of hisfamily. Up to the present time this family has jogged along at a fairlycomfortable pace, only one daughter, the youngest, Mollie, having so farescaped from the traditional female employments of the region as to spenda season in New York, supplementing the grammar school education by acourse in elocution, with Delsarte accompaniments. When she returned shegave her old friends to understand that she was thoroughly misunderstoodby her family; also, that she was now to be called Marie and preferablyMiss, hinted that she was soon going on a professional tour, andcondescendingly agreed to give a free recital at a Sunday-schoolentertainment. At this she startled the community by reciting thesleep-walking scene from Lady Macbeth, clad in a lace-trimmed Empirenightgown, red slippers with high heels, whitened face, wild hair, and, of course, the candlestick, with such terrible effect that the mothers ofthe infant class had difficulty in getting their progeny to stay in bedin the dark for some weeks to come. The pastor considered that, under thecircumstances, she gave the words "out damned spot" undue emphasis, whilethe "Watch-out Committee" of the S. C. E. Failed entirely to agree as towhat gave the nightgown a decided pink tint, opinions greatly varying. Some insisted that it was flesh, while the pastor's wife, knowing theflavour of persecution, firmly insisted that it was merely a pink cambricslip, as was most right and proper. But her charity was immediatelydiscounted by Mrs. Barton, who said that likely it was pink lining, forMarie's flesh was yellow, and not pink. 

However, this event was soon forgotten in the greater interest thatgathered about Fannie Penney's return ride from town. 

It seems that soon after Fannie left the town limits and was joggingalong the turnpike, the big roan horse of all work began to stumble, thengrew lame forward, and finally came to a standstill. 

Fannie got out, examined his feet, soon found that not only had he cast ashoe, but in doing so had managed to step on a nail and drive it into hisfrog. With the good judgment of a farrier's daughter, she promptlyunharnessed him. Looking about and seeing cows grazing in a neighbouringpasture, she led him slowly to the side of the road, let down the barsand turned him loose, where he immediately showed his appreciation of thesituation by lying down and nibbling at the grass within reach. 

So far so good, but when Fannie began to consider the possibility ofwalking home, with the chance of being picked up on the road by some one, and getting her father to come and remove the nail, the load of groceriesloomed up before her. Not only did they represent considerable moneyvalue, country reckoning, and there was no house within half a mileeither way, but some of the articles, such as lard, were in danger ofbeing ruined by the hot sun; so Fannie walked along the road, searchingthe dust for the lost shoe, seeing no way out of her dilemma unless someone should come by. 

She did not find the shoe, but soon a cloud of dust from the town sidetold of an approaching team, and she went to the shade of the onlynear-by tree and waited. 

A moment later, the team coming up proved to be a freshly paintedrunabout, drawn by a fine bay horse in trim harness, driven by theaverage stable boy; while beside him sat a smooth-faced, keen-eyed man, rather under middle age, dressed in a spotless light suit, tan shoes, lilac shirt, opalesque tie, finished above by a Panama hat pinched intomany dimples. 

He was evidently a man of quick action, for he saw the girl and horselesswagon at a glance, touched the reins, stopped the horse, and jumped outbefore Fannie could think, taking off his hat and saying:--

"Lady in distress, runaway horse, lucky not to have upset load--can I beof any use?" all in one breath. 

Fannie had never read Dickens, so that no comparison with the speech ofAlfred Jingle arose to make her distrustful, which was unnecessary, andthe bowing figure appeared to her the perfection of up-to-date manlyelegance. Could it--yes, it must be a guest on the way to the Bluffs. 

She blushingly explained the complication, feeling almost ashamed tomention her fears as to the melting lard, it seemed so insignificant insuch a presence; but he quickly reassured her by going to the wagon, pulling it energetically under the tree, and spreading the linen lap-robeover the goods, the effort causing streams of perspiration to alter thestately appearance of a three-inch high collar. Next he sprang over thefence into the field, found that the nail was too firmly wedged to bedrawn from the horse's hoof with either fingers or a wagon wrench, andreturned to the road again. 

"Now, may I ask where you live?" he said, dusting himself off withvigorous flips of a large Yale blue silk handkerchief. 

Fannie told him, and her name, also, and ventured to ask that, if he wasgoing through Oaklands, he would be good enough to tell her uncle, whokept the livery stable, to send out for her. 

"I guess we can better that, " he said, smiling genially. "I'm going toOaklands to meet my trunk and stop over a day. I'll leave the boy herewith your goods, drive you in, pick up your father, he returns with thishorse, brings tools, fixes up his own, boy takes rig back to town, yourfather drives goods home, see?"

Fannie saw that the arrangements were unanswerably suitable; also, thatto carry them out she must take a drive with the unknown, a drive ofnecessity to be sure, yet one that she could safely call romantic, especially as, when he turned to help her into the runabout, he picked upa horseshoe that lay in the bottom and gave it to her, saying, "It'syours; I found it half a mile back; I never pass a horseshoe, never cantell when it'll bring luck. "

Before they had gone very far her dream of his being a guest on his wayto the Bluffs was shattered by his saying: "I've got the advantage ofyou--know your name, you don't know mine. That's not fair. 'Aim to befair' 's my motto, even if I don't chance to hit it, " and he pulled out abulky wallet and held it toward her with one hand, that she might helpherself to one of the cards with which it was filled. 

Her hand touched his; she blushed so that her freckles were veiled forthe moment as she read, half aloud: "L. Middleton--with Frank Brothers. Dealers in first-class canned goods, " the New York address being in thecorner. The feeling of disappointment only lasted for a moment, for wasnot a travelling man, as the drummer is always called in country towns, a person of experience and knowledge of the world, as well as being notinfrequently shrouded in mystery? As she pondered on the card, wonderingif she dared put it in her pocket, he said in a matter-of-fact way, again extending the wallet: "Don't hesitate, take the deck, may comehandy, father like to keep goods in stock some time. That's my regular;carry a side line too, perfumes and an A1 hair restorer. Got all mysamples at Oaklands depot. You mind stopping there on the way? Want toget fresh collar. "

No, of course Fannie would not mind; this last request fixed hercompanion firmly in her esteem. Any other man of her acquaintance wouldhave removed his collar and proceeded without one, never giving thematter a thought; in fact, she had been momentarily expecting that thiswould happen. Now she would have the bliss of taking him home in all theperfection of his toilet as she first beheld him. 

From that moment she grew more conversational, and his utterance becameless jerky, until, when they finally drove up back of the long red brickrailway station at Oaklands, a little before noon, she had not only givenhim a synopsis of local history, but was, in her excitement, vainlytrying to recollect what day of the week it was, so that she might judgeof the dinner probabilities at home, also if it would be safe to ask himto stay. Fortunately remembering that she saw her father beheadingchickens the night before, which guaranteed a substantial meal, shedecided it was an absolute duty. 

As L. Middleton emerged from the baggage room in a fresh collar, evenhigher than the other, he threw an ornamental bottle of violet water intoFannie's lap to keep company with the horseshoe. Immediately Hope aroseat the combination, and Settled under the left folds of Fannie's pinkshirt waist; for Middleton seems a distinguished name to one who has beencalled Penney for twenty-eight years, and romance had never died in theheart under the pink waist for the reason that it was only at this momentbeing born. 

On arriving at home, Fate continued to prove kind. Mrs. Penney wasinspired to ask the guest to "stop to dinner, " without any hints orgesticulations being necessary, which might have marred the firstimpression. Not only did the chickens appear at the table, where nocanned food was present, but there was a deep cherry pie as well, whichwas eaten with peculiar relish by the commercial traveller, accustomed tothe awful fare of New England country hotels, where he was often obligedto use his own samples to fill gaps. He gazed about at the comfortablekitchen, and won Mamma Penney by praising the food and saying that he wasraised on a farm. Father Penney took a hasty bite in the buttery, andsoon disappeared to rescue his goods from the highway. He was alwaysconsidered something of a drawback to the matrimonial prospects of hisdaughters; for, as his nose indicated, he had a firm, not to saycombative, disposition, and frequently insisted upon having not only thelast but the first word upon every subject, so that Fannie regarded hisgoing in the light of a special providence. 

After dinner the three other Penney sisters all tried their best to beagreeable, Marie donning a clinging blue gown and walking up and down thepiazza watering plants at this unusual hour of the day for his particularbenefit, a performance which caused L. Middleton to ask, "Say, did youever do a vaudeville turn?" And Marie, not knowing whether to take theremark as a criticism or a compliment, preferred to take the latter viewand answer in languid tones, --

"No, but I have acted, and I've been seriously advised to go onthe stage. "

In the middle of the afternoon, the load of groceries having arrivedsafely, Fannie's "hero" took his leave, Papa Penney driving him to thevillage inn, where he was to unpack his samples. 

For a while L. Middleton was a standard topic of conversation among thegirls. They wondered for what L. Stood. Fannie guessed Louis, Mariespitefully suggested that it might be Lucifer, and that was why he didn'tspell it out. Then as he seemed about fading from the horizon, hereappeared suddenly one crisp October morning, just starting on hiseastern fall route, he said, and invited Fanny to go to the County Fair. 

Again a period of silence followed. The sisters remarked that mosttravelling men were swindlers, etc. , but Fannie persistently put violetwater on the handkerchief that she tucked under her pillow every night, until, as winter set in, the supply failed. 

Then an idea came to her, she took the horseshoe from where it had beenhanging over her door, covered its dinginess with two coats of goldpaint, cut the legend, "Sweet Violets, " together with the embossedflowers, from the label on the perfume bottle, and pasted them on thehorseshoe, which she further ornamented with an enormous ribbon bow, anddespatched it secretly to L. Middleton by express a few days beforeChristmas. 

At New Year's a box arrived for Fannie. It contained a gold pin in theshape of a horseshoe, in addition to a large, heart-shaped candy boxfilled with such chocolates that each was as a foretaste of celestialbliss to Fannie, who now thought she might fairly assume airs ofimportance. 

Half a dozen letters went rapidly back and forth, and then the proposalbounded along as unexpectedly as every other detail of the courtship. There was very little sentiment of expression about it, but he was inearnest and gave references as to his respectability, etc. , much as if hewere applying for a business position, and ended by asking her at whichend of his route she preferred to live, New York, or Portland, Maine, andif in New York, would she prefer Brooklyn or Harlem?

Fannie quickly decided upon Harlem, for, as Marie said, "There one onlyneed give the street name and number, while very few people yet realizethat Brooklyn really is in New York. "

This important matter settled, the Penney girls arose in their might uponthe wings of ambition. There should be a church wedding. 

Now the Penneys were, as all their forbears had been, Congregationalists;but that church had no middle aisle, besides, as there was no giving awayof the bride in the service, there was little chance for pomp andceremony. It was discovered that the groom's parents had beenEpiscopalians, and though he was liberal to the degree of indifferenceupon such matters, it was decided that to have the wedding in St. Peter'swould be a delicate compliment to him. 

All the spring the village dressmaker has been at work upon the gowns ofbride and of bridesmaids, of whom there are to be six, and now the cardsare out and the groom's name also, the L at the last moment having beenfound to stand for Liberty. If they had consulted the groom, he wouldhave decried all fuss, for Fannie's chief attraction was that he thoughther an unspoiled, simple-minded country girl. 

The hour was originally set for the morning, but as Fannie saw in herfashion paper that freckled people often developed a peculiarly charmingcomplexion when seen by lamplight, the time was changed to eight atnight, in spite of the complications it caused. 

A week before the invitations were issued Fannie came to see me and aftersome preamble said: "Mrs. Evan, I want my wedding to be good form, andI'd like to do the swell thing all through. Now the _Parlour Journal_says that the front pews that are divided off by a white ribbon should befor the bride's folks on one side of the aisle and the groom's on theother. Mr. Middleton hasn't any people near by enough to come, so Ithought I'd have the Bluff folks sit on that side. "

"The Bluff people?" I queried, in amazement. "You surely aren't going toinvite them? Do you know any of them?"

"Well, not intimately, but Mrs. Ponsonby has been to the house for eggs, and Mrs. Latham's horse dropped a shoe last week and father set it, andthe Vanderveer boy's pony ran away into our front yard the other day, soI don't feel as if they were strangers and to be left out. Oh, Mrs. Evan, if they'd only come and wear some of their fine clothes to light up thechurch, it would be in the papers, the _Bee_ and the _Week's News_ overtown maybe, and give me such a start! For you know I'm to live in NewYork, and as I've never left home before, it would be so pleasant to knowsomebody there!"

I almost made up my mind to try to put things before her in their truelight, and save her from disappointment, but then I realized that I wastoo near her own age. Ah, if Lavinia Dorman had only been here that dayshe could possibly have advised Fannie without giving offence. 

 * * * * *

_May 16th. _ The wedding is over. Shall I ever forget it? The rain andcool weather of the past ten days kept back the apple blossoms, so thatthe supply for decorating the church was poor and the blossomsthemselves only half open and water-soaked. Mrs. Jenks-Smith, who alwayshears everything, knowing of the dilemma, in the goodness of her heartsent some baskets of hothouse flowers, but the girls and men who weredecorating did not know how to handle them effectively, for Fannie, stillclinging to sentiment, had gilded nearly a barrel of old horseshoes, which were tied with white ribbon to every available place, beingespecially prominent on the doors of the reserved pews. 

Late in the afternoon a fine mist set in with clouds of fog, which, if itgot into the church, I knew would completely conceal the glimmer of theoil lamps. It seems that Papa Penney was not told until an hour beforethe ceremony that he was to walk up the aisle with the bride on his armand give her away. This he flatly refused to do. He considered it enoughof an affliction to have the wedding in church at all, and it was notuntil his wife had given her first exhibition of fainting, and Fannie hadcried her eyes red, that he apparently yielded. 

We arrived at the church at about ten minutes to eight, father and Evanhaving been persuaded to come in recognition of good neighbourhoodfeeling. The back part of the church was well filled, but the spaceabove the ribbon was painfully empty. The glimmering lamps did littlemore than reveal the gloom, and the horseshoes gave a strangeracing-stable effect. 

We tried to spread ourselves out as much as possible to fill up, andpresently the Ponsonby girls entered with some friends, seeminglyastonished at being seated within the barrier, for they had never seentheir cards of invitation, and had come as a sort of lark to kill time ona wet evening. 

The ushers wandered dismally up and down, stretching their handsnervously as if unused to gloves. Presently they fell back, and theorgan, in the hands of an amateur performer and an inadequate blower, began to chirp and hoot merrily, by which we knew the bridal party wasabout to appear. 

The ushers came first, divided, and disappeared successfully in theshadows, on either side of the chancel steps. A long wait and then MariePenney followed, walking alone, as maid of honour; she had insisted uponhaving plenty of room, as she said so few people walked well that theyspoiled her gait. Next came the six bridesmaids on a gallop, then PapaPenney and the bride. He walked along at a jog trot, and he lookedfurtively about as if for a loophole of escape. As for poor Mrs. Penney, instead of being seated in the front pew before the procession entered, she was entirely forgotten in the excitement, and stood trembling nearthe door, until some one drew her into a seat in neighbourly sympathy. 

The clergyman stood waiting, the bridesmaids grouped themselves behindpapa, so that there was no retreat, but where was the groom and the bestman? One, two, three minutes passed, but no sign. He had been directed tothe vestry door as the bridal party drove up. Could he suddenly havechanged his mind, and disappeared?

The silence was awful, the Ponsonby girls giggled aloud, and finally gotinto such gales of laughter that I was ashamed. The organ had droppedinto the customary groaning undertone that is meant, I suppose, to givecourage to the nervous and weak-voiced during the responses. 

 * * * * *

Outside the church, in the rear, two men in evening dress might have beenseen blundering about in the dark, vainly trying to find an open door, for besides the door to the vestry there were three others closetogether, one opening into the little chantry, one the Sunday-schoolroom, and one into the cellar. They battered and pulled and beat to nopurpose, until a mighty pound forced one in, and the two men foundthemselves flying down a flight of steps, and landing in a heap of coal. 

Dazed, and not a little bruised, the groom struck a match, and lookedabout; the best man had sprained his ankle, and said so in languageunbefitting the location, but Liberty Middleton arose superior to thecoal. Judging by the music that the ceremony had begun, he told hiscrippled friend to sit still until he came back for him, and, by lightinga series of wax matches, found his way back to the front door of thechurch, and strode up the aisle dishevelled, and with a smutty forehead, just as Papa Penney had succeeded in breaking through the bridesmaids, dragging Fannie with him. A sigh of relief arose. The couple steppedforward and the ceremony began. When, however, the giving away time came, it was found that Papa Penney had retreated to a pew, from which he couldnot be dislodged. Another hitch was only averted by the groom turningpleasantly toward his father-in-law, and saying, with a wave of his hand, "It's all right, don't trouble to move; you said 'I do, ' I think; theParson understands. " The ceremony was ended without further complication. When Fannie walked out upon the arm of the self-possessed Liberty, Ithought that the travelling man had the makings of a hero in him afterall. It afterward transpired that the hapless best man, left in the coalcellar, and not missed until the party was halfway home, had onlywrenched his ankle, and made his escape to the village tavern forconsolation, proving that even commercial travellers may be upset by afashionable wedding ceremony. 

X

THE WHIRL BEGINS

_May 30_. The People of the Whirlpool have come to the Bluffs, and theswirl and spray has, in a measure, followed them. I had well-nighwritten, "are settled at the Bluffs, " but the Whirlpoolers are perpetualmigrants, unlike the feathered birds of passage never absolutely settlinganywhere even for the nesting season, sometimes even taking to the waterby preference, at the time, of all others, when home is most loved andcherished by the "comfortably poor. "

The houses, nominally closed since the holidays, have been reopened, oneby one, ever since the general return from the south in April, afterwhich season, Mrs. Jenks-Smith assures me, it is bad form to be seen inNew York on Sunday. 

This fiat, however, does not prevent members of almost every family fromspending several days a week in the city, thus protecting themselvesagainst the possible monotony of home living by lunching and dining, either singly or in informal groups, at the public restaurants. 

Father has always held the theory that ladies should dressinconspicuously in the public streets and hostelries, and for a woman todo otherwise, he considered, was to prove that she had no claim upongentility. Evan used to go so far as to say that the only people whodisplay their fine clothes in hotels are those who have no homes in whichto wear them. 

Dear, innocent provincials, the Whirlpoolers have changed all that, andgiven the custom their hall mark that stamps it vogue. In fact, inglancing at the papers, by the light of our Bluff Colony, which, afterall, is but a single current of the pool that whirls in the shape of theletter S, it seems to me that a new field has been opened for the societyjournalist--the reporting of the gowns worn at the restaurants in the"between seasons. "

One evening, a few weeks ago, Evan and I went, by request, to one of themost celebrated of these resorts to call upon some friends of his, abride and groom, then passing through the city. We were directed where tofind them in the corridor--midway would have been a better term. We foundthem, and many others beside!

"Where do these people come from?" I whispered to Evan, looking down therow of women of all ages and, if expression may indicate, all grades, who, dressed and undressed in lavish opulence, were lolling about, muchas if expecting a call to go upon the stage and take part in somespectacle, but that the clothes and jewels were too magnificent to bestage properties. 

"Brewers' wives from the west, and unknown quantities; people who come toNew York to see and be seen, " he answered carelessly; but almost as hespoke his words were checked by the entrance of an equally gorgeousgroup, composed of those who Lavinia Dorman had assured us were among themost conservative of our new neighbours, all talking aloud, as if to anaudience, as they literally swept into the dining room, where Mrs. Centerwas already seated. To be sure, the clothes, in their cases, were wornwith a difference, --the ease of habit, --but to all outward appearance thedistinction began and ended there. Ah me! to think of having such thingscross the horizon in May, when, unless one is forced to be miserable, onemust be inexpressibly happy. 

I have been working all the month in my garden, as of old, or trying to, at least, but upon the principle that no member of a community can eitherlive or die wholly to, or by, himself, I here missed the untrammelledliberty of yore. Not that I care if I am detected collarless, in a brownholland apron, with earthy fingers, and sometimes even a smutty nose, butthe Whirlpoolers, unable to regard the work as serious, do not hesitateto interrupt, if nothing more. 

Imagine the assurance of the twenty-two-year-old Ponsonby girl, who camedashing up all of a fume last Saturday morning, when I was comfortablyseated on the old tea tray, transplanting a flat of my best ostrichplume asters, and begging me, her mother being away, to chaperon her toa ball game, in a town not far off up the railroad, with harmless, pink-eyed Teddy Tice, one of her brother's college mates. It seems thatif she could have driven up and taken a groom it would have been goodform, but there was some complication about the horses, and to go byrail unchaperoned, even though surrounded by a earful of people, was notto be thought of. I pointed to the asters that must be set out andcovered before the sun was high, but she couldn't understand, and wentoff in a huff. 

What a disagreeable word chaperon is at best, and what a thanklessvocation the unlisted, active, and very irregular verb 'to chaperon'implies. I quite agree with Johnson, who denounced the term as affected, for certainly its application is, though Lavinia Dorman says it is thenatural effect of a definite cause, and that it is quite necessary fromthe point of view of the quarter where it most obtains. 

Monday morning I was again interrupted in my garden operations by aWhirlpooler, but the reason was quite different. The twins have gardensof their own, which are as individual and distinctive as their twoselves. Richard delights in straight rows, well patted down between, andtreats the small seeds that he plants with a sort of paternal patience. Ian disdains any seed smaller than a nasturtium or bean, whose growth issoon apparent, and has collected a motley assortment of bulbs, roots, andplants, without regard to size or season, and bordered his patch withonion sets for Corney Delaney's express benefit, the goat having a Gallictaste for highly flavoured morsels. Both boys are fairly patient withtheir own gardening operations, but their joy is to "help" me by handingtools, watering plants, and squirting insecticides, in my society andunder my direction. 

Of course I could do it all much quicker by myself, and it has hamperedme this spring, for last season they were too irresponsible to more thanplay work a few minutes at a time. 

Now I have come to the conclusion that it is their right to learn byhelping me, and that it is the denial of companionship, either fromselfishness or some absurd educational theory, that weakens the force ofhome ties later on. 

I have been frequently lectured by those older, but more especially "newmothers" younger than I, about staying with the boys at bedtime untilthey grow drowsy. "The baby is put to bed, and if he cries I pay noattention; it is only temper, not pain, for he stops the minute I speakto him, " they say. I feel the blood rush to my face and the sting to mytongue always when I hear this. 

Not pain, not temper, but the unconscious yearning for companionship, formother-love, is oftener the motive of the pitiful cry. Why should it bedenied? The mother bird broods her young in the nest at twilight, and thefather bird sings a lullaby to both. The kittens luxuriously supthemselves to sleep with the warm mother flesh responding to theirseeking paws. In wild life I know not an animal who does not in some waysoothe her young to sleep. Why should the human child, the son of man, beforced to live without the dream memories that linger about happysleeping times? What can the vaunted discipline give to replace them? Itis then, as they grow, and speech forms on their lips, that littleconfessions come out and wrongs are naturally righted throughconfidence, before they can sprout and grow. 

I was not quite five when I last watched mother sowing her flower seeds, and yet I remember to this day the way in which she did it, and so whenit came time to give my bed of summer roses its first bath of whale oil, soap, and water, and the boys gave whoops of joy when they saw Bertelwheel out the tub and I appeared with the shining brass syringe, Iresolved to let them have the questionable delight of administering theshower bath, even if it took all day. 

I have appropriated a long strip of rich, deep soil for these tenderroses, quite away from the formal garden and across the path from the newstrawberry bed, which by the necessity of rotation has worked its wayfrom the vegetable garden to the open spot under the bank wall by thestable where the hotbeds congregate. This wall breaks the sweep of thewind, and so both our tender roses and strawberries are of the earliest, the fruit already being well set and large. 

It was the middle of the morning. The work was progressing finely, without more than the usual amount of slop and misdirected effort, when aviolent tooting from the direction of the highway caused me to stop, andIan dropped the squirter that I had newly filled for his turn, upon thegrass border, while he and Richard scurried toward the gateway to seewhat was the matter, for the sound was like the screech of an automobilehorn in distress. It was!

A streak of dark red and a glitter of brass flashed in between the gateposts, grazing them, and barely escaping an upset, and then came plungingtoward me. I screamed to the boys, who seemed to me directly in the pathof the _Thing_, which in another moment I recognized as an automobile ofthe battering-ram variety, belonging to Harvey Somers, Gwendolen Burton'sfiancé, which for the past week had been the terror of father's steadyold gray horses, owing to its constitutional eccentricities. 

Mr. Somers was handling it single-handed, and though he was coming at areckless speed, I expected that he would swing back of the house and cometo one of the dramatic sudden stops, on the verge of an accident, forwhich he is famous. So he did, but not on the driveway!

The _Thing_ gave a lurch and veered toward the barn, spitting like acageful of tiger cats. Somers was pushing the lever and gripping thebrake with all his athletic might, but to no purpose. The children, who, wild with excitement, had by this time sought the safety of the open barndoor, seemed a second time to be in the monster's path. 

Another lurch! Surely man and machine would be dashed to bits againstthe substantial stable wall!

Then the _Thing_ changed its course, and showing a ray of flusteredintelligence, made a mighty leap off the bank wall and landed hub deep inthe soft, friable soil of the new strawberry bed, where, after oneconvulsive effort, some part of its anatomy blew up with the triplereport of a rapid-fire gun, and after having relieved itself of a cloudof steam, it settled down peacefully, as if a strawberry bed was theplace of all others it preferred for a noonday nap. 

Harvey Somers was shot with a left-handed twirl directly into one of thehotbed frames, from which the sash was pushed back, and landed in adoubled-up position, amid a tearing sound and the crash of broken glass. Meanwhile, the boys, frightened at the cloud of steam, yelled "Fire!" atthe top of their lungs. 

As I flew to help him, I could for the instant think of nothing but theLizard Bill's assisted progress up the chimney and into the cucumberframe, but as a rather faint voice said, "Not you; kindly call theDoctor, " my mirth changed to alarm, which was not lessened when TimothySaunders, hearing the uproar and the cry of fire, arriving too late tograsp the situation with his slow Scotch brain, and seeing me leaningover the plant frame, picked up the squirt and deluged the unfortunateman with whale-oil spray!

Coughing and choking, Mr. Somers finally sat up, but did not offer to domore, wiped his eyes, and said to me in most delightful and courteoustones, "Would you be so good as to allow your man to bring me either abath robe or a mackintosh?"

I was at once relieved, for I knew that the lacerations were of trousersand not flesh, and at the same time I saw that the crash of glass wascaused merely by the toppling backward of the sash, also that all myyoung heliotrope plants that were in the frame where the chauffeurreposed were hopelessly ruined. 

Timothy brought out Evan's bath gown, and in a few moments Mr. Somers washimself again, and after surveying the scene of the disaster, heapproached me with a charming bow, and drawing a crumpled note from hispocket said:--

"I promised Bertie Chatterton to give you this invitation for his studiotea to-morrow, in person, and I fear that I have rather overshot mypromise. Best way to get that brute up will be from the bank wall, --willdamage your fruit less. I will have a derrick sent up to-morrow, or ifpossible this afternoon. I'm awfully sorry, Mrs. Evan, but I think you'llbear me witness that the accident was quite out of my control. May I begthe favour of a trap home? I'm a trifle shaken up, that's all. " And as ifthe accident were an everyday affair, he departed without fuss and havingsteadied my nerves by his entire self-control. 

As I stood by the gateway pondering upon the matter and the easy mannersof this Whirlpooler, Mrs. Jenks-Smith drove past. She had met Mr. Somers, and as her curiosity was piqued by his strange attire, she stopped to seeif I could furnish a clew. She says, by the way, that he is not a NewYorker, but from Boston, and that his father is an English Honourable andhis mother a Frenchwoman. 

A gang of men with a sort of wrecking machine hired from the railroadcompany removed the _Thing_ next day, and towed it off, but of course thestrawberries were half ruined; next a man from the florist's in town camewith directions to repair all damage to turf and replace the smashedplants. Yet that is not all--the sense of peace and protection that I hadwhen working in my garden has had a shock. In spite of the inhospitableair it gives the place, I think we must keep the gates closed. 

Why was Jenks-Smith inspired to start a land-boom here and fate allowedto make fashion smile on it, when we were so uneventfully happy, sotwinfully content?

 * * * * *

Martin Cortright arrived on Wednesday, and is safely ensconced withMartha and Timothy Saunders, who could give him the couple of plainlyfurnished rooms he desired, and breakfast at any hour. For a man of nohours (which usually means he never breakfasts before nine) to forgathercheerfully at a commuter's table at 7:15 A. M. Is a trial to him, and asecond breakfast is apt to cause a cloud in Madam C. 's domestic horizon. Therefore, father allowed Martin to do as he suggested, live at the farmcottage and work here in the library or attic den, as suits hisconvenience. In this way he feels quite independent, has motive forexercise in walking to and fro, and as he is always welcome to dine withus, can mix his portion of solitude and society in the exact proportionof his taste, even as his well-shaped fingers carefully blend the tobaccofor his outdoor pipe. 

Dear old fellow, he seems so happy and bubbling over with good temper athaving overstepped the tyranny of habit, that I shall almost expect tosee his gray hairs turn brown again as the wintry pelt of the weasel doesin spring. 

If the Vanderveer boy is diagnosed as a case of "suppressed boyhood, "then Martin Cortright's only ailment should be dubbed "suppressed youth!"

He was to have come earlier in the month, but a singular circumstanceprevented. The old-time gentlewoman, at whose house in Irving Place hehas had his apartments so long that a change seemed impossible, died, andhe was obliged not only to move, but put his precious belongings instorage until he can place himself suitably once more. So that his planof coming here bridges the break, and seems quite providential. 

He and father walk up and down the garden together after dinner, smokingand chatting, and it does me good to see dear daddy with one of hisold-time friends. I think I am only now realizing what he, with hissociable disposition, gave up in all those years before Evan came, that Ishould not be alone, and that he might be all in all to me. 

It was quite cool yesterday. We had hearth fires all through the house, and Martin, rearranging some reference books for his own convenience inthe little room that is an annex to father's library, wore his skull capand Chinese silk dressing gown, which gave him an antique air quite atvariance with his clear skin and eyes. 

Lavinia Dorman had been due all the week, but worry with the workmen whoare building in the rear of her house detained her, and she telegraphedme that she would take the morning express, and asked me to meet her overin town. So I drove in myself, dropping father at the hospital on theway, but on reaching the station the train brought me no passenger. 

I returned home, hoping to be in time for our way train, thinking I hadmistaken her message, and missed it; but the postmistress, --for everystrange face is noticed in town, --told me that the lady who visited metwo weeks ago walked up from the ten o'clock train; that she had a newbonnet and "moved right spry, " and asked if she was a relative of mine. "An aunt, maybe, and was the pleasant new gentleman an uncle, and did hewrite a newspaper? She thought maybe he did because he was so particularabout his mail. " I said something about their being adopted relations, and hurried home. 

The boys were industriously digging dandelions on the side lawn. Iinconsistently let the dear, cheery flowers grow and bloom their fill inthe early season, when they lie close to the sward, but when they beginto stretch awkward, rubbery necks, and gape about as if to see where theymight best shake out their seed puffs, they must be routed. Do it asthoroughly as possible, enough always remain to repay my cruelty with ashower of golden coin the next spring. Bertel spends all his spare timeon the other bits of grass, but the side lawn is the boys' plunder, where, by patiently working each day at grubbing out the roots attwenty-five cents a hundred, they expect, before the dandelion season isover, to amass wealth enough to buy an alluring red goat harness trimmedwith bells that is on exhibition at the harness shop in town, for CorneyDelaney. Yes, they said, Aunt Lavinia had just come, but she said theyneed not stop, for she could go in by herself. 

There was no one in the hall, sitting room, den, or upstairs, neither hadEffie seen any person enter. Thinking I heard voices in the direction offather's office, I went there and through to the library "annex, " wherean unexpected picture met my gaze. Martin Cortright, the precise, instocking feet, skull cap, and dressing gown, perched on top of thestep-ladder, was clutching a book in one hand, within the other he heldMiss Lavinia's slender fingers in greeting, while his face had a curiousexpression of surprise, pleasure, and a wild desire to regain hisslippers that were down on the floor, a combination that made him lookextremely foolish as well as "pudgy. "

Up to that moment, Miss Lavinia, who cannot distinguish a face threefeet away without her lorgnette, thought she was speaking to father. Under cover of our mutual hilarity, I led her back to a seat in thestudy, so that Martin might recover his wits, coat, and slippers at thesame time, for Miss Lavinia had stumbled over the latter and sent themcoasting in different directions. 

Yes, the postmistress was right, Lavinia Dorman had a new bonnet. Not thecustomary conservative but monotonous upholstered affair of jet and lace, but a handful of pink roses in a tulle nest, held on by wisps of tulleinstead of ribbons. 

"Hortense, who has made bonnets for years, said this was more appropriatefor the country, and would show dirt less than black, --and even went sofar as to suggest omitting the strings altogether, " she said in ratherflurried tones, as a few moments later we went upstairs, and I removedthe pins that held the confection in place, and commented upon itsprettiness. 

 * * * * *

Martin Cortright stayed to dinner, and afterward he, Miss Lavinia, father, and Evan sat down to a "real old-fashioned, " serious game ofwhist! Of all things, to the fifth wheel, who is out of it, would not bein if she could, cannot learn, and prefers jackstraws to card games ofany sort, an evening of serious whist is the most aggravating. They weretoo well matched to even enliven matters by squabbling or castingvenomous glances at each other. Evan played with Martin Cortright, whosesystem he was absorbed in mastering, and he never spoke a word, andbarely looked up. This, too, when he had been away for several days on abusiness trip. It was moonlight, and I wanted him to see the new iristhat were in bloom along the wild walk, dilate upon the game of leap-frogthat the automobile played, and--well--there is a great deal to say whenEvan has been away that cannot be thought of indoors or be spokenhurriedly in the concise, compact, public terms in which one orders ameal. Conversation is only in part made of words, its subtilties arelargely composed of touch and silence. 

I myself, being wholly responsible for the present whist combination, ofcourse could say nothing except to myself and the moon. What a hoard ofpersonal reminiscences and heart to heart confessions the simpering oldthing must have stored away behind her placid countenance. It is a wonderthat no enterprising journal has syndicated her memoirs by wirelesstelegraphy for the exclusive use of their Sunday issue. 

I resolved that I must wait awhile, and then if this silence lasted manyevenings, I must hunt up a game of cards that takes only two. How could Iget out of the room without appearing to be in a huff or bored? Ah! awordless excuse; a slight noise upstairs. Ian sometimes walks in hissleep. I go up and sit in my window and look out through the diamondpanes at the garden. Ian stirs and mutters something about a drink. Ihasten to get it, and he, gripping the glass with his teeth, swallowseagerly, with a clicking noise in his throat. 

"Is your throat sore?" I ask apprehensively. He opens his eyes, realizeswhere he is, nestles his head into my neck and whispers, --

"Not zactly lumpy sore, Barbara, just crusty, 'cause I made--lots ofdandelion curls wif my tongue to-day, and they're--velly--sour, " and witha satisfied yawn he rolled back on his pillow, into the funnyspread-eagle attitude peculiar to himself, but Richard slept peacefullyon like a picture child, cheek on hand, and the other littledandelion-stained paw above the sheet. 

(N. B. --When one's husband and father together take to serious whist of amoonlight night in spring, twins are not only an advantage but anecessity. )

I have searched the encyclopedia for the description of an intellectualgame of cards, arranged as a duet, and found one. It is piquet! Now Ican wait developments peacefully, for are there not also in reservechess, checkers, backgammon, and--jackstraws?

 * * * * *

_June_ 2. A gentle summer shower at sunset after a perfect day has filledthe world with fragrance and song, for do the birds ever sing soperfectly with such serene full-noted ecstasy as after the rains of Mayand June? Or is it the clearness of the air after the rain that transmitseach note in full, prisoning nothing of its value?

To-night I am unhappy. Perhaps that is an exaggeration, and perplexed isthe better word, and it is only in pages of my social experience bookthat the cause can be given. 

Friday was Peysey Vanderveer's eighth birthday, and it has beencelebrated by a party on a scale of magnificence that to my mind wouldhave been suitable for the only son of royalty. 

Though the invitations fortunately were only given two days in advance, Richard and Ian were agog over the matter to the extent of muttering intheir sleep, and getting up this morning before eight, in order, ifpossible, to make the hour of three come quicker, and to be sure to beready in time. 

When the invitation was brought by Mr. Vanderveer in person, he asked ifLavinia Dorman and I would not like to come up also and see the childrenplay, adding that I need feel no responsibility about the boys, as he wasgoing to be at home and give himself up to seeing that the "kids" had ajolly time, and got into no scrapes. 

We agreed that it would be amusing to go up with the children, stay alittle while to be sure that they could adapt themselves, and then leave;for if there is anything dampening to the ardour of children at play itis a group of elders with minds divided between admiration andcorrection, punctuating unwise remarks upon beauty and cleverness with"Maud, you are overheated. " "Tommy, don't! Use your handkerchief!""Billy, your stocking is coming down!" "Reggie, you must wait, girlsshould be helped first. "

The boys certainly looked comfortably and humanly handsome in their whitecheviot sailor suits, loose blue ties, black stockings and pumps. Theyreally are good-looking children. Lavinia Dorman, who is candour itself, says so. I suppose people think that my opinion does not count, and thatI should consider them perfect if they were of the human chipmunkvariety. But I am sure I am not prejudiced, for I do _not_ think themperfect, only well made and promising, thus having the two firstrequisites of all young animals. 

When we arrived at the Vanderveers a little late, owing to the fact offather's having been obliged to use our horse for a hurry call, the partyhad "gathered, " to use an old-fashioned expression, and I saw thatRichard and Ian were by several years the youngest of the group of thirtyor more, the others ranging from eight to thirteen or fourteen. 

The house and grounds were decorated wherever decoration was possible. Though it was wholly a daylight affair, Japanese lanterns hung byfestoons of handsome ribbon from verandas, trees, and around the newpergola, the marble columns of which, in the absence of vines, were woundwith ribbons and roofed with bright flags, to form a tent for thecollation. In an arbour decorated in a like manner, an Hungarianorchestra in uniform, much in vogue, Miss Lavinia says, for New Yorkdinner dances, was playing ragtime, while a dozen smart traps and roadcarts filled with exquisitely dressed women lining the driveway aroundthe sunken tennis court, indicated that a matched game was to take place. 

Yes, after every one had exchanged greetings, Miss Lavinia, meetingseveral friends who not only treated her with something akin to homage, but were unfeignedly pleased to see her, the guests divided, a dozen ofthe elder girls and boys going toward the tennis court, where Monty Bellseemed to be acting as general manager. I afterward discovered that twoprizes for doubles and two for singles were to be played for, not prettytrifles suitable for children, but jewellery, belt buckles of gold andsilver, gold sleeve links, and a loving cup. 

Meanwhile Mr. Vanderveer took charge of the younger group and led themthrough the garden to where some young spruce trees hid the wall. Here asurprise awaited them in the shape of two of the largest of the growingtrees festooned with ribbons and laden with strange fruit in the shape ofcoloured toy balloons that bobbed about and tugged at their moorings asif anxious to escape. 

On each balloon a number was painted in white. A wide ribbon wasstretched barrierwise across the walk about fifteen feet from the trees, and near it were several large baskets, one full of bows and dart-pointedarrows, and the other heaped with expensive toys and bonbon boxes ofpainted satin, for prizes, each article being numbered. 

"Step up, ladies and gentlemen. Stand in line by the ribbon and take yourturn at the most unique shooting match ever seen in this county, --one ata time, --and whoever points the arrow at anything but the balloons isruled out, " rattled Mr. Vanderveer, after the manner of a fakir at acountry fair, and beaming with pleasure. For Evan says that outside ofbusiness dealings he has the reputation of being the most good-naturedand generous of men, and that to invent ways to lavish money upon his sonand his friends is almost as keen a pleasure to him as to promote schemesfor winning it. 

Mr. Vanderveer picked up a bow and dart to illustrate the game, aimed ata balloon, the arrow glanced off, but at the second shot the balloon wentpop and shrivelled away with the whistle of escaping gas and shouts ofapplause from both children and their elders. 

Feeling assured that my boys were quite at their ease and not likely tobalk and act like wild rabbits, as is sometimes the case with childrenwhen they find themselves among strangers, and seeing nothing that theywould be likely to fall out of or into, except a great bowl of lemonadearranged in a bower that represented a well, we came away, Lavinia Dormansniffing in the spectacle like a veteran war-horse scenting powder, andenjoying the gayety, as I myself should have done heartily if it had notbeen for the boys. 

I was not worried about their clothes, their taking cold, or stickingthe darts into their fingers, but I was beginning to realize theresponsibility of consequences. What would the effect of this fête beupon the birthday parties of our village community, where a dish ofmottoes, a home-made frosted sponge cake, and a freezer of ice cream(possibly, but not always) from town, eaten out-of-doors, meant bliss. 

I suppose it is only the comfortably poor who have to think ofconsequences, the uncomfortably rich think they can afford not to, and tired of mere possession, they must express their wealth audiblyat any cost. 

 * * * * *

Richard and Ian came home about half past six, driven by TimothySaunders, who was in a sulky mood. When I asked him, by way of cheerfulconversation, if the Vanderveer grounds did not look pretty, and if hehad heard the band (he is very fond of music), he fairly glowered at meas he used in his bachelor days, before Martha's energetic affection hadmellowed him, and he began to jerk out texts, his dialect growing moreimpossible each moment, so that the only words that I caught were"scarlet weemen--Philistines--wrath--mammon o' the unriteous, " etc. , until I seized the boys and fled into the porch, because when TimothySaunders is wrathful, and quotes scripture as a means of expressing it, some one must fly, and it is never Timothy. 

The boys, however, were jubilant, and began at once to unwrap the variousbundles they were hugging, prizes, it seemed, for every game they played, that represented enough plunder to deck a small Christmas tree. Afterthese had been duly admired, with some misgivings on my part, Ian jumpedup suddenly, clapping his hand to his pocket, and coming close, so thathe could rest upon my knee, he began pulling out shining new dimes andquarters, until his hands, moist and trembling with excitement, couldhold no more, and he poured the coins into my lap. 

"Count them please, Barbara, vely quick, 'cause I can't say so many, " hebegged, standing with his curly head a little on one side, and his eyesflashing with eagerness. 

Wondering what new form of extravagance it was, I counted, "One, two, three dollars and a half. "

"Then we can go and buy the red harness for Corney to-morrow, withoutbothering to dig up any more dandies, 'cause Dick's got some too, " hefairly shouted. "It was all bully fun, but that swizzle game where themarble ran round was the bestest of all, only some numbers it sat on tookthe pennies and some gave them back, " and he indicated something flyinground in a circle as he capered about. Ian's slightest gestures, like hisfather's, are very realistic, and I turned sick as I realized the game bywhich the silver had been won was probably roulette! Could it bepossible? How had Mr. Vanderveer dared? No, there must be some mistake. 

At that instant my attention was attracted by Richard, who, afterunpacking his toys, had curled up in a deep piazza chair, where he satwithout saying a word, but looking flushed and heavy-eyed. 

"Do you feel sick? Perhaps you ate too much cream, and then ran too fast. Come and let mother feel of your hands, " I said. His hands were cold andhis head burning. 

"It wasn't the cweam, " he replied finally, as if not quite sure what wasthe matter, "it was the lemonade with the bitter currant jelly in itthat made the cweam and all swell up, --and I guess it's going to spillpretty soon. "

"Lemonade with bitter jelly in it?" queried father, coming out, "whatsort of a mess have they given him?" Father stooped, smelled his breath, saying, "Astringent wine of some sort, unless my nose fails me. Did youhave any, Ian?"

"Not pink, only yellow. I was all full up by then. "

"When?"

"Why, when the big boys caught some of us and said we must drink pinklemonade to make us grow quick. "

Father gave me a keen glance of intelligence, and I took the boysupstairs, where Richard's trouble soon righted itself, and, early as itwas, they went quickly to sleep with the precious money under theirpillows, fatigue conquering even their excitement. 

Evan came home rather late, and at dinner we talked of other things. Asfar back as I remember anything, I can hear father's voice saying aliketo Aunt Lot, myself, or a complaining servant, "The family board issacred; meals are not the time for disagreeables. "

Immediately after dinner, and before I had a chance to tell Evan, Mrs. Jenks-Smith stopped on her way home from a drive, the Whirlpoolers notdining until eight, to ask father if she might take some friends in tosee the hospital to-morrow, an appeal having been recently made for newbedding, etc. , saying: "We're going to have smashing strawberries androses this year; they'll come on before the crowd moves along in July, and we might as well shake up a fête for the hospital as anything else, as we're bound to keep moving. 

"Were you up at Vanderveers this afternoon? Oh, yes, to be sure, I sawyou going down hill as I drove in. Quite a chic affair for a littlebetween-season place like this; but after all, it's the people, not theplace, that make the pace, isn't it, Miss Dorman? And a swell New Yorkercan leave a wake that'll show the way anywhere. 

"You don't look happy, though, Mrs. Evan. The boys ate too much? No?Roulette a little too high for you?

"Well, my dear, I half agree with you. I think things were a little toostiff this afternoon for such youngsters; but Vandy is such a liberalfellow he couldn't do enough, --nor tell when to stop, --actually lugged uphalf a dozen bags of new silver and dealt it to the kids in handfuls. Harm? Why, he didn't see any, I dare say. He wasn't robbing anybody;besides, I'll bet Monty Bell put him up to it. I know how you feel, though. I wouldn't play for money myself, if I'd young boys; but as Ihaven't, it doesn't matter, and one must be amused. That's the way Mrs. Latham jogged poor Carthy off and began the gap with her husband. Lathamgambles on change, of course, but drew the line at his house. Didn't knowit? You poor innocent, you're as bad as Sylvia herself. Why, yes, they'reas good as divorced, by mutual agreement, though; he's kept away all oftwo years. I expect that they will announce it any time now. 

"Won't let the boys keep the money? Don't be silly now and make a fuss;change it to bills and put it on the church plate; that's what all thereally conscientious women always do with their Lenten winningsanyway, --that is, when they can afford it. 

"I'll allow, though, they didn't manage the drinks well this afternoon. The lemonade was for the youngsters, and their spread was in the pergola;the next age had claret cup in the tea house back of the tennis court, and there was also a spread there with champagne cup for the elders. 

"Claret cup? Oh, yes, nowadays you insult a boy over twelve if you offerhim lemonade. But the trouble was, the big boys tumbled to the champagnecup, got hold of a bowl of it, grew excited, and fed the youngsters withthe claret stuff, and made a lot of them sick. Your Richard one of them?I see, --I don't wonder you're put out, my dear, indeed I don't. I shouldbe too, that is, if it mattered; but one person disapproving won't turnthe wheel the other way, it only means to lose your own footing. " Sosaying, the Lady of the Bluffs rustled away, promising to call for fatherin her 'bus in the morning. 

"Is this true?" asked Evan, presently, and I had never seen his eyes lookso steely cold. 

"Yes, I'm afraid so, " I answered, meeting his gaze. 

"Where is the money?"

"Under their pillows; they expect to buy the red goat harness to-morrow. "

"It's a crying shame, the whole thing. The poor little babies!"

"What shall I do?"

"You? Nothing. I shall return the money. This is my business; man toman. As a woman you inevitably must be emotional and make a doubtfulissue of it. You mother the boys well, God knows; this is my chance tofather them. "

"But the money, --shall I get it now?"

"No, in the morning; they will bring it to me, and I will make themunderstand, as far as babies may. In one way, I fear, we are unwittinglysomewhat to blame ourselves. Every one who is drawn toward a social andfinancial class a little beyond his depth, and yields, though feeling thedanger, is unwise. I think, sweetheart, this commuter, his wife, andbabies had better be content to wade in safe shallows and not go withintouch of the Whirlpool current. "

Then Evan and I went and stood silently by the two white beds, and now heis walking up and down in the garden smoking quietly, while I am writingup here, and unhappy because I think of to-morrow and the boys'disappointment about the little red harness. 

XI

REARRANGED FAMILIES

_June_ 10. Sylvia Latham has returned alone. Her father came with her asfar as Chicago, where, having business that would detain him for perhapsten days, and warm weather having set in, he insisted that Sylvia shouldat once proceed eastward. At least that is what Miss Lavinia tells me;but she has suddenly turned quite reticent in everything that concernsthe Lathams, which, together with Mrs. Jenks-Smith's random remarks, haveinevitably set me to thinking. 

I had hoped to form a pleasant friendship with Sylvia, for though I haveonly met her two or three times, I feel as if I really knew her; butthere will be little chance now, as they go on to Newport the first ofJuly, and the continual procession of house parties, for golf, tennis, etc. , at the Bluffs, even though they are called informal, necessarilystand in the way of intimate neighbourly relations between us. Monty Bellhas been dividing his week ends between the Ponsonby, Vanderveer, andJenks-Smith households, yet he always is in the foreground when I havebeen to see Sylvia, even though I have tried to slip in between times inthe morning. 

I do not like this Monty Bell; he seems to be merely an eater of dinnersand a cajoler of dames, such superficial chivalry of speech as heexhibits being only one of the many expedients that gain him the title of"socially indispensable" that the Whirlpoolers accord him. 

Personally anything but attractive, he seems able to organize and controlothers in a most singular way. Perhaps it is because he has a genius fortaking pains and planning successful entertainments for his friends, evento the minutest detail, and giving them the subtle distinction of bothoriginality and finish, without troubling their givers to think forthemselves. Miss Lavinia-says that he has the entree of the two or threevery exclusive New York houses that have never yet opened their doors toMrs. Latham and several more aspiring Whirlpoolers, Mrs. Jenks-Smithhaving penetrated the sacred precincts, only by right of having beenpresented at the English Court in the last reign through the influence ofher stepdaughter, who married a poverty-stricken title. 

"I don't know what it all amounts to, " said the outspoken Lady ofthe Bluffs on her return, "except that I'm in it now with both feet, which is little enough pay for the trouble I took and the moneyJenks-Smith put out. 

"Our son-in-law? No, he's not exactly English, he's Irish, blood of theold kings, they say; but all the good it does him is, that he can wearhis hat with a feather in it, or else his shoes, I can never rememberwhich, in the presence of royalty, when if it wasn't for good Americanmoney he'd have neither one or the other. 

"Money? Oh yes, that's all they want of us over there; we've no cause tostick up our noses and think it's ourselves. We know, Jenks-Smith and I, for haven't we been financial mother and father in law to a pair of themfor ten years? Jenks-Smith was smart, though; he wouldn't give a lump sumdown, but makes them an allowance, and we go over every year or so andbail them out of some sort of a mess to boot, have the plumbing fixed up, and start the children all over with new clothes. That's what we're doingwhen the papers say, 'Mr. And Mrs. Jenks-Smith, who went to Carlsbad forthe waters, are now in Ireland, being entertained in regal style by theirdaughter and son-in-law at Bally-whack House. '"

Miss Lavinia says with a shiver that whoever marries Monty Bell, and itis absolutely necessary for him to make a wealthy connection in theimmediate future, will have all New York doors open to her, and that, asMrs. Latham is leaving no stone unturned in order to become a socialleader, a marriage between Sylvia and Mr. Bell would secure her thecomplete prestige necessary to her ambition, while rearranged familiesare so common and often the results of such trivial causes, that the factof the man's having a lovely wife and two children living abroad does notmilitate against him in the least. It all seems ghastly, this living lifeas if it was a race track, where to reach the social goal is the onlythought, no matter how, or over or through what wreckage, or in whatcompany the race is to be won. 

Since her return Sylvia has looked pale and seemed less buoyant. She ismuch disappointed because her plan of going to Rockcliffe to see herclass graduate cannot be carried out. Miss Lavinia had promised to gowith her, and the poor child was looking forward to a week of girlishpleasure among the friends with whom she had spent two years, when, loand behold! the rose and strawberry festival, that the Lady of the Bluffshad stirred up for the benefit of the hospital, assumed such hugeproportions that the entire colony became involved, and the datesconflicting, it was impossible for Sylvia to leave home without entirelytipping over her mother's plans. 

The places on the north side of the Bluff road are to be thrown open, grand-chain fashion, each contributing something by way of entertainment, games, a merry-go-round brought with great expense from the city, fortunetelling, a miniature show of pet animals, and an amateur circus, being afew of the many attractions offered. 

The spectators are to pay a fee and enter by the Ponsonbys', the firstplace on the south, and gradually work their way up to the Jenks-Smiths', where the rose garden and an elaborate refreshment booth will be reached. The Latham garden is too new to make any showing, but Mrs. Latham, whohas been much in New York of late, promises something novel in the way ofa tea room in her great reception hall, while Mrs. Jenks-Smith insistedthat Sylvia should have charge of her rose booth, saying: "Your name'ssuitable for the business, you'll look well in a simple hat and baggymull gown, such as artists always want to put on the people they paint, and I must positively have some one who'll stay by me and see that thingsare not torn to bits, for all the rest of the girls will slide off withthe first pair of trousers that comes along. Anyway, you don't match thelittle Ponsonby and Chatfield minxes that your mother has chosen for hersix Geisha girls, for you are a head taller than the bunch. "

Nothing is talked of now but this fête. Of course it will help thehospital, even though ten times the amount is being spent upon thepreparation than any sum that can possibly be made for the charity; butit pleases the people to spend. Father says that the Whirlpoolers arealready bored; that they have used up the place, for the time being, andif it were not for this festival, the Bluffs would be deserted forNewport and Long Island long before July. 

Social ambition has even infected our rector's jolly little wife, who hasnever felt able or called upon to entertain in any but the most informalway. After hearing the report of a clerical luncheon in New York, wherethe clergyman sat at the foot of his own table with a miniatureshepherd's crook before him, and the favour beside the plate of eachfemale guest consisted of a woolly lamb, she, not to be outdone, immediately imperilled the possibility of a new winter gown by invitingall the non-resident members of the congregation to lunch, and servingthe ice cream in a toy Noah's Ark, while the animals from it were groupedabout a large dish of water, to form an appropriate decoration in thecentre of the table, and sugar doves at each plate held leaves in theirmouths, upon which the name of the guest was neatly pricked with a pin. 

 * * * * *

Lavinia Dorman has decided to stay with me and do without her maid, rather than take a cottage, or board, for we find that we do not wear oneach other in the least. We never plan for one another, or interfere inany way, and each takes it for granted that if the other desiresassistance of any sort, she will ask for it. 

Miss Lavinia pokes about the garden at her own sweet will. I gather theflowers, --I could not give that up to any one, --and she takes charge ofarranging them in the house. She is very fond of doing fancy work, I amnot, so that her offer to re-cover the sofa cushions in den, study, andlibrary comes in the light of a household benefaction. 

Besides this, she has a very good effect upon the boys, and without beingat all fussy, she is instilling their absorbent minds quite unconsciouslywith some little bits of the quaint good breeding of other days that theywill never forget. They love to go to town with her, one of her firststipulations being that if I chose to include her in some of our longdrives, well and good, otherwise she wished the liberty of telephoningthe stable for horse and man, whenever she pleased, without my troublingmyself about her movements. 

Meanwhile, I really think that this living in the midst of a familywithout losing her independence is making Lavinia Dorman grow backwardstoward youth. She has bought an outing hat without strings, trimmed withfluffy white, she takes her work out under the trees in a basket, andhas given up tying her head in a thin and a thick veil every time shedrives out. If she could learn to sit comfortably back and lounge atrifle, and if a friendly magpie would only chance along and steal herstock of fronts, for a nest, so that she would be obliged to show herown lovely hair that shades like oxidized silver, the transformationwould be complete. 

Martin Cortright also is developing mental energy. He always hadconsiderable physical vim, as I found the Sunday after he first came, when he accompanied Evan upon one of his long walks, and was not used upby it. He has stopped fumbling with reference books and shuffling bits ofpaper by the hour, and writes industriously every day by the west windowof the attic, where he can refresh himself by looking out of the windowat the garden, or across at the passers on the highway. I was afraid thathe might wish to read the results nightly to either father or Evan, butno, he keeps them safely under lock and key in a great teacher's deskthat he bought second hand over in town. He stays to dine with us two orthree nights a week, but he has grown flexible, and our meals are verymerry ones. Laugh softly to yourself, Experience Book, and flutter yourleaves just a bit as I write, that of their own volition, Miss Laviniaand Martin have drifted from whist to piquet, as by natural transition, and Evan is free for garden saunterings once more. 

 * * * * *

_June_ 25. Yesterday was the day of the festival, and it was neithersultry, foggy, nor brought to a sudden stop by a thunder shower, as sooften happens at this season. 

By half past two in the afternoon the country teams could be seen windingBluff ward by all the various roads, and before three, the hour at whichthe gates were to be opened, every available hitching place was occupied, and the line of vehicles extended well up one of the back lanes that wasbounded by a convenient rail fence. 

Horace Bradford arrived home at Pine Ridge night before last. He hadexpected to see Sylvia and Miss Lavinia at Rockcliffe. Missing them, andnot knowing the cause of their change of plan, very naturally his firstthought was to drive down to Oak-lands and make a double call. On takingup the local paper he saw the announcement of the rose festival set forthin ornamental type, which gave him a key to the situation, so that thesubstantial, if not ornamental, farm buggy, drawn by a young horse withplenty of free-gaited country go but no "manners, " was one of the firstto reach the Bluffs, Horace innocently hoping to have a few moments withSylvia before the festivities began. He therefore inquired his way to theLatham house direct, instead of going into the fair grounds by way of thePonsonbys', and encountered Perkins, Potts, and Parker, who were on guardat the door, as well as two footmen who stood by the steps with strawwheel guards ready to assist people from their traps, and two grooms insilk-sleeved buff jackets, who waited to take charge of the horses of themen who were expected to ride over from a neighbouring social settlement. 

The outdoor group seemed to be in doubt how to proceed. Bradford had allthe ease of bearing that they instinctively felt belonged to a gentleman, but his turnout was beyond the pale, and the grooms hesitated to give itthe shelter of the perfectly equipped stable. 

Perkins, however, did not hesitate, and before Bradford could open hislips, came through the doors that were fastened wide open, and, with awave of his hand said, in freezing tones, "You've come in the wrong way;the entrance gate and ticket booth is below, as the sign shows. "

"I wish to see Miss Latham, " said Bradford, handing his card, and atthe same time with difficulty suppressing a violent desire to knockthe man down. 

"Not at home, " replied immovable Perkins, vouchsafing no furtherinformation. 

"Then take my card to Mrs. Latham, " thundered Bradford, nettled by hisslip in not asking for both at the first instance, and; as the man stillhesitated, he strode past him through the porch and into the hall. 

As Perkins disappeared through one of the many doorways, Bradford stoodstill for a moment before his eyes focussed to the change of light. Thepillars of the hall that supported the balcony corridor of the secondstory were wreathed with light green vines, delicate green draperiesscreened the windows, the pale light coming from many Japanese lanternsand exquisitely shaded bronze lamps rather than outside. Half a dozenlittle arbours were formed by large Japanese umbrellas, under which teatables were placed, and the sweet air of the summer afternoon waschanged and made suffocatingly heavy by burning incense. 

Of course all this paraphernalia belonged to the festival, and yetBradford was not prepared to find Sylvia living in such daily state asthe other surroundings implied. He knew that she belonged to a prosperousfamily, but his entrance to what he supposed would be, as the nameimplied, a country cottage, was a decided shock to him. 

He had been drawn irresistibly toward Sylvia almost from their meetingin the lecture room several years before, but he could hardly allowhimself the luxury of day dreams then, and it was not until hispromotion had seemed to him to place him upon a safe footing, that hehad paused long enough to realize how completely she was woven into allhis thoughts of the future. Now, as he waited there, a broad gulf, not acrossable river, seemed to stretch before him, not alone financial butethical, --a sweeping troublous torrent, the force of which he couldneither stem nor even explain to himself, --verily the surging of theWhirlpool at his feet. 

Babbling girlish voices waked him from his revery, and half a dozen youngfigures, disguised in handsomely embroidered Japanese costumes andheadgear, their eyes given the typical almond-shaped and upward slant bymeans of paint and pencil, came down the stairs, followed a moment laterby a taller figure in still richer robes, and so carefully made up bypowder and paint that at a distance she looked but little older than thegirls. Coming toward Bradford with an expression of playful inquiry, shesaid: "Is this Mr. Bradford? I am Mrs. Latham. Did you wish to see me?I've only a moment to spare, for at three o'clock I lose my identity andbecome a Geisha girl. "

Bradford was embarrassed for a moment, even quite disconcerted. Whyshould he have taken it for granted that Sylvia had spoken of him, andthat he should be known to her mother? But such was the case, and he feltbitterly humbled. 

"I was one of Miss Latham's instructors at Rockcliffe two years ago. Ihave returned now to spend the vacation with my mother, whom perhaps youknow, at Pine Ridge, and finding that you have come to livehere--I--ventured to call. " If poor Bradford had desired to be stiff anduninterestingly didactic, he could not have succeeded better. 

"Ah, yes--Rockcliffe--Sylvia was there for a couple of years, and willdoubtless be glad to hear of the place. I myself never approved ofcollege life for girls, it makes them so superior and offish when theyreturn to society. Even two years abroad have not put Sylvia completelyat her ease among us again. 

"We do not live here; this is merely a between-season roost, and we leaveagain next week, so I have not met your mother. The only one of the nameI recollect is an old country egg woman back somewhere in the hillstoward Pine Ridge. You will find Sylvia at Mrs. Jenks-Smith's, justabove, at the rose booth. Pardon me if I leave you now, I have so much onmy hands this afternoon. "

Thus dismissed, Bradford went out into the light again. He noticed forthe first time that his horse and buggy, standing unheeded where he leftthem, looked strangely out of date, and as he went down the steps, thehorse turned his head, and recognizing him, gave a joyful whinny thatcaused the grooms to grin. He could feel the colour rising to his veryeyes, and for a moment he determined to go home without making anyfurther effort to find Sylvia, and he felt grateful that his mother haddeclined his invitation to come with him to the festival. 

His mother, "the egg-woman"! What would she have thought of Sylvia'smother thus painted and transformed in the name of charity? Heexperienced a thrill of relief at the escape. 

As he found himself on the free highway once more, he faltered. He wouldsee how Sylvia bore herself in the new surroundings before he put it allbehind him. This time he found a bit of shade and a fence rail for thetoo friendly nag, and entering the Jenks-Smith grounds afoot, followedthe crowd that was gathering. 

The rose garden of five years' well-trained growth was extremelybeautiful, while the pergola that separated it from the formal garden ofthe fountain, and at the same time served as a gateway to it, wasutilized as the booth where roses and fanciful boxes of giantstrawberries were to be sold. 

Bradford, standing at a little distance, under an archway, scanned thefaces of the smart married women who bustled about canvassing, and theyoung girls who carelessly gathered the sumptuous roses into bouquets forthe buyers, making a great fuss over the thorns as they did so. Then onetall, white-clad figure arrested his attention. It was Sylvia. Shehandled the flowers lovingly, and was bestowing patient attention upon acountry woman, to whom these pampered roses were a revelation, and whowished a bouquet made up of samples, one of each variety, and not a massall of a colour like the bunches that were arranged in the great baskets. 

As Sylvia held the bouquet up for the woman's approval, adding a budhere and there, pausing to breathe its fragrance herself before handingit to the purchaser, Horace's courage came back. She was plainly not apart of the vortex that surrounded her. Circumstances at present seemedto stand between. He could not even venture a guess if she ever gave himother than a friendly thought; but a feeling came over him as he stood inthe deep shade, that some day she might be lonely and need steadfastfriendship, and then the opportunity to serve her would give him theright to question. 

Now thoroughly master of himself, he went toward her, and was rewarded bya greeting of unfeigned pleasure, a few moments of general talk, and abig bunch of roses for his mother. 

"No, you shall not buy these. I am sending them to your mother with mylove, to beg pardon for Miss Lavinia and myself, for we've been trying togo to Pine Ridge all the week; but this affair has kept me spinning likea top, and when I do stop I expect to fall over with weariness. I was_so_ sorry about Rockcliffe Commencement. Some day, perhaps, mamma willhave finished bringing me out, and then I can crawl in again where it isquiet, and live. Ah, you went to the house and saw her, and she said wewere going away next week? I did not know it, but we flit about so onecan never tell. I've half a mind to be rebellious and ask to be left herewith Lavinia Dorman for guardian, I'm so tired of change. Yes, I enjoyedmy flying trip to the West, in a way, though father only came as far asChicago with me, but I expect him to-morrow. "

Then the crowd surged along, peering, staring, and feeling, so that itwould have blocked the way conspicuously if Bradford had lingered longer. As he vanished, Monty Bell sauntered up, and, entering the booth, tookhis place by Sylvia. Under pretext of good-naturedly saving her fingersfrom thorns by tying the bouquets for her, kept by her side all theafternoon, and when a lull came at tea time, strolled with her toward therefreshment tent, where he coaxed her to sit down to rest in one of thelittle recesses that lined the garden wall, where she would be free fromthe crowd while he brought her some supper. 

This she did the more readily because she was really tired, almost to thepoint of faintness, and even felt grateful when Mr. Bell returned withsome dainty food, and sat beside her to hold her plate. She was so usedto seeing him about at all hours, making himself generally useful, thatthe little attentions he continually showered upon her never held afragment of personality in her eyes. 

Now, however, something familiar in his manner jarred upon her and puther strangely on her guard. One of the man's peculiarities was that hehad a hypnotic manner, and presently, almost before she could reallyunderstand what he was about, he had put his arm around her and wasmaking an easy, take-it-all-for-granted declaration of love. 

For an instant she could not believe her ears, and then his tighteningclasp brought realization. Tearing herself away, and dropping her platewith a crash, she faced him with white face and blazing eyes, saying butone word--"Stop!" in so commanding a tone that even his fluency faltered, and he paused in exceeding amaze at the result of what he had supposedany woman of his set would esteem an honour, much more this strange girlwhose mother was engaged so systematically in securing a place at theladder top. 

"If I had understood that your casual politeness to me and usefulness tomy mother meant insult such as this, we should have checked it long ago. "

"Insult?" ejaculated Monty Bell, looking over his shoulder, apprehensivelest some one should be within ear-shot, for to be an object of ridiculewas the greatest evil that could come to him. "You don't understand. Iwant you to marry me. "

"Insult, most certainly! What else do you call it for a man with twolittle daughters, and divorced by his wife for his own unforgivablefault, to ask any woman to marry him! Yes, I know, you see. LaviniaDorman is a friend of Mrs. Bell!"

"The devil!" muttered the man, still looking about uneasily, under thegaze of her uncompromising accusation. In some way the directness of herwords made him feel uncomfortable for the moment, but he quicklyrecovered, changed his tactics, and burying his hands in his pockets, assumed his usually jaunty air, while half a smile, half a sneer, crossedhis face as he said lightly: "What a droll, Puritan spitfire we are, aren't we? As if rearranged families were not a thing of daily happening. Don't feel called upon to kick up a rumpus, it isn't necessary; besides, take a tip from me, _your mother won't like it!_ If you are through withthat cup, I will take the things back, " and nonchalantly shying the bitsof the broken plate into the bushes, he went toward the refreshment tent, saying to his host, Mrs. Jenks-Smith, who was inquiring for Sylvia: "Yes, she is yonder in the second arbour. I've taken her some tea, for she'squite done up; that beastly overland trip home was too much for her inthe first hot weather. "

Consequently the warm-hearted Lady of the Bluffs was naturally preparedto find Sylvia sick and faint, and urged sending her home, where shecould slip in and get to bed unobserved, which was the one thing that thegirl most desired. Also this shrewd lady was wise enough to give no sign, even though she drew her conclusions, when on turning to leave the arbourshe saw a bit of the broken plate lying on the ground at the oppositeside near where a point of the rustic work had torn a shred from Sylvia'smull drapery as she had pulled herself away. 

 * * * * *

By the time that Sylvia had gained her room the warm twilight sky hadbeen transformed to a silver lake by the moon, but she neither enjoyedits beauty nor heard the music that was beginning to come from the rosegarden above, as well as the tea room below stairs. She sat by thewindow, deaf to all outside things, with only one thought in her mind;she would gladly have buried the occurrence of the arbour, if it werepossible, but as it was, she must tell her mother, as now, that hismotive was made plain, Monty Bell, as a matter of course, could no longercome to the house. Finally she went to bed and slept from sheerexhaustion, never for a moment doubting that her mother would take herview of the matter. Presently the French maid crept in and closed theblinds, wondering why Mademoiselle often seemed to take pleasure sosadly, and appeared older than Madame, her mother, and then, feeling atliberty, hurried down gayly to dance on the back porch with the loiteringgentlemen's gentlemen who gathered there. 

 * * * * *

Mrs. Latham slept late the next morning, and at eleven o'clock had onlyfinished looking over her mail without yet touching her breakfast, when, without waiting for an answer to her knock, Sylvia entered. Her motherlooked up in some surprise, for she did not encourage running in and outat all hours, or any of the usual intimacies between a mother and growndaughter who are companions. In fact she did not even ask Sylvia to sitdown, or if she was ill, though her pallor was very apparent, but merelyraised questioning eyebrows, saying, "What is it?" as she turned herattention to some legal-looking documents in her lace-decked lap. 

Chilled to the heart Sylvia seated herself in a low chair by her mother, so that she need not raise her voice, and twisting her hands nervously, told what had happened in as few words as possible, much as if she hadrepeated them over and over until they were learned like a lesson. 

Mrs. Latham's cold gray eyes at first snapped viciously, and then grewbig with wonder as Sylvia ended by saying, "I should never have spoken ofthis to any one, and tried to forget, but you would think it strange thatMr. Bell should stop coming here--and--"

"Think it strange?" said Mrs. Latham, speaking harshly and rapidly, athing she rarely did. "Do you know what I think of you? That you are themost absolute little fool I ever imagined. You not only refuse a man whocould make your social position secure, but rant and get into tantrumsover the compliment he pays you, and call it an 'insult, ' exactly as yourcanting grandmother Latham might have done. I've no patience with you;and if you think that this nonsense of yours shuts the door in MontyBell's face, you are wholly mistaken. 

"While we are upon this subject of divorce that seems to shock you so, Imay as well tell you what you will not see for yourself, and your fatherappears to have been too mealy-mouthed to explain, --we have agreed toseparate. No need of your getting tragic, there are no publicrecriminations on either side, no vulgar infidelity or commonquarrelling, everything quite amicable, I assure you. Simply we find ourtastes totally different, and have done so for several years. Mr. Latham's ambitions are wholly financial, mine are social. He repelled andignored my best friends, and as we are in every way independent of eachother, he has been wise enough to avoid possible and annoyingcomplications by standing out of my way and making it easy for me tolegalize the arrangement and readjust myself completely to newconditions. "

"But what of Carthy and me?" gasped Sylvia, in a voice so choked andhollow that the older woman hesitated, but for a single instant only. "Have neither you nor father thought of us? Where do we belong? Where isour home? Can people who have once loved each other forget their childrenand throw them off so? Does God allow it? You must have cared for fatheronce, for I remember when I was a little girl you told me that you calledme Sylvia, to have my name as nearly like father's--Sylvester--aspossible. Have you forgotten it all, that you can do this thing, when yousay in the same breath that father has done no evil?"

"Don't be tragic, Sylvia, and rake up things that have nothing to do withthe matter. As to your brother, it was your father's foolish severityabout a card debt, and insisting upon placing him away from me, that isprimarily responsible for the divorce, not any wish of mine to exileCarthy. And you ask where your home is, as if I had turned you out, whenyou have just refused an offer that any unmarried society woman, who canafford it, would clutch. "

Sylvia sat silent, looking blindly before her. Her mother waited amoment, as if expecting some reply, and then continued: "Now that thematter is virtually settled, I suppose in a few days the papers willsave me the trouble of announcing it. Under the circumstances, I shallrent the Newport house for the season, as I have had several goodoffers, and go abroad for two or three months on the continent, so thatbefore my return the town house will be redecorated and everything willbe readjusted for a successful winter. You had better take a few daysbefore deciding what to do. You can, of course, come with me, if you arenot sick of travel, or go to your father, who is ready to make you ahandsome allowance; though you will find that awkward at present, as heis moving about so much. If you choose to feel aggrieved just now, youmight persuade your dear, prim Miss Dorman to either stay here with youor take that little furnished house that is to rent on the lower road, if you prefer that form of discomfort they call simplicity. You needn'tdecide now; take time, " she added genially, as if she was doing all thatcould be asked. 

When she ceased speaking, Sylvia, with bowed head, rose and quicklyleft the room. 

Then Mrs. Latham gave a sigh of relief that the interview was over, threwthe papers into a bureau drawer, called to the maid, who had been all thewhile listening in the dressing room, to prepare to arrange her hair, and, taking the chances that Sylvia would keep her room, at least forsome hours, wrote a hasty note to Monty Bell, inviting him to luncheon. 

Meanwhile, Sylvia, instead of going to her room to cry, took her hat andcrept out into the lane that led to the woods. She must be quite away byherself and gain time to think. This was a terrible sort of grief thatcould neither be kept secret nor halved by sympathy, but must be worn inthe full glare of day. Her heart condemned her mother wholly, and sheunderstood why her father kept the silence of shame, --to whom could sheturn? As she gained the woods, and throwing herself down on a soft bed ofhemlock needles, closed her dry, burning eyes, two people seemed to standside by side and look at her pityingly, --Lavinia Dorman and HoraceBradford, --and mentally she turned toward one and shrank from the other. In Miss Lavinia she saw her only refuge, but between herself and Horacethe shadow of his upright mother seemed to intervene. What could theythink of her mother playing at Geisha girl in her own home at the veryhour of its wreck?

XII

HIS MOTHER

_July_ 1. It was several days after the festival before the news of theLatham divorce was made definitely public by a paragraph under theheading of "Society News, " in one of the New York papers, though ofcourse the rumour had crept into every house on the Bluffs, by way of theback stairs. 

Miss Lavinia was greatly distressed, and yet did not know exactly how toact in the matter; for though Mrs. Latham was seen driving by, as usual, Sylvia made no sign. 

We may read of such cases often enough, and yet when the blow falls inthe immediate neighbourhood, one must feel the reflex of the shock. Whilesympathy for Sylvia keeps the thing ever present, like a weight upon thechest, I find myself wondering if anything could have been done to avertthe disaster, and we all rove about in a half unsettled condition. Half adozen times a day Lavinia Dorman starts up with the determination ofcalling upon Sylvia, but this morning decided upon writing her a letterinstead, and having sent it up by Timothy Saunders, is now sitting out inthe arbour, while Martin Cortright is reading to her from his manuscript;but her attention is for the first time divided, and she is continuallyglancing up the road as if expecting a summons, --a state of things thatcauses an expression of mild surprise and disappointment to crossMartin's countenance at her random and inapropos criticisms. I see thatin my recent confusion I have forgotten to record the fact that MissLavinia has fallen into the rôle of critic for Martin's book, and thatfor the last ten days, as a matter of course, he reads to her everyafternoon the result of his morning's work, finding, as he says, that herpower of condensation is of the greatest help in enabling him toeliminate much of the needless detail of his subject that blocked him, and to concentrate his vitality upon the rest. 

This all looks promising, to my romantic mind; for the beginning of allkinds of affection, physical, mental, and spiritual, that are huddledtogether in varying proportions as component parts of love, has itsorigin in dependence. Father declares independence, selfishness, andaloofness to be the trinity of hell. Now Martin Cortright has come todepend upon Lavinia Dorman's opinion, and she is beginning not only torealize and enjoy his dependence, but to aid and abet it. Is not thissymptomatic?

When I approach father upon the Latham affair, he says that he thinks therupture was inevitable from the point of view and conditions thatexisted. He feels, from the evidence that long experience with the innerlife of households has given him, that though a thoughtless woman may bebrought to realize, and a woman with really bad inherited instinctsreclaimed, through love, the wholly selfish woman of Mrs. Latham's typeremains immovable to word of God or man, and is unreachable, save throughthe social code of the class that forms her world, and this codesanctions both the marriage and the divorce of convenience, and receivesthe results equally with open arms. 

As to the effect upon Sylvia, father exhibits much concern, and nolittle anxiety, for he has read her as a nature in some respects old forher twenty-one years, and in others, the side of the feminine, whollyyoung and unawakened, so that this jar, he thinks, comes at a mostcritical moment. 

He has a pretty theory that the untroubled heart of a young girl is likea vessel full of the fresh spring sap of the sugar maple that is beingfreed by slow fire from its crudities and condensed to tangible form. When a certain point is reached, it is ready to crystallize about thefirst object that stirs it ever so lightly, irrespective of its quality:this is first love. But if the condensing process is lingering, no jardisturbing it prematurely until, as it reaches perfection, the vitaltouch suddenly reaches its depths, then comes real love, perfected atfirst sight, clinging everlastingly to the object, love that endures byits own strength, not by mere force of habit; and this love belongs onlyto the heart's springtime, before full consciousness has made itspeculative. 

 * * * * *

When Horace Bradford drove homeward the afternoon of the fête, he was ina brown study, having no realization of time or place until the wisehorse turned in at the barnyard gate, and after standing a moment by hisusual hitching post, looked over his shoulder and gave a whinny toattract his master's attention. Then Horace started up, shook off hislethargy, and hurried to the porch, where his mother stood waiting, togive her the roses, and Sylvia's message. 

Mrs. Bradford was, for one of her reserve, almost childishly eager tohear of the experiences of the afternoon, and was prepared to sit downcomfortably on the porch and have her son give a full account of it; butinstead, he gave her a few rather incoherent details, and leaving herstanding with the splendid roses held close to her face, very much inSylvia's own attitude, he hurried up to his room, where she could hearhim moving about as if unpacking his things, and opening and shuttingdrawers nervously. 

"Never mind, " she said softly to herself, "he will tell me all about herwhen he is ready. Meanwhile, I'll wait, and not get in his way, --that iswhat mothers are for. " But by some strange impulse she loosened thestring that bound the roses, and placed them in one of her few treasures, a silver bowl, in the centre of the supper table, and going to herbedchamber, which was, country fashion, back of the sitting room, arrayedherself in Horace's gifts, --the silk gown and fichu, with the onyx barand butterflies to fasten it, --and then returned to the porch to watchthe twilight gently veil sunset. 

Upstairs, Horace unpacked his trunks in a rebellious mood. In the morninghe had felt in the proper sense self-sufficient and contented, --theposition, which a few months before he thought perhaps ten years ahead ofhim, had suddenly dropped at his feet, and he felt a natural elation, though it stopped quite short of self-conceit. He could afford to relaxthe grip with which he had been holding himself in check, and face theknowledge that he loved Sylvia; while the fact that fate had brought herto summer in his vicinity seemed but another proof that fortune wassmiling upon him. 

Now everything, though outwardly the same, was changed by the new pointof view, which he realized that he had already tried to conceal from hismother, by his scanty account of the festival. He had been suddenlyconfronted by conditions that he never expected to meet outside of thepages of fiction, and felt himself utterly unable to combat them. Underthe present circumstances even neighbourly friendship with Sylvia wouldbe difficult. It was not that Mrs. Latham had overawed him in the least, but she had raised in him so fierce and blinding a resentment by her onlyhalf unconscious reference to his mother, that he resolved that under nocircumstances should she run the risk of being equally rebuffed. He wouldprotect her from a possible intercourse, where she could not be expected, at her age, to hold her own, at no matter what cost to himself. 

"Egg woman!" Was it not his mother's pride and endeavour, her thrift andcourage to carry on the great farm alone, and the price of such things asthose very eggs, that had carried through his dying father's wish, andsent him to college, thus giving him his chance in the world? No regretat the fact, no false pride, dawned on him even for a second. All hisrage was that such a woman as Sylvia's mother should have the power tostir him so, and then his love for Sylvia herself, intensified by pityfor the unknown trouble that he sensed rather than read in her face, cutinto him like a wound. He felt as if he must pick her up in his strongarms and bear her away from all those clamouring people; and then therealization both of his inability and ignorance of her own attitude fellupon him like a chill, for she had never written or said a word to himthat might not have passed between any two college friends. Such thoughtsoccupied him, until finally, as often fortunately happens in our mentalcrises, a humdrum, domestic voice, the supper bell, called him, andleaving his garments strewn about the room, he went downstairs. 

His mother was still sitting in the porch, and he became at onceconscious of a change in her appearance. As she looked up in pleasedexpectancy, he recognized the cause, and his sternness vanishedinstantly, as he said, "How fine we look to-night, " and half sitting onthe little foot-bench beside her, and half kneeling, he touched the softlace, and gently kissed the withered cheek whose blood was still not sofar from the surface but that it could return in answer to the caress, while she looked yearningly into the eyes that even now were hardly on alevel with hers, as if searching for the cause of what might be troublinghim. Yet she only said, as they rose and went indoors, "I put on yourgifts for you, at our first supper together, " adding with anunconsciousness that made Horace smile in spite of himself, --"besides, Ishouldn't wonder if some of the neighbours might drop in to see us, forit must have got about by this time that you've come home; the mailcarrier saw you drive out this morning, I'm quite sure. "

Neighbours did call; some from pure friendliness, others to see if"Horace acted set up by his new callin' and fortune, " and still others, who had been to the Bluffs that afternoon, to tell of the wonders of thefestival, their praise or condemnation varying according to age, untilMrs. Bradford was at a loss whether to think the affair a spectacle offairyland or a vision of the bottomless pit, and Horace was in tormentlest he should be appealed to for an opinion, which he was presently. "What did he think of the tea room? Was Mrs. Latham painted? Was sheSylvia's mother, or step-mother, and if she was the former, didn't sheact dreadful giddy for the mother of grown children? And didn't he thinkSylvia was just sweet, so different from the rest, and sort of sad, asif she had a step-mother, as people said, and was sat on?" The questionerbeing the very woman for whom Sylvia had taken such pains in selectingthe bouquet of specimen roses, who proved to be the new wife of aneighbour whom Horace had not met. 

It seemed to Horace that his mother purposely looked away from him as hetried to pull himself together, and answer nonchalantly that he believedthat Mrs. Latham was Sylvia's own mother, though she did appear veryyoung, and that of course she was acting the part of a Geisha girl, atea-seller, which would account for her sprightly manner, etc. , unconsciously putting what he wished in the place of what he knew, addingwith a heartiness that almost made his voice tremble that Miss Sylviacertainly did seem different, and as if she was no kin of her mother's. 

"I guess, then, likely it isn't her step-mother, but that she's worriedin her mind about her beau, " continued the loquacious woman, pleased athaving such a large audience for her news. "I heard some folks say, --whenI was waitin' about for my cream, and havin' a good look at all themillionnaires, which they didn't mind, but seemed to expect, the samebein' fair enough, seein' as it's what I paid to go in for, --that theman they call Mr. Bell, that's been hangin' around the Bluffs sincespring, is courtin' her steady, but she can't seem to make up her mind. Thinks I to myself, I don't wonder, for I've had a good look at him, andhe's well over forty, and though he dresses fine, from his eyes Iwouldn't trust him, if he was a pedler, even to weigh out my rags andchange 'em for tin, without I'd shook the scales well first. The samefolks was sayin' that he's a grass widower, anyway, and I shouldn't thinkher folks would put up with that, fixed as they be, yet they do say, " andhere her voice dropped mysteriously, "that Mrs. Latham's a kind of grasswidder herself, for her husband hasn't turned up in all the year she'sbeen here, and nobody's so much as seen his name to a check. "

At this point Mrs. Bradford made an effort to turn the conversation intoother channels; for friendly as she always was with her neighbours of alldegrees, she never allowed unkind gossip in her house, and only anewcomer would have ventured upon it. As it was, the loquacious one feltthe rebuke in the air, and made hasty adieus on the plea of having to setbread, leaving the rest to talk to their host of themselves, theirpleasure at his return, and the local interests of Pine Ridge. 

When they had all gone, Horace locked the back door, after filling anold yellow and bronze glazed pitcher, which bric-à-brac hunters wouldhave struggled for, at the well, as he had done every night during hisboyhood, he left it on the hall table, and going out the front way to thegarden, walked up and down the long straight walk, between the sweet peasand rose bushes, for more than an hour, until, having fought to noconclusion the battle into which a new foe had entered, he returned tothe house and went noiselessly to his room. 

Here, in place of the confusion he had left, quiet and order reigned. Allhis clothes were laid away in their old places. He had but to reach hishand inside the closet, the door of which hesitated before opening in itsfamiliar way, to find his night gear; the sheets were turned down at theexact angle, and the pillows arranged one crosswise, one upright, as heliked them, --his mother's remembering touch was upon everything. 

He undressed without striking a light, and lay down, only to lookwakefully out at the dark lattice of tree branches against the moonlitsky. Presently a step sounded on the stairs and paused at his partly opendoor. He raised himself on his elbow, and peering through the crack sawhis mother standing there in night-dress and short sack, shading thecandle with her hand as she used when he was a little chap, to make surethat he was safe asleep and had not perhaps crept out the window to gocoon hunting with the bigger boys, --a proceeding his father always winkedat, but which she feared would lead him to overdo and get a fever. 

"I'm here, mother, " he said cheerfully. 

"Are you quite comfortable, Horace? Is there nothing that you want?"

He hesitated a moment, and then said frankly, "Yes and no, mother. "

"Is it anything that I can do for you?" she asked, coming into the roomand smoothing his hair as she spoke. 

"Ah, that is the _no_ of it, and the hard part, " he answered, capturingthe hand and holding it tight between his own. 

"And the hard part for your old mother too, when the one thing comesthat she cannot give or do. Whatever it is, don't shut me out from it, Horace, --that is, unless you must, " and tucking the light summer quilt inUnder the pillow by one of his hands, she kissed his forehead and wentaway. 

Horace Bradford must have slept, for his next consciousness was of thefresh wind and light of morning, and as he drew his cramped hand fromunder his pillow, something soft and filmy came with it, --a woman'shandkerchief edged with lace. 

For a minute he held it in surprise, and then began to search thecorners for the marking. There it was, two embroidered initials, S. L. Where had it dropped from? Who had put it there? Was it a message or anaccident? Yet it was both and neither. His mother had found the daintything in the package from New York that held the gown and ornaments, where it had dropped from Sylvia's waist that night, four months before, when she stood leaning on Miss Lavinia Dorman's table, as the parcel wasbeing tied. 

Mrs. Bradford had pondered over it silently until, the day when I went tosee her and chanced to mention Sylvia Latham's name, its identity flashedupon her; and when gropingly she came to associate this name withsomething that troubled Horace, obliterating self and mother jealousy, she tucked the bit of linen underneath his pillow, with an undefinedidea, knowing nothing, in the hope that it might comfort him. And so itdid; for even when he learned the manner of its coming, he put it in hisletter case as a reminder not to despair but wait. 

 * * * * *

When a week had passed and the matter of the divorce had been well aired, discussed, and was no longer a novelty to her neighbours on the Bluffs, Mrs. Latham's plan of soon closing her cottage and transferring theservants to Newport, with the exception of the stable men and a couple ofcaretakers, was announced, as she was going abroad for the baths. Thesame day Lavinia Dorman received an urgent note from Sylvia, asking her"when and where she could see her alone, if, as she thought likely, shedid not feel inclined to come to the house. " The tone of the brief noteshowed that Sylvia felt the whole matter to be a keen disgrace that notonly compromised herself but her friends. 

Of course Miss Lavinia went, and would have gone even if she had tocombat Mrs. Latham, for whom she asked courteously at the door; but thatlady, for some reason, did not choose to appear and run the gantlet, andsent an elaborate message about a sick headache by the now somewhatcrestfallen Perkins. Presently Sylvia slipped into the morning room, andcrouching by Miss Lavinia, buried her face in her friend's lap, thetension at last giving way, and it was some time before she grew quietenough to talk coherently, and tell her plan, which is this: she wishesMiss Lavinia to take the Alton cottage (which is furnished) at the footof the Bluffs, for the rest of the season, and live there with her. Thenas soon as Mrs. Latham has gone, and the poor girl has steadied herself, her father, to whom she has already written, will come, and what she willdo in the autumn will be arranged. Everything is as yet vague; but onething she has decided for herself--under no circumstances will she againlive with her mother, and she is now staying quietly in the house andtaking her meals in her room, in order to give the scandalmongers andgossips as little material as possible. 

Lavinia Dorman, who readily consented to do as she asked, says thatSylvia is brave and heartbroken at the same time, that all her girlishspontaneity has gone, and she is like a statue. 

I am so sorry to have Miss Lavinia go, even a few hundred yards down theroad, it has seemed so good to have an older woman in the house to whom Ican say, "Would you, or wouldn't you?" Martin is also quite upset, andhas stopped writing and begun fumbling and pulling the reference booksabout again; but Miss Lavinia says that she is not going to give up theafternoon reading, for she thinks the history is a work of importance notto be slighted, and that Sylvia will doubtless take up her own readingand practising after a time; that while she herself has willinglyconsented to chaperon her, she does not intend to give up her ownfreedom, nor would it be good for Sylvia if she did. 

Yesterday morning Miss Lavinia received a letter from Sylvester Latham, thanking her for the offer of temporary protection for his daughter, andtelling her, in curt business terms, meant to be affable, to name her ownprice for the office. 

I have never before seen the ladylike Lavinia Dorman so completely andungovernably angry. I could do nothing with her, and last evening it tookthe united efforts of Martin, father, and Evan to convince her that itwas not a real affront. Poor Mr. Latham, he has not yet gotten beyondmoney valuation of friendship; but then it is probably because he has hadno chance. Perhaps--but no, life is too serious just now in that quarterfor me to allow myself remotely pleasant perhapses. 

Miss Lavinia was too agitated to play piquet to-night, so she and Martinsat in the porch where the light from the hall lamp was sufficient toenable them to play a couple of games of backgammon, to steady hernerves, she said; and presently, as the dice ceased rattling, Evan gaveme a nudge of intelligence, and looking over I found that they hadreversed the board and were playing "Give away" with checkers. 

"After this, what?" I whispered to Evan. 

"Jackstraws, " he answered, shaking with silent laughter. 

 * * * * *

Horace Bradford turned his mind for the next few days to the many thingsabout the place that needed his attention, resolving that he would let aweek or so elapse before making any further attempt to see Sylvia, and inthat time hoped to find Miss Lavinia at home, and from her possiblyreceive some light upon the gossip about Mr. Bell, as well as news ofSylvia herself. 

The sinking-fund for repairs and rebuilding the house that he and hismother had been accumulating ever since he had made his own way, he foundto be in a healthy condition. A new hay barn and poultry house was to beput up at once; and, as soon as practicable, his wish of many years, torestore the brick house, that had been marred by "lean-tos" in the wrongplaces, to its colonial simplicity, could be at least begun. 

Every day until two or three o'clock in the afternoon he gave to theseaffairs, and then he went to his books. But here again he met with astrange surprise, a new sensation, --he could neither fix his mind uponwriting, nor take in what he read; the letters were as meaningless asfly specks on the pages. After a day or two he gave up the attempt. Hehad worked too closely during the last term, he thought; his sight didnot register on his brain, --he had heard of such cases; he would rest aweek or so. 

Then every afternoon he walked over the Ridge to the little river in thevalley, carrying a book in his pocket, and his fishing-rod as a sort ofexcuse, and poling an old flatboat down-stream to a shady spot under thetrees, propped his rod in place, where by a miracle he occasionallycaught a perch or bass, sat looking idly into the water, the brim of anold felt hat turned down about his eyes. One day, near the week's end, ashe was lounging thus, his eye was attracted by a headline in a bit ofnewspaper in which he had wrapped his bait box to save his pocket. It wasa semi-local paper from town, one that his mother took, but which theyseldom either of them read, and the date was three days back. He turnedit over idly, pausing as he did so to pull up the line which was beingjerked violently, but only by a mud eel. Why did he return again to thescrap of paper when he had freed his hook? His eyes caught strange words, and his hands began to tremble as he read. It was the condensed report ofthe Latham divorce that was now going the rounds of the journals. 

He paused a moment, then folded the paper, put it in his pocket, poledthe boat with vigorous strokes to the landing-place, and strode throughthe woods and across the cornfields homeward, his heart beatingtumultuously until he seemed almost to be struggling with suffocation. 

He stopped at the barn and harnessed a horse to the old buggy, passing bythe new one that he had recently ordered from town, and then went intothe house, where, taking off his slouchy fishing clothes, he put on thesame ceremonious afternoon wear that he would have worn at Northbridge ifgoing to call, put Sylvia's handkerchief in his inner pocket, and went insearch of his mother. 

He found her in the kitchen, tying the covers upon countless jars ofcurrant jam. She looked surprised to see him back at such an hour, but said nothing, as Esther Nichols was close by, employed in wipingoff the jars. 

"I'm going over to Oaklands for a drive, " he said, handing her the scrapof newspaper with a gesture that meant silence. 

"Shall I wait supper for you, or will you be late?" she said, touchinghis hand with a gesture almost of entreaty. 

"I may be late, but--yes, you may wait supper, " he replied, looking backat her in going out, as if he wanted to carry the picture well forward inhis mind, against any forgetfulness. 

The miles between Pine Ridge and the Bluffs seemed endless. He had atfirst intended to go to Oaklands village to see Miss Lavinia and gathersuch tidings as he could of the calamity that had overtaken Sylvia; forhe never for a moment questioned but that the girl, who had beenentirely straightforward, even in days of college pranks, should soregard the matter. But as he drove along, and the very fact that he wasmoving toward a definite end calmed him and clarified his judgment, heresolved to go directly to Sylvia herself. He would certainly do thisif he had seen the announcement of her parents' deaths; then why notnow, when their love that gave her birth was officially and publiclydeclared extinct?

He drove through the wide gateway and left his horse standing by a stonepillar outside the porte-cochère, --the beast would stand anywhere ifthere was a bar or post for him to look at, --and walked up the steps withthe air of one who is not to be gainsaid. 

"Not at home, " replied the singsong voice of Perkins, in answer toBradford's demand for Miss Latham, Potts and Parker having already goneto open the Newport house for the renter, as a staff of servants was letwith it, and then he added, as if conferring a favour, "and Mrs. Lathamhas gone on the coach to the station to meet some guests, the last 'ouseparty before she sails. "

"Before she sails, " thought Bradford, numbly. Sylvia was going? Could hebelieve the man? Should he go through the formality of leaving a cardthat she might not get? No, he would go home and write a letter. 

Sylvia kept the house until late in the afternoon, these days. Then sheslipped out by the servants' stairway, and through the garden, to walk inthe wood lane that ran northward, joining the two parallel highroads; forher healthy body needed air, and she knew that if she did not have it, she could not control herself to keep peaceful silence for even the fewdays that remained. So it chanced this afternoon that she was walking toand fro in the quiet lane where the ferns crept down quite to the grassywheel tracks, when Perkins said those repellent words, "Not at home. "

As Bradford turned out the gate and noticed that the sun was alreadysetting, he thought to save time by cutting through the almost unusedlane to the turnpike that led directly to Pine Ridge. He had driven buthalfway across, when a flutter of light garments a little way aheadattracted him. Could it be? Yes, it was Sylvia, in truth, and at themoment that he recognized her and sprang to the ground she heard theapproaching hoofs and turned. For a full minute neither spoke nor moved, then going quickly to her and stretching out both hands, he said, hisheart breaking through his voice, "I have been to see you. I did not knowuntil to-day. "

She gave her hands, and in another moment his strong arms held her fastand unresisting--the purifying friendship of those unconscious yearscrystallized and perfected at love's first touch. 

They said but very little as they walked up and down the lane together, for half an hour; but as the shadows lengthened, the thought came equallyto both--"What should they do next? How could they part, and yet how staytogether?" Horace, with man's barbarian directness, would have liked tobear her home to safety and his mother; but the shadow of usage and hermother stood between, for in spite of the hollow mockery of it all, Sylvia was still of her household. 

"I must take you home, " he said at last, "and to-morrow I will come--allshall be arranged. "

"To-night, " she whispered, clasping his arm in nervous terror. "Comeback with me and tell her to-night; then I shall feel sure, and notas if it was not real. And when you have told her, --before whoevermay be there, remember, --go home; do not stop to listen to anythingshe may say. "

They drove slowly back, and went up the steps to the house, from whichvoices and laughter came, hand in hand, like two children; but they werechildren no longer when they crossed the threshold and saw Monty Bell inthe group that loitered with Mrs. Latham in the reception hall, waitingfor dinner to be announced. 

Sylvia's thin gown was wet with dew, her hair was tossed about, her eyesbig with excitement, and a red spot burned in each cheek in startlingcontrast to her pallor--all of which gave her a wild and unusual beautythat absolutely startled as well as shocked her mother, letting her thinkfor a second that Sylvia was going to make a scene, had gone mad, perhaps, and run away, and that the tall man holding her by the hand hadfound her and brought her home. 

Taking a few hasty steps forward, and dreading anything disagreeablytragic, she said: "Mr. Bradford, I believe. What is it? What hashappened?"

"Only this, that Miss Sylvia has promised to be my wife, and that, as hermother, we have come to tell you of it before I go home to tell my own. "Horace Bradford drew himself up to every inch of his full height as hespoke, bowed to Mrs. Latham, then led Sylvia to the foot of the stairs, saying, "Until to-morrow, " and walked quietly out of the house. 

No one spoke. Then Mrs. Latham, choking with rage, feeling herselfhelplessly at bay (Sylvia was of age, and she could not even assumeauthority under the circumstances), collapsed on a divan in modifiedhysterics, and Monty Bell, completely thunderstruck, finally broke thesilence by his characteristic exclamation, "I'll be damned!"

 * * * * *

After their belated supper, when Esther Nichols had gone over to aneighbour's, Horace, sitting by his mother's side, out in thehoneysuckled porch, where the sphinx moths whirred like humming-birds ofnight, holding her hands in his, told her all. And she, stifling themother pain that, like a birth pang, expected yet dreaded, must come atfirst when the other woman, no matter how welcome, steps between, foldedhis hands close, as if she held him again a baby in her arms, and said, smiling through vague tears, "To-morrow we will go together to her, myblessed son. "

"I cannot ask you to do that; there are reasons--I will bring Sylvia toyou later, when her mother has gone, " he answered hastily, resolving thathe would do anything to shield her self-respect from the possible shockof meeting that other mother. 

"Horace, you forget yourself, and your father too, " she said almoststernly. "I am country bred, but still I know the world's ways. Yourfather's wife will go first to greet her who will be yours; you need notfear for me, " and he sat silent. 

That next afternoon, when Horace's first and last love met, they lookedinto each other's hearts and saw the same image there, while Mrs. Lathamlay on the lounge in her room, raging within, that again her tongue hadfailed her in her own house, and realizing that, woman of the world asshe aimed to be, the "egg woman" had rendered her helpless by mere forceof homely courtesy. Presently she rose, and railing and scolding thebewildered maid, sent a message to New York to transfer her passage, ifpossible, to an earlier steamer. 

XIII

GOSSIP AND THE BUG HUNTERS

_July_ 18. It is such a deadly sin to marry outside of the limited setthat is socially registered, that I now understand why many of theWhirlpoolers are mentally inbred, almost to the vanishing point, so thatthey have lost the capacity of thinking for themselves, and mustnecessarily follow a leader. 

Sylvia Latham's engagement to Horace Bradford has caused a much greatersensation than her mother's divorce. To be sure, every one who has metHorace, not only fails to find anything objectionable about him, butaccords him great powers of attraction; yet they declare in the samebreath that the affair will not do for a precedent, and deplore itsradical influence. 

To-day we have settled down to midsummer quiet and to a period of silenceafter much talking. The Bluffs are quite deserted except by a bevy ofchildren left with governesses while their parents are yachting or inEurope, and the servants in charge of the various houses. But a trail ofdiscontent is left behind, for these servants, by their conspicuousidleness, are having a very demoralizing effect upon the help in theplain houses hereabout, who are necessarily expected to do more work forlower wages. 

I am fully realizing, also, that the excitement of living other people'slives, which we cannot control, through sympathetic imagination, is evenmore wearing than meeting one's own responsibilities. A certain amount ofseparateness--I use the word in an entirely opposite meaning to that ofaloofness--is, I find, necessary to every member of our household, andthis chance for intimacy with oneself is a luxury denied to those wholive all their lives taking joy and sorrow equally in a crowd. 

Even the boys, young as they are, recognize it unconsciously, and haveseparate tree lairs, and neither may enter the other's, without goingthrough some mysterious and wonderful ceremony and sign language, bywhich permission is asked and granted. 

There are often days when father sits in his study with closed door ordrives over the hills without desire for even the boys as companions. This need not signify that he is either ill or worried, --it is simply theneed of separateness. The same thing applies to Evan when he sometimesslips out through the garden at night, without word or sign, and is onlytraceable by the beacon his cigar point makes, as he moves among thetrees, until this also vanishes, while my attic corner and the seat atthe end of the wild walk offer me similar relief. 

At least the attic did until Martin Cortright, at my own invitation, established a rival lair at the opposite end. I did not think that itwould matter, the presence of this quiet man barricaded by his books andpapers, but it does, because the charm of isolation is destroyed. I wouldnot have done otherwise, however; I have all outdoors, and he will havereturned to New York to find winter quarters, and arrange for thepublication of the first volume of his history when autumn and shut-intime draws near. 

Mrs. Latham sailed last week, and Sylvia is now in New York visiting herfather at his hotel and arranging her future plans. To-morrow shereturns, and together with Lavinia Dorman goes to the Alton cottageuntil late August or early September, when her wedding is expected totake place. 

At the last moment Mrs. Latham changed her plan of leaving the Bluffcottage in the charge of servants, had all her personal belongings movedaway, and offered the place for sale. 

"Yes, my dear, " said Mrs. Jenks-Smith, who, being a sort of honorarystewardess of the Colony, usually remains a full week after thebreaking-up time, and frequently runs in to report progress, "she's notcoming back; being divorced she doesn't need to claim residence here. Theplace is so convenient to town, too, but I can't really blameher, --though of course I'm glad poor Sylvia's to be happy in her own way, and all that, for it's plain to be seen with one eye she's too slow to goher mother's pace--you couldn't expect Vivvy Latham, over all the hurdlesbut one, and almost at the end of the race, to relish her daughter'smother-in-law being in the egg trade in the very neighbourhood. 

"At first everybody thought that the Bradfords, mother and son, wouldprobably give up work and float on Sylvester J. Latham's money, for theysay (to spite Vivvy, most likely) he took to Horace Bradford at thefirst, for what did the young fellow do but go straight to town and lookSylvester up, and make a clean breast of it before the gossips could eventwist their tongues around the affair. 

"Sylvester thought he could handle Bradford to suit himself, move him toNew York, jam him into business, cut up the farm in house lots, reorganize his affairs, and declare a dividend out of him for his ownbenefit, as he does with lame railroads, --but not a bit of it!

"'With what you may choose to do for Sylvia personally, it would beselfish for me to interfere; but our way of living can only be plannedupon the basis of what I earn, ' said Horace, looking Mr. Latham in theface, and he's a big man too, --Sylvia gets her height from him. 

"It rather knocked Sylvester out, because it was a kind of spunk he'dnever met, and he told Jenks-Smith about it. Thought they didn't speak?Oh yes, they're thick again, just now, over some kind of a deal. 

"Did you know Jenks-Smith had bought Vivvy's house here? Yes, the deedwas passed the day she sailed. We've got to keep the Bluffs select, youknow, and if the house was put on the market, goodness knows who mightbuy it, just to get in with us. 

"Mr. Latham had an idea of taking it and giving it to Sylvia, but theywouldn't have that either, --are just fixing up the old house a bit, andgoing to summer at the farm, while the old lady will keep on selling eggsthe same as ever. Not but what she's a thoroughbred all right, though ina cheap stable. I was down at Vivvy's the day she came to call on Sylvia!Just as quiet and cool, except that her hands in the openwork silk mitsshook, as if her son was a duke. I thought there would be a lively row, and I wished myself out of it, but Vivvy hadn't a chance to strike outuntil the old lady got up to go, then she only said: 'You must notunderstand that I approve of Sylvia's folly, or in any way give myconsent to this rash engagement. I cannot prevent it, that is all. '

"The old lady's eyes flashed, and I thought, now for it; but she onlylooked Vivvy through and through, and said very clearly: 'Most brides arebetter for their mother's blessing, but under the circumstances I thinkwe prefer to do without it. '"

Well-meaning Lady of the Bluffs, I'm really acquiring a sort of affectionfor her in spite of her crudity. If all the Whirlpoolers were like her, the pool might be a noisy torrent, but never a dangerous one. 

 * * * * *

This is Lavinia Dorman's last day with me, and I know she is really sorryto go, in spite of a sort of pleasurable responsibility and excitementshe feels in managing Sylvia's affairs for a time. 

She waked up with a bad headache--a rare thing for her--and afterbreakfast seemed so forlorn and blue that I coaxed her into my room andpetted her for a while, almost as I would one of the children; and as sheno longer conceals the fact of the false front from me, I took it off, brushed and brushed her lovely hair until it grew supple and alive, andbegan to glisten, and the pain gradually slipped through it into the air;then I drew it up cushionwise from her forehead and coiled it loosely ontop, and she, declaring that my fingers had a magic touch, spent the restof the morning at my desk in writing letters. 

The lovable woman who has no one specially to love her is a commontragedy of everyday life. Strangely enough it more often drawsridicule than sympathy, and it seems to be always considered thewoman's own fault, instead of a combination of circumstances, wovenoften of self-sacrifice, mistaken duty, and the studied suppression ofnatural emotions. 

I think that both Miss Lavinia and Martin Cortright dread the going backto their old existence, and yet I am not sure that either of them wouldconsent to change it in any way, in spite of their growlings at themodern conditions of life in New York. They have learned to lean upon thevery restrictions that cramp them, until the idea of cutting free seemsas impossible as for the bulky woman to sever the stay-lace that at oncesuffocates and supports her. 

Martin Cortright stayed to luncheon to-day. Not that it is an unusualoccurrence, but he wished to have a long afternoon to finish reading acertain portion of his manuscript to Miss Lavinia before her flitting inthe morning. 

We were seated at the table when she came in hurriedly, apologizing forbeing late, saying that she had become so absorbed in finishing herletters that she did not realize that it was even noon. I did not look ather particularly until a few moments later, when Martin, after fussingwith his bread a good deal, looked up and said, with a charming smile, "What a very becoming gown you have on to-day, Miss Lavinia. "

"Yes, " said father, "I was thinking precisely the same thing myself, soyou see that in spite of our condemning your sex for paying so muchattention to clothes, we men are the first to note the result of them. "

Miss Lavinia looked puzzled. She was too much the politic woman of theworld to say that the dimity gown was the same one that she had worn forthe two or three days previous; besides, the fact would have cast a doubtupon their judgment, and she was particular in all such little details ofgood breeding; so she parried the compliment deftly, and straightway fellto pondering as to what circumstance the remark might refer. Glancingtoward the open window, she caught a reflection of herself where theglass, backed by the dark green curtain, made a mirror. She had forgottento rearrange her hair, and her burnished silver-shot locks remainedrolled back lightly from her white forehead without the ugly, concealingfront! I rejoiced inwardly, for the spontaneous tribute to theimprovement by those two dear, stupid, discriminating men, has settledthe fronts in a way in which no arguments of mine could, for to-night shecame to dinner not only with her own emancipated hair, but wearing a bitof red geranium stuck fetchingly in the puff. 

 * * * * *

_August_ 1. Sylvia has returned, and Miss Lavinia has gone to her, Lucyand the portly cook having arrived from New York last night, in companywith Josephus, confined in a large hamper borrowed from the fishmonger, in the top of which a ventilator had been introduced. Josephus wasnaturally indignant when first let out, and switched his tail in wrath, declining to recognize his mistress, and starting to explore the houselike an evil spirit. This morning I found him calmly perched on ourwoodshed roof, gazing wickedly at the boys' banty chickens in the coopbelow. I predict that he gets into trouble, unless his silver collar, like a badge of aristocracy, protects him. But what can you expect of amisguided Whirlpool cat, whose only conception of a bird is a dustystreet sparrow, when he meets face to face the delicious and whettingelusiveness of a banty chick or a young robin. 

Poor Sylvia is nervously tired out, and the month's rest will be a realboon. Her plans are quite settled, and there is nothing for her to do butrest until the time comes to carry them out. She and Horace are to bemarried the last week in August, so that they will have time for aCanadian trip before College begins and they return to settle down in ascrap of a house in Northbridge. 

August seems to be considered an unusual month for a wedding; but itsuits the circumstances, and as Sylvia has decided to be married quiteprivately here at Oaklands, for her own sake, as well as for Mrs. Bradford's convenience, she wisely wishes to have it over before thepossible return of the Whirlpoolers. 

Horace had hoped that his mother would join them in Northbridge, butshe said "No, " very firmly, adding, with a quaint, twinkling smile, "Horace, nobody ever loved each other closer than your father and I, but there were times in the beginning when ever so well meaning a thirdfinger in our pie would have spoiled the baking. Best leave old motheron the farm until by and by, when she can't tell a fresh egg from abad one any longer. "

So Horace comes down twice a week to visit Sylvia, and Miss Lavinia oftendrives to Pine Ridge with her and leaves her for a day, so that Mrs. Bradford may share the pleasant woman's talk of linen for table and bed, and other details of a bridal outfit. 

We all missed Miss Lavinia when she left, that is, all but the boys, andthey hailed the change with joy, as giving them another house to roam inand out of. How much of the joy of childhood that we so envy comes fromtheir freedom from prejudice, the ability they have for adaptingthemselves. 

Martin was so distrait for a time that father absolutely ventured totease him a little, whereupon he turned stoutly about and declared: "Ihave never denied the inspiration and value of congenial female society, and the mere fact that circumstances have shut me from it so much of lateyears makes me all the more appreciative of present privileges. Oh, Dick, old friend, isn't it some credit to a man who has lived backward almostfrom his birth, if, after he's sixty, he realizes it and tries to catchup with the present? It seems to me as if the best things had alwaysbeen just within my grasp, only to slip away again, through unforeseencircumstances, and my ill luck reminds me of a story and picture in acomic paper that the boys were chuckling over last night. It was of awell-intentioned beetle who fattened a nice green caterpillar for itsfamily's thanksgiving dinner, and the thing went and spun itself into acocoon the night before!"

Martin Cortright at times verges on the pathetic, but always cureshimself by his appreciation of his own limitations before he reaches thebore stage. He too is taking a short vacation from work, or rather Ishould say that he has developed industry in a new direction and becomeabsorbed in entomology, to the extent of waging war on the tentcaterpillars that are disfiguring both the orchards and the wild cherrytrees of the highways with their untidy filmy nests, leaving the foliageprematurely brown and sere, from their ravages. Yesterday, in drivinghome from Pine Ridge with Sylvia, we noticed that even the wood edges hadthe appearance of being scorched by fire, and many of the old orchardswhere we go in May for apple blossoms are wrecks meshed in thetreacherous slimy webs. 

Martin's methods are regular and very simple, but he goes about his taskeach day as if the matter was a marvel of military strategy. First heputs a book ostentatiously in one pocket and a flask of alcohol in theother. Next he takes his torch, consisting of a piece of sponge wired toan old rake handle, which he keeps on the back stoop, and makes sure thatit is tight and secure, finally searching me out to say that in case hemeets Miss Lavinia, have I any message for her. 

Why he does not keep his outfit up at Martha's I do not know; perhapsbecause of Timothy's keen tongue. 

Miss Lavinia, after her morning housekeeping is over, takes her work bagto the narrow cottage porch and apparently gives herself up to the taskof making pin-cushions for Sylvia or embroidering initials on napery. Suddenly she will get up, say that her feet are falling asleep and thatshe needs a walk to restore her circulation. Will Sylvia go with her?Sylvia, after pretending to consider, thinks not, making some excuse ofits being too warm or that she expects Horace that day. Presently twoprim people walking in opposite directions meet and, taking the samepath, may be seen any morning along the less frequented roads and orchardpaths, sometimes repairing the torch that has a constant tendency to loseits head, sometimes watching the destruction by fire of an unusuallywicked worm city, and frequently with their heads stuck into somesuspicious bush, where they appear to be watching invisible things withbreathless interest. 

[Illustration: The Bug Hunters. ]

Father and I chanced upon them when thus employed the other morning. Martin turned about and in the most serious manner began to dilate uponthe peculiarities of worms in general and particular, as well as of theappropriateness of their study by the book collector, as the score and ahalf insects that injure books and their bindings are not worms at all, having none of the characteristics of the veritable book worm _Sitodrepapanicea_, to all of which Miss Lavinia listened with devout attention. 

"What makes them act so?" I said, half to myself, as we drove on, andfather stopped shaking with laughter. "There isn't the slightest reasonwhy they should not go to walk together; why do they manoeuvre with allthe transparency of ostriches?"

"It's another manifestation of suppressed youth, " said father, wiping hiseyes, "upon the principle that the boy would rather slip out of thewindow to go coasting at night than ask leave and walk out publicly, andthat when a young girl begins to grow romantic, she often takes infinitepains to go round the back way to meet some one who is quite welcome atthe front door. When young folks have not had a chance to do thesethings, and the motive for them lies dormant, heaven alone knows how orwhen it will break loose. "

Others, however, have observed, and the "Bug Hunters" has now come to bethe local nickname of these two most respectable middle-aged people withancestors. 

Josephus, who has been leading a sporting life for many days, or rathernights, has at last returned minus his long tail with which he used toexpress his displeasure in such magnificent sweeps. Miss Lavinia is intears, and wishes to have a reward offered for the apprehension of thedoer of the deed. 

Evan says that if she does, and thus acknowledges the cat as hers, shemay be deluged with bills for poultry, as he has been hearing weird taleson the train, such as are often current among commuters who are notzoologists, of a great black lynx that has been invading chicken coopsand killing for pleasure, as his victims are usually left on the ground. Thus has country freedom corrupted the manners of a polite cat, and atthe same time a hay knife (probably) has rendered him tailless. 

 * * * * *

_August_ 20. Summer is at high tide. How I dread its ebbing; yet even nowthe hastening nights are giving warning. Evan has been taking avacation, and we have spent many days, we four, following the northwardwindings of the river in a wide, comfortable boat and lunching in thewoods. We are pagans these days, basking in the sun, cooling in theshade, and living a whole life between sunrise and sunset. The boys areshowing unconscious kinship with wood things, and getting a wholesometouch of the earth in their thoughts. 

I am sure that the mind often needs a vacation more than the body, andyet the condition of change that bears the name of rest frequently merelygives the head fresh work. 

How far away the Whirlpool and its people seem as we sit perhaps on oneof the many tiny river islands enjoying this time separateness, not asindividuals, but as a family, for the whirl of the pool is tiresome evento watch. I have felt old these last three months, and I suppose it is astill further carrying out of the allegory and penalty of eating thefruit of the tree of knowledge; only the discipline does seem a littlehard when, having no desire either to pluck or taste the apple, onestands actually away with hands safely behind back, and yet has the fruitabsolutely thrust between unwilling lips. 

Even the feathered things about us are in this mood; their family lifeis over, the companionship of fall travel has not begun, and the woodsare full of moulting birds choosing this separateness in preparation forthe tension of new flight and its perils. Everything, in short, in wildnature has its corresponding note in our own humanity, --the sweating ofthe corn, the moulting of the bird, the contraction of the earth byfrost, all have a kindred season or experience in the heart. 

Then, too, the August nights--so heavy with the intensity of sleep thatis akin to sleeplessness, broken by peremptory thunder voices andsearching lightning, or again enveloped by moonlight that floods theroom--shut out the world until, kneeling in its tide between the littlewhite beds, I can feel the refrain of that hymn of mother's that fathertaught me long ago to say to myself in the night when she had gone awayfrom sight and I was lonely:--

"Father, on thy heart I leanWhen the world comes not between. "

 * * * * *

_August_ 30. Sylvia and Horace were married under sunshine yesterday inthe little chantry of the church that is used in winter and for week-dayservices. To-day the cold northeasterly storm has come, under cover ofwhich August so often disappears and September enters the marshes uponthe wings of low-flying plovers, to the discordant call of the firstwaterfowl of the return migration. 

Mr. Latham came to the wedding. In fact, he has been here several timesduring the month. He is a well-built man, under sixty, dark and taciturn, and would be handsome but for the hard expression of his face. 

His attitude toward the world has seemed to be one of perpetual parry andself-defence; of course he may have good reason for this distrust, or, asEvan says, he may have brought the necessity upon himself by his constantseverity of attack on others. Yesterday I partly changed my mind abouthim. He evidently once had tender feelings, but, from what cause who cansay, they have in some way been compressed and frozen until they existonly as hurts. 

Sylvia was married in bridal white. She had wished to wear a travellinggown and go away from the chantry door, but Miss Lavinia argued her outof the notion, saying, "Horace has the right to a pretty bride, even ifyou do not care. " It would have taken but very little, after the strainof the last two months, to make Sylvia morbid and old beyond her years, her one thought seeming to be to get away from the surroundings of thepast year and begin to live anew. 

Our group, and a dozen friends of the Bradfords, including some fromNorthbridge who belonged to both, filled the little chapel which Horace, Martin, and Evan had trimmed with flowers wholly from our garden. At thelast moment, Mrs. Jenks-Smith, whom we thought abroad, dashed up in adepot hack, perspiring and radiant, her smart gown having a most peculiarand unnatural looking promontory on the chest. "No, my dear, I'm not inCarlsbad. Jenks-Smith was called back on business, and I sniffed thewedding in the air and hooked on, --only arrived last night. _Have_ youseen the papers? Hush, I'll tell you later, " and her voice sank into anawed whisper, and she gave a startled look as the bride entered on herfather's arm, with Ian and Richard as her only attendants. Having heardso much talk of marrying and of weddings, they had asked Sylvia to letthem be "bridesmaids, " and it seemed she really wanted them. Their faceswere solemn to the verge of comedy as they walked hand in hand beforeher, their feet in brand-new pumps, keeping step and pointing outcarefully, while their evident satisfaction brought a smile like a ray ofbelated sunshine to the face of the serious bride. 

I watched Mr. Latham, usually so immovable, during the ceremony as hestepped back from the altar into the shadows, when he left Sylvia finallywith Horace. His shoulders lost their squareness, his head drooped; butwhen I saw that it was to hide the tears that filled his eyes, I lookedaway. Father says he has seen this type of man, contracted bymoney-getting, hardened by selfish misunderstanding, recover himself, soften, and grow young again at the transforming touch of grandchildren. Who knows, Sylvia may find her childhood's father again some day. 

When we went back to the cottage for luncheon, the bump in Mrs. Jenks-Smith's corsage was removed, and proved to be a gift forSylvia, --a thick leather case, holding a rich neck ornament of diamonds, a sort of collar with pendants, for the Lady of the Bluffs is nothing ifnot generous. 

"I got it in this way without paying a cent of duty, " she said in a stagewhisper to Miss Lavinia and me in the hall, as she struggled to releasethe box, wrenching off a waist hook or two as she did so. 

"Jenks-Smith said it didn't look natural, and I'd surely be spotted, butI said I'd like to see mere hired men try to tell a lady how stout or howthin she had a right to be. Almost too gorgeous for a professor's wife?Not a bit; Miss Lavinia, you're not advanced. Nobody knows nowadays, atthe launching, how anybody's going to turn out, --whether they'll sink orfloat, --and diamonds are an all-right cargo, anyway. If she moves up, shecan wear 'em, if she slumps, she can sell 'em, and if she just driftsalong on the level, she can look at 'em once in a time. No, my dear, diamonds are a consolation that no woman can afford to miss. "

Considering her usual careless good nature, it seemed to me that Mrs. Jenks-Smith was very fussy during the luncheon, ill at ease, andstrangely anxious to hurry the departure of Sylvia and Horace. Theguests, all but ourselves, left first, then Mr. Latham, who went upstairsto take leave of his daughter alone. When Sylvia finally came down, hercolour had returned and she looked her radiant self again as she kissedMiss Lavinia and Mrs. Bradford, and went down the steps holding Horace, not by the arm, but clinging to his hand. 

As the carriage disappeared around the bend of the road, and as westood looking at one another, feeling for a second the reaction and thesense of an empty house that always follows the going of a bride, theLady of the Bluffs sank into a deep chair exclaiming, "Thank the Lord, they've gone!"

"Why, what is it? Are you ill?" cried father, who was just leaving, coming quickly to her side. 

"It's this. I wanted to get her started north ahead of it. When she comesback she won't care so much, " she replied incoherently, pulling a scrapof a morning newspaper from her card-case and holding it out at randomfor the nearest one to take. Father caught it from her hand, and goingto the window, read aloud in slow, precisive accents of astonishment:--

"AN EVENT OF INTEREST TO NEW YORK SOCIETY. 

"(SPECIAL CABLE TO NEW YORK HERALD. )

"LONDON, Aug. 29. --Yesterday the marriage took place of Montgomery Bellto Mrs. Vivian Latham, both of New York. The wedding, at the registrar'sand quite informal, was followed by a breakfast given the couple byMrs. Center--who chanced, with several other intimates of the Americancolony, to be in the city en route to the German baths, --at her apartmentwhich she always keeps in readiness for occupancy. Mr. Bell, who is amember of all the best clubs, is known socially as the 'Indispensable. 'Mr. And Mrs. Bell will return to New York in November and open theirmagnificent house at Central Park East with a series of the delightfulentertainments which they both so well know how to render unique. "

XIV

THE OASIS

_September_ 8. Three lowering days of wind and rain, and Summer, after afeigned departure, has returned to complete her task of perfecting. 

She does this year after year--the marvel is that we are ever deceived;but after all, what is it but the conflict between arbitrary and naturallaw? The almanac-maker says that on the first day of September autumn isdue. Nature, the orbit-maker, proclaims it summer until, the monththree-quarters old, the equinox is crossed. Nature is always right, andafter the usual breezy argument sends Summer, her garments a bitstorm-tattered, perchance, back to her own. 

The ill wind that dashed the tall auratum lilies in the garden to theground, stripped the clinging fingers of the sweet peas from theirtrellis, and decapitated the heavy-headed dahlias, has blown me good, held me indoors awhile, sent me to my attic confessional once more, withconscience for priest, and the twins for acolytes, though they presentlyturned catechists with an entirely new series of questions. 

When I have not opened my desk or my garden book for some time, and theplanting season, be it of spring or of autumn, as now, overtakes meunawares, I am always newly convinced that gardening is the trulyreligious life, for it implies a continual preparation for the future, atreading in the straight and narrow path that painful experience alonecan mark, an absorption beyond compare, and the continual exercise ofhope and love, but above all, of entire childlike faith. 

When the time had come in the creative evolution for the stamping of theperfected animal with the Divine image that forever separates him fromall previous types, it was no wonder that God set man, in whom theperpetual struggle between the body and soul was to take place, in agarden for his education. 

 * * * * *

Recently the boys have been absorbed in their little printing press, which they have established in my attic corner, the present workingmotive having come from the card announcing Sylvia's marriage to theworld in general, according to Mr. Latham's desire. Richard secured oneof these and busied himself an entire morning in setting it in type, forthe first time in his experience getting the capitals and small lettersin their proper places. The result was so praiseworthy that Evan huntedup a large box of ornamental cards for them in town, and for two daysthey have been "filling orders" for every one in the household. 

I print the names they wish to copy very distinctly in big letters. Richard does the type-setting, which is altogether too slow work for Ian, who, as pressman, does the inking and printing, and in the process hasactually learned his tardy letters. As to the distributing and cleaningof the type, I find a little assistance is gratefully accepted, even bypatient Richard, whose dear little pointed fingers by this time havebecome tired, and fumble. 

To-day, having exhausted the simple family names, they have triedcombinations and experiments with the words Mr. , Mrs. , and Miss, muchto their own amusement, "_Miss_ Timothy Saunders" being considered ahuge joke. 

Suddenly Ian looked up with one of his most compelling, whimsical smiles, and said, "Barbara, grandpop's Mrs. Was grandma, and she's in heaven, butwhere is Mrs. Uncle Martin?"

Rather startled, I said that I didn't know, --that there had never beenany Mrs. Uncle Martin. 

"Why not?" persisted Ian, an answer that is simply an acknowledgment ofignorance never being accepted by a child. Before I could think Richardchirped out: "But Aunt Lavinia hasn't any Mr. For her card neiver, andMartha, she said the other day that there was a Mr. And a Mrs. Foreverybody, only sometimes they couldn't find each other for ever so long. She told that to Effie, and I heard her. "

A short pause, and then Ian jumped up, clapping his hands with joy, asthe solution of the problem flashed across him. 

"I know what's happened, Barbara; maybe Uncle Martin's Mrs. And AuntLavinia's Mr. Has gone and got lost together, and some day they'll findit out and bring each ovver back! Do you think they will, so we can havesome more weddings and pink ice cream, and couldn't we hurry up and helpfind them? I guess we better print him some Mrs. Cards so as in case. "

I had drifted into gardening work on paper again, and I believe I saidthat he had better ask Uncle Martin what he thought about the matter, andat that moment the bell rang for luncheon. 

The ringing of bells for meals in this house is what Lavinia Dormancalls "a relic of barbarism, " that she greatly deplores; but as I tellher, our family gathers from so many points of the compass that if themaid announced the meals, she would have to be gifted with the instinctof a chaser of strayed freight cars. 

Ian's queries have brought up a subject that has deluded and eluded myhopes all summer, and has finally ended in the people that I hoped woulddrift through the doorway of one of my most substantial air castlesrefusing so to do, or else being too blind to see the open door. 

Martin and Lavinia are the best possible friends, have been constantly ineach other's society, see from nearly the same point of view, and bothagree and disagree upon the same subjects, but they have not settled thequestion of loneliness of living as I hoped, by making the companionshippermanent, _via_ matrimony. 

Of course, I did not expect them to fall in love exactly as Evan and I orHorace and Sylvia did--that belongs to spring and summer; still, Ithought that when they started worm-hunting together, and played checkersevery evening, that they were beginning to find each other mutuallyindispensable, at least. 

But no. Martin stored away his papers in the old desk, and went to NewYork a week ago to see several suites of bachelor apartments that hadbeen offered him. 

He writes this morning that he has found one to his liking, and willreturn to-night, if he may, and stay over to-morrow to pack his things. Meanwhile Miss Lavinia has sent her maids to clean and open her house in"Greenwich Village, " and will go home on Monday, spending her finalSunday with me. Josephus went with the maids; the country had ademoralizing effect upon him. 

Miss Lavinia has been agitating moving uptown, several of her friends atthe Bluffs insisting that an apartment near the Park is much moresuitable for her than the little house so far from the social centre, saying it is no wonder she is lonely and out of things; but yesterday shetold me that she had abandoned the idea of change, and had sent orders tohave her old back yard garden dismantled and the whole plot paved, as itwas now only a suitable place for drying clothes. Also that she hadwritten to ask her father's cousin Lydia, whose Staten Island home hadbeen built in by progress, very much like her own garden, to come to passthe winter with her; and, lest she should repent of so rash an act, shehad given the letter to Evan before the ink was fairly dry, as he passedthe cottage on the way to the train, that he might post it in the city. 

One consolation remains to me in the wreck of my romantic hopes forher--Miss Lavinia has liked our neighbourhood so well that she has takenthe Alton cottage that she now occupies on a three years' lease, andintends living here from May to October. The rambling garden is full ofold-time, hardy plants and roses, and oh, what good times we shall havetogether there next spring, for of course she will stop with me when sheis getting things in order, and I can spare her enough roots and cuttingsto fill every spare inch of ground, --so, with Sylvia at Pine Ridge, whatmore can I ask? The strain and hubbub of the Bluffs seems to be quitevanishing from the foreground and merging with the horizon. 

That reminds me that the people are drifting back quite rapidly now. Thegolfers are afield again Sundays, and all talk of introducing fox huntingwith tame foxes; but they will have to learn the land, with its dips androcks, better first, or there will be a pretty crop of cracked crowns forfather. At present, I think that New England Prejudice will soon howeverget the upper hand here, and tighten her hold of the reins that seemedslipping from her grasp, which is well, for she has long borne aloft theonly standard of national morality whose code is not a sliding scale. 

 * * * * *

_September_ 9. Martin came back to-night. As he entered the house withEvan I positively did not know him, for he has shaved off his mustacheand queer little pussy-cat whiskers, and with them has gone his"pudgyness. " He is really a very fine-looking man, and his features aredeveloped by the shaving process in an unexpected way. He seems so wideawake, too, and alive to everything that passes, that I could see thatfather, who came from the office to greet him, had difficulty inrestraining his surprise, but he contented himself by asking:--

"How did you fare with the publishers? Did you fall among thieves oramong friends?"

"That is equivalent to asking if my book has been accepted, as it is onlywhen work is refused that we call the mediums through which we seek toreach the public hard names. Yes, the fate of my book is soon told; ithas found its place, and is to be fully illustrated as well, though itwill take me many months to collect the unique material they desire; thisinsures me a busy winter, for which I am not only prepared but eager. 

"I wish I could as easily tell you what this summer here has done for me, Dick, " and he leaned over the chair in which father had seated himselfand laid his arm affectionately across his shoulder. "I think in askingme here you rescued me from as dangerous a condition of mental apathy aswhen you stood by my bed so many years ago. "

"Don't thank me, " said father, leaning back and looking up at him, "thankGod's sunshine, work, the babies here, and why not woman's societyalso, --you used to appreciate that, too, eh, Martin, old man? Giveeverybody his, or rather her, due. "

"Yes, " I heard him answer, as if pondering the matter, while I fleddiscreetly upstairs at this juncture, "you doubtless are right; LaviniaDorman's criticisms have been of infinite value in ridding my work of alitter of words that encumbered the spirit and purpose of it. She isdirect and to the point, and yet withal most sympathetic. I had thoughtof dedicating the book to her in some private way, for really we arejoint heirs, as it were, in so many traditions and habits of old NewYork, that it would not seem strained or inappropriate. "

"On the contrary, I think it most suitable, and I would not go to anygreat pains to hide the compliment of the dedication under a bushel ofdisguise either, if I were you. The Lydia Languish age of abnormalprivacy and distorted, unhealthy sensibility has fortunately passed. Nowadays women like men to be direct, outspoken, definite, where they areconcerned. "

"Do you think so?" asked Martin, in real surprise. "I feared possiblythat it might annoy her. "

"I know so--annoy her, fudge!" was father's comment. 

 * * * * *

When we went in to dinner, Miss Lavinia at once noticed the change inMartin's appearance, and said, in a spirit of mischief which of course Ialone noticed:--

"Back from the city, and with new clothes, too, --how very smart andbecoming they are. "

But poor Martin was quite guileless, and looking down at his coat in apuzzled way, as if to make doubly sure, replied, "No, it cannot be myclothes, for they are the same. " Then, brightening, as the possiblereason occurred to him: "Perhaps it may be my shaven face; you see, thebarber made an error in the trimming of my decorations yesterday, and hethought it better to take them entirely off and have them grow afresh, but I had not thought of the matter in the light of an improvement. "

"But it is one, most decidedly, " continued Miss Lavinia, nodding brightlyacross at him, while father, who now realized the change he could notlocate, cried:--

"Don't let them grow again, my boy. You look ten years younger, at thevery least, which you know at our age is not to be despised!"

Then we all grew hilarious, and talked together like a lot of schoolchildren, and when the boys came in to dessert, as usual, they also wereinfectiously boisterous over the catching of some bass in the river whereTimothy Saunders had taken them that afternoon as a special treat. Theyclamoured and begged so for Uncle Martin to stop over the next day forfishing and have one more good time with them, that he, feeling flatteredalmost to the point of embarrassment, yielded upon Evan's suggestingthat, instead of going by the eight o'clock morning train as he intended, he could wait for one late in the evening, which would get him to townbefore eleven. For Martin was to move into his new bachelor apartmentsthe following morning. 

The three men lingered long at the table, smoking, the talk punctuated bylong periods of silence, each regretting in his own way the presentterminating of the summer intercourse, and yet, I fancy, realizing thatit had lasted exactly the safe length of time. To be able to adaptoneself temporarily to the presence of outsiders in a house is a healthyhabit, but to adjust a family to do it permanently is to lose what cannever be regained. Miss Lavinia and I agreed upon that long ago, and forthis reason I am very much surprised that she has asked her cousin Lydiato spend the winter, with a view of making the arrangement permanent. 

The boys brought some of their games downstairs, and succeeded in addinghalf an hour to their bedtime by coaxing Aunt Lavinia to play with them, until I finally had to almost carry them to bed, they grew so suddenlysleepy from their day's fishing. 

When I returned below stairs after the boys were asleep, father had goneto the village, Evan was walking up and down outside, all the windows anddoors were open again, and the sultry air answered the katydids' cry for"Some-more-heat, some-more-heat. "

Miss Lavinia was still in the hall, sitting on the lower step of thestairs, for the boys had been using the broad landing that made a turn atthe top of the three steps as a place to play their games. Martin stoodleaning on the newel post, and from the few words I heard I knew that hewas telling her about the proposed dedication, so I went out and joinedEvan, for it seems as though we had had little leisure outdoors togetherof late, and as if it was time to make it up as best we might. 

Then, once again, as we crossed the streak of light that streamed like anarrow moon path from the doorway, Evan paused and nodded his head towardthe hall. I turned--there sat Miss Lavinia and Martin Cortright on thestairs, playing with the boys'--jack-straws!

"After this, what?" I asked, in my mirth leaning backward on Evan'ssupporting arm. 

"To be pat, it ought to be the deluge, " chuckled Evan; "but as these areprosy times, it simply means the end has been reached, and that to-morrowthey will put away mild summer madness, and return to the Whirlpool topaddle about decorously as of yore. "

I find that I am not the only person who is disappointed at the absenceof matrimonial intentions between Martin and Miss Lavinia. Thepostmistress told me yesterday that she's been expecting to hear of asecond wedding any day, as when one took place it always meant three, though she couldn't "fetch the third couple together, even in her mind'seye, " which I have found to be usually a capacious and well filled optic. 

Mrs. Barton also stopped Martha Corkle on the road, and said with aninsinuating sneer, "She'd always supposed that the gentleman from NewYork who lodged with her was making up to the proud old maid at theDoctor's, but as he evidently wasn't going to, she'd advise Mrs. Evan towatch out, as Miss Lavinia, doubtless being disappointed, might set hercap for the Doctor himself, and then the Lord knows what would happen, men being so easily flattered and trapped. "

Martha was indignant, and I must say very rude, for she snapped back: "Iwonder at that same bein' your holdin', Mrs. Barton, bein' as you've fivemaid daughters that's not so by their desirin', folks do say as knows. "

Mud throwers should be careful to wear gloves, --their ammunitionis sticky. 

 * * * * *

_September_ 10. This morning father and I were obliged to go to town uponsome hospital business, and as we had to remain there for luncheon, orperhaps longer, we took the train instead of driving over, leavingLavinia to pack, so that she might have a free Saturday to drive with meto bid Mrs. Bradford good-by, and learn the latest news of Sylvia andHorace. Meanwhile the boys were to go fishing with Martin, who is ascareful of them as possible, taking their lunch with them. 

They did not have good luck, however, and growing restless and tired offishing without catching, Martin brought them home by three o'clock, andas both he and Miss Lavinia had finished their preparations for leaving, they went out to the seat by the rose arbour to enjoy what was left ofthe glorious afternoon, for it has been one of those days that come indreams, so perfect that one knows it cannot last. 

"I hope that I shall not lose all track of you this winter, " said MissLavinia. "Of course you will be busy, but you might spare a lonely womanan evening now and then for piquet, or whist if Evan or the Doctor shouldcome to town. "

"Lose track of you, Miss Lavinia, --how could that be possible?" queriedMartin in mild-eyed astonishment. "You know there will be a second volumeof the book for you to read and criticise, besides all the illustrationsto discuss. No, I hoped that you could spare me two definite eveningsevery week, at least until the work is in press, though I suppose that isasking a great deal of a woman having so many friends, and places to go. "

"If you could see the way I spend my evenings alone, you would nothesitate. Of course I do dine out once in a time, and people come to me, but between times--I envy even Josephus, who can have social enjoymentany time by merely scratching on the door and running along the palingsto the neighbours. "

"I am glad, for I decided upon taking the Washington Square rooms, instead of moving up nearer the Clubs as my friends advised, because Ithought it would be so much more convenient if, in proof correcting, Ishould require to consult you hastily. "

Miss Lavinia felt a pleasurable flush rising to her cheeks, when it waschilled by the memory of her invitation to her cousin Lydia. Why had shegiven it? Then the realization that a third party would be unwelcome toher made the flush return and deepen. 

 * * * * *

"Uncle Martin, where is your Mrs. ? Barbara said I'd have to ask you'cause she didn't know, " suddenly asked Ian's voice, so close behindthem that they both started. He had been up in the attic to get some ofhis precious cards, one of which he now held in front of MartinCortright's gaze. 

"My Mrs. ! Why, what do you mean?" he asked in uncomprehendingastonishment, taking the boy on his knee; but when the little scamp hadexplained, the stupidest person in the world could not plead ignorance. 

"And, " Ian continued, "Dick and me thought that p'r'aps if your Mrs. AndAunt Lavinia's Mr. Had got lost together we could find them for you, andthen there'd be two more weddings with pink ice cream. We're going tolook this afternoon, and we're going to ask Martha to help us, 'cause shefound her Mr. After he'd been lost a great while, Effie says. "

"And he was right here in the place, too, " chimed in Richard, "only hedidn't seem to see her, so p'r'aps yours aren't far off, and we might getthem in time to have the wedding to-night before you go. Wouldn't youlike to be in a wedding, Aunt Lavinia?"

"Mercy no, child, I'm too old!" she ejaculated, now as red as aJacqueminot rose, while the boys ran off in the direction of Martha's, toask her where it was best to begin this important quest, the prize forwhich was pink ice cream. 

Miss Lavinia did not look up for a moment, and when she did she foundMartin's eyes fastened on her face, and in them a strangeenlightenment that shook her like an electric bolt, as he arose andstood before her, saying:--

"You need never be old. Some prefer June strawberries and othersSeptember peaches, that is all. When once in June I thought to gather thestrawberries, I found they belonged to another, for I loved your friend, who was Barbara's mother. "

"And I loved your friend, who is Barbara's father, " Miss Lavinia said, rising and facing him. 

"As they married each other, why may not we? I know now why my work hasprospered this summer and why life seems good again. Ian's little fancyshows me the truth. "

"Our Mr. And Mrs. Were not far off, then, " said she, laying her hand onhis, while she looked into his face with one of those rare smiles ofunreserved confidence that makes Lavinia Dorman more fascinating thanhalf the younger women that I know. 

After a moment of romance they waked up to the fact of the present andits comical aspect; the boys' talk of weddings brought that necessaryepisode quickly before them. 

"May I tell the Doctor when he returns? Shall we tell them all?" askedMartin, eagerly, and Miss Lavinia sat suddenly down again and realizedthat she still was in the world of responsibilities. 

"I think I would rather wait and do it all at once, after--after the pinkice-cream, " she said, as he laughed at her hesitation over the word. "Idon't like keeping it from Barbara, but I'm so tired of talk and fuss andfeathers and Mrs. Grundy. " "Then let us get it quietly over next week, or tomorrow, if you say, unless you wish time to feel sure, or perhaps tothink it over, " said Martin, with enthusiasm. 

"Time to think it over!" cried Miss Lavinia, springing lightly to herfeet. "No, I'm sure I don't wish to think, I want to act--to do things myown way and give no one a chance to speak until it is done. What have Ibeen doing all my life but thinking, and waiting for it to be aconvenient and suitable time for me to do this or that, wondering whatothers will think if I do or don't; thinking that the disagreeable wasduty, often simply because it was disagreeable. Surely you have beenhampered by this perpetual thinking too, and watching the thumb of customto see if it pointed up or down. No, I'm done with it. We've agreed to bemarried, so why not this very afternoon, and have the wedding over beforeyou go, as the boys suggested?"

"The best possible idea, though I should have hardly dared suggest it, "said Martin, tramping to and fro in excitement. "How shall we manage? Godown here to the rectory?"

"I would rather go over to town, " said Miss Lavinia, beginning, inspite of herself, to realize difficulties. "We do not know who mightdrop in here. "

"Very well, " said Martin, decisively, looking at his watch. "I have it!Timothy is off to-day; I will harness the grays to the stanhope, as wecan't wait to send to the stable, and we will drive over the back way bythe Ridge and be home again by dinner time. The rector of All Saints' wasa classmate of mine, and I met him again only the other day, so we shallhave no trouble there. "

"Are you sure you can harness the horses properly?" asked Miss Lavinia, with characteristic caution, and then smiling at herself, as Martinhurried off to the stable. 

 * * * * *

In less than twenty minutes the sober gray horses turned out of thestable yard and up the road upon the most remarkable trip of theircareer. Nothing strange was noticeable about the turnout, except that thetraces hung a trifle loose, and that the occupants sat unusually far backunder the hood for so pleasant an afternoon. That is, until after theyhad passed Martha's house in the lane and turned into the unfrequentedback highway, then they both leaned forward, gave a sigh of relief, and, looking at each other, laughed aloud. 

"Do you realize that we are eloping, like runaway school children?" saidMiss Lavinia, "we two hitherto sober-minded Knickerbockers?"

"I realize that I like what we are doing very much, whatever it may becalled, " replied Martin, "and that it is very considerate of you to spareme and do it in this way. The conventional affair is very hard on a manof my years, all of whose contemporaries are either bald or rheumatic;besides, now I think of it, it is merely carrying out the ever-presentprecedent. My father's great-great-grand father and mother eloped in1689 from Staten Island to the Bouerie, and the boat upset when theywere going back. "

"Mercy on us!" exclaimed Miss Lavinia, "I hope we shall not upset! Iwonder if the wheels are on securely. I thought I heard something rattle. There it is again. "

As they reached the bottom of the long hill, Martin let the reins hangloose on the horses' necks and, lowering the hood, looked back to see ifhe could find the cause of the jolting sound, accompanied by panting, asof a dog running. Then he gave an exclamation of impatience, and pulledthe horses up short, for there, alternately running and lifting up theirfeet and swinging, were the twins, clinging to the back of the gig!

Miss Lavinia gave a cry of dismay. "Where did you come from, and whereare you going?" she questioned rather sharply. "We went to Martha's, youknow, " said Ian, as if his errand had been one of such importance that itwas impossible she should forget it, "and she wasn't there, so we thoughtwe'd just look for those people we said about, by ourselves. But wecouldn't find anybody, only a shiny black snake by the road, and herubber-necked at us and spit some 'fore he ran away. Then we sawgrandpop's horses coming, and when you went by we hooked on, and--"

"'Cause we thought if you was looking for those people and found them, then we'd be there for the pink ice cream, " added Richard, cheerfully, supplementing Ian's story when his breath gave out. 

"I suppose we must turn around and take them home, " said Miss Lavinia, with a sigh. 

"Not a bit of it. Let them come with us; it is too late to turn back, unless, " he added, with a ring of mock humility in his tone, "you havechanged your mind and wish time to think. As for me, I've turned my backon even thinking whether they will be missed or who will worry. 

"Scramble in, boys, and curl up here in front. You are just in time; twoof these people you were searching for are going to be married thisafternoon. We are going to the wedding, and you shall be best men, " andthe boys settled down, chuckling and whispering, but presently Ianlooked up, as light dawned, and cried: "I spy! It's you, Uncle Martin, and Aunt Lavinia is your Mrs. , only you couldn't find her all summer tillto-day, " and he hugged his friend around the legs, which were all hecould reach, but Richard leaned backward until his head rested on MissLavinia's knees, and he reached up his cooing lips to be kissed. 

The rest of the ride to town was uneventful, except that when theyreached the outskirts they met Jenks-Smith's coach loaded with Whirlpoolpeople, but the Lady of the Bluffs saw nothing strange in thecombination, and merely shook her parasol at them, calling, "I'm sorry tohear you're flitting, just when it's getting lively again, too!"

Fortunately the rector of All Saints' was at home, likewise the requisitenumber of his family, for witnesses. Then it transpired that the couplehad never thought of the ring, and while Martin went out to buy one, MissLavinia was left sitting on the edge of a very stiff sofa with a boy oneither side of her, with the Rectory family drawn up opposite like anopposing force, which did not encourage easy conversation. 

However, the agony was soon over, and the bride and groom left, Martin giving his old classmate, to whom the world had beenpenurious, a hand-shake that, when examined by the breathless familya few moments later, was found to yield at least a new parlourcarpet, an easy-chair for the Rector's bent back, and a new clericalsuit to cover his gaunt frame. 

"Now comes the pink ice cream, " sang Ian, dancing a-tiptoe as theyreached the street; and there being but one good restaurant in town, onthe high street, next to the saddler's shop where the red goat harnesswas still displayed, the party drove there, and the pink ice cream waseaten, good and full measure thereof, while on their way out the covetedgoat harness found itself being taken from the window to be packed awayunder the seat of the gig. 

 * * * * *

It was almost dinner time when father and I returned to-night, and theboys were squeezed together in a chair on the piazza, close to MissLavinia, while Martin sat near by on the balustrade. The boys were in agreat state of giggles, and kept clapping their hands to their mouths asif they feared something would escape. I hurried upstairs, not wishing tomake dinner late, as I knew Martin expected to take the nine o'clocktrain, just as father came in saying that Timothy had returned, and thathe found the horses in a wonderful sweat, and feared they were sick, asthey hadn't been out all day. 

By this time we were in the hall and walking toward the dining room. Martin stopped short, as if to say something, and then changed his mind, while a bumping at the pantry door attracted the attention of us all. 

Out came Ian, a portion of the goat harness on his head and shoulders, followed by Richard, around whose neck the reins were fastened, andbetween them they carried the great heavy silver tea-tray only used onstate occasions. In the centre of it rested a pink sofa pillow, uponwhich some small, flat object like a note was lying. 

They came straight across the hall, halting in front of me, and sayingearnestly, "We didn't ask for the harness, but Uncle Martin says thatpeople always give their best mens presents. " I looked at him for asecond, not understanding, then Evan, with a curious twinkle in his eye, strode across, whispering to me, "The Deluge, " as he picked up the cardand read aloud, "Mr. And Mrs. Martin Cortright!" It was the card thatRichard had printed several days before and carried in strange company inhis warm, mussy little pocket ever since. 

There was tense silence, and then a shout, as Martin took his wife's handthat wore the wedding ring and laid it on mine; then he and fatherfairly hugged each other, for father did not forget those long-ago daysof the strawberries that Martin could not gather. 

When the excitement had subsided and dinner was over, Martha and Tim, towhom the horse matter had been explained, came over to offer theircongratulations, --at least Martha did. Timothy merely grinned, and, tothe best of my belief, winked slyly at Martin, as much as to say, "We maybe long in knowing our minds, but when we men are ready, the weemen fairtumble over us. "

"Indeed, mum, but I wish you joy, and that he'll lead you as easy a lifeas Tim'thy here does me, 'deed I do, and _no_ disrespeck intended, " wasMartha's parting sentence; and then our wonder as to whether Martin wasgoing to town, or what, was cut short by his rising, looking at hiswatch, and saying in the most matter-of-fact way to Lavinia: "Is your bagready? You know we leave in an hour. "

"Does Lucy expect you?" I ventured to ask. 

"Oh no, I shall not trouble her until the day appointed. We shall go tothe Manhattan, I think. "

"How about your cousin Lydia?" asked father, who could not resist achance to tease. 

"I forgot all about her!" exclaimed poor Lavinia, clasping her handstragically and looking really conscience-stricken. "And I, " said Evan, who had suddenly jumped up and rammed his hand into his side pocket, "forgot to post your letter to her!"

 * * * * *

_October_ 31. We have all been to New York to visit the runawayCortrights, as Evan calls them, now that they are settled, and it ispleasant to see that so much belated happiness is possible. The fate ofLavinia's house is definitely arranged; they will remain in "GreenwichVillage, " in spite of all advice to move up in town. The defunct backyard is being covered by an extension that will give Martin a finelibrary, with a side window and a scrap of balcony, while the ailantustree is left, that bob-tailed Josephus may not be deprived of the felinepleasures of the street or his original way of reaching it over the sidefence; and the flower garden that was, will be the foundation of a gardenof books under the kindly doctrine of compensation. 

Above is to be a large guest room for Sylvia and Horace, or Evan and me, so that there will be room in plenty when by and by we bring the boys tosee our New York. 

Mrs. Jenks-Smith, who has formed a sincere attachment to LaviniaCortright, did all in her power to persuade her to be her neighbour up intown, offering a charming house at a bargain and many advantages. Finally becoming piqued at the refusal, she said:--

"Why will you be so stupid? Don't you know that this out-of-the-waystreet is in the social desert?"

"It may be in a desert, as you say, " said Lavinia, gently, "but we meanat least to make it an oasis for our friends who are weary of thewhirling of the pool. "

 * * * * *

We stood looking at the boys as they slept tonight. Strange thoughts willcrop up at times most unexpectedly. Horns blowing on the highwayproclaimed the late arrival of a coaching party at the Bluffs. "Would youlike to have money if you could, and go about the world when and whereyou please?" I asked Evan, but he, shaking his head, drew me towards him, answering my question with another--

"Would you, or why do you ask?"

I never thought that Mrs. Jenks-Smith's stricture would turn to aprayer upon my lips, but before I knew it I whispered, "God keep uscomfortably poor. "

Then Ian, feeling our presence, raised himself in sleepy leisure, andnestling his cheek against my dress said, "Barbara, _please_ give Ian adrink of water. "