_"If a wife is allowed to boil at all she will always boil over. "_

 The Gentle Art _of_ Cooking Wives

 By ELIZABETH STRONG WORTHINGTON

 Author _of_ "How to Cook Husbands, " etc. 

 Published at 150 Fifth Avenue, New York by the Dodge Publishing Company

 [The Gentle Art of Cooking Wives]

 COPYRIGHT IN THE YEAR NINETEEN HUNDRED BY DODGE PUBLISHING CO. 

 [Illustration: "CONSTANCE"]

 I

"Girls, come to order!" shouted Hilda Bretherton in a somewhatdisorderly tone. 

"How can we come to order without a president?" queried arosy-cheeked, roly-poly damsel answering to the name of Puddy Kennett. 

"I elect Prue Shaftsbury!" screamed Hilda above the merry din ofvoices. 

"You can't elect--you simply nominate, " said Prue. 

"I second the motion, " said Nannie Branscome, and her remark wasinstantly followed by a storm of "ayes" before they were called for, and the president was declared elected and proceeded to take her seat. 

"Young ladies, " said she, "we are met to consider a scandalous----"

"Scurrilous, " suggested Hilda. 

"----alarming article, " continued the president, "entitled 'How toCook Wives. '"

"Here! here!" interrupted Hilda again, "we can't do anything untilwe've elected officers and appointed committees. "

"Out of a club of four members?" queried Prudence. 

"Certainly. Mother said that yesterday at her club, out of eight womenthey elected twelve officers and appointed seven committees of threeeach. Why, you know two men can't meet on a street corner withoutimmediately forming a secret society, electing president, vice-president, secretary, and treasurer, and appointing a committeeof five to get up a banquet. "

"But to return to the subject, " persisted the president--a long-facedgirl with a solemn countenance, but a suspicious gleam in her eye. "'How to Cook Wives'--that is the question before the house. "

"'How to Cook Wives!' Well, if that isn't rich! It makes me think ofthe old English nursery song--'Come, ducky, come and be killed. ' Nowit will be, 'Come, ducky, come and be cooked. ' I move that Congress beurged to enact a law adopting that phrase as the only legal form ofproposal. Then if any little goose accepts she knows what to expect, and is not caught up and fried without foreknowledge. "

"Young ladies, " said the president. 

"Don't mow me down in my prime, " urged Hilda in an injured tone. "I'mmaking my maiden speech in the house. "

"Oh, girls, look, quick!" cried Puddy. "See Miss Leigh. Isn't that afetching gown she has on?"

The entire club rushed to the window. 

"Who's she with?" asked Hilda. "He's rather fetching, too. "

"I believe his name is Chance, " said Puddy Kennett. "He's not asociety fellow. "

"Oh, he's the chum of that lovely man, " said Hilda. 

"Which lovely man?" asked Prue. "There are so many of them. "

"Why--oh, you know his name. I can't think of it--Loveland--SteveLoveland. We met him at Constance Leigh's one evening. "

Here Nannie Branscome colored, but no one noticed her. 

"Young ladies, come to order, " said the president. 

"Or order will come to you, " said Hilda. "Prue has raised herparasol--gavel, I mean. "

"There goes Amy Frisbe, " remarked Puddy from her post by the window. "Do you know her engagement's off?"

"Well, I'll be jig----" Hilda began. 

"Sh-h!" said the president. 

"The president objects to slang, but I'll still be jiggered, as LordFauntleroy's friend remarked. "

"Sh-h!" said the president. 

"Girls, that reminds me, " said Puddy. "I met a publisher from New Yorkat the opera last night who objected to the slightest slang. "

"Oh, me!" exclaimed Hilda. "Why, where has Mother Nature been keepingthe dear man all these years?"

"On Mr. Sheldon's editorial staff, " suggested Nannie Branscome. 

"Oh, that's too bad, Nannie, " exclaimed Prudence. "My father--and he'snot a religious man--said the Topeka _Capital_ was a wonderful paperSheldon's week. "

"I'm not denying that, " said Nannie. "I believe it was wonderful. Ibelieve and tremble. "

"With other little----"

"Sh-h!" said the president, and Hilda subsided. 

"Was Amy Frisbe at the opera last night?" asked Puddy ratherirrelevantly. 

"No, " said Hilda, "but Arthur Driscol was. He sat in a box with theGorman party and was devoted to Mamie Moore all the evening. If I'dbeen Mrs. Gorman I'd dropped him over the railing. "

"You don't mean that Amy Frisbe has been jilted?" exclaimed thepresident. 

"I do, and it's her third serious heart wound. Really, that girl isentitled to draw a pension. "

"Well, I'll be jig----" began Nannie. 

"Sh-h!" said the president, and then she added: "Young ladies, it isfor you to decide how you'll be served up in future. "

"_Is_ it for us to decide?" asked Nannie Branscome. 

She had a peculiar way of saying things of this sort. She would lowerher head and look out from under her head frizzles in a non-committalfashion, but with a suggestion of something that made her piquant, bewitching face irresistible. 

"Certainly, " said the president. "The style of cooking depends on thecook. "

"Well, let us first see what choice we have in the matter. Whatvariety of dishes are named? Where's the article and where did it comefrom?" asked Hilda. 

"George Daly had it last night and he read bits of it between theacts. "

"So that's what I missed by declining Mrs. Warren's box partyinvitation!" exclaimed Hilda. "Well, let's have the article. "

"I haven't got it, " said Puddy. "George wouldn't give it to me. Hesaid it belonged to Mr. Porter, but I copied some of it. "

"Oh, there's Evelyn Rogers. Let's call her in. Evelyn! Evelyn!"

Hilda was at the window gesticulating and calling. 

"Young ladies, " said the president, "I'm surprised. Come to order. Good-morning, Evelyn. We are met to consider an important matter--'Howto Cook Wives. '"

Evelyn laughed. 

"Is that all you called me in for? I heard enough of that last night. It was George Daly's theme all the evening. "

"Were you at the box party?" asked Hilda. 

"Yes, I was so silly as to go. Oh, these society people just wear meout. I'm more tired this morning than I should be if I'd worked at achurn all day yesterday. They're so stupid. They talk all night aboutnothing. "

"You ought to commend them for intellectual economy; they make alittle go such a long way, " said Prudence. 

"Seriously, though, are you met to consider that piece?" asked Evelyn. 

"No, " said Puddy. "We just happened to meet, and that came up fordiscussion. "

"Well, as I don't care----" began Evelyn, laughing. 

"Sh-h!" said the president. 

"The publisher from New York says slang is not used in the bestcircles, " said Hilda. 

She recited this in a loud, stereotyped tone, giving the last word astrong upward inflection, suggestive of a final call to thedining-room. 

"Yes, I know, " said Evelyn. "I met him at the box party last night, and he told me so. "

"What did you say?" inquired Puddy. 

"I said it must be awful to be deaf from birth. "

"Did he hear that?" laughed Hilda. 

"I presume he did, for he gave me one look and straightway became dumbas well as deaf. "

"Girls, I must be going!" exclaimed Hilda suddenly. "Really, if anypoor galley slave works harder than I do, I commend him to the Societyfor the Prevention of Cruelty to Adults. I've already been out to aluncheon to-day, at Mrs. Pierce's, and Pachmann's _matinée_ thisafternoon, and I must go to Joe Harding's dinner to-night----"

"Are you going to that swell affair?" interrupted Puddy. "I envy you. "

"I don't, " said Evelyn scornfully. "Joe Harding's little better thanan idiot, and he's notorious in many ways. "

"He can give swell dinners, though, and the best people are hisguests. "

"No, they're not, " said Evelyn emphatically. "I'm not there and neverwill be. "

"Young ladies, come to order, " said Hilda in a severe tone, "andlisten to my tale of woe. After the Harding dinner I go to the operawith the Harding party, and then, with my chaperone, that pink ofpropriety, Mrs. Warren, I attend the Pachmann reception at theRutherfords. Now, if your scrubwoman can name a longer, harder, or----"

"More soul and brain enervating list, " continued Evelyn. 

"I should be pleased--I mean pained to hear it, " concluded Hilda. 

"And what does it all amount to?" asked Evelyn. "Will any one tell mewhat you are working for?"

"A settlement, " said Nannie promptly. "I'm the only niece of poor butimpecunious relatives, and they expect me to do my best and marrywell. "

"Goodness, child!" exclaimed Hilda, "I hope you don't tell the brutal, cold-blooded truth in society!"

"Why, no, that isn't it, " said Puddy. "We are going out to have a goodtime. "

"Oh, you slaves and bondwomen!" exclaimed Evelyn. "You don't know whata good time means. I must be off. Adieu, seneschals. " And with apitying smile she left them. 

She was a handsome, spirited-looking girl, with a queenly carriage. Asshe went out of the house Constance Leigh came by, and the two walkedoff together. 

"There's a pair of them, " Hilda remarked. 

"Awfully nice girls, " said Nannie. 

"Oh, yes, but they're rabid. Constance Leigh is as independent as aMarch hare, and Evelyn is perfectly fierce for reforms now. "

"What, a socialist?" asked Prudence. 

"No, not exactly, but she gathers the most awful class of people abouther, and fairly bristles with indignation if one ventures to criticisethem. "

"What do you mean--criminals?" asked Prudence. 

"You'd think so if you chanced to run into one of them. Why, lastSunday evening she had an inebriate up to tea with her; next Sundayshe expects a wife-beater, or choker, or something of that sort, andthe other day, when I was coming out from a call on her, I met ablack-browed, desperately wicked-looking man--as big as a mountain. Iknow he was a murderer or something. I never was so frightened in mylife. Why, I took to my heels and ran the length of the street. Ipresume he was after me, but I didn't dare look behind. "

"You needn't have worried, Hilda, " said Prudence. "You know big mennever run after you. "

It was a notorious fact that most of Hilda's admirers were about halfher size. 

"Oh, yes. That holds good in society, but I don't know what mightobtain in criminal circles. "

"Hilda, did your villain carry a cane and wear glasses?"

"I was too frightened to notice, but I believe he flourished a stoutstick of some sort, and I do remember a wicked gleam about hiseyes--might have been spectacles. "

The girls burst out laughing. 

"Why, it's Professor Thing-a-my-Bob, or Dry-as-Dust, or somebody orother, from Washington. He's her _fiancé_. "

"Well, I don't care if he is, " persisted Hilda. "He's a wicked-lookingvillain. "

"Oh!" screamed the girls, and then Prudence added, with mocksolemnity:

"Any one who could talk slightingly of a genuine college professorwould speak disrespectfully of the equator or be sassy to thedictionary. "

"I'd just enjoy telling the poor old proff what Hilda----" beganNannie, but the persevering president interrupted her. 

"Young ladies, you will now come to order and consider the subject inhand. "

"Which hand? Or in other words, where's that article? I should like tosee it, " said Hilda. 

"It appeared in the _Tribune_, but I didn't see it, " said Puddy, "butI can give you some little bits, here and there, that I jotted down asGeorge Daly read them. Now listen. "

"Order, " said the president. 

"'First catch your fish, '" Puddy read impressively, looking around forapproval. 

"First go a-fishing, I should say, " said Hilda. 

"'Don't hang up your fish on a hook in the housekeeper's departmentand think your work is done. '"

"That's Hugh Millett, " murmured the president. "I don't think he'sbeen home since he returned from his wedding trip. "

"'Start with a clear fire, not too hot. Don't pile on all the wood andcoal at once, for if the fire burns down before your fish is done itwill be quite spoiled. '"

"Well, Mrs. Munsey is a spoiled fish, then, " said Hilda. "Don't youremember, Prue, how Will Munsey heaped on the lovering at first? Itwas four inches deep--lovey this and dovey that till it fairly cloyedone. But the fire went out long ago. There's no spark or sparking onthat hearth now. "

"'Don't think, after the cooking is well under way, that you can leaveit to take care of itself. ' I had something more, " said Puddy, fumbling in her reticule for another bit of paper. "Oh, here it is:'Don't stuff your fish with dried crusts composed of the way yourmother used to do this. ' And here's another: 'Some husbands, aftermaking it so hot in private that their poor wives are nearly reducedto a cinder, serve them up in public with a cold shoulder. Otherstoss them carelessly into a kettle to simmer from morning till nightover the nursery fire. '"

"I'm going, " said Nannie abruptly, and without further ceremony shedeparted, just as Evelyn Rogers came in again. 

"Nannie Branscome is a perfect----" Hilda began. 

"Sh-h!" said the president. 

"Well, I trust she'll settle in a heavily wooded country, for thecooking she'll require before she's palatable would break amillionaire if fuel was dear. "

"Oh! she'll do well enough when she has her growth, " said Prudence inher dry way. 

Nannie's growth was a subject of jest among her mates. At sixteen shesuddenly thrust her foot forward into womanhood with saucy bravado, asit seemed. At seventeen she snatched it back--pettishly, some said, but there were those who looked deeper, and they discerned a certainvague terror in the movement--a dread of the unknown. Since thattime--almost a year now--Nannie had been hovering on the border line, something like a ghost that has ceased to be an inhabitant of thisworld and yet refuses to be well laid. 

"Now listen to this, girls, " said Puddy, who was intent on reading herexcerpts to the bitter end. "'If a wife is allowed to boil at all, _she always boils over_. '"

"It would require a high temperature to boil you, Hilda, " saidPrudence with a laugh, for Hilda's good-nature had passed intoproverb. 

The girl looked down from her five feet nine inches of height with hereasy, comfortable smile. 

"Why? Because of my altitude?" she asked. 

"'And you will be sure to scald your fingers and get the worst ofit, '" Puddy went on relentlessly. 

This struck Evelyn's fancy and she exclaimed:

"Girls, I can just see Nannie's husband sitting in the doorway oftheir cabin blowing his fingers and wincing. "

"Can you?" said a voice, and the girls started as they saw Nanniestanding between the curtains of the folding doors. 

Sometimes she resembled an elf in her weird beauty; just now shelooked more like an imp. 

Something disagreeable might have ensued, for Nannie's temper wasuncertain and undisciplined, but Prudence said in a presidential tone:

"Young ladies, it is for you to decide how you will be served up infuture. Will some one please make a motion?"

"Oh, let's decide how each other will be served, " said Hilda. "Youknow at church nobody applies any of the sermon to himself, but fitsit all on to his neighbors. "

"Evelyn will be raked over the coals, " said Nannie in a low, intensevoice. 

Evelyn's handsome face flushed and her lips parted for a retort, butHilda exclaimed:

"Puddy will be made into delicious round croquets, " and she smackedher lips with anticipatory relish. 

"Hilda'll be kept in a nice continual stew, " retorted Puddy. 

"Nannie'll be parboiled, fried, fricasseed----" began Hilda, butNannie exclaimed:

"No, I'll be roasted--you see if I'm not!"

"Prue will be baked in a genteel, modern way, " said Evelyn. 

"Yes!" shouted Hilda, to get above the noise. "Girls, mark my words. Some day Mr. Smith, Brown, or Jones, whoever he is, will invite us allto a clambake, and when we arrive we'll find it's just dear old Prueserved up. "

This hit at Prudence's usual silence struck the company forcibly, andafter a little more from the recipe they broke up with noisy mirth. 

On the doorstep Nannie paused and looked about her. Puddy's lastextract from the article under discussion was wandering through herbrain, something as a cat wanders through a strange house. 

"Order a dressing as rich and as plentiful as you can afford. "

Nannie understood this well enough. She was wearing such a dressing atthat very moment, but the next sentence puzzled her. 

"If you can't afford the best, heap your fish with crumbs of comfort. Press some of these into pretty shapes, such as hearts, and roses, andtrue lovers' knots. If you have neither the patience nor the skill tofollow these directions, take my advice and don't go a-fishing. "

Nannie had never received a caress at home in her life and very fewabroad, for she was not one to form close friendships among the girls. Her parents had died before she could become acquainted with them, andthe aunt who had reared her was a worldly woman who looked upon hermerely as a valuable piece of social property. Nannie's lack ofpopularity was disappointing, but the aunt still hoped that herunusual beauty would atone for her brusqueness, crudity, and lack oftact, and she would form a rich alliance. Between her aunt and unclethere had never been, to Nannie's knowledge, the slightest expressionof affection, and so when one spoke of "hearts and roses" and "truelovers' knots" in a domestic connection, the words fell strangely uponthe girl's ears. 

The sun was streaming through the trees that lined the broad, handsomeavenue as the merry group broke up. Happy children, their dear littlebodies tastefully clothed and their dear little faces wreathed insmiles, flitted about here and there at play, like pretty elves. Nowand then some one or more of them would run, with shouts of glee, towelcome a home-coming father. 

In the heart of a more womanly, more happily trained girl, all thiswould have awakened tender yearnings. It awakened a feeling inNannie's heart--just what it meant she could not have told--but thisvague, unused something was soon swept one side by a more comicalimage. As she looked at the handsome dwellings she seemed to hear avoice calling:

"Wives for dinner! wives for dinner!"

And from the household altars there rose the smoke of uniquedishes--domestic fries, feminine roasts, conjugal stews, in highlycolored family jars. 

"Come, ducky, come and be cooked!" sounded in her ears. 

"No, I thank you, " said Nannie audibly. 

And she hurried down the avenue. 

 II

One evening a few weeks previous to the formation of the Young Woman'sClub--for an infant society of that name dated from the burlesquemeeting just described--Randolph Chance was seated in the room of hisnearest friend and was talking over the events of the day. Ordinarilyhe was not free of speech, but with this man he could think aloud. There are folk whose very presence is enough to shut one up with asnap as the wrong touch closes the shell of a clam; there are otherswho act upon us as heaven's own sun and dew act upon the flowers. 

For a time after Randolph had taken his accustomed seat--an old chairin an ingle-nook of the fireplace--he was silent, possibly throughphysical disability, for there was no elevator at night, and nineflights of stairs is not provocative of conversation; or he may havebeen awed into silence, for he often told Steve that he was nearerheaven than he would ever be again in all probability. Be that as itmay, he sat there enjoying his thoughts and the restful atmosphere ofthe room. Quite unlike a bachelor's apartment, this; as unlike as manyanother belonging to that particular branch of the _genus homo_--roomsin which we would probably receive a mild shock and be compelled torebuild our entire structure of theories on the subject of thehelplessness, uncomfortableness, and general miserableness of thatspecimen known as bachelor. To be sure, Steve Loveland was fortunatein the selection of his rookery, but that might be called an outcomeof his genius--a genius with which bachelors are not supposed to beblessed. At first glance, one who had no such gift for situation wouldnot have considered such a spot favorable for the construction of ahome--if this word may, for a moment, be snatched from the weddedportion of the human race--but the artist in Steve recognized itspossibilities. 

Carnot Fonnac, who originally reared and owned the building underdiscussion, was himself a wretched, reprehensible bachelor, but beingalso a Frenchman he possessed some taste; and intending to make hisabode in the sky-parlor of his structure, he so planned it that therewas a hint of grace and beauty in its arches and dimensions, as wellas of expanse. An English friend suggested the fireplace, and he hadthe good sense to act upon this most sensible advice. After Fonnac'sdeath his building went into retirement, so to speak; fashion mincedoff in another direction and left it to its grief, so now, at theremove of some fifteen years, Steve Loveland obtained the rental ofthe attic for a mere song, and here he cast his lot, for he was hisown housekeeper. A few screens skillfully arranged reduced theapparent size of the apartment; some old-fashioned furniture hismother spared him made it homelike and comfortable; an air-tight stoveon the one side (there were two chimneys) held Boreas at bay, while onthe other a little basket grate of coals, setting like a ruddy gem inthe center of the ample fireplace, was at once an element of goodcheer and a respecter of the law of economy. 

On this particular evening the cronies sat in their accustomed placeswithin the fireplace, one on either side; a little stand, on whichwere set a couple of plates of crackers and cheese, stood near by, anda pot of oysters, cheerily simmering, hung from the crane above thefire. 

Randolph was silent; so was Steve--the latter never talked; in placeof words he used the poker--not in any fiendish way; heaven forbid!but in a mild, unobtrusive manner, intelligible only to himself andRandolph. In this system of fireworks stenography, so to speak, aseries of slow, deliberate pokes under the fire implied contemplation;poking down from above stood for disagreement; while thrusts of thepoker between the ribs of the grate expressed sympathy or agitation. 

"Steve, " said Randolph--his chair was tilted against the brick sidewall of the chimney, and he was leaning back, with his hands claspedbehind his head--"I tell you she's a pretty nice girl; an awfullysensible girl; one of the kind that sets your brain to jogging. It'seasy to talk to her, she's so suggestive, wide awake, and at the sametime she's restful, too. She's none of your hoity-toity characters, one thing one day and another the next, so you never know where youstand with them. You can feel secure with her. I feel as if I hadknown her all my life; there's the most perfect understanding betweenus; we don't have to talk; I think she knows my thoughts, and I'mcertain I know hers. Awfully nice girl; one of the nicest I everknew. "

"Must be, " said Steve gently. 

After this there was some talk of a desultory sort, some solicitouswatching of the oysters that were singing softly preparatory toboiling, and then Randolph bethought him of a conversation heoverheard on the train that day and repeated it to Loveland, who satbending over toward the fire, his elbows resting on his knees andpoker in hand ready for action. 

"I tell you, Steve, it sets one thinking to get at the woman's side ofthe matter, " said Randolph. "I've been idiot enough to suppose theythought just as we do on most subjects. "

Loveland smiled and poked the fire gently from above. 

"You know we've always been taught that women were naturallydependent, and I supposed it was second nature for them to receivemoney from their husbands, and so they got enough they cared no moreabout it. Do you think many of them feel like that woman in the car?"

Loveland poked the fire from beneath and then sighed helplessly. 

"Can't say, I'm sure, " he replied in his gentle, hesitant way. "Theydon't seem to go according to tradition in anything, so far as I'venoticed. They're a peculiar race. "

"Oh, I don't know about that, " said Randolph in a practical tone. "It's pretty easy to understand, once your attention's called to it. I'd never given the subject any thought, but if one chooses to observehe can very soon find out what's what. Some men are idiots and won'tlearn, so they get in a mess. 

"It's natural for you to be mystified, Steve, " continued Randolphafter a short pause, "but you see I have a sister and I know all aboutwomen. You can judge of the rest by any one of them. They're prettymuch alike. "

Loveland gave the top of the fire a few little jabs. 

"Yes, I know, " said Randolph. "You have mother and sister both, butyou haven't lived with them for years. If you don't actually live inthe same house with women you can't know them. Of course even then youmay be in the dark on a point or two, as I was on the money question, but you can soon learn. All a woman wants is fair treatment. If a mandrinks and makes a beast of himself or sulks around in place oftelling her what he don't like and letting her change it, of courseshe isn't going to be happy. It's easy as rolling off a log to managea woman. "

Loveland rose and thrust the poker down through the top crust of thefire and left it standing there. 

"As far as management goes, " Randolph went on unheedingly, "leavingmorality, and expense, and all that out of the question, I'd just assoon turn Mormon and marry forty women. "

Here Loveland stabbed the fire clear through the body, bringing thepoker out on the under side and against the hearth with a force thatbent its glowing point. 

"The stew's done, " he said. "We'll dish up now. "

This little scene, or rather the conversation that seasoned the stew, soon faded from Randolph's memory, but it lingered in the mind of hiscompanion. Men like the latter, little given to speech, are apt toturn and re-turn in thought what has been said to them, and thereforedo not easily forget. 

Several weeks after this the two men sat on the bachelor hearth oncemore; Loveland in his usual quiet mood and Chance smarting from arecent wound. He had begun to feel that his position was almost securewith Miss Leigh, but that day, on the occasion of a picnic at which hehad amused himself by trifling with a silly young girl, he was amazed, mortified, and hurt by receiving the cold shoulder when he profferedhis company to Miss Leigh on the way home. 

His friend's hospitable hearth had more than once proven a refuge anda solace. It was so to-night, and Randolph began to take heart againas he settled back in his comfortable chair in the ingle-nook andwatched the hanging of the oyster stew upon the crane. 

For a time the gentle simmering of the appetizing dish was the onlysound to be heard. Randolph did not feel like talking or evenlistening, and his companion knew how to hold his peace. 

Steve Loveland was one of those men whose intuitive sense is as fineas a woman's; of delicate physique, strong brain, and a sensitivetemperament that might have gone off on a morbid tangent but for thecommon sense, cheerfulness, and unselfishness that held it true to thecourse. The last man in the world to lead a lonely life, but there wasan invalid mother and a delicate sister in a pretty little countrytown home some two hundred miles away, and that was why Steve had nohome of his own. Loving nature as I think most men of fine, sensitivefiber do, yearning for wife, and children, and hearthstone, as everygood man must, he had cheerfully and forever put one side all hope offulfilling these holy dreams and had taken his place on the force of adaily paper, never thinking he was a hero. His comrades never thoughtof that, either; they only knew that he was always pleasant, alwaysconsiderate, always every inch a man, and they loved him with oneaccord. 

It was to such a friend as this that Randolph had given his heart, foralthough he did not fully understand him, he loved him, and theanswering affection he received was one of the most beautiful oftributes to his own fine qualities. 

When Randolph was ready to talk he told the story of the day--itshope, its disappointment, and humiliation. 

"It beats the Dutch, Steve. I can't think what was the matter. Therewasn't a thing I did or a word I said to make her behave so. "

Steve was softly poking the fire from above. The night was quite coolfor June. 

"No, there was not, " Randolph reaffirmed. "I've gone over the wholeday again and again. I didn't give her the least excuse. What do yousuppose was the matter with her?"

Steve looked up with an almost startled air. 

"Oh, I'm sure I can't say. They're quite beyond me. "

"They're beyond every one, " said Randolph in the tone of a SupremeCourt judge. "I don't see what the Lord made them for. "

Steve looked up again and there was the least suspicion of a twinklein his eye. 

"How is it, " he asked in his gentle way--"how many of them is it youare prepared to manage?"

Randolph brought his chair down on its four legs. 

"Not a confounded one!" he said. 

 III

For a time Randolph Chance was fairly dazed by the suddenness withwhich his fortune changed. Yesterday it was down--deep down; to-day ithad gone flying up. He had followed Constance Leigh when she walked tothe lake in the afternoon; had helped her from a perilous place in themidst of rough winds and still rougher waves; and as he took her fromthe pier their eyes had met, and this was why, later on, he sat by hisfriend's fireside in a state of bewildered rapture. 

An outsider, one of the world's common folk, would have made butlittle out of Randolph's brief, rough-hewn sentences. But Loveland wasfinely strung; he understood. 

"I can't forget that look. It breaks me all up every time I think ofit. "

Randolph spoke like a man who was talking to himself. 

"It's so unreal--I may have dreamed it, " he went on slowly. "I tellyou, Steve"--this with a sudden turn--"I don't dare to hope, butif----"

There was no perceptible tremor in his voice, but the sentence brokesharply. 

"I know, old man, I know, " said Steve in his gentlest voice. 

And he poked the fire softly between the ribs of the grate. 

It seemed that Randolph's hope was not without foundation, for afterhe had been the toy of fate somewhat longer he came to Steve one nightwith great news, and yet no news to Steve, who had long discerned thesigns of the times and had been dreading what he saw must come. Now, although he felt sharp pangs of grief on seeing his boon and solecompanion snatched from him and about to be offered up upon the altarmatrimonial, yet he rejoiced thereat with the full force of hisunselfish nature. 

On this especial night the two men sat beside the fire, and alsobeside some of the last oysters that would ever be served up with thespicy sauce of this same good comradeship. As befitted so memorable anoccasion, the oysters were big fellows and were frying gloriously. 

Randolph, who was in great good spirits, leaned over and lifted themcarefully with a fork he held in hand. 

"Here we are!" he exclaimed. "Things are done brown now!"

Then the two men looked up at each other and burst out laughing. 

There was one important ceremony which Randolph felt must precede themarriage service, and that was the introduction of his bosom friend tohis _fiancée_. 

"I've been puzzling my brains to think how I can bring this about, " hesaid to Constance one day. "I've already hinted at it to Steve, but hedon't take. I know he wants to meet you, but he's such a retiringfellow--not really bashful, but like a clam in his shell. "

"Don't distress yourself, I beg of you, " said Constance with amischievous smile. "Mr. Loveland and I have already met and are nowthe best of friends. "

Randolph stared at her in open-mouthed amazement. 

"Where?" he managed to ask. 

"Right here in this parlor. I must tell you about it--it was mostbeautiful. His card took me by surprise, but I supposed you hadbrought him. When I came downstairs there he was, looking altogetherdifferent from your descriptions. "

"Well, I like that!" said Randolph. "Do you mean to impeach mystatements?"

"Altogether better, " persisted Constance. "Yes, he is taller and has amost interesting face. He came forward to greet me without a particleof embarrassment, and there was something so manly and simple, andwithal so high-bred in his every movement, that I was charmed. I knowhe must come of a fine family. "

"Oh, he does. He had a line of ancestors a mile long aboard the_Mayflower_. A cousin of his was telling me. He never said a word. Henever talks. "

"Ah!" said Constance with an arch smile. "He talked that evening, Iassure you, and to good effect. He had but a few moments to stay, buthe made every moment tell. For one thing, he assured me, with a mostwinning smile, that he should feel constrained to rise in church andforbid the banns unless I promised to adopt him as a brother. "

Randolph's eyes and mouth opened again. 

"Perhaps you'd better adopt him as something still nearer!" he said, with a pretense of anger. 

"Now that you mention it, " Constance replied in a confidential tone, "I came very near doing so. The only reason I did not was that heforgot to ask me. "

Randolph broke into a laugh. Then he added in a puzzled tone:

"Well, it beats everything! In all the ten years I've known him I'venever heard him say as much as that!"

"I can't repeat all he said----" Constance began again. 

"What!" Randolph cried with another semblance of jealousy. 

"No, because it lay in his manner; that gentle, affectionate, yetmanly manner--indescribable! perfectly indescribable!"

"It's the same to everybody, " said Randolph, "and everybody loves him. I never knew another such fellow. It's past belief the way he winspeople. And he says nothing, too. "

"Ah, but he does!" repeated Constance. "Well, well, there's no tellingit all. I continually think of the word delightful in recurring to itand him. I assured him that he would be a member of our family, andthat our fireside and our crust--I really didn't dare to promise morethan a crust, you know, Randolph--would be his as well as ours. Whenhe left he said good-by in the same perfectly easy, natural way, calling me Constance----"

"What?" Randolph exclaimed. 

"And then he said, 'I am a brother now, you know, ' and he bent andkissed me. "

"The dickens!" cried Randolph. 

And Constance finished the sentence. 

"He did. And really in the most delightful way, " she added naïvely. 

Shortly after this cementing of new bonds there was a quiet weddingceremony one morning at the little suburban church, and when this wasover Randolph and Constance were ready for their walk through life. 

This walk--sometimes quickened into a jog trot and even into a lope, sometimes slackened till it becomes a crawl--is variously diversified, according to the temper and general disposition of the parties. In thepresent instance there was reasonable hope of some harmony of gait, but life is life, whether within or without the wedded fold, and"human natur' is human natur';" and although David Harum may tell usthat some folks have more of this commodity than others, yet we knowthat every one has a lump of it, at least, and usually, thank God! alump of leaven as well. 

The first agitating question upon marriage is that of residence. Happily Randolph and Constance were agreed upon this point. Both wereindifferent to the city; both were lovers of the country. Randolph hadonce read a certain sweet pastoral termed "Liberty and a Living, " andhardly a day had passed since the reading that he had not recalled itand speculated as to how he could adjust it to his own life. 

The fact that the writer, like himself, was a journalist; that hebroke loose from just such shackles as were wearing Randolph'spleasure in life, made it seem more possible to the latter, and nowthat he had joined hands with a woman of similar tastes, theexperiment seemed really feasible. 

"It's easy enough if we'll only think so, " said Randolph. 

"It _looks_ easy, " Constance replied more cautiously; "that's onereason why I am afraid of it. That proves to me that we don't knowanything about it. If it were really so easy more people would try it. We're not the only ones who love the country. "

"I wonder more people don't try it, " Randolph exclaimed. "When I lookaround me in the train and see the care-worn, harassed faces the menwear, I wonder they don't break loose from their drudgery and go toliving. What's the use of existing if you have to drudge continuallyfor your bread, and must eat even that in debt half the time?"

"_We_ may have to do without bread, " said Constance, smiling. 

"Then we'll eat cake, as Marie Antoinette suggested, " Randolphresponded promptly. 

There really was some practical preparation for the proposed countrylife, although many of the plans seemed visionary enough. Randolph hadlong been considering an offer from a local magazine that would enablehim to do most of his work at home, but the pay was smaller and lesscertain than he could wish. However, he at last decided to resign fromthe newspaper force with which he had for years been connected and torisk taking the other position. 

Now, happily, he had done good, faithful work in his present placeand was highly esteemed. Consequently, as soon as the editor of thepaper learned why he was going and what he wanted, he offered him theeditorship of the literary department in the Saturday issue, at asmaller salary than he had been receiving, to be sure, but still alarger and more certain one than he could earn on the magazine, andthis he accepted and went on his way with much rejoicing. 

"I'll only have to go into the city once a week now, " he said toConstance, "and my literary work at home won't require over threehours a day. That's something like living!"

Constance was as delighted as he, but she was more cautious and saidless. She once remarked in this connection that she intended to borrowa motto from Steve's coat of arms--"Mum's the Word. "

During the past few years Randolph's expenses had been small and hisearnings considerable; consequently he had quite a goodly sum in bank. With a portion of this he and Constance bought a small place in thecountry, happening on a genuine bargain, as one will if he has cash inhand. The house was little more than a cabin, and they decided todevote it to their servants--a married pair--while they built acottage for their own use. 

The latter deserves more than a passing word. Both Randolph andConstance had "Liberty and a Living" in mind when they planned it, andalthough it did not precisely repeat that charming little domicile, yet it was built in much the same style. The one big room--library, dining-room, and sometime kitchen combined--looked out from threesides. In the early morning it saw the clouds piled up in expectantglory over the way across the surging lake; toward evening its windowsto the left blazed their farewell as day sailed into the west; whilegolden sunbeams played at hide-and-go-seek among its prettyfurnishings throughout the midway hours. Even on cold, cloudy daysthere was still good cheer, for a big log fire crackled on the amplehearth beneath the oaken mantel, whereon a glowing iron had etchedCowper's invitation (who could say it nay?):

 "Nor stir the fire and close the shutters fast; Let fall the curtains; Wheel the sofa round; And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer, but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome cheerful evening in. "

The very furnishings of this library were intellectually andspiritually appetizing. A large desk, off one side, bespoke brainwork; a solid center-table, strewn with books and magazines, made onelong for the glow of the big lamp and the leisure of the evening, while Constance's grand piano seemed to stir the very air with a dreamof harmony. The room was lined with low book-cases; above Shakespearestood his bust; above the many volumes on musical themes, busts ofBeethoven and Wagner; pictures--not costly paintings, but engravings, photo-gravures, and etchings, scenes from other lands, sweet spiritualfaces, suggestions of great lives--looked down from the walls; whileover all, as a frieze to the oaken room, ran the words: "'Tis lovethat makes the world go round. "

To Steve Loveland this home seemed more like Paradise than mortalabode. He watched its building and making with as intense an interestas Randolph's and with far more of sentiment. Marriage to him meantElysium--the inexpressible, the unattainable; more so than ever now. But whatever yearnings the sweet little nest awoke in the breast ofthis lonely outsider, his duty and purpose remained fixed. 

In the fall of the year, when the grapes hung in luscious bunches onthe slender vine; when country by-lanes were mellow with a wealth ofsumach and maple coloring; when Nature was saying farewell in her ownsweet way, at once so festive and so melancholy, then Constance andRandolph turned their backs on the din and confusion of the city, andseeking the happy woodlands, entered their own little home. 

On that very same day Steve received a summons to his sister, wholived with her mother in the little country town. There he was witnessto a short, sharp contest with pneumonia; then came a defeat; and thena quiet burial in the village churchyard; next a sinking from hour tohour of the invalid mother whose prop and stay had been taken frombeneath her; a second calling of friends to the stricken home; and eretwo weeks of absence had been told, Steve found himself alone in theworld, as far as any near of kin were concerned. 

His grief was quiet, but very poignant. The old bachelor lodgingsbecame unendurable. Randolph had gone to a home of his own, and Stevecould not sit there alone, listening to the clods of earth as theyfell on mother and Mary. 

Both Randolph and Constance stretched out tender, sympathizing handsto the lonely man, and would have been glad had he consented to widentheir fireside circle by his presence, but beyond an occasional visitSteve did not feel that he could go to them. He had long beenindependent--he was over thirty now, and he was not ready to merge hislife into the life of another household. Still less was he willing tointrude his continued presence upon a newly married couple. The lifethere was sacred to him, and although he felt himself next of kin, almost, to its inmates, he shrank from robbing them of their right tobe alone. 

Go somewhere he must, however, so he gathered a few of his effects andprepared for a flitting--where he hardly knew when he set out, but hechanced to alight in the domicile of some elderly friends, who weredelighted to give him house and table room in their rather solitaryhome. 

It chanced that Steve's new rookery (he was in the fourth story) wasquite near Mrs. Lamont's handsome house, and Mrs. Lamont was the auntof Nannie Branscome--bewitching, provoking, maddening NannieBranscome; uncured, unbaked, indigestible little Nannie Branscome--andthey met, to quote from Kate Douglas Wiggin, "every once in sooften. "

Careless, irresponsible Nannie Branscome! growing wild in the garden. 

But the cook was near at hand and the fire was lighted. 

What manner of cook? A _chef_ or a stupid mixer of messes?

Who knows?

 IV

It was bleak and drear. A raw, angry wind came out of the north andwent raging through the woods, tearing the pretty clothing of thetrees to pieces and rudely hurling the dust of the street in one'sface. The sun got behind the clouds and in grief and dismay hid hisface while this dismal looting went on unrebuked and unrestrained. ButNature is fickle, possibly because she is feminine. At all events, shecan change both mind and conduct, and in short order. So ere long shecame out of her November rage and sat down in still, mellow sunshine, and gathering her children about her, whispered beautiful stories intheir ears; warmed them with her love and brightness; soothed theircare-lined brows and filled their hearts with a sense of the nearnessof the Giver of all good. 

It was on one of these days of Indian summer that Steve cut loose fromwork and started off on a tramp. He worked in town; he rested incountry. 

He had put something like five miles of woodland and late fall meadowbetween himself and the distractions of city life, when looking adowna path that sloped gently to a brook he saw, sitting on a tree thatlay athwart the stream and paddling her white feet in the sunny water, Nannie Branscome. His surprise robbed him of his reserve and hehastened to her. 

"Are you lost, Miss Branscome?"

"Yes, " she answered calmly. 

She still sat there, paddling her feet, with nothing of consternationor perplexity in her face or manner. All around her were the browns ofa summer that had come and gone; heaps of dead leaves nestled close tothe trees, mute witnesses of a lost beauty; while here and there anox-eyed daisy glowed from out its somber company as a firefly shinesthrough the dusk of twilight. In the midst of all this sat Nannie inher pretty suit trimmed in scarlet, looking like a bird of paradiseamid a flock of sparrows and other soberly clad creatures. Indeed, shereminded one of a bird, with her head cocked on one side and herair--not bold, but saucy. 

Steve stood on the bank of the creek, perplexed for a moment. Then heasked with a slight smile:

"What are you going to do about it?"

The girl lowered her head a trifle and looked out at him from 'neathher curls, but she said nothing. 

"Let us go home, Miss Branscome. "

She continued looking at him without a word, and he returned her gazeas he stood there with a gentle dignity that had its effect upon her. 

"Barefooted?" she asked. 

"No. I am going to explore this creek for a little distance, and youcan get ready while I'm gone. "

"But suppose my shoes and stockings have floated down the stream? Whatthen?"

Steve was dismayed, but he maintained his quiet air. 

"Suppose, " persisted Nannie. 

Just then Steve caught a glimpse of a tiny shoe at the foot of a neartree. 

"And suppose, " he said, "they have not, but are awaiting their ownerover yonder?"

Nannie laughed and looked around and Steve walked on. 

When he returned she was ready, and they set off together toward town. 

"Were you really lost?" asked Steve. 

"Yes. I've been wandering around for at least two hours. "

"How came you to go out there?" he asked. 

"I was expected to go somewhere else, " she answered with one of herelfin looks. 

Steve was silent. Mentally he was wondering if this was the mainspringof conduct in all women. He thought very likely it was. Mary oftenasked his advice and then always took her own way, and it wasinvariably opposite to the course he had indicated. 

They had not gone much further, when, happening to look around forsomething, Nannie caught a glimpse of her dress skirt and saw that itwas creased and stained with mud. 

"There now! I've just ruined my gown!" she exclaimed, and then burstinto passionate tears. 

"Miss Branscome! don't!" said Steve, who was fairly startled out ofhis usual quiet into something akin to excitement. "Don't! I beg ofyou. Nannie! don't cry, my dear!"

He failed to notice how he had spoken; so did she, apparently. 

"We can make it all right, I know, " he continued, but for a time sherefused to be comforted. 

"You would cry too, I guess, if you were in my place and would getsuch an awful scolding at home. "

"No doubt I would, " assented Steve in deep distress. 

"I wish I were dead and buried under a landslide, " sobbed Nannie. 

In the depth of her sorrow she wanted to delve deep into motherearth. 

"Oh, no. Don't wish that! What should we do without you?" said Steveearnestly. 

"Oh, you needn't to worry, " replied Nannie pettishly, the violence ofher grief having spent itself. "Nothing so good as that is going tohappen. I shall live to get home and have my head taken off, and stalkaround as a torso ever afterward. "

"Now do let me see if I can't set things to rights, " said Steve. "You've no idea how handy I am in such matters. "

He proved the truth of his words by going to work upon the injuredgown, and after patient effort bringing it out of its dilapidatedcondition in such shape that only a keen eye would detect any sign ofmishap. 

Nannie was delighted and, stimulated by the excitement attendant uponher rapid change of fortunes, became quite talkative. 

"I wouldn't have minded it so much, but I have on one of my bestgowns, and Aunt Frances makes such a fuss every time she has to buyme anything. She says it's of no use to spend on me. It don't amountto a row of pins. "

Steve looked at her inquiringly. In actual time he was many years hersenior, but Nannie had been in society for a season now, and evenyoung girls age fast there--too fast, by far. 

"She means I don't bid fair to get married off well. I'm not verypopular, you know. "

Still Steve was silent. Nannie was speaking in a language of which hewas ignorant. 

"I dressed this morning to go to Joe Harding's breakfast, but I hatehim, and I went walking instead. Now I've got to see some of the girlswho went and make up a lot of stuff about it at home, or AuntFrances'll be awfully mad. "

Steve looked into the beautiful face of the young girl who was talkingin this repellent fashion. Then he took her gently by the hand andsaid in a firm, kindly tone:

"Nannie, you must come out of all this. "

"How can I?" she asked. "I have no mother or father--no one who reallycares. I suppose I'll marry Joe Harding some day. He wants me, andAunt Frances keeps at me about it eternally, but I hate him. "

"You must not marry him, " said Steve firmly. "He is not a good man. "

"And he's awfully ugly, too, but he's rich, and he's one of the swellset. Ugh! but I do hate him!"

"Why are you going to marry him?"

"Why?" she asked, looking at him with straight, frank surprise. "I'vegot to. Nobody else wants me. "

The pettish look had passed from her face; so also had the world-wiseexpression. There was something in her present naïve frankness thatprevented it from seeming bold. 

As he looked at her swift images of love and marriage flitted acrosshis brain. Somehow his loneliness was borne in upon him, and with thisrealization there came as a sudden flash the consciousness that hecould marry. Long ago he had put all this one side, and in his griefover the loss of mother and sister it had never once occurred to himthat he was free. The knowledge almost overwhelmed him now, and in hisbewilderment for the moment he lost sight of his ideal. Like mostreticent men, he cherished an ideal. Since meeting Constance Leigh, unconsciously to himself that ideal had grown very like her. But nowhe was sitting beside a fascinating young girl--for fascinating shewas to Steve, even in her brusqueness and plainness of speech; a merechild, as it were, who was without home and without the protection oflove and parental care, and as he looked into her eyes, still wet withtears, he felt his heart go out to her. 

"Listen to me, Nannie, " he said, taking her hand once more. "I am avery lonely man. I need a wife----"

"Come, ducky, come and be killed, " flashed through Nannie's mind. 

"I think you need me and I'm sure I need you. "

"How?" thought Nannie; "fricasseed or boiled?"

"If you would let me I would take you and try----"

"Fry, you mean, " said Nannie mentally as he hesitated. 

Then with a sudden whirl, peculiar to her gusty temperament, she saidto herself:

"He's proposing, and I needn't marry that hideous creature!"

She caught her breath and pressed her hands together. 

"Oh, if only I could escape from Joe Harding!" she exclaimed. 

Something very holy in Steve's nature came up then and changed theman. No longer shy, no longer reserved, he bent toward Nannie withouttouching her and said:

"My dear, marriage is a gate at once solemn and beautiful. When it isused as a door of escape it opens into a dark forest abounding withterrible wild beasts and hideous crawling things, but if one opens itwith love's key, I can't tell you what it leads to, for I have neverbeen there, but I believe it is the gateway to the Elysium fieldsthat lie just on the hither side of heaven. "

Nannie looked up into the grave eyes and saw something of tenderness, something of reverence there that was new to her. She had stepped intoan unknown world and was awed. As she sat there all mockery and levityfaded from her face, and in its place there crept a look of deepadmiration and deep respect for this man, and something awoke in hersoul. 

She said not a word--she had no words for such as this--but by and byshe put her hand into Steve's. 

"For life, Nannie?" he asked. 

"Yes, " she said, and burst into tears. 

 V

A lover's ecstasy is ofttimes cut short by the reflection that he hasyet to face that awful bugbear--the old folk. There is somethingterrible about age, it would seem, not only to its possessor, but evento those who must encounter it second hand, and Steve was not withouthis qualms. Although in his wooing he had not for one moment lost hisgentle self-possession, he had entirely forgotten about the ordeal ofan interview with Nannie's guardians until she reminded him by sayingwith an impish chuckle:

"Won't Aunt Frances be happy when she hears of this!"

"Is she anxious that you should marry?" asked Steve with some wonder. 

Nannie looked at him with wide eyes for a moment. It seemed hardlypossible that one could be so dull of comprehension, and yet therewas no doubting Steve's grave, earnest expression. 

"Yes, " was her only reply, but inwardly she was convulsed withlaughter as she looked ahead and in thought rapidly sketched a scene. 

And so Steve walked up to his task with but a faint conception of itsmagnitude. 

"I have called, Mrs. Lamont, " he said in his easy, gentlemanly way, "to ask for the hand of your niece. Nannie and I have had a littletalk about it and understand each other, I think, and now we awaityour consent. "

"You surely don't _expect_ my consent, " said Mrs. Lamont. 

Steve's shyness and gentleness seemed to return to him. 

"I really, " he said hesitatingly, "had not thought of any reason whywe should not have it. "

"Mr. Loveland--well, this is intensely trying to me. You've no idea, Iam sure, how I dislike to be so plain; but _can_ you not understandthat you are hardly a suitable match for Nannie? You are very poor, Ibelieve. "

"Why, no, " said Steve gently. 

He had a good position on a daily paper and his mother's littleproperty had been disposed of to advantage, so that he had severalthousand in bank now. To him, with his small needs and quiet tastes, this seemed like wealth. 

"Oh, why will you force me to such brutal plainness!" exclaimed Mrs. Lamont impatiently. "Really this interview will make me ill. "

"It may indeed, " said Steve. 

He had no thought of sarcasm. 

"Mr. Loveland, this is a business matter. We must understand eachother. You have property, I suppose?"

"Not now; it was sold. "

"What do you own, may I ask? Oh, isn't it fearful to have to talk so!But I must lead you to see things clearly. "

"I have forty-five hundred dollars in bank and a good situation, " saidSteve, with a feeling that he was turning his life inside out under astranger's gaze, and had returned to barbarism and was buying Nannie. 

"Bringing you what, may I ask?"

"A hundred and twenty-five a month. "

Mrs. Lamont gave a short laugh. 

"Why, my dear sir--excuse me, but that would not suffice to keepNannie's carriage, let alone herself. "

"Must she have a carriage?" asked Steve with a lengthening face. 

"As a matter of course! Would you expect her to walk?"

Several things flashed through Steve's bewildered brain. Until to-dayhe had always met Nannie in her own or some other parlor. She hadwalked to-day, it is true, but perhaps she ought not to have done so. He remembered that when he saw her feet as she was paddling in thebrook he thought them wonderfully small. He also recalled the factthat Chinese women of rank have very small feet and cannot walk;possibly Nannie was in a similar predicament. 

"Is she deformed?" he gasped. 

And then Mrs. Lamont put her handkerchief to her face and wept forvexation. 

Meanwhile Steve sat there, bewildered and distressed. He had come toexpect this sort of conduct from women in general, but it washarrowing. His poor invalid mother often wept; Mary had cried now andthen, poor worn-out girl; and last week, when he was at her house, even Constance had burst into tears when Randolph tried to explainsomething to her; Nannie had cried that day, and now Mrs. Lamont wasweeping. No doubt it was a sort of melancholy punctuation mark invogue with the sex. 

"Evidently we speak different languages, and it is an almost hopelesstask to try to explain, " said the lady at length; "but Nannie'sinterests are at stake, and I must attempt it. "

She knew only too well how futile it would be to try to influenceNannie. If this affair were ended it must be by Steve. 

"Can you not see, " she continued, emphasizing every word and speakingin a hard, metallic tone, "that Nannie's position in society callsfor certain expenditures which are far beyond your means? As a womanof fashion she will be obliged to keep a carriage and maintain a styleof living which would eat up your monthly salary in half a day. Shehas a suitor of abundant means, a millionaire several times over--Mr. Harding. He is infatuated with her and he will give her everything shecan desire. "

"But he is a very bad man, " said Steve simply. 

"Oh, well--really, Mr. Loveland, please don't push me into adiscussion of such matters. Few men are saints, and I think he'll makea good husband. He is very rich and he moves in the best circles. "

"Does Nannie love him?" asked Steve, and his voice and manner hadchanged. He spoke very firmly. 

"Mr. Loveland, you _exhaust_ me! Some of us who have reached maturityhave the good sense to provide for material advantages and take therest for granted. "

"If Nannie loves Mr. Harding and wishes me to withdraw in his favor, Iwill do so. "

"I don't!" said a curt voice, and looking around with a start, Mrs. Lamont beheld her dutiful niece between the _portières_. 

For a moment nothing was said, but Nannie's appearance did not portendpeace. Her eyes looked out wickedly from beneath her curls, and herimpish mouth was pursed up in an expression already familiar to heraunt. 

"Leave the room instantly!" cried Mrs. Lamont at last with risinganger. 

"I won't!" said Nannie shortly. 

"Then I will teach you that I also can be firm. I command you to breakoff this foolish, insane affair at once. "

"I won't!" said Nannie. 

"Ungrateful minx!" cried Mrs. Lamont. "Here I have dressed you allthese years and gone to no end of other expense, and this is how yourepay me. "

"It is, " said Nannie. 

Now, Mrs. Lamont was a shrewd, worldly woman, and she took in thesituation fully. She realized that Nannie would hold to her owncourse. She also realized that arguments such as hers were withoutweight with Steve. These two, then, would marry for all she could sayor do, for Nannie was just come of age. Now she had already strainedher means to provide for the fashionable necessities of Nannie's_début_ and society life, and she dreaded her wedding. Had the childmarried well, however, all the monetary effort attendant upon theoccasion could have been repaid afterward--all that and more; but nowto have an outlay and no return--that was too much! She would avertit. 

"I can do nothing with this saucy, impudent girl, this ungratefulcreature, but I appeal to you, " she said to Steve, "to let her come toher senses. "

It was Mrs. Lamont, he thought, who was worse than mad to try to forcea young girl into an odious marriage, and Nannie's rebellion seemedjustifiable to him, unused though he himself was to defying any one. 

"Nannie and I have decided, " he said quietly. "I regret that you feelso. "

"You shall never be married from this house!" cried the aunt. 

"We can go elsewhere, " said Steve, not realizing that he was walkinginto a net. 

"And you may expect a bitter time after this conduct, miss, " sheadded. 

"Mrs. Lamont, " said Steve, stepping forward and taking Nannie's littlehand in his, "you will force us to an earlier marriage than we hadcontemplated. "

And now Steve was well in the toils of the net, and this was how ithappened that Mrs. Lamont was spared further expense for her willfulniece, and that Steve all but took Randolph's and Constance's breathaway by inviting them to a very quiet wedding which was to take placeat a church one morning about a week after this stormy scene, andsociety buzzed like a bee over the elopement, as it called it, and soforth, and so on, and all at once in the midst of the distractionsNannie caught her breath and cried out:

"Why, goodness me! I'm married!"

And Steve received the news with almost equal dismay. 

Really, if the Shah of Persia had presented this gentleman with awhite elephant, with long flowing trunk and two tails--three or fourtails, in fact--and this little gift had been brought up to his roomon a silver salver (always supposing that were possible) he could nothave felt much more nonplussed as to its proper disposal and care thanhe did when he suddenly came out of a dream to realize he had a wifeon his hands. 

"Where do you wish to live, my dear?" he asked in a tone that mightimply that he had all Europe and America to draw from as a place ofresidence. 

He was rather expecting Nannie to say that she wished to reside onCalumet Avenue and to have a coach and four purchased that very day. 

But nothing could surprise him now, so he received her abrupt answercalmly. 

"I want to live in the country, near Mrs. Chance. "

Happily this wish was not impossible of fulfillment, so Steve at onceconsulted his friends, and after much walking about (Nannie couldwalk) and much discussion, the four agreed upon a small dovecote of aplace about a mile from Randolph's and Constance's home--a dear littlecottage with enough land about it to raise anything and everything. 

Nannie was like a child with a new toy, and her delight lent her ahundred little airs and graces that would only have provoked Mrs. Lamont had she seen them. She always said that the child was rude andstupid in society where she should have done her best, and onlyfascinating with people who could be of no earthly use to her. 

And now the little kitchen was set up, the fire was burning briskly, the cook was at hand, and the delectable, indigestible material wasready for the spit. 

 VI

Why people born and bred for city life _will_ take to the woods; whypeople shapen, as it were, for the plow will fly to town, and menbuilt for a naval gait will attempt to sit in high places on shore, isone of those elusive problems that are forever defying solution. Weonly know that such things exist, and a few of us come up and have acrack at them, as it were, and fail to make the slightest impressionon their thick skulls. And still the wonder grows. Now it is a navalhero come ashore from seas where he was master of the situation, ladenwith honors and refulgent with glory sufficient for the lifetime often reasonable men, who straightway begins to covet a chair of whosevery shape and proportions he is ignorant, and in which he can only beconspicuous as a melancholy misfit. O Heroism! why failest them toreach the judgment? O Glory! why canst thou not touch up the commonsense? Anon we have a yeoman who has struck oil and has been thrown upon high by its monetary power, forsaking the obscure nook for whichnature shaped him and attempting to sit in our drawing-room, eat atour dinner-table, and obtrude his rich vulgarity upon gentler guests. 

It was in accordance with this lamentable fashion of undertaking thatfor which they have no gift; this rushing in of certain folk whereangels fear to tread, that Steve turned farmer. Not that he gave uphis situation on the paper. Ah, no! He tried to be that which no mancould be successfully without supernatural aid--journalist and farmerboth. His work in the city had for some time been such that he coulddo much of it in his room if he chose; indeed, there were times--aday, occasionally--when it was not necessary to go near the office. Consequently when he repaired to the country with his unique wife, hethought his affairs were admirably adapted to a dual existence. 

It was in the merry month of April when they landed. I use the latterterm advisedly, for they were indeed upon a foreign shore. All aboutthem Nature was giving evidence of a present awakening from her longnap. With her quickening circulation there was increased warmth, andin this the snow speedily slipped away. A chorus of songsters came outto greet the newly wedded pair, and sang so sweetly of love thatSteve's delicate, sensitive nature thrilled in response. Nannielistened and looked at them askance, but to her they spoke, like ouropera singers, in a foreign tongue. 

Now, this breaking Steve from off his natural tree and grafting himupon an alien bough occasioned some changes. From being cheerful, slow, and gentle he suddenly became anxious, hasty, and at timesdictatorial. 

"You must have a garden, " one of his neighbors said. 

Steve went to work like a galley slave upon his spare days, and dug, and raked, and planted. 

"You must keep bees, " said another of the neighbors. 

Steve bought two hives at once. 

"You must keep chickens, " said another neighbor, a sort of two-edgedwoman, who dwelt over across the swamp and whose scolding voice couldbe heard for miles. 

So Steve bought thirteen hens and a rooster. 

"You must have a cow, " said a fourth neighbor, and he promptly soldSteve a cantankerous beast that wanted to rival him in authority, andindeed for a time ran the place. 

"You must have a cat, " said an old woman who wanted to get rid of anunamiable Thomas, and Steve brought him home in a sack caterwaulingall the way. 

"You must get a dog, " said a man who had a bull terrier for sale. 

"I've got one!" bawled Steve--the man was deaf. 

"Bull terrier?"

"No, Scotch! and he's all I want!" and Steve closed the front doorwith needless vigor. 

"What did you buy those nasty hens for?" asked Nannie, who did notlike chickens. 

"Oh, they'll give us something good to eat. It will be so nice to goout every morning and bring in some new-laid eggs for breakfast. You'll like to do that, Nannie. "

"I guess you'd better, " she said with a peculiar look. 

So the next morning Steve tiptoed out, through the wet grass, to thehen-house, in his dressing-gown and slippers, he was so eager to pluckthis new fruit. 

He came in empty-handed, but cheerful. 

"We could hardly expect them to lay the first day; they have got toget their bearings. "

Every morning before breakfast Steve took this little walk. There wassoon a well-beaten track between the back door and the hen-house. Healways returned empty-handed, and Nannie watched with an impish smilefrom an upper window. 

One morning she came upon him in the act of taking off a whitedoor-knob. 

"What _are_ you doing?" she demanded. 

He looked guilty, but answered with a fair show of spirit:

"I'm going to put this in one of the nests. You see, they must think ahen has been there and laid it. "

Nannie burst into a laugh. 

"Well, I wouldn't waste time eating the eggs of hens that would besuch fools as to think any poor old chicken had laid that door-knob!"

But Steve put it in, nevertheless. 

And still morning after morning, with lowered head and draggingfootstep, he returned to the house alone--still alone; not so much asa single egg as companion. 

Then it was that a pair of imp-like, black eyes danced 'neath thecareless ringlets above them. 

"How would you like your door-knob this morning--hard or soft?"

This raillery went on day after day until even Steve--gentle, patientSteve had enough. 

He looked up at the window and said quietly, but firmly:

"There, Nannie, drop it, if you please. "

"On toast?" she screamed, and Steve went into the house. 

But his triumph was near at hand, for one morning, about four weeksafter he had bought the chickens, he discovered something besides thedoor-knob in one of the nests, and forthwith came strutting toward thehouse, holding the egg on high that Nannie might see it from thewindow of her room. 

Hearing no noise he looked up. Was she dead? Ah, no! There she sat, straining her eyes through a field-glass to see the yield of his firstmonth. 

"Mix well, " she called to him, "thirteen hens, one rooster, onedoor-knob, and one month, and you'll have a delicious egg. "

And again Steve got into the house. 

He was obliged to come out again later on, for there were many thingsupon this miniature plantation which were clamoring for attention. Indeed, Steve was slowly coming to believe in communities, suchassociations meaning in his mind a body of men banded together to runa small acre of ground; one man attending to the chickens, one to thefruit trees, one to the vegetable garden, one to the horse, several tothe cow, and so on. It will be seen later on why, in this distributionof labor, Steve always assigned several men--able-bodied at that--tothe cow. It has already been mentioned that he was persuaded early inhis matrimonial career to buy a beast of this variety. This beautifulanimal (for she was handsome, unless she be judged by the homely rulethat regulates beauty by conduct) he immediately presented to Nannie. Whether she was originally vicious (and this her former ownervehemently denied) or was affected by the nature of her mistress, noone knows. Suffice it to say that upon Nannie's flying out of thehouse to gaze upon her new possession, the latter lowered her head, raised her tail like a flagstaff, and galloped to meet her, and it wasonly by the execution of a sort of double-barreled backward somersaultthat Nannie saved her life. 

"Most extraordinary conduct, " said Steve. "Threatening from bothends. "

Nannie was in no wise dismayed, and either by reason of herfearlessness or because of a secret bond between their natures, sheand Sarah Maria--for so she named her after a troublesomeneighbor--became comrades after a fashion. Between Sarah Maria andBrownie, however, there was always war from horn to heel, and nothingcould effect a reconciliation. The danger of this enmity was clearlydemonstrated on a Sabbath morning, otherwise peaceful, when Nanniestarted out with Brownie (the former carrying a milk pail, for somereason best known to herself, since she knew nothing of milking) andwent down to the pasture for Sarah Maria. The latter was awaiting themat the bars, and, as it appeared, was ready for the business of theday. No sooner was she liberated from the bondage of the pasture thanshe made a bold charge upon Brownie, who promptly took to cover behindhis mistress, barking the while in a manner both rasping andaggravating to one of Sarah Maria's irritable nervous system. Thebovine's attention being now drawn to Nannie, it behooved the latterto clear the path, and in short order, and Steve, who came running tothe scene, attracted by the din of battle, beheld with horror-strickensight a confused medley consisting of wife, dog, Sarah Maria, milkpail--all going head over heels into the nearest ditch. 

By some miracle no one was hurt, and an energetic use of the milkpail--a use unforeseen by the manufacturers--restored quiet to theagitated district. 

It was soon after this escapade that Jacob, the man about the placethought himself called to some other profession than farming, andaccordingly left. As Sarah Maria remained, it was necessary to securea milker. This difficulty was happily surmounted about eleven o'clockthe first morning, when a man selling rustic chairs appeared upon thescene and good-naturedly consented for the time to step within thebreach made by Jacob's disappearance. 

Later on it was borne in on Steve's consciousness that he was the manto whom Sarah Maria must look for relief. The situation was acritical one, but Steve's was not a nature to shirk responsibilitiesor shun sacrifices. Accordingly, arming himself with a hatchet and aclub, on the end of which latter instrument he suspended the milkpail, he set out, and in this new business worked with such gentledeliberation that at the end of an hour he could have shown a quart ofmilk for his pains had not Sarah Maria testified to her respect forthe day of small things by lifting the aforementioned pail on high. 

By the end of a week, however, Steve succeeded in bringing his milkinglessons to a favorable conclusion, and was ready to take his place notamong the best, it is true, but still among the milkers of the world. He must have prosecuted his education with remarkable ardor, for hisoveralls had given out in spots, and one industrious day Nannie tookit into her head to patch them. Having no suitable material athand--such is the misfortune of the newly wedded, with everythingwhole about them--she utilized some Scotch plaid pieces left overfrom a tea gown. But hardly was the patch well set than she began toreflect that its rather conspicuous beauty would no doubt catch theeye of Sarah Maria, and might occasion nothing less than Steve's deathif he were taken unawares when his back was turned. To extract thepatch was not to be thought of for a moment, since it was a wonderfultriumph of art for Nannie, nor could she consent, wicked though shewas, to let Steve walk forth arrayed in all its glory. A bottle ofshoe polish solved the problem and made a somewhat stiff but subduedfoundation, upon which Steve rested with more or less insecurity. 

 VII

One morning Nannie was out in the garden, not at work as she shouldhave been (she left all that to Steve), but walking around in a sortof lordly way, after the fashion of many idlers in this world whowithout scruple appropriate the results of industry. 

She had often noted an old codger whose place backed up on hers, buthad never held any converse with him. This morning, however, he seemedinclined to break the ice, as it were, for as she strutted about heleaned on the fence and said cheerily:

"Good-morning, neighbor. "

Nannie gave one glance at his old broad-brimmed straw hat and rustyoveralls, and then said with a certain winning sauciness all her own:

"Good-morning, old Hayseed. "

The man laughed. He had a rotund, jovial countenance, which even hissmoked glasses could not plunge into gloom. His every feature had anupward turn, and there was something strong and good about the facethat made one feel that his heart also curved upward. 

"So ye're gard'nin', be yer?" he remarked by way of introduction. 

"No, I ain't, " said Nannie curtly. "Steve gardens, and you know it. You've seen him bent like a bow over these beds ever since we camehere. "

"Yes, that's so. "

"And I've held myself as straight as an arrow. "

"Now thet's so, too, " and the old man laughed. "Ye're cute, yer air. "

"I can see right ahead of me. I don't wear smoked glasses, " saidNannie with a pretty little grimace. 

"There's a deal goes on ahind smoked glasses sometimes, " said the oldfellow with a laugh. 

"How do you keep house?" asked Nannie with an abrupt change ofsubject. "You haven't any wife or daughter. "

"I don't keep it; jest trust it. Don't turn no key nor nothin' on it, an' I ain't never knowed it to stray outside ther yard. Ther's a heapin hevin' faith in things. "

Nannie's face grew thoughtful. 

"Yer kin 'most b'lieve a man inter bein' honest, an' I reckon it actsther same on wimmin, though they be a leetle different. "

Nannie looked up from under her curls with a glance half inquiring, half defiant. 

"When wimmin's young they be like a colt--it's hard ter keep 'emstiddy. When they git older they be somethin' like a mule--it's hardter start 'em up now an' agin. "

"I guess men are the same. They belong to the same stock--all theworld's akin, you know, " said Nannie mischievously. 

"All the world's akin, eh?" said the old man slowly, turning thisthought over in his mind. "Well, now, mebbe thet's so, but if it isther's a deal of difference atween ther cousins. "

Again Nannie's face grew thoughtful. Then she raised her eyes andpointed, with a little laugh, to a passer-by. 

"There goes one kind of a cousin, I suppose. "

"He's a coon, " said the old man. "Him an' his mother, they live offyonder nigh ther swamp. They used ter own this 'ere place ye're on, an' then it passed ter ther datter, an' then her husban' bought it. She's in ther insane asylum now, an' these rel'tives claim she ain'tcrazy, but thet she was put in by ther malice of her husban'. An' theyclaim he's got ther place wrongful, an' hadn't a right ter sell teryou folks. "

"That's why they're bothering us so?"

"Thet's why, " said old Hayseed. 

"Well, they'll find we're _two_ many for them. "

Then with a sudden burst of laughter she exclaimed:

"Oh, I'm going to egg Steve on to a fight! Wouldn't it be fun! Iwonder if Steve could fight!"

"Reckon he could, " said the old man with a gleam in his eye thatseemed to pierce the darkness of his glasses. "He don't look it exactan' his manners don't promise it, but ther may be fight in himsomewhere. Ther be men, yer know, can't talk even about ther weatherwithout shakin' a fist in yer face. He ain't thet kind. "

"No. If he were he would have murdered Sarah Maria long ago. "

"He would thet, fer a fact. Then ther's others thet air so afeard--soskeart thet a two-year-old bootblack or ther shadder of publickderishion could put 'em ter flight. Be thet his kind?"

"I guess not!" blazed Nannie. "Steve's afraid of nothing, living ordead. "

"No, he ain't afeard. I kin see thet; but he's peaceable. "

Just at this moment Nannie glanced down the sloping sides of theravine and saw Hilda Bretherton panting her way up toward the house. Now, these two had not met since Hilda married and started off on herwedding trip to France, shortly before Nannie became engaged. True tothe usual direction of her popularity, Hilda had married a small man, beside whom she looked the good-natured giantess she indeed was, buthe was enormously rich, and in her particular set she was accountedone of fortune's favorites. 

Since casting her lot in the country Nannie had been into town butlittle. For society as she had known it she cared nothing. Then, too, marriage had entered the magic circle of the Young Woman's Club andchanged its membership, so that Nannie felt herself an alien. She wasnot consciously lonely in the country, but yet there was something sosignificant in the glad cry she uttered when she caught sight ofHilda, and the unusual warmth of her greeting, that old Hayseed lookedon from his side of the fence with a meditative air. 

"The colt's a-yearnin' fer somethin' without knowin' it, " he said tohimself as Nannie dragged Hilda into the house. 

"I ought not to sit down, " Hilda panted. "Oh, dear! Let me get mybreath! Do you see how awfully fat I am? and my husband don't weighbut a hundred and twenty--think of that! A sparrow for a protector! Ifever I wanted to get behind him to escape a mouse or anything, whatshould I do?"

"Where is he?" asked Nannie. 

"What--the mouse?" screamed Hilda. 

"No, " said Nannie, "the husband;" and then the two fell a-laughing inthe old foolish way. 

"Husband! Oh, I thought you'd have something of that kind around, andone would be enough for to-day. "

"No, really! Where is he?"

"Over on the other side of the ravine. You see, we missed the road andgot entangled in the forest. Ye gods! how literally you've taken tothe woods, Nannie! Well, DeLancy didn't feel he was equal to a climb, so I came alone, presumably to find the road, but I couldn't go onwithout seeing you, so I've stolen a visit. "

"You'd better!" said Nannie. "If ever you pass me by I'll haunt you!"

"I know that. I always was afraid of you. I always said you were alittle----"

"Sh-h!" said Nannie, imitating Prudence Shaftsbury's air and manner. 

"Dear old Prue!" said Hilda. "I saw her the other day. I believe she'sreally happy. She don't say much, but she looks it. She's awfullyswell, too. Why, you hear Mrs. Ralph Porter on all sides. She leadseverything. That girl has more tact and diplomacy than any one I eversaw. Awfully nice girl, too. Here I am, always putting my foot in it. DeLancy says I fling a rope around my neck so surely as I open mymouth, and with each succeeding word I give it a jerk. Oh, dear me! Iought to be going. He'll be wild! Why, you don't look any too well. What's the matter with you, Nan? Aren't you happy, child?"

"Yes. Mind your business!" said Nannie in the old defiant way. 

"Bless me! bless me! You haven't changed a mite! I thought marriagewould improve you. Oh, do you know Evelyn Rogers was married theother day?"

"No, " said Nannie with quickened interest. 

"Yes--not at her home. She was visiting her aunt in New York, andthere she married her villainous-looking professor, and would youbelieve it? I heard they went right off to the slums on a weddingtrip, taking a thief, and an anarchist, and a murderer with them, aschaperons, I suppose. Oh, I ought to be going!"

"To the slums?" asked Nannie. 

"No, no. I ought to get out of here. DeLancy is insane by this time, Iknow! I _must_ run!"

"Hilda, you sit still and cool off! You've just been in a stew eversince you came. "

"I'm in one all the time. Do you remember what some of you girls saidof me at that first meeting of the club--I'd be kept in a continualstew? Never were truer words spoken. Oh!" and she groaned loudly. 

"Why don't you get done--with it?" asked Nannie. 

"I can't, " said Hilda coolly. "I'm in for it now and must go on to thebitter end. It's too late to chew the cud of reflection. "

"Don't count on the end, " laughed Nannie, looking at her friend'srotund figure. "There's no end to you, Hilda. You're an all-roundwoman. "

"Indeed I am! If you could only see the number of offices I fill. I'mnurse, doctor, valet, messenger, and on cross days general vent forthe humors. "

"Is he really ill?"

"Oh, I don't know. He has dyspepsia. I guess he don't feel any toowell, and nothing pleases him. He took a notion that a sea voyagewould cure him, and it didn't. He snarled and snapped all the way, andoh, I was so sick--ugh! and I had to drag myself around after him. Then next he tried the German baths. He's tried everything, andnow--oh, now, " she continued with a groan, putting her handkerchief toher face, "he says that society is injurious to him. And what do yousuppose he has done?" she asked, raising her voice and peering fromabove the handkerchief which she had pressed to her face. "He's renteda lonely cabin in the Adirondacks for a year--a year! and there I'm tolive! Imagine me, my dear! I shall grow so rusty that when I return tocivilization I shall only be able to hang on the back door and creakwhile others are talking. Mercy upon us! there's DeLancy! He'll findme visiting! I'll never hear the last of this as long as I live! Wherecan I go? What can I get under? Oh, there's nothing big enough in allthe world to cover me! Woe is me! I must always remain in the open!"

"Lie down there, " said Nannie authoritatively. "I'll cover you. "

"You!" screamed Hilda. "You! Oh, you elf! you brownie! you mite--youwidow's mite! What could you cover?"

"Lie down! Be quick! The enemy approaches!" cried Nannie, convulsedwith laughter. 

Hilda gave one glance from out the window and then fell flat on thedivan. 

"I am lost!" she groaned. 

"I'll defend you, " said Nannie bravely. 

"You! Oh, you atom! you molecule! you microbe! What can you do?"

"Be quiet. You are dead--do you hear? You're _dead_--dead as adoornail; dead as a mummy--the mummy that walked the streets of Thebeswhen Moses was a young man. "

"Nannie!"

But Nannie did not hear, for she was running to meet the enemy, a bitof a man who looked like a woodland sprite as he walked along the edgeof the ravine. In contrast with the big figure that lay prone upon thedivan, his size was really ridiculous. Had his pettiness been merelyexternal, that would not have mattered. Small men have been known totower as giants before us. Luther was called the little monk, and theCorsican who altered the world's map was of still smaller proportions. 

This little creature, however, was the reverse of Julia Ward Howe'syouthful daughter, who announced to an offending visitor that she was"big inside, " inasmuch as he was made on a small pattern, within aswell as without. 

His petty face was all puckered up when Nannie encountered him, andhis rasping voice was at its most irritating pitch. 

The moment he was within hailing distance he began his complaint, heedless even of the courtesy of a greeting. He declared he was tooexhausted to take another step; that he had lost his wife, and heasked if Nannie had seen her. 

"Oh, Mr. Seymour! Hilda--Hilda--is--at my house--dead. "

"Dead!" he fairly screamed. 

"No, dying. "

He started toward the house with the speed of the wind, but Nanniestopped him. 

"Don't!" she exclaimed. "Wait! Oh, I'm so excited I'm all mixed up!She's had an awful spell, but she's better now; but you mustn'tstartle her. Something's the matter with her heart. It was beatinglike a sledge-hammer--an awful spell. "

"Oh, if she dies, who'll take care of me? What shall I do?"

And he wrung his weak little hands. 

"She won't die, I guess, if we take good care of her. Oh, it's awfulto have anything of this kind happen when you're out in the countrymiles from a doctor. "

"And I have been crazy enough to rent a cottage in the Adirondacks!"

Nannie looked at him solemnly and said:

"Oh!"

"I'll let it stand idle! Hilda might die up there! I never thought ofsuch a thing, she looks so well. And _I_ might be taken worse, " hegasped as one who suddenly realized a still more awful possibility. "It would never do for us to go up there. "

Nannie looked still more solemn and said:

"Oh, no. "

By this time they had reached the house, and Mr. Seymour was tiptoeingabout, getting out one remedy after another for his prostrate wife, who feebly assured him she was better. By the time he had given hersmelling salts, a little port, a whiff of ammonia, some soda andwater, a smell of camphor, and had bathed her forehead in Floridawater, alcohol, witch-hazel, and rubbed it with camphor ice and amenthol pencil, the case began to look really serious, and Hilda washonestly ill. 

She lay on the divan, perspiring and uncomfortable, uneasy inconscience and timorous as to results, until near evening, when herhusband, with many a misgiving, took her away in a carriage--not tothe Adirondacks. 

Nannie watched until they were out of sight, and when she turned shesaw Steve coming, and in her swift way contrasted him with DeLancySeymour. 

That evening after dinner, without a word of explanation to herhusband, Nannie walked off to the house of her cousin, Mr. Misfit. Now, Steve was by this time somewhat accustomed to her eccentric waysand seldom questioned them, nor did he realize that they wereeccentric. He had grown up knowing very little of women and regardingthem as a peculiar class, which no doubt they are. Indeed, his ruralexperiences, not only with his wife, but also with the hens and withSarah Maria, had tended toward the inclusion of the entire sex underthe head incomprehensible, and he was inclined to treat them likedifficult words, which we point at from a distance without attemptingto grapple. 

He might have maintained this let-alone attitude indefinitely but fora growing sense of the total depravity of vegetable sins and arealization of his miserable insufficiency as a combatant. Naturally, in looking about him for assistance he thought of her who should behis help-meet, and mentally began to question her continual absencefrom home. This evening he was feeling a little more tired than usual, and an ill-selected luncheon in town had depressed him. When he foundthat the weeds were likely to overpower him he arose and decided thatNannie must be called upon. She was not at home, but he could fetchher. To be sure that might not be easy, but Steve was now fullyroused. Prolonged warfare had developed in his nature a trace ofpugilism hitherto unsuspected by his nearest friend. Every man hasmore or less of the warrior within him. It may be asleep, but it isthere, and Steve was no exception. 

A short walk brought him to the house of Nannie's cousin, and there hefound the lady for whom he was seeking. 

"Are you going home now, Nannie?" he asked in his usual gentle way. 

Nannie looked into his face and saw something new, and it roused heropposition. 

"No, " she said. 

Now, Steve had read Ian Maclaren's story of the wretched beadle who, newly inflated, but not profited, by his lonely wedding journey to aPresbyterian synod, resolved to experiment in the exercise ofauthority upon his bride. But, alas! he had read to his destruction. He remembered with what majesty the beadle said:

"Rebecca, close the door. "

But he did not remember what Rebecca did, and hence had no bettersense than to say this evening, with a quiet firmness new to hisdomestic use:

"I should like to have you go home now, Nannie. There are matters thatneed your attention. "

Nannie rose at once and walked home without a word, Steve accompanyingher. By the time they got there a young moon was sinking in the west, and with the curiosity common to extreme youth it strained its eyes tosee through the trees what Nannie would do. 

"The radishes and lettuce need weeding, " said Steve when they reachedthe garden, and Nannie walked directly to these beds and went to work, while Steve occupied himself at a little distance. 

Before long old Hayseed came up and leaned upon the fence. 

"Well, neighbor, " he said, "what are ye doin' by moonlight?"

Nannie stood erect and looked at him. Her black eyes fairlyscintillated and her lips were compressed. All around her werescattered the uprooted weeds, and the lettuce and radishes lay withthem. 

"What crop air ye raisin' now?" he asked. 

"I'm raising Cain!" she said. 

 VIII

Spite is a whip that cracks at both ends, and the rear lash inflictsby far the sharper sting. Nannie felt its full force when she aroseearly the next morning after the sowing of her peculiar crop, andlooking from the window saw the sad traces of her work lying upon theground. The evening before she had walked into the house tingling withignoble triumph, but this morning she felt nothing but shame as shespeculated on Steve's attitude. Possibly--this flashed across hermind--Steve had not seen her work, and she might plant those wretchedthings again before he wakened. But this poor solace was denied her, for on peeping into Steve's room she saw that he was already up. Wherewas he? Not working in the garden as usual; off--somewhere. 

In her ignorance of character such as his and in the newness of heremotions, for Nannie was not used to contribution, she exaggeratedmatters and fancied that Steve, thoroughly disgusted with her conduct(as well he might be), had walked off and left her. The sharpness ofher terror as she conceived such a possibility took even herself bysurprise. Until this moment it had never entered her mind that shemight love her husband. Even now she did not fully comprehend themeaning of her unusual emotion. She only knew that she feltshame-stricken over what she had done and terrified before possibleconsequences. 

Her fears, however, were without substantial foundation. Steve had notas yet seen the uprooted garden, and consequently was still ignorantof her ill-humor. Long confinement to a work for which he was unfittedhad worn upon him, and he felt the need of rest and change. As of old, in his weariness he looked to the woods and streams for refreshment, for although poorly adapted to the wringing of his daily bread fromthe soil, he was nevertheless exquisitely keyed to the harmonies ofNature, and her touch upon his soul was life. 

It had been long since he had taken an early morning tramp. In thecity his midnight retirement forbade the snapping of his hours of restat dawn, but now that his life was ordered somewhat differently, hecould afford himself the luxury of a sunrise. 

With this plan in mind he retired early after setting the hand of hisclock at the hour of four. 

The alarm went off with a furious bur-r-r that brought him on his feetthrough sheer astonishment. He had not been wakened in such summaryfashion since his last hunting trip, years and years ago. Afterstaring at the still whirring clock for a moment as he sat on the edgeof his bed stupid with astonishment, he collected himself and began ahasty toilet. He experienced something of a boy's glee as he donnedhis clothes, and when he crept softly downstairs and unbarred thehouse door, he seemed to be reviving some of his boyish escapades. 

It was not difficult to reach the woods, for the little suburb wasembraced by these primitive arms, and it was like a child's running toa waiting mother to go out to them. He took no road or given path fora time, merely tramping through the underbrush that tangled thewoodland; along the edges of ravines; down into their shadowy depths;up again; now breaking through the bramble out into the open on theedge of the bluff that skirts the lake; then bounding back again, likea rabbit running to covert. He inhaled with delight the dampness thatrose from the ground and from the vegetation about him. In the spring, and in the early summer there is something so hopeful, so suggestiveof awakening life in that fragrant moisture, that it seems to callforth an answering energy. Steve felt its significance in full force, and fairly thrilled with delight as it permeated his being. 

Now he was out again, following the sweep of the bluff and lookingeastward over the big waters. Some days the sun appeared there inregal splendor, but on this particular morning there was a delicacyabout the picture suggestive of the careful work on one of Turner'sloveliest. There was no gorgeous red, no blazing gold, but tints asexquisite as those seen in the heart of an abalone shell--still lakesof sea-green feathered about by a fleecy white just touched with theyellow of the daisy; lambent wings of gray, kissed into a roseate hueas they spread outward and upward toward the zenith; and the expectantwaters on the lake trembling 'neath their answering pink. 

Steve stood and faced it all, hat in hand. His locks were stirred bythe slight fresh breeze that came over the lake, and something elsewas stirred within him. There was a fine look on his face. Thephysical had disappeared. He no longer felt that strong animalbuoyancy akin to the strength of the wild horse as he courses theprairies, but his soul was answering "Here" to the call from theskies. 

He turned by-and-by and walked onward in a still mood--the receptivemood into which God sows rare seed. He was walking away from thesunrise now out toward the Skokie, that great bog, but he could seethe west flushing with delight--could see the windows of a cottage farahead blazing with reflected glory. 

He reached the cottage ere long. There were no signs of life about itas yet. 

"I'm the first man up, " Steve thought, smiling as he went on. 

The little home put the finishing touch to the picture, and Stevelooked at it so long and so intently that he might have been accusedof rudeness had the occupants seen him. His thoughts, however, wereanything but rude, for a home had always been sacred to him. Had heacted at the bidding of his fine instinct, he would have raised hishat and stood uncovered in its presence. Since his marriage a home hadtaken on a deeper meaning. Without losing a jot of its sacredness, ithad come to stand for something of pain. On his walk that morning hehad noted many things with new eyes--the flowers gladdening the faceof nature; the trees rearing their proud heads and standing each inhis own place--each doing his own work; the birds trilling their songsof praise and stirring in the soul those holy aspirations whose feetscarce touch the earth and whose face is set toward heaven--all thesedoing the Father's work and answering with the quick response ofperfect obedience, perfect sympathy to the divine will. Viewing themnow with a soul made receptive by the tender sadness of real life, Steve asked himself over and over again, Am I fulfilling the divinemission?

When he reached home his face wore a thoughtful look, and the questionof the morning lay deep within his eyes as he walked into the gardenand came upon Nannie's work. For a long time he stood there gazing atit. An ordinary man would have been intensely angry, and whatever goodhe might have felt or purposed during his walk would have taken wings. 

But it did not occur to Steve just then to be angry. Up to this time, like most another really thoughtful person, he had done very littleactual thinking, but now he was entered upon a life which is God's ownschool for the development of character, and in the mental andspiritual awakening of which he was only dimly conscious he began tosee that many things which he had hitherto accepted as a matter ofcourse were in reality the result of causes which could and should beremoved. Passion blurs the vision, and Steve was straining his eyes tosee just then, so it was necessary above all things that he shouldhold himself in hand. 

"What makes Nannie act so?"

This was the question he was asking as he stood by his despoiledgarden, and the answer began to come to him in a shadowy sort of way. It was not just what he imagined it would be--not just what he wouldhave wished it to be. Few answers take on the shape we anticipate ordesire, but it was undeniably an answer, and he turned, possibly inobedience, to a cool, shady nook near by, and plucking a few lateviolets which were growing there, went into the house where Nannie satalone at breakfast, and laying these gently on the table beside her, without a word went on his way to the station and took his usualtrain. 

For a long time after he had left the house Nannie sat there, herbreakfast untasted, her elbows resting on the table, her hands claspedunder her chin. She was not looking at the violets, but their subtlefragrance permeated her thought as it were. Never in all her lifebefore had she been treated in this way; never before had she known ofanything of this kind outside the covers of a book. She was notconscious of shame, sorrow, or even regret; she was simply stupid withwonder. 

She got up by-and-by and walked toward the parlor, but looking back tothe table she saw the violets still lying beside her plate. Shehesitated a moment, then took them up and carried them to a vase inthe next room, but in the midst of arranging them there sheimpulsively turned to a magazine near at hand, slipped them intothis, and then tucked the book away, coloring the while like a girldetected with her first love letter. 

"It wasn't so dreadful what I did, " she muttered, to reinstateherself. "It didn't matter about the radishes, anyhow. They were soold it would have been disrespectful to eat them. "

But she felt badly, nevertheless, as she caught up her hat, which layupon the sofa just where she had thrown it the night before, andstarted off to Constance Chance's. 

Something was stirred within her, and she felt uneasy with arestlessness that inclined her to seek a friend. 

A friend! She had not one in the world. Of all the women she knew, Constance Chance claimed the most of her respect and admiration, butConstance was wholly unaware of this feeling, and moreover, did notlike Nannie. In old days she tolerated her and was even attracted byher beauty, but she had warmly resented her marriage to Steve--whomshe regarded as deserving a wife far superior to Nannie. She had, asis the custom of women in such cases, leaped to the conclusion thateither Nannie had made advances to Steve--which he was too delicateand kind-hearted to repel--or that she had in some way excited hispity, and he had married her in order to protect and care for her, andshe held it as a grudge against her. That a man like Steve could beattracted by such a girl as Nannie was inconceivable to Constance, although Randolph regarded the matter differently. 

When she found that the marriage really was to take place she resolvedto make the best of it, but it was not long before she decided thatSteve was unhappy, and then her smouldering dissatisfaction broke intosuch a lively flame that Randolph was obliged to interpose to preventher from taking Nannie in hand. 

"There, there, sweetheart, " he said. "Don't get wrought up about it. I'm afraid you'd only make matters worse. Better let them rest as theyare. We're not certain that it's so. Steve's a queer fellow. "

"I _know_ he's unhappy!" Constance exclaimed. "It's not necessary forhim to speak. There is a silence that is eloquent; then his looks havechanged. There's something so pathetic about his whole bearing. "

"Yes, I've noticed that. Poor old man! Well, we can't help it. Thesearen't matters for outsiders, my sweetheart--you know that even betterthan I do. "

"Yes, I know, but I'm so angry with that little minx! See how she hasestranged him from us. He hardly ever comes here now. "

"Oh, well, I don't think that we ought to put all the blame of that onNannie. A man isn't apt to run around after he's married. Look atme--you can hardly get me out at all, and I used to be a greatgad-about. "

"I dare say, sir, I dare say, " said Constance, nodding her head as onewho knows. 

Randolph laughed. 

"I certainly was over at your house often enough, " he said, "but nowthat I've run the race and won the prize, I can stay at home and enjoyit. "

"Well, I wish poor Steve had a home to enjoy, " murmured Constance as alast word. 

As a matter of course this conversation and the reflections whichfollowed it did not prepare Constance to give Nannie a very cordialgreeting when she came over that day. Had she known Nannie's state ofmind; had she guessed that the child-wife looked up to her and was soready to be influenced by her, the older woman, she would have donealtogether differently. It is the lack of this very knowledge thatmakes much of life a mere blundering about in the dark. 

She received her coolly, and Nannie was sensitive enough to feel thisso deeply that Randolph's hearty welcome could but partially heal thehurt. This pain, however, was not without its resultant benefit, although the lesson for which it opened the way might have come moregently. Stung to the quick, aching with loneliness, and with ayearning which she did not understand, the young wife was roused asnever before and her eyes opened to things heretofore unseen. Shenoticed the orderliness of the home she was in, its air of thrift andgood management, and its artistic beauty. Nor was this all, for thebest of a home is that which is too elusive, too subtile to remainunder any of these heads, and this indefinite something attracted andtouched Nannie to-day. Fog and mist, cloud and rain had softened thesoil into which these seeds fell. Pain is a strong note in the preludeto life. 

It was characteristic of Nannie's crude resentful type of pride thatshe prolonged her stay at Constance's, even though she realized shewas unwelcome. She would not allow any one the satisfaction of seeingthat she felt hurt. 

As far as possible, Randolph tried to atone for his wife's lack ofcordiality, and in pursuance of this aim he made an essential point oftaking Nannie around the little place and showing her the latestarrivals in the vegetable line. He had considerable to show, for histiny plantation was a model of thrift and comeliness. Many varietiesof vegetables were holding out their succulent wares, all ready fortable use, and many more were absorbing sunshine and balmy air inpreparation for future calls. Near the house cheery and fragrantflowers gladdened the pretty beds in which no weed was allowed to rearits vicious crest. There was, it is true, one ugly, uncivilizedportion of the place, in which the primitive, the barbaric reignedsupreme. As yet Randolph had not found time to attack this spot andbring it within the pale of garden orthodoxy. Secretly he had for atime been hoping that Constance would take it in hand, although hewould have been ashamed to let her know he dreamed of this. Certainlyhe would have been shocked at the idea of setting her at any suchtask, but he would as certainly have winked at her own voluntaryperformance of it. To be entirely frank, he had a little scene allready in his imagination, in which this unsightly corner was foundclothed and in its right mind--the noxious weeds having been cast outby Constance's gentle hands. In this delightful scene Constance alwaysstood by smiling in a deprecatory way, and he was always gentlyupbraiding her--"Now, Constance! Why, this is shameful! The idea ofyour doing such a thing! It wasn't right of you! You must promise meyou will never, never do anything of this sort again!" and so forth, and so on. 

But alas! this scene, like many another, remained in the author'spossession, Constance giving no occasion to act it out, but goingcircumspectly and quietly on her way, ignorant of this delightfullittle fancy of her husband's. Just now she was busy, very busy, andvery happy indoors. She sat sewing in the cool, beautiful library, andthe house door was open. 

When Randolph excused himself from Nannie by-and-by to talk with a manwho called on business, the latter started toward the house. On thegallery she paused, for she heard Constance's voice within, and shedid not care to go to her. There was a hammock, shaded by a vine, near at hand, and she crept into this, and lying there the waves ofConstance's low, sweet voice, mingled with the perfume of thehoneysuckle, stole out to her and stirred new longings. Nannie leanedforward and caught a glimpse of Constance, who was at work, doing someof that fine sewing which gentlewomen love to put upon things of sweetvalue. Nannie could not discern what it was, but as Constance shiftedthe contents of her work basket a little article came in sight, andall at once Nannie felt, as it were, an imprisoned soul within herfluttering against the bars of its cage. 

Dickens tells of a character whose unworthy life had apparentlyextinguished the divine spark, and yet, down deep within her, at theend of a tortuous passage, there was a door, and over this door wasthe word womanhood. Nannie had such a door, and at sight of that tinyarticle of clothing it opened. The girl's heart--the woman's heart wascrying out now, and her eyes were dim with tears she did notunderstand. 

All unconscious of the pathos of the scene, Constance plied her daintyneedle, and in a sweet low voice talked with a young girl (GertrudeEarnest) who sat at her feet. 

"A story?"

"Yes, please, Mrs. Chance. "

Constance, you must know, was a story teller--not of a reprehensiblesort, but a legitimate, orthodox one, and locally she was not withouthonor on this account. 

"Well, then, long, long ago, " she began, "in the dim dawn of creation, the gods looked down upon man whom they had made, and realized that hewas but a poor piece of work. 

"'He needs other gifts, ' said one. 

"'Yea, verily, ' murmured another, 'but they are fraught with suchperil!'

"'Nevertheless he must have at least one more. He must not continueunconscious even of what is taking place around him--the acts of whichhe himself is a part. '

"And so they sent a spirit whose eyes were large and somber, andmankind received her with open arms, not knowing that her name wasRealization. Endowed with this immortal gift, they no longer groveled, for they knew what was passing around them--knew what part they wereplaying in the great drama, Life. And when she turned her happy facetoward them they waxed merry, but when they saw her sterner visagethey wept. 

"Still they lacked painfully, living as they did wholly in thepresent, sending never a backward glance along the echoing corridorsof the past--never a swift shaft of sight along the dim shadowy vistasof the future. And the gods noted this lack. 

"'It must be remedied, ' said one. 

"'Nay! nay!' pleaded another. 'Let them be as they are. They arespared so much of grief. '

"'They are also denied so much of joy, ' said the first with gentlefirmness. 'They must receive their gift and must pay its price. '

"'Ah the price! So heavy!' still pleaded the other. 

"'The end is worth the pain, ' was the reply. 

"And so another spirit was sent to earth, and she too had a doubleaspect. One face was lighted by a happy, dreamy smile; the other waslined with sharpest pain, for her name was Memory. 

"'One more gift and the trio is complete, ' the gods decreed. 

"'Let them alone; in mercy let them alone!' pleaded the pityingspirit. 'They have enough to bear--enough of joy; enough of grief. '

"'Nay, nay. They are but imperfectly endowed. They look about them atthe waves that lap the beach on which they stand, and look backwardo'er the sands of Time, but send never a glance forward over the greatmisty ocean of the Future. '

"Then down from the other world there shot a gleam of golden lightthat rested on a shadow, and willy-nilly--not knowing, not caring, possibly resisting had they fully comprehended--mankind was endowedwith another gift, and its name was Anticipation. One face wasdazzling in its radiance--that they called Hope; the other was deepwith gloom, and that was Dread. With the coming of this gift the veilthat hung athwart the future was pierced, and mankind saw as the godssee, not only what was, not alone what had been, but what was to be aswell. 

"And on a day when all went fair they clung to these threegifts--Realization, Memory, and Anticipation--and thanked the graciousgods, but on another day, when Life pressed hard, they tried to flingthem off and cried in bitter reproach: 'Why didst thou burden us withdouble-faced, tormenting creatures? Why wore they not a single face, and that a happy one?'

"Then down through the immeasurable quivering ether that veilseternity came the answering murmur, tender and pitiful as a strain ofmusic upon a broken heart:

"'Thou canst not know--not yet--some day; for "now we see through aglass darkly, but then face to face. "'"

And when the story was told Nannie was weeping, for all at once sheknew where she stood--all at once looked backward and saw what she haddone; looked forward and saw what was to come. 

But betwixt herself and Constance there was a high stone wall, calledMisunderstanding, and Constance did not scale this wall, and so lostone of the sweetest pleasures known to mortals--helping a fellow-beingout of the dark into the light. 

And Nannie hungered and went home unfed. 

 IX

It is a well-known fact that many a poor wretch has gone up to thevery gate of Paradise, only to bound back again, as if either hehimself or that bar to bliss were made of India rubber. Nothing couldbe more tantalizing or discouraging to the spirit, unless, indeed, itwere the experience of many a despairing and hoping convalescent whois bandied about by the hand of fate with a shuttlecock movementbetwixt sickness and health. 

Many of us feel good for an hour at a time, several hoursoccasionally, but to be good overnight--to waken in the morning withone's resolutions and aspirations as crisp and fresh as they were theevening before--is proof positive of regeneration. 

Once in a while it occurs to the rebellious that things might havebeen made a trifle easier. For instance, if only one had to walkmiles to meet the tempter, or if only he had the decency and dignityto demand that we meet him half way, instead of coming all the wayhimself and invading the privacy of our very homes. If only he wouldwear his horns and tail all the time, that we might know him on sightand realize what we are about when we go under, instead of slinking inclothed as an angel of light. Not that the Andersonvilles, as Nanniecalled the mother and son Anderson, looked like angels of light. Onthe contrary, they were as ugly as the evil one, but they were withouthorns or tails, and so not easily recognizable as that particular andvery reprehensible person. And Nannie was lured by them to let looseher spirit of mischief. 

We have mentioned neighbors once or twice before. Now, the biblicaldefinition of neighbor covers a wide field, and all experience willbear me out in an assertion, that apart from numbers the word standsfor all sizes, shapes, and varieties of human being. Nowadays most ofus whisper the term crazy, realizing that we ourselves are liable tobe caught up and incarcerated under that head. Nevertheless withinourselves we know that some of those about us--and we could point themout if we were asked--are trying to pass off cracked brains for soundones. 

Before Steve and Nannie had been domiciled more than a fortnight intheir new abode, where they had fancied that their living was to be ofthe best, a fly appeared in the ointment, a fly which directly provedto be out of its mind--in other words, they discovered that they hadcrazy neighbors. Let no one understand me to signify by this the kindof crazy person who seizes you by the hair and brandishes his fist inyour face, declaring that your hour has come. That is one variety, tobe sure, an unpleasant variety, too; but there are others. If it cameto a matter of weeding out all those whose brains were slightly out ofgear, most of us could appear in court with a batch of crazyneighbors, thereby depriving a city of some of its principal men andsociety of some of its chief ornaments. 

No one would like to do this, but when the crack in a neighbor'sbrains widens so as to seriously upset his notions of other people'srights, then he is bound to become not dangerous necessarily, butcertainly troublesome, and some step must be taken in self-defense. 

As Steve learned too late, he stood upon contested ground. The formerowner being now in the insane asylum, and having, before she becameunbalanced, deeded the property to her husband (who had subsequentlysold it to Steve), she was temporarily out of the way, but it seemedthat by some oversight she had left outside a mother and a brother, whom she should have taken in with her. 

These relatives, as far as Steve was able to learn, never claimed thatthe transfer of property to the husband was invalid because the ownerwas at that time insane. Their claim was that she had not gone insaneat all, and that she had, in a manner, been forced into deeding herproperty away, and consequently the transaction was null and void andshe still owned it. A written document to this effect was posted onone of the largest trees near the house soon after the newly weddedpair moved out there, but Steve found upon investigation that this wasbut one of many threads forming a cobweb of prodigious size within thebrains of these peculiar folk whose relative had outrun them to theasylum. Consequently he was disposed to dismiss the whole matter fromhis mind. Not so the crazy neighbors, for they continued to post thecontested place with notices, and Nannie became habituated to pluckingseveral of these legal _billets-doux_ from the trees every morningbefore breakfast. 

All this was great sport for Nannie, but the trouble soon took a moreserious turn. The outcome of this latter was an anonymous notificationto Steve that if he failed to take down an obstruction which he hadput across one of the roads on his place to prevent its being used asa public thoroughfare, he would be mobbed by a crowd of men and boys. 

"This is a most extraordinary condition of affairs, " said Steve oneday in talking the matter over with Randolph Chance, "to be racingaround with dogs and cutlasses when you're supposed to be cooling yourbrow under your vine and fig-tree. "

As if to add insult to injury, the Andersons, mother and son, made apassageway of the place they claimed (in the name of their daughterand sister) and persisted in using this, in spite of remonstrance andeven warning. 

Now, for some time past Nannie had, by means best known to women, beencontriving to fire Steve's usually placid temper, and the morningafter her visit to Constance's an opportunity presented itself for thefanning of the flames she had kindled. On opening her door just afterbreakfast she saw mother Anderson and her son William land at thelittle private pier Steve had built, and then walk with a bold andrugged step up toward the house _en route_ to the station, some halfmile to the rear. 

Now was Nannie's chance!

Such fun to see Steve fight!

"Steve!" she screamed, running into the house, "here are thosedreadful people again! They frighten me to death! I shall never dareto stay here alone if you don't make an end of their coming!"Frightened! Ah, Nannie! with that bright color and those dancing eyes!

Steve ran out, his mind aflame at last as he thought of poor littleNannie's terrors and the offensive note he had received. 

"See here, Anderson, " he began, "you have been asked to keep away fromthis place. It has----"

But just here William, who had no regard for social amenities, cut hisremarks short by a resounding slap in the face. 

Steve had never fought in his life. He was rather ashamed of this (hadnever confessed it), and the time seemed ripe now to break his peacerecord. Drawing back, to give himself a greater spring, he landed aheavy blow somewhere in mid-air. Said locality surviving the attack, he withdrew to prepare a fresh onslaught. 

Meanwhile he began to notice that he was being smartly thumped by theenemy, and he aimed a supreme effort in that direction. 

His blow was not the "immortal passado" mentioned by Mercutio, butrather the "punto reverso, " for it landed him in the dust, while theenemy remained on high. 

Just at this juncture mother Anderson put in her oar, literally aswell as figuratively, for happening to have that instrument ofnavigation in her hand, she proceeded to belabor the prostrate Steve. 

"Stop that!" screamed Nannie. "Oh, you bad, fiendish woman! Sick her, Brownie!"

And away went Brownie and attached himself firmly to Madam Anderson'strain, and beginning a swift rotary movement, so bewildered the oldlady that she lost both oar and enemy, and looked more like apirouette dancer than a decorous upholder of the cause of individualfreedom and public highways. 

By this time Steve had regained his perpendicular, and tingling withmortification, started in and really did some inspired work. Takingthe foe by the collar, he shook him as a cat would shake a rat. 

"You little puppy! Get out of here!" he roared in a most unnaturalvoice. 

Then with the oar (which mother Anderson had abandoned when she tookto dancing) in one hand and the dangling enemy in the other, heproceeded down the slope, out upon the little pier, and after sousingthe refractory William in the lake, dropped him into his boat. 

"Now you follow him, and be off--both of you!" he said sternly tomadam, who stood upon the pier, squawking like an old hen on the eveof decapitation. 

She lost no time in obeying him, albeit she continued to work nature'sbellows with great vigor as Steve threw in the oar he held and gavethe boat an energetic thrust. 

"Steve, you're a trump!" cried Nannie. 

Steve looked at her aghast. 

Was this the timid little creature he had been protecting? Evidentlyhe was as much at sea on the feminine question as before marriage. 

He walked slowly up to the house and managed to recover his breathbefore he was called for the next scene in this rural drama. Truth totell he was disgusted, not because of the disgrace of a quarrel, but--alas for mankind in even his gentlest aspect!--because he hadfailed to get a crack at the enemy. 

That evening near dinner-time the plot was thickened by the arrival ofthe sheriff, who bore a warrant for the entire Loveland family--dogincluded. 

"If it hedn't been a new jestice she cudn't hev got it out, " he saidapologetically. "She's arrested everybody in sight agin and agin, includin' her own fam'ly. You hev yer meal now an' then come 'roun'over ter the jestice's office. "

Accordingly, after dinner Steve and Nannie walked over to the village, and after diligent search found the justice, who informed them that he"did hev a place fer ther trial, but they tuk it from him fer a showan' he was a-huntin' fer another. "

This other being finally discovered, the criminals--Steve, Nannie andBrownie--were brought in, and William Anderson, being duly sworn, wasperched up in an aged arm-chair and encouraged to unfold his tale ofwoe to a crowded house, for the room was full, and even the doors andwindows were blocked by the heads of on-lookers. 

"It was about eight o'clock in the morning, " William began in a high, cracked voice--possibly his neck was still dislocated. "My mother andmyself were on our way to meet some friends whom we expected on thenext train. Landing at the pier, we proceeded up toward the cottagenow fraudulently occupied by these people. " (Here he pointedimpressively at the wicked ones, whereupon Brownie, who resentedthis, barked fiercely and was promptly smothered by the Court. )"Rounding a corner we encountered this man" (another indication withthat powerful index finger), "who immediately fell upon me with greatfe-roc-i-ty. First he struck me mightily here--then he gave me aterrific blow here--then one of unparalleled strength here. "

By this time Steve was bridling up and looking like a conquering hero. He really had hit the man! It was the first time he or any one elsehad known it. 

"He then struck me----" William continued, but the Court interruptedhim. 

"Here, here. You've already had enough to kill ten men. "

"That's what I was about to say, your honor, and I will not harrowyour honor's feelings by telling more of his awful assault. Seeingthat I was suffering in this manner, my mother approached with an oar, when she--her" (indicating Nannie by pointing fixedly and by a stonyglare) "rushed upon her fiercely and caused her dog also to chargeupon her, which he did so savagely as to decompose her raiment. Insome way the oar flew out of her hand, and she was mostdisrespectfully whirled around and around, so that she is yetdizzy-headed. "

Here madam put her hand to her brow in confirmation. 

"I was then taken by the scruff of the neck down to the pier, andwhether I fell in the lake or not I cannot say, but I was wet!"

Here the on-lookers shouted with laughter. 

"My mother was then disrespectfully helped in and we were sentadrift. "

He ended in a high-toned, pitiful whine suggestive of a dog's song ona moonlight night, but this plaint was drowned in the roars oflaughter raised by the audience. 

Madam Anderson confirmed and embellished this tale, but Steve's andNannie's narrative, giving the circumstances of the case, theirpurchase of the place, the annoyances to which these people hadsubjected them, the warning that had been sounded to keep them atarm's length, and the continued disregard of all this, sufficed, inthe opinion of the Court, to acquit them and fix the burden of theexpenses entailed by the suit upon the Anderson shoulders. 

One would have supposed that this episode would have satisfied Nanniefor awhile, but she was tireless, and must needs start out to sit henssoon after the Andersons were laid low. Now, of all unreasoning, stupid, obstinate, contrary beasts, a sitting hen is well qualified tocarry off the first prize. Nannie had been told that when a hen beganto puff up her feathers until she was swollen to about three times hernatural size, and make a noise that sounded as if she had tried to saysomething and the word caught on a hook in her throat, she was readyto sit. Having three feathered animals in this condition, and havingcoaxed Steve into buying some Plymouth Rock eggs at the trivial sum ofthree dollars a sitting, Nannie proceeded to capture the hens and putthem upon nests of her own placing, wholly ignorant of the fact thatif there is one thing above all others in which a hen must have hersay, it was in the choice of residence during this vexatious period. From the moment that Nannie put the hens upon the eggs she led a lifeof unexampled activity. No sooner would she turn her back than thevarious madams would rise, and with distended feathers and gurglingclucks dismount from the nests and begin to stalk around the yard, indefiance of directions to the contrary. The number of times that Stevewas pushed under one side of the house in pursuit of theescaped--lunatic, I had almost said, and told to remain there whileNannie ran around and crawled under the other side to head her off, would pass belief. As a matter of course she was never caught by thisdouble-barreled attack, but always stalked out from some unexpectedcrevice and promenaded the yard as if she owned the premises. The nextmove on Steve's and Nannie's part would be to drive her nestward. Theresult of this was always to land her in some place preciselyopposite; for the moment she was headed properly she would tilt herwings and break into a fat, wheezy little run in the direction justcontrary to the one indicated by common sense and lawful authority. 

One day, after an hour of this sport, Nannie lost patience, andpicking up stones, pelted the feathered truant until she fled out ofsight--in the wrong direction. 

"Let her eggs cool!" she exclaimed with a burst of passionate tears. "I don't care if they get as cold as an iceberg! I wish they'd freezeher stiff the next time she sits on them!"

Steve began a mild protest, but Nannie turned to walk into the house, when she caught sight of Madam Hen No. 2 off her nest and stalkingaround with the same offensive strut as that of No. 1. 

This was too much for her own nervous system, and she rushed upon theoffending hen, and kept up this pace with such vigor that at the endof ten minutes she had run her down, taken her literally in hand, borne her squawking into the barn, jammed her down on the nest, androofed it with boards, which she nailed on with rocks. This done, shereturned to the house in a state of savage quiet (if I may be alloweda contradictory term), feeling herself fiercely secure of at least onesitting. 

She was not, however, for madam spared no effort till she burst herbonds, brought the rocks down upon the heads of herself and herprospective family, and they all died the death together. 

"There's some satisfaction in that, " said Nannie. "The stupid, nasty, mean old thing went with the eggs!"

The third sitting materialized, and a lovelier brood of chicks wasnever seen. Steve was surprised and even touched as he stood watchingNannie in her delight. There was something really womanly in the wayin which the girl coddled the pretty creatures, holding them close toher face and calling them all the sweet, tender little names in whicha woman's heart goes out to the infantile and the helpless. 

Looking and thinking, several things came into Steve's mind, and oneevening he essayed to bring about a better understanding betwixt hiserratic little wife and himself. But alas! though possessed of anunusually tender heart and of unusually fine intuitions, yetoccasionally Steve was a man, pure and simple, and this was one of theoccasions. Just as Nannie was sitting down to dinner he said:

"Nannie, I've been wondering what is it that makes you act so?"

"I don't act!" stormed Nannie, who was ablaze in a minute. "It's youwho act! You treat me as if I were a two-year-old child!" Then, in agust of changed emotion, she took a step nearer to him and cried out:

"I don't want to be bad, but"--she turned now toward the door, and asshe went out looked backward over her shoulder and added impishly--"Iam, and I'm 'fraid I'm going to be. "

And off she went--off to the barn, and the next moment there was alonely, yearning child-wife sobbing her heart out on Sarah Maria'sneck. 

Evidently there was a bond between these two, for Nannie was neitherhooked nor kicked, and when Sarah Maria behaved peacefully at bothends it was manifest that her heart was touched. 

 X

Steve returned from town the evening following Nannie's outburst witha mind heavy laden. That had been his mental condition, indeed, muchof the time since he turned farmer, and I may add that his thoughtsoccasionally ran in a sarcastic vein--a course ordinarily foreign tohim. Shortly before that crucial point in his career, his marriage toNannie, Randolph Chance had loaned him a beautiful idyl, termed"Liberty and a Living. " Randolph himself had read this as a thirstyman reads of cool, rock-paved brooks; Steve read it as a poet, adreamer, but it would no doubt have had a marked effect upon hischaracter had he not closely followed it up with Charles DudleyWarner's "Summer in a Garden, " much as one would chase a poison withits antidote, only in this case the order was reversed, the latterresembling the poison, since it awoke in his mind gloomy forebodingsand inspired satirical reflections upon the universal mother. 

Tuned to this key, he was no doubt ill-prepared, while turning theclod, to receive into his soul the sweet influences of rural life, andby reason of their elevating beauty, to be fortified against thosedrawbacks and trials with which all paths abound. 

Truth to tell, Steve was discouraged. He had begun to realize that hehad on his hands not only a small farm, for the tillage of which hewas ill-contrived, but a large child as well, whose rearing anddeveloping---- Just here he came to a sudden halt in his thought, andan odd word leaped in:

"Cooking!"

Then the name of that newspaper clipping of which Randolph once toldhim--

"How to Cook Wives. "

"Well, how in thunder?" he asked himself, and walked homeward from thestation. 

Ere he arrived he saw Nannie at the door. She was screaming somethingwhich, on his approach, he found to be--

"Sarah Maria is lost!"

Had Steve said "thank Heaven!" he would merely have been speaking outof the fullness of his heart. Instead of that, he wheeled like anautomaton and retraced his steps. He knew where to look for her. 

There she was, as usual, down near the track, and as Steve approachedshe stepped squarely on, and with a set gaze awaited the speedy comingof the city-bound train. Of course she knew it would kill her, butlike Samson of old she would have the satisfaction of taking a fewacquaintances with her. 

Steve dragged her off and managed to get her home, and thus for thepresent prevented the sin of self-destruction. 

That very evening, after Nannie, like the cow, was corralled (and wemay use this term without reproach, since she had been rampant allday), a small figure slipped from out the house and hastened to thegarden. His little face, frowsy as is the manner of his breed, wasuplifted, and his saucy little eyes gleamed with fire. He had probablyobserved that the peas were flourishing and that they were the oneliving result of Steve's heroic labors, unless perhaps we except thecorn, which was still several miles distant from fruitage. No doubtall this was clear to Brownie, and that was why he took such fiendishdelight in his work of demolition. The naughty little eyes twinkled;the naughty little mouth opened to emit his short-breathed pants; andthe naughty little tongue hung out as he pranced and leaped, rolledand gamboled over the cast-down and dejected peas. Finally he chewedand tore the fragments that remained, and then gave himself ashake--by no means so severe as he deserved--and strutted into thehouse with a "They're-done-for!" air, quite exasperating to witnesswhen one considered how the poor peas were lying out there prone upontheir faces in the dust, crushed to earth, unlike truth, to rise nomore. 

The next morning, all unconscious of the ruin of his crop, Steve wasdeliberately making his toilet, when he was startled by roars offright. Looking from the window, he perceived a neighbor flying downthe road, with Sarah Maria in his wake. The latter had lowered herhead--not in shame, I grieve to say, but with malicious intent, as wasabundantly evidenced by the height of her tail. 

Happily Nannie had seen this procession of two as it passed the house, and giving chase with swift steps, had caught Sarah Maria's long ropeand wound it several times around a large tree, thus checking her madcareer and saving a worthy citizen for the republic. 

The excitement attendant upon all this was very great, especially asthe neighbor was for a time firmly resolved to bring action, not beingsatisfied with the action Sarah Maria had brought, but by dint of muchpersuasion, both from Steve and also from Randolph Chance, who came tothe rescue, he was at length called off, and Steve was so relievedthat he was able to note the destruction of his peas with scarce aripple of emotion. 

The calm of the succeeding twenty-four hours was but that whichprecedes the storm, and the glassy placidity of Steve's life for thatone day proved to be the deceitful stillness of deep waters. Upon hisreturn from the city he was again greeted with the welcomeintelligence that Sarah Maria had raised her head, adjusted her hindlegs, whose hinges, owing to much kicking, had been reversed of late, and betaken herself to parts unknown. Worn out as he was with theevents of the past week, Steve was unequal to a discreet concealmentof his feelings, and the satisfaction he evinced in Nannie's news wasstoutly resented by that singular young person. Indeed, she became sowrought up--crying, upbraiding, and lamenting--that Steve was obligedto console her by promising to advertise the errant beast if she werenot found at her usual trysting-place--the railroad track. This hedid, repeating the dose daily for a week, at the end of which time hereceived word that Sarah Maria had temporarily located herself on afarm some forty miles inland. Not being well disposed to a walk ofthat length, enlivened by Sarah Maria's society, Steve sent word toforward the lady by freight. 

Owing to some mistake her car was switched off about ten miles fromthe proper station, and thinking that he could bridge that distance, Steve set out on a train early the next evening, and soon foundhimself in reach of the missing member of his household. She waslooking out of the freight car when he arrived, and he noted with asecret qualm that she shook her head disapprovingly when she saw him. 

Steve stood and gazed at her for so long that the man in charge therefinally asked him what he was waiting for. Steve replied that shelooked so happy it seemed a pity to disturb her. The man said that hedidn't regard her as particularly happy, inasmuch as she had all butkicked out one side of the car. Upon hearing which, Steve hastened toassure him that that was merely a playful way of hers when herspirits were at the highest, but the man said that her spirits wereseveral feet too high for him, and he insisted upon lowering them to_terra firma_. He was so firm and so disagreeable about this thatSteve was obliged to advance and join him in the difficultundertaking. 

It might seem reasonable to expect that as long as Sarah Maria hadtestified vigorously to her disapproval of the freight car she wouldbe glad to issue from it, and no doubt that would have been the casehad Steve and the station master urged her to remain. The moment, however, that she saw with her eagle eye that they were makingpreparations for her ejectment, her mind was made up, and she spreadher four feet in a manner suggestive of rocks that refuse to fly. 

The unhappy men now united their efforts at pulling, but her roots hadevidently gone down to China without stopping; next they endeavored topry her up, but she was manifestly stuck by some glue of unparalleledstrength. 

By this time the honest sweat was dripping from the brows of both men;Sarah Maria alone was calm. Various devices were used to dislodge her, and at the end of an hour she had moved a trifle further than aglacier does in a similar length of time, and was fully as cold andcalm as this natural phenomenon. As she was quite near the opening ofthe car when she took her stand, in a physical as well as in a moralsense, even the very slight advantage gained by her enemies sufficedto put her in position to make her final exit when, like Sairy Gamp, she was "so dispodged. "

"Now, " said the station master, who by this time had not so much as adry thread on him, "if you'll pull I'll twist her tail so's to diverther attention, and I guess we'll make a go of it. "

Steve looked into the threatening eye of Sarah Maria, and foreseeinghis doom if he stood in front of her, told the station master that asSarah, for some reason, seemed disinclined to love him, she might beunwilling to go in his direction, and for that reason he would betterkeep out of sight. 

"So, " he continued, "if you will kindly pull I will kindly twist. "

Steve was always polite, and never more so than when excited. 

The suggestion appealed to the innocent station master, who saw nohidden intent in Steve's retreat, and the change of position havingbeen effected, the two men went to work. 

For a time Steve twisted gently, but firmly, while the station mastertugged and jerked, but still none of these things moved her. 

All at once there was a transformation scene, and it came about assuddenly as a flash of lightning from out a clear sky. Theparticipants never could give a clear and harmonious account of whathappened, and all that an idle on-looker could tell was that while hewas gazing he suddenly heard something strike the roof of the car; inanother instant he had, after the occasional custom of nations, recognized the belligerency of Sarah Maria. When the din of battlehad subsided he beheld Steve arising from the earth somewhere in therear of the car, while the station master, on all fours, was in theact of picking himself up from a spot just in front of where Sarah hadlately made her heroic stand. 

Steve was in no wise perturbed or even surprised. He realized that thebovine belonged to the gentle sex, and anything was to be expected. Aslong as Sarah Maria and his wife spared his life, he felt that he hadno just cause for complaint; both ladies were erratic, and he mustsimply look for whatever happened. 

Unfortunately, as Steve regarded it, Sarah Maria had not taken herdeparture, her long rope having caught around a tree and detained her. She was well out of the car, however, and the station master washedhis hands of her. 

It was by this time nearing dusk, and Steve set out on his long walktoward home with many misgivings. Under happy circumstances a walk inthe country along the brookside, through meadows and woods in theevening is quieting, but Steve found it the reverse of this to-night. Not that he had no still moments, in which the brain might work andmemory hold sway; there were such, indeed, at first, for Sarah Mariaset out with him so gently and quietly that the station masterconcluded she must be one of those feminines who wax irritable whentheir way of life is disturbed, and that once relieved of the box-carshe would proceed as a domestic animal should. 

Even Steve began to entertain hopes of her reformation, but these weresoon dashed to the ground, and he went with them. He arose (he had bythis time become an expert at arising), and again there was a truce, which he gratefully accepted, for he was ready enough to enjoy peacewhile it lasted. 

Walking by a brook which skirted a little farm, his mind was busy withreflections. Heretofore he had looked at these places and seen them inthe gross, as it were; now no detail escaped him. He saw to-nightthat the weeds were rampant among the peas and that in the next bedthe onions were drooping, evidently having been trampled upon. 

"Why is it, " he argued gently to himself, "vicious things flourish inthe face of every discouragement, while it requires so much coaxingand care to keep good and useful articles above ground? One might jumpup and down on a weed continuously every day for a month, and themoment his back was turned it would be up again, whereas once steppingon a young blade of corn or the first shoots of an onion is the end ofit. "

Then he looked at Sarah Maria and bethought him how she never had asick day since they owned her, while a tractable, useful cow wouldhave died half a dozen times over in this period, of pneumonia orconsumption. 

"Why is it?" he asked. 

He might have answered this question and thus solved a problem thathas been perplexing humanity ever since Adam and Eve were told to go, but Sarah Maria preferred her own movements to those of theintellect, and realizing that it was growing late, she set off on ahard run for home. 

Now Steve had never in his college days, ranked as an athlete, but ashe flew over the ground that night, with the long rope that bridgedthe difference betwixt himself and Sarah Maria quite taut, he had aninjured feeling, as of one to whom injustice had been done. Not eventhe champion runner had ever made such time. 

The violence of his gait would have proved exhaustive had it been toolong continued, but Sarah Maria was merciful, and ere long Steve cameupon her standing in her box-car attitude. She loosened up by-and-byand again started toward home with the speed of a race-horse, but thistime Steve was in front, and could his friends have seen how well hekept in front they would have covered him with adulation. 

Before long the rope was taut once more, and Steve's sense of securitywas in such marked and delightful contrast to his feelings when itslackened that he told Sarah Maria repeatedly to take her time--he wasin no hurry whatever. Neither was Sarah, apparently, for betweenbalking and running, and capering about in a truly extraordinarymanner she passed the better portion of the night. Finally, indespair, Steve laid the case before her and asked if she would look atthe matter dispassionately and consider the lateness of the hour andtheir distance from the domestic roof--would she, he urged, keep thisgreat central truth in sight?

She said that she would not, and she said it so rudely that Steve felthurt. When he had gotten up and given himself a good rubbing, he foundthat Sarah Maria, like some little angel, had gone before, and hehobbled after her as fast as his bruises would permit. 

They reached home at last, and a late moon glowered down at them withcalm severity. Truth to tell, both Steve and Sarah looked as if theyhad been on a spree, and both were callous as to appearances. Theirone idea was to part company as soon as possible. 

Out of respect to the Society for the Prevention, and so forth, Stevedecided to give his interesting companion a drink; then he would havedone with her forever. Having secured her to a near tree, heapproached the pump, pail in hand. 

But Sarah Maria was watching him narrowly, and as she looked thererankled in her seemingly quiet breast the memory of her wrongs. Therewas still a twist in her tail, left over from the box-car, and severalkinks in her temper, and influenced by these she approached Steve justas he bent to lift the pail, and slipping her horns under him, dexterously lifted him from the ground and sent him crashing throughthe nearest window, which chanced to be that of his chamber. 

"For the love of mercy!" screamed Nannie, starting up from her sleepin the next room, "what is happening now?"

"I'm coming to bed, " said Steve. 

 XI

Steve was so used up by his rural experiences that he could scarcelyget out of bed the next day. And that was not the worst of it: histemper was bruised as well as his body, as was manifest by the way hebehaved. Not that he stormed or sulked; Steve was above anything ofthis kind; but he did speak very decidedly, for him, as he rose fromhis late breakfast. 

"Nannie, " he said, "you may do as you wish about the cow. I think itmight be well to sell her for beef--she is in good condition. But doas you wish about that--she is yours; but I really cannot undertake tohave anything more to do with her. "

For some time after Steve left the house Nannie sat staring in thedirection in which he had disappeared. She was as much amazed as shehad been the day he fought the Andersonvilles, but less elated. 

"Well, " she said to herself at last, "the upshot of it all is, he'sgiven Sarah Maria notice. I wonder if he will give me notice next?"

She walked slowly into the kitchen, where a stout, red-faced woman wasat work. 

"Bridget, " she said, "can you milk?"

"Shure I kin; an' why?"

"Because Mr. Loveland won't milk Sarah Maria any more. "

"No more wud I, an' he's stud it so long. Shure he's been loike a lambbeside her, an' she hookin' him full o' holes till his poor body cudbe used for a sieve. "

"Oh, what shall I do!" cried Nannie pettishly. "You're all of you asmean as you can be! I won't sell her for beef! I just won't!"

"No more you needn't, me darlint! There, now, don't take on so. Shureit's mesilf'll manage it wid yez somehow, though it's loike the bothof us will nade the praste an' extrame unction before we're t'roughwid her. "

Nothing daunted Nannie sallied forth, followed by Bridget, whogrumbled all the way. 

"Faith, in ould Oireland it's mesilf milked twinty cows at wansittin', an' they standin' forninst me widout a word loike lambs tillI was ready fer the nixt wan. "

"Well, now, that's great!" interrupted Nannie. "Steve has left herright out here. I wonder why he did that?"

Mrs. Maria stared fixedly at her, once in awhile tossing her horns. There was a glare in her eye, by the light of which one might read herthoughts. 

"Just here, " she was saying to herself, "Steve and I fought to afinish, and I saw the last of him as he flew through yonder window. "

"Set a pail of food forninst her now, Miss Nannie, an' she'll run tothe cow-yard, " called Bridget. 

This ruse proved successful. As soon as she saw the food the delightedSarah kicked up her heels and, flourishing her head in such a mannerthat it seemed to comprehend everything in its wide swath, ran intothe cow-yard, where Nannie skillfully lassoed her and tied her to thefence just as she plunged her nose into the pail. 

Meanwhile Bridget, terrified by these lively humors, had startedtoward the house, and her desire for speed exceeding her physicalability, she soon measured her length upon the ground, where she lay, roaring lustily, under the impression that the enemy was upon her. 

"What are you howling for, you old goose?" shouted Nannie. 

"It's the cow!" screamed Bridget. "Take her off! Oh, howly Mither! I'mkilt entirely. "

"The cow is half a mile from you!" laughed Nannie. "She didn't evenlook toward you. "

"Shure I felt her horns go into me back, an' as the saints live inglory, I see thim come out at me brist. "

"Well, I wish I could see you come out at the cow-yard with that milkpail. "

Bridget picked up her pieces, put herself together, anddiscontentedly ambled toward the cow-yard, averring that in spite ofall Nannie might say, she knew she had a hole an inch wide in her leftlung; she could feel the wind whistle through it. 

"There's nothing the matter with your lungs, " said Nannie, "as all theneighborhood knows by this time. "

With a long, solemn countenance and a tear in each eye, Bridgetapproached Sarah Maria, who was breakfasting in a hasty, unhygienicmanner. 

"It's me life I take in me hand, " murmured Bridget. 

"Drop your life and take your pail instead, or are you going to milkinto your apron?" said Nannie imperiously. 

"Oh, me pail! Shure the head of me is turned intirely, bad cess tothat cow! or I believe there's a hole through it, loike there is in melung. "

"Your head turned!" said Nannie scornfully. "I should say itwas--turned inside out and emptied entirely. "

But Bridget was wooing Mrs. Maria now. 

"Aisy, now! Aisy, I say!" she muttered as she cautiously loweredherself onto the milking stool. 

But by some mysterious law of opposites, as she went down the pailwent up. Sarah Maria never ceased munching for a moment, but Nannie, who was fixedly regarding her and trying to calculate how much longerher breakfast would last, heard the crash, and looking around saw thepail on its way upward. 

"Now may the saints forgive me if I imperil me life anny longer!"cried Bridget from a safe distance. 

"And may Sarah Maria forgive you for sitting down on the wrong side ofher, you old goose!" screamed Nannie in her rude way. 

"Howly Mither defind us! Did I do that now? Shure the twinty cows Imilked in ould Oireland preferred that side, an' they were veryparticular about it, ivery last wan of thim. "

"Now, don't crawl along that way, " said Nannie impatiently as Bridgetcrept up to her, "and take hold as if you weren't afraid. "

"Shure if I had a shillalah wid a sucker on the ind of it, it's milkher I wud, widout anny loss of me color, though she thritened me widtwinty horns an' as manny hind legs. "

"Oh, you've got several bees in your bonnet, that's what's the matterwith you!" exclaimed Nannie. 

"Is it bees, ye say? Air they loose too?" screamed Bridget, jerkingoff her sunbonnet and tearing down her hair. "Is it bees as well ascows in me hid, an' ye standin' laffin loike ter kill yersilf at thevery idee of me bein' murdered in cold blud!"

By this time her hair was distraught and her face flaming withexcitement and exertion, and altogether she so closely resembled someavenging spirit that even Sarah Maria began to tremble before her. 

As soon as Nannie could control herself she informed her that theterrifying words she used were merely a figure of speech. 

"Clothed or not clothed----" Nannie began, but Bridget burst forth:

"An' I wuldn't hev belaved that anny young leddy wid a dacent raisin'wud use figgers of spache, widout clothes at that. It's BridgetO'Flannigan'll see if----"

But here Nannie's screams of laughter interrupted her. 

"I believe you've a brick in your bonnet as well as a bee, " sheexclaimed. 

This time Bridget understood, and clapping her sunbonnet (upside down)onto her disrumpled head, she wabbled toward the house. 

This would never do, so Nannie ran and planted herself in front ofher. 

"Come, now, Bridget--dear Bridget, don't be mad with me, " she saidcoaxingly. 

Bridget had come to Mrs. Lamont's when Nannie was little more thaneight years of age, and through the succeeding years of childhood andgirlhood had been her stanch friend and her confidante in many a timeof trouble. 

"What shall I do with my cow? You surely will help me out!"

The fire faded from Bridget's flaming countenance, and she paused, irresolute as to her course. 

"You won't desert me, Bridget, I know!" pleaded Nannie softly. 

"Sure it's not Bridget O'Flannigan will desart an orphin child; but Imake it distinct, an' ye hear me now, that I'm a respictable woman, not given to takin' a dhrop too much or too little, an' I won't stan'an' be insulted, an' me twilve years over from ould Oireland comeSaint Patrick's Day. An' even if I am doin' disrespictful work now, milkin' an ould cow in which the divil has taken up his risidince, Iwant yez still ter handle me character wid care. "

No doubt Sarah Maria was awed by this address, or else the veryuncomplimentary manner in which she herself was alluded to startledher into a realization of the steep down which she was rushing andtoward what pit her path inclined. Be that as it may, she contentedlymunched the second pail of food which Nannie brought her, and grantedthe trembling Bridget peace and quiet in which to extract the creamand invoke the saints. 

 XII

Soon after the milking ordeal was at an end Nannie started over to thehouse of her cousins, the Misfits. It chanced that she happened uponthis ill-mated couple in the nick of time. 

"Glad to see you, Nan, " exclaimed Mr. Misfit. "I have a day off, andMrs. Misfit wants to take the boat trip. You must go with us. "

"Yes, we've never been, and I told Henry we really ought to go! I amtired of being asked if I don't think it's pleasant, and having to sayI don't know anything about it. "

"You'll have to fly around and get ready, then, for we must take thenext train in if we want to catch that boat. You'll go, " he added ashis wife slipped away to dress, "won't you, Nannie?"

Nannie stood regarding him with one of her elfin looks. 

"You need me, don't you?" she said. 

He laughed rather awkwardly. He always felt uncomfortable when Nannielooked at him that way. 

"Why, yes, of course. We shall be glad of your company. "

"I know why you wanted me to-day, " said Nannie later on, when she wassitting out on the deck of the boat with him while Mrs. Misfit wastaking a nap in the saloon. 

He turned and looked at her, and saw it would be of no use to try toevade. 

"There's something uncanny about this girl, " he said to himself. 

"You wanted me--you and Lillie both wanted me to stand between you. You couldn't endure each other's company for a day. It would bore youto death. "

"You are right, " he said simply. "It would bore me. I don't know aboutLillie. "

"Well, I can tell you, " said Nannie, speaking in no uncertain tone. "You are just as uninteresting to her as she is to you. "

He caught his breath. 

"You are complimentary, I must say. "

"I know all about it. It's something like this with Steve and me. Wedon't bore each other, but we don't know what to say. "

"Well, what are you going to do about it?"

Nannie sat silent for a moment. Evidently she was revolving mattersmentally. Finally she turned to her companion, and with a roguishsmile, which shone like a sunbeam out from overhanging curls, said:

"I suppose I'll have to 'perk up' a little. "

"I don't speak Hindoostanee, " he replied. 

"Well, Steve's above me, you know. "

He nodded, but Nannie took no offense. He was thinking. "That's ourtrouble. I'm above Lillie. "

"And I must try to reach him somehow. "

"If Lillie would do that----" he began, but Nannie cut him short. 

"It's not Lillie, it's _you_! Lillie is above you!"

Again he caught his breath, this time with a gasp, but he was forcedto be silent. It would be a strange man indeed who could enter into anargument to prove his wife inferior to himself. He might be thoroughlyconvinced of this; might even have taken it for granted that othersrealized the fact, but he could hardly have the face to bring hisvoluminous arguments on this point to the attention of an outsider. 

"I know what you're thinking, " said Nannie, and she looked uncannyagain. "I can't say these things as well as some people could, but youthink because you know books you're better than Lillie. The bookscan't be the first things, because there must always be men beforethere can be books; and there must always be some real things, truethings, before there can be men. These were there first. The booksdon't make them, but just refer to them, and the people that have thereal things are higher than the books. That's what makes Lillie higherthan you. "

The man sat thinking for a few moments, then he tried to laugh. 

"Really, Nannie, " he said, "if one were ill with that horrid diseasecalled Conceit, a quiet half hour with you on the deck of a boat wouldrestore him to health. "

Nannie gazed at him defiantly, but said nothing. 

"No, I'll tell you, little one, how it all came about, " he said ratherpatronizingly. "Lillie and I married when we were boy and girl. Shewas seventeen and I was twenty. Lillie was very pretty and thatattracted me, and I--well, I don't know just what she saw in me!"

"I've often wondered, " said Nannie. 

He gave one look of blank amazement and then dropped his hands indismay. 

"Well, I suppose you were more interesting then than you are now, "Nannie went on comfortingly. 

"I hope so, " he said humbly, "but we neither of us knew the other. Our tastes were not formed; our characters were not matured. I grewone way, she grew another; now we care for entirely different things, and as a result we are walking through life together and each isutterly alone. "

He was looking off over the big lake now. He had forgotten theannoyances and unpleasant surprises of their conversation. He nolonger saw Nannie. A dreary never-ending waste was all that held hismental vision. 

Nannie's voice recalled him. 

"That's no excuse, " she insisted. 

He started like a man rudely awakened. 

"Who thought of making excuses?" he said rather gruffly. 

But down in his heart lay the testimony that convicted him. By this itwas proven that he had for thirteen years been excusing himself. 

"If you would take an interest you could do something for Lillie andshe could do something for you. "

He did not jest this away. He was taking an interest now and doingsome humiliating thinking, and as a result of all this he stood beforehimself in a clear, new light, in which it could readily be seen thathe was less in need of sympathy than of pardon. 

On her way home that afternoon Nannie called at Mrs. Earnest's house, and was boisterously welcomed by the two little ones of the family, Mamie and Jim. 

"A story! A story!" they shouted. 

"Oh, I can't, " said Nannie. "I haven't any in my head. "

"Yes, you must! You promised!" urged Jim in an extremely moral tone(he himself was a shocking transgressor in the matter of promises). "You promised! You know you did! You've got to!"

"Well, what shall it be about?"

"Indians!" screamed Jim, "and let them do a lot of killing!"

"No. I want a kitty story, " said Mamie. 

"I won't have a kitty story--I want a bloody Indian story!" said Jimstoutly. 

"I don't know any bloody Indian story, and I wouldn't tell one if Idid, " said Nannie in her abrupt, decisive way. 

"I won't listen, then, " pouted Jim. 

"Very well. You may go to Kamchatka if you like. Mamie and I are goingto have a kitty story. "

Mamie cuddled up to Nannie, while Master Jim stalked out of the room. It was observed, however, that he was not above taking up a squatter'sclaim in the hall and listening through the crack of the door. 

"Once upon a time, " Nannie began in the old way so fascinating tochildren--"once upon a time there lived a dear little kitty. "

Just at this point the front door opened and Mr. Earnest walked in. Now, Nannie had never fancied this gentleman, and to-night, as shenoted his glowering look, she felt a savage desire to annoy him. 

"Hello, chick, " he said, brusquely In answer to little Mamie'sgreeting. "Good-evening, Nannie, " he added, taking out his paper andseating himself. 

As he did so Mrs. Earnest came into the room. She always seemed ill atease in her husband's presence, though she strove to appear thecontrary. 

"Why, good-evening, dear, " she began. "Are you home?"

"No, I'm not, " he said roughly. "Can't you see?"

"I thought I recognized you, " she replied, forcing a little laugh. 

He made no reply. 

"Did you bring the sugar, dear?" she asked presently. 

"No, I didn't. "

She was depending on this for preserving, and she wanted to ask why hefailed, but did not quite dare. 

"Can you bring it to-morrow?" she inquired after an awkward pause. 

"I don't know, " he said gruffly. 

Again she hesitated. She was very gentle and naturally timid, and histreatment had increased the latter tendency. At last she musteredstrength to say:

"I need it very much. "

There was no reply, and directly she left the room. 

Now, not one iota of this domestic scene was lost upon Nannie. Fromthe day she had listened to that story told by Constance Chance to heryoung friend (Mrs. Earnest's oldest child) she had been looking abouther sharply. The first direction of eyes newly opened is outward. Wesee our neighbors--see that instead of performing their part like menthey are skulking through life--men as churls, snarling, or it may bestalking, automaton fashion; men as sticks, walking, and we hasten tocorrect their errors. Our own correction comes afterward, if at all, for as the poet has told us, it were easier to tell twenty what weregood to be done than to be one of the twenty to do it. 

Nannie fastened her eyes upon Mr. Earnest, but as he was now absorbedin his paper he lost the benefit of her fierce glances. 

"Why don't you tell?" urged Mamie, who did not relish thisinterruption to her story. 

"Well, once there lived a horrid pig. "

"Why, that's not it, " said the child pettishly. "It's a kitty. "

"No, it's a pig, " reiterated Nannie with emphasis. "A horrid, selfishpig!"

"I don't like that, " pouted Mamie. "You begin about a kitty, and justas I'm getting interested in her you go off on a pig. "

"Well, then, once there was a big, horrid cat. "

"You said a dear little kitty, " cried Mamie. 

"He was a dear little kitty once, I suppose, but he grew up to be abig selfish, glowering, tortoise-shell tomcat. "

"Was there any mama kitty?" asked Mamie, who yearned for a gentleelement in the story. 

"Yes, and she was lovely, so unselfish and kind, but the big, ugly onebullied her all the time till she was afraid to call her soul herown. "

"Did they have any teeny weeny kitties?" asked Mamie. 

"Yes, three of them. The oldest was very sweet and the next was rathergood sometimes, but showed signs of being horrid like the big one whenhe grew up, and the littlest of all was very cunning and good. "

"Did they have a little house?"

"Yes, but it was awfully hard to keep it, because when Mrs. Kittywanted anything she was afraid to ask old Mr. Cat for it, and when heforgot things, instead of begging her pardon, as he should have done, he would glare at her until she was afraid of her life. Oh, he was anodious old thing! He thought he was very big and handsome, but he washorrid-looking, and everybody hated him and he made everybodywretched. Well, one day Mrs. Kitty was going to give a birthday partyfor the weeniest kitty. They none of them wanted old Mr. Cat to come, because nobody could have a good time when he was around, but theydidn't know how to get rid of him without making him angry--he wasalways angry at somebody or something. 

"Now the family who owned these kitties had some rabbits, and latelysomething had been killing the rabbits, and they wanted to find outwhat it was, so they set a trap. Well, on the birthday Mrs. Kittyprepared a nice little dinner; she had some new milk, and a littlemeat and a bit of cheese, and six little mice. The table was sopretty, and everybody sat down, and there was no end of the fun goingon, until suddenly they all stopped talking and laughing, for they sawhateful Mr. Cat. He came sulking and glowering along, as if somebodyoutside had whipped him and he wanted to take it out of his family. Mrs. Kitty begged him to sit down, and the little kitty told him itwas her birthday party. 

"'What can I help you to?' asked Mrs. Kitty in her pretty voice, trying not to look frightened. 

"'None of this stuff, ' he growled. 'Haven't you anything decent toeat?'

"'I'm afraid we haven't anything but this, ' said Mrs. Kitty, her teethchattering with dread for fear he'd pounce on the table and break thedishes. 'Do please take something, ' she begged. 

"But he only made a great hateful ts-s! and turned away as mad as hecould be, and then down he hopped right into the rabbit trap, whichhappened to be near. 

"Out came one of the boys of the family, hallooing and shouting to theothers that he had heard the trap go off and knew they'd caught thethief, and the poor little kitties ran away as fast as their smalllegs would carry them, not stopping to see that horrid old Mr. Cat washeld fast. "

"What became of Mr. Cat?" asked Mamie. 

"He came to a bad end, as all such creatures do, " said Nannie in aterrible voice. 

At this point Jim's interest outran his pride, and he swung open thedoor so that he could hear better. 

"What became of him?" persisted Mamie. 

"He received a sound trouncing, " said Nannie. 

Just at this juncture of affairs she caught sight of Mr. Earnest'seyes peering at her above his paper. Had they been filled with tearsor dark with remorse she might have relented, but, shocking torelate, they were fairly twinkling with merriment, and Nannieperceived that she was amusing her auditor hugely, instead of readinghim a terrible lesson, and in her anger she all but lost control ofherself. 

"Wasn't anything else done to him?" asked Jim in a rather disappointedtone. 

"Yes, " said Nannie, glaring at Mr. Earnest in a fierce, defiantmanner. 

"Oh, that's enough to do to him, " pleaded little Mamie. 

"No, it isn't, " said Jim. "He ate up the rabbits. "

"Maybe he didn't eat the rabbits, " urged tender-hearted Mamie. 

"No, he didn't eat the rabbits. A weasel did that, " said Nannie, herawful gaze still fixed on Mr. Earnest's laughing eyes. "But he hadbeen ugly to his family, and that's the worst, the meanest thing aman--a cat can do, and Providence caught him in a trap to punish him. "

"What else was done to him?" persisted Jim. 

"He was hung, " said Nannie, and she almost smacked her lips withsavage relish. 

"Oh!" said Jim, and he condescended to enter the parlor and planthimself in front of Nannie. "Then what else was done with him?"reiterated this young avenging fury. 

"I don't like this story, " said Mamie. 

"I do!" said Jim. "It's most bester than Indians. "

Nannie was going to say that was all, but just then she caught sightof those mocking eyes again, and in a sudden fury she added:

"He was drawn and quartered. "

"Oh!" gasped Jim, while Mamie began to weep. 

Just then a roar of laughter ensued from behind the newspaper, andNannie, whose every nerve was taut, leaped from her chair. 

The newspaper fell, and the two chief actors in this drama confrontedone another, one of them convulsed with laughter and the other withflashing, defiant eyes and tightly pursed mouth. 

"And after that--" urged Jim. "Go on, Miss Nannie. Oh, this is a bullystory! It's bestest than Indians!"

"After that, " said Nannie, turning squarely on Mr. Earnest, "afterthat he was sent to the penitentiary for life, and everybody said'Good enough!' 'Served him right, nasty, mean, horrid old thing!'" andaway she went, slamming the front door behind her. 

The bang of the door, and still more the unusual sound of Mr. Earnest's laughter, brought the little wife to the spot. 

"We had a bully story!" Master Jim explained. "There wasn't anyfighting in it, but a big old cat got caught in a trap, and he washung and quartered up. "

"Jim!" said his mother. "Do stop! I don't like such stories. Whatcould Nannie have been thinking of?"

If she had dared she would have added: "I don't see how anybody couldhave laughed over that. "

But perhaps she was checked by a look on Mr. Earnest's face. He wasnot laughing now; neither was he scowling; he looked very grave. 

"Jennie, " he said, "come here, dear, " and with a quick, unaccustomedflutter of her heart she went to him. "I've been a brute--a cowardlybrute, but I'm sorry, and I want to do better. Will you forgive me?And if I behave like a man in future do you think you can go back tothe old love, dear?"

The children had run out to see if Nannie had left them, and the roomwas very still; no sound but the ticking of the clock, and once inawhile a deep sob that would not be crushed back. 

Great events turn on small pivots ofttimes, and so it happened thatthere were some changes in that little house after this. 

Curiously enough, not long after Nannie's story a great tortoise-shelltomcat appeared in the Earnest home. No one thought of asking Mrs. Earnest if she had brought him there, and the others knew nothingabout him. More curiously still, when Mr. Earnest began to grow sulkyor ugly, Sir Tortoise Shell would often walk into the room and glareat him with his big, ugly eyes. 

"Jennie, I believe I'll shoot that cat!" he exclaimed one day. "Ican't bear him!"

"Oh, no, I couldn't let you hurt him, Gerald, " said Mrs. Earnest, whohad become quite a spirited little woman in the new and happyatmosphere she breathed now. "I'm so fond of him. "

She looked demure enough as she stooped to pet the cat, but really hereyes were sparkling with mischief, for truth to tell, she had heardNannie's story and was ready to adopt a big yellow cat as her coat ofarms. 

Mr. Earnest strolled out on to the gallery. He too was thinking ofthat story. 

"I could have stood the trouncing, " he said to himself, "and thehanging, and even the drawing and quartering; but when it came tosending all four quarters to the penitentiary for life, what could apoor devil do but cave in?"

 XIII

A week had passed since Steve refused to burden himself longer withSarah Maria's care and education. As a matter of course he saw thatthe irascible lady was still retained about the place, but he feltthat to be no concern of his so long as their orbits did not cross, and so far Sarah Maria seemed to appreciate his indifference and tothrive upon it. 

A change of base was effected, however, on the morning of the eighthday, and it came about in this wise. On going down to his littlecorn-field one morning to see how matters were progressing, Stevefound--but perhaps we should first tell how he had, with melancholyeyes, seen most of the results of his summer's hard work come tonaught; one vegetable after another had gone the way of the flesh--nota legitimate way, as it should have gone, on the family table, but bythe path of some violence that had cut off its usefulness and endedits life prematurely. 

The corn was about the only article that had escaped such wreckage; itreally had flourished and now bade fair to grace the table beforelong. Once in a while, when his spirits needed propping, Steve allowedhimself the comfort of gazing upon the vigorous cornstalks, with theirbudding tassels, and this was his intent upon this particular day. Alas! the sight he beheld was hardly calculated to raise the spiritualthermometer, so to speak, for Sarah Maria was contentedly munchingwhat corn she had not already trampled under foot. Now, this was morethan even Steve could endure, and for once his gentleness and quietgave way to something resembling a wild storm. 

Breaking a stout switch from a tree, he proceeded to use it with suchenergy that Sarah started for the barn at a sprinting gait. She didnot mind being sent home--that she expected as a matter of course;but she hotly resented the manner in which it was done. Reaching thebarn and finding the door closed, she suddenly turned and chargedSteve with such malice and vigor that she was upon him before he hadtime to think of escaping or of defending himself. With one blow sheknocked him down, but happily, instead of demolishing him at once, shestood over him glaring and otherwise torturing him mentally before shecould decide upon the best method by which to blot him out ofexistence. 

While Steve was thus being rolled as a sweet morsel of revenge underthe tongue of the vicious Sarah, Brownie came running from the house. Possibly he beheld his master's predicament and wished to succor him;possibly he was animated by the spirit of mischief which seemed topossess him most of the time. However that may be, he collided with ahive of bees as he ran and upset it. Then swift as a flash he fled toa large tree growing nearby and stood upon his little hind feet closeto its trunk, in such a manner that he was completely hidden fromview. 

The bees, raging out of their house and looking about them for theenemy who had knocked so rudely at their back door as to overturn theentire building, beheld Sarah Maria standing rampant over theprostrate Steve. The latter looked meek enough, but the former wasevidently equal to anything vicious. Accepting this circumstantialevidence without investigation, the bees sallied forth in a body andproceeded to punish the wicked cow, and in about one minute Mrs. Mariawas dancing a fisher's hornpipe of the most extravagant character. With tail tilted at a disrespectful angle, she careened in suchfashion as to bring her flying heels close to Steve's terrified nose. Meanwhile he lay still, watching proceedings with gentle amazement. 

"Most extraordinary conduct, " he said. 

By-and-by, thinking the time ripe for escape, he attempted to rise andslip away, but the eagle eye of the festive bovine caught his firstmovement, and she pounced upon him so viciously that nothing but hisfeigning to be dead saved his life. Just at this junction the kitchendoor opened, and Bridget, who had observed these high proceedings fromthe window, put out her head and screamed "Murther!" on hearing whichSarah dashed toward the house, but was back again upon Steve before hehad a chance to rise. 

"Upset another hive, me dear!" screamed Bridget. "Sure a big dose ofbees will be good fer her. "

Sarah Maria again galloped toward the kitchen, and Bridget hastilywithdrew her counsel. 

"Shure it's the divil himsilf broke loose!" shouted Bridget again, opening the door a crack. "I'd know his horns an' tail anywheres, badcess to him! Howly Mither! how shall I get yez into the house? It's astate of siege I'm in here, or I'd be out a-dhraggin' yez inside. Don't raise yer hid, Mr. Loveland--don't now, me dear, as ye love yerlife, or fust ye know she'll go a-bowlin' of it 'roun' that yard asif it was a billiard bawl. She's got no more heart in her brist thanthat. Och! bad luck ter her! Shure----"

But again Sarah Maria started to interview the cook, and again Bridgethad a pressing engagement indoors. 

"Och! what shall we do now? Shure it's quakin' I am fer fear iveryminute. I'll see your gory head bouncin' 'roun' the potaty patch an'her afther it. May the saints defind yez from sich a horrible fate. Och! look at that, now!" she shrieked as Sarah made another lurch inSteve's direction. "Perlice! perlice!" she screamed, so loud that shemight have been heard in the city. "Shure I hope I may live ter seethat ould divil hangin' ter the apple tree an' the crows fasteing offher wicked ould body. There, now, come, Mr. Loveland--she's off! Och!good luck ter thim bees! Git up now, me darlint! There, rin! rin feryer life! Och! she's comin' agin!"

But Steve reached the kitchen door first, and Bridget reached forth awelcoming hand and snatched him inside, his coat being rent in twainby the violence of his salvation. 

"Shure, now, that's a cow fer a respictable middle-aged woman twilveyears over from Oireland ter sit down an' milk when she's not yitready ter die--is it, now? An' a respictable family ter drink the milkof an' not expect ter be cuttin' up shines an' capers an' all sorts ofwicked things in consequence--is it, I say? Luck at that, now! Haven'tI told yez that cow hasn't the manners ov a leddy, at all, at all!"

Mrs. Maria was at that moment clearing the fence and dancing down theroad, pursued by a hive of bees. 

"May the divil claim his own an' sit her up next ter him down wherethe both ov thim belongs!" was Bridget's pious wish as shedisappeared. 

Steve had hardly more than had time to change his clothes, whichfortunately had received all the damage in the recent scrimmage, whenhe saw Nannie hurrying down the road. She was half running, halfwalking, and her face was so radiantly happy that Steve went out tolearn the good tidings she evidently bore. So eager was she to imparther news that she called out before he reached her:

"It's happened! It's happened! It's all over! and it's so little--andthe dearest--oh, Steve----"

She could say no more, for her words were cut short just here and herexcitement found vent in a happy sob. 

"Why, my dear, " said Steve, taking her gently by the arm and leadingher toward the house. 

But Nannie resisted:

"No, no, " she cried. "I'm going right back, I only came home for you. You must go right over. Randolph is wild. Oh, it's so dear and sweet!Just like a rose! I could smother it with kisses!"

She would hardly let him go for his hat, and all the way over shedragged him along, insisting upon greater speed and chattering in anexcited, happy way that was perfectly new and perfectly delightful toSteve. 

Randolph was on the lookout for them, and his excitement was no lessthan Nannie's. 

"You must see the pretty little baby, old man, " he said after animpetuous hand-shaking. 

"Why, yes, do let me see it. "

"Don't say _it_, " exclaimed Nannie. "It's a little girl. "

"Well, my dear--really--you forgot to mention which it was. "

Just then Randolph entered with a bundle of shawls, which hereverently and delightedly opened. 

All at once his face changed and a look of blank dismay effaced hishappy, expectant expression. 

"W--why, where is she?" he stammered. 

"Randolph Chance!" blazed Nannie, snatching the bundle from him, "Icould slap you! You've got her upside down!"

"Oh!" groaned Randolph. "Will it kill her?"

"It may!" said Nannie fiercely. "You've no business with her! Holdingher heels up! Poor little thing. "

And she laid her face on the tiny human doll and cooed to it, andsoothed it, while the father stood there--big, helpless, remorseful, solicitous, and tender. 

"Let me take her, " said Steve quietly, holding out his hands. 

Nannie's first impulse was to say "No" and to press the baby closer toher, but something in Steve's face arrested the word she would havespoken, and she placed the precious little charge in his arms. 

"I declare, old man, one would think you had had a dozen at least!"said Randolph, looking on admiringly. 

"It's the first very young child I ever held, " said Steve. 

Nannie was still. She and Randolph were looking at Steve, and Stevewas looking into the little face that lay upon his arm. For a momentno one spoke; then Nannie said abruptly:

"I want to see Constance. "

"I'm afraid I can't let you, Nannie, " said Randolph. "She doesn't seemquite as well as she did awhile ago. "

"Then I must see her, " said Nannie emphatically. 

"Why, my dear, " Steve began gently, "perhaps to-morrow----"

"No, I must see her now. I've something to tell her. It will make herwell. I _must_ see her. "

She was so determined that Randolph reluctantly consented, and shepassed into Constance's room, leaving the baby with Steve. 

"Constance, " said Nannie, stepping up to the bedside, "you are goingto get well, aren't you?"

"Why, yes, of course, " said Constance. 

"I want to tell you, you must. I think it would be wicked to leave thelittle baby in the world without a mother. No one would ever love herand no one would teach her to do things and how to be good, and shewould be so lonely, and she wouldn't know how to come near people andsay anything, no matter if her heart was bursting. "

And Nannie sank by the bed and wept as a woman does sometimes whenher sobs break their way out and she can't stop them. 

A flood seemed to pour upon Constance, and in it she saw the lonely, yearning, ignorant child-wife as she really was. She also saw howunjust she herself had been, and pity and remorse laid hold upon her. 

"Nannie! dear Nannie--you poor little thing! Come here. I want to tellyou that I love you. I never knew you before and Steve loves you ifonly you would let him. "

But Nannie was on her feet again. Her words had been spoken, and allthe crudity that had been swept aside for a moment returned in fullforce and awkwardness. Without even a glance at Constance she abruptlyleft the room, and in a few moments she and Steve were walkinghomeward. 

 XIV

Sarah Maria was gone and baby Chance was thriving. There was blissenough for any reasonable man, and Steve waxed almost light of heart. All this had come about with time, and other things might come, too, if time were not interfered with. The news of Sarah's rapid transithad hardly cost Nannie the lifting of an eyebrow. She was so absorbedin the baby that she could well afford to spare her amiable bovine. 

Although it was quite late in the fall, Steve was actuallycontemplating the planting of another crop. Now that the main enemyhad withdrawn her horns and heels from the garden, winter seemed amere bagatelle in the way of opposition--an obstacle too small forreckoning. 

But, as poets and prose writers have abundantly proven, Ill Fortunehas an ugly habit of coming around a corner with a sudden demoniacswish when least expected and she certainly did this time. Steve wasout in his garden drinking in the mellow stillness of an Indian summertwilight, and feeling not really happy perhaps--a man who has a homeonly in name can hardly be that--but rested and at peace at thatparticular moment, which is much more than could be asserted of hiscondition the next, for as he looked down the road he beheld SarahMaria gamboling along, having in tow at the end of a rope awell-spent, perspiring darky. 

"Dis yere yo' cow, massa?" asked the weary African as he came up. 

Steve hesitated; he was sorely tempted to repudiate madam. 

"Ain't yo's Massa Lubland?"

Steve nodded in a gloomy manner. 

"Den I reckon dis yere b'longs to yo', " he said confidently, and hetugged and pulled the unruly beast within the boundary of thecow-yard, with no further damage to the place than the trampling ofseveral choice plants and the breaking of a young apple tree. 

"How much do I owe you?" asked Steve in a tone of subdued melancholy. 

"Now, massa, I's gwine tell yo' my story, an' den I lebes it to yo' todo de right ting by me. Yo' see, dis yere cow come to me jes' 'bouttree months ago, an' my wife she 'lowed it was a giff, but I sez, 'No, sah, no giffs come a-droppin' out de sky dat a-way. Dis yere b'longsto some ob de quality folk, an' dey's a-gwine to want her some day, sowe mus' keep her up right smart, an' dey'll pay us fer all ourtrubble. ' So we fed her ob de fat ob de lan', but 'peared like shewere de kin' dat keeps lean anyways; dat's why she look so kin' o'pulin' now. 

"She was so contrairy to manage dat I got kin' o' skeered ob her, an'one day she tuk me in de pit ob de stomach an' h'isted me ober defence, an' I hed mis'ry in de stomach an' mis'ry in de back, an' mywife 'lowed I was gwine ter die. It tuk de doctor an' a powerful loto' medicine ter sot me up agin, an' I was kin' o' porely fer a longtime. Bimeby we heerd de cow b'longed ter Massa Lubland, an' yo' libedout heah, an' jes' den a neighbor come 'long wid a load o' furn'turean' I ax him:

"'Could yo' take de cow?'

"'Ef she'll hitch on I could, ' he say. 'Is she peaceable or is sheornery?'

"'She's ornery heah, ' I say, 'but she's gwine ter wawk 'long lak alady when she's gwine home, 'case she's homesick. '

"Well, massa, he done tuk her, but when he come back from de city hetole me she jes' sot herself agin goin', an' she sot so hard de hossescouldn't pull nohow, an' when he got down to loose her she rared tillshe fetched some o' de furn'ture down on her haid, an' dar was a nicetable broke ter kindlin' wood, an' I hed ter pay him five dollars ferit. An' jes' as I put de pocket book up agin--an' it was plum'empty--roun' de corner come de cow, wid her eyes on fire, an' she jes'strewed us bofe ober de groun' like we was dead chickens afore sherunned inter de shed. An' massa, sho's yo's bawn, she hooked an'tossed me like a rubber bawl all de way up heah, till I hain't got awhole bone anywhares in my body. Lordy! but she's a turrible critter!"

"Do I owe you ten dollars?" asked Steve with grim resignation. 

"I takes whatever yo' gives, massa, an' I doan complain; but I knowsyo's hon'rable, an' yo's gwine ter 'member I was laid up from work aweek an' hed ter pay de doctor an' de med'cines, an' I's fed her plum'full fer tree months. "

"Do I owe you fifteen dollars?" asked Steve. 

The darky looked mournful. 

"Do I owe you twenty?" asked Steve in a somewhat severe tone. 

"Reckon yo' hain't gwine ter fergit I paid five fer de table, "murmured this meek son of Africa. 

"Take twenty-five, then, and make an end of it, " said Steve. 

"Tank yo', tank yo', massa. I hain't nebber gwine ter fergit yo' nerde cow. Gawd bress yo' bofe, massa. "

And grinning and bowing he disappeared, leaving Steve minus a fifthof his monthly salary and plus the beautiful Sarah Maria. 

It was part of the procession of events that the butcher should heavein sight at that moment, and that Steve should hail him and take himin to look at the returned prodigal. 

"She's so lean she wouldn't be good for much, " said the man. "If you'dfatten her up I'd----"

"No, I think not. I'd rather you'd take her now. "

"I couldn't give you but ten dollars for her this way. "

"Take her, " said Steve. 

And the bargain was concluded. Shortly after this Bridget was ill withcramps for a few days. 

"What has upset you?" asked Nannie. 

"I couldn't tell at fust, " groaned Bridget, "but I mind now--it's thetSarah Meriah. "

"Why, she's gone! What can she have to do with you now?"

"Shure she was in that last beefsteak I ate. I recognized her theminnit she passed me lips. 'Are ye back agin?' sez I, 'bad cess teryez!' 'Thrue fer yez, ' sez she, 'an' I'll be ther upsettin' of yezyit. ' An' faith she is, fer it's feel her I do this blissed minnit, hookin' me in'ards an' kickin' me vitals, an' behavin' in a mostdisgraceful and unleddylike fashion throughout. "

Possibly Nannie found herself more at leisure, now her bovine chargewas off her hands, and wanted occupation, or--and this is morelikely--the beauty and comfort of Randolph's and Constance's home hadstolen to her heart and stirred new impulses there. Other influenceshad been at work on this neglected region as well, but to these Nanniedid not as yet yield their meed of credit. It is a sad but well-knownfact that the home agencies for regeneration are the last to receiverecognition and gratitude. So it was that while Nannie was dimlyconscious that she owed something to Constance's womanliness, sherefused to dwell upon the beauty and tenderness of Steve's conducttoward her. His uniform courtesy, gentleness, and forbearance, thoughthe most powerful factors in her dissatisfaction with self andembryonic yearnings toward a more conscientious, nobler life, were asyet utterly ignored by her in actual thought, and had her attentionbeen called to them, she would probably have denied that she owedaught of good to their influence. This was discouraging, to be sure, but one must wait long and patiently for full results. It was enough, perhaps, for the present that Nannie went about her home trying, in ablundering way, to bring to pass some changes for the better. With adeeper insight than she recognized she looked to her table, first ofall. Bridget was not a first-class cook, and her limited repertoryrendered the bill of fare wearisome and monotonous. 

Several dishes that Nannie had seen on Constance's table had caughther eye. A tempting salad was one, and having learned how to make it, she gave her own table the benefit of this knowledge one evening. 

Steve's face lighted with surprise and pleasure the moment the new andvery attractive dish was brought on. He knew it was none of Bridget'smaking. 

"This must be yours, my dear, " he said with a gentle, winning smile. 

Now, poor Nannie was terribly awkward about anything that involved ashow of feeling, so instead of taking this as she should have done, she merely said brusquely:

"I made it. "

Then she colored violently, then immediately looked defiant. 

But her color and her defiance were both of them so pretty andengaging that Steve was moved by a rare impulse to go round to her andkiss her. 

Shocking as it may seem, Nannie caught him by the nose with a suddenfierce motion and held on with grim, unrelenting grasp. 

The whole scene occurred in a flash, as it were, and Steve was utterlyunprepared for his own act, and still more so for its consequence. Impulsiveness with him, however, was unusual and short-lived, andeven under these untoward circumstances he soon recovered his gentlegravity. 

"When are you going to release my nose, Nannie?" he said in hisaccustomed quiet tone. 

"Goodness knows!" she replied brusquely--possibly without intent topun--but she let go. 

Steve retreated a step or two and seemed undecided as to what courseto pursue. A certain air of dignity and reserve enveloped him at alltimes, and up to the present moment this had never failed to berespected by those with whom he had come in contact. It was hardlypossible, then, to pass by so flagrant an outrage as this in silence. 

"I hardly think, " he said gently, "you mean all the things you do. "

"I mean every one!" snapped Nannie, whose resentment was stirred, allthe more so because she was ashamed of herself. 

"If that is the case, " Steve replied, and as he spoke, quietly andwithout anger, he was conscious of a dull dread of her reply--"if thatis the case, it can't be that you feel either love or respect for me. "

"I guess I don't, then, " said Nannie rudely, and she rose from thetable and went out into the garden. 

Steve stood irresolute for a time; then he took his hat and left thehouse. Never in all his life before had he felt as miserable and ashelpless. At that moment the beauty died not only out of his own life, but out of nature as well. There was no longer a balm in Gilead. Hewalked on, instinctively taking one of his old paths, from which hehad heretofore received so much of comfort and inspiration, but whichto-night gave him absolutely nothing of either. It would seem thatnature had shared the blow he had received and had been deadened byit. Poor Mother Nature, she was just the same, but her child was outof gear and she could do nothing but wait. By-and-by a change came, not in the way of happiness, perhaps, but in a lightening of thatdeadness which is of necessity the most hopeless of all conditions. 

Awaking from his torpor to a certain extent, Steve found himselfengaged in some practical thoughts. He had lately been balancing hisbooks, and the result was not encouraging. He was now reviewing thiswith a certain grim despondency and also a certain grim humor. 

"We've spent eighteen hundred dollars in one year. I earn fifteenhundred a year and there's six hundred in the bank. We've just oneyear and two months to live. We'd better begin to repent, " he said tohimself. 

Then presently he began to wonder what the use of it all was. He hadgiven Nannie shelter and protection--that was all there was to it. They were no more to each other than strangers. He had done hisutmost, and she was as far away from him as ever; that made an end ofhope; he might as well give it up. At that moment there was nothing hewould have liked better. What with the care and perplexity he hadendured over women, cows, and hens, he was more than ready to washhis hands of the entire lot. 

But Steve was unaccustomed to following inclination when duty pointedin another direction, so although he was apparently doing that now, yet he had no other thought than of returning to his post by-and-by. 

He walked on in an aimless sort of fashion, merely because he did notknow what else to do just then, and soon found himself near thecottage whose glorified windows attracted him on his tramp some timeago. It was dull enough now, for the departing sunlight streamed inanother direction, leaving the little house in shadow. Steve wouldhave passed it without a thought had not a woman's cry caught hisear--a bitter, wailing cry, on which came words as bitter:

"Oh, I'm sick of it all! Would God that I were dead!"

Without meaning to intrude on private grief, Steve stood stock-still. There was something so horrible in the contrast between a cry of suchlawless despair and the idea of the contentment and happiness forwhich that little house should stand that it fairly paralyzed theman's steps, just as the motion of the heart is arrested by a shock. 

The cottage stood on the edge of the woods. Just now these were bareand gaunt, and the steep-sided ravine to the left seemed to-day abarren crack in a gloomy landscape. 

It was all of it unbearable, unendurable. Anything was better thanthis, and Steve turned with relief in the direction of a familiartrain whistle, hurried to the station, and soon was speeding towardhis former bachelor quarters. 

How desolate the old building looked when he reached it! The sun hadsunk below the tall chimney tops, and the narrow street lay in gloomyshadow. Nothing daunted, however, Steve entered, and forgetful of thecustom of the building, he stepped to the elevator shaft. It was dark, but looking far up he thought he could discern a faint glimmer of thesunset. Some lines he once read came to him:

 "The emptying tide of life has drained the iron channel dry; Strange winds from the forgotten day Draw down, and dream, and sigh:"

They were passing and repassing him--these winds. A sigh, a certaincoolness, a faint whisper--that was all as they entered the shaft andsped upward like ghosts of a busy world. 

Steve turned and ran rapidly up the stairs. He could hardly fit hiskey, he was in such haste to escape from that lonesome hallway. Daywas passing out by the western gate when he entered his room, and itwould seem that heaven, in all its untold beauty, had come forth togreet her. Such a sky! It fairly overwhelmed him, and he turned to theeast, as one seeks shelter in the shadow from a too brilliant light. Even the east was whispering the story, but gently and in cadences fitfor weak human senses, just as winds in the tall tree-tops faintlyrepeat the harmonies of heaven. 

To and fro Steve walked in the spacious lonesome apartments. Was hispresent solitude an earnest of his future? Was he forever to bedenied the warm human clasp of another's hand? Was he doomed evermoreto see the oncoming of the night from out some deserted room?

The west was fading now. Day had passed and carried light and sunshinewith her. The clouds were moving hither and yonder restlessly, and intheir ghostly passage they took on weird shapes. 

Steve watched them with a strange interest--an interest just tingedwith superstition, half rejecting, half receiving their import, something as one watches the shifting of cards in the hands of awizard. 

He looked out over the waters of the lake, but the east was leadennow; her lips were sealed; she had passed silently into the night. Even in the west there was but a fitful glowing, and the clouds cameand went. 

The room had grown black--insupportable! Steve could not endure it--hemust light it in some way. A lamp would not do. It was a warm evening, wonderfully warm for that season, but he must have firelight. 

He looked about him and soon found kindling and fuel, for he had asyet disturbed none of the room's furnishings. His lease was not spent;he could use the place for storage for quite a time yet. 

The warmth of the cheery flame was welcome to him, for despite theheat of the evening he felt a chilliness which he did not know meantfever. It was not among possibilities that a man of Steve's finesensitive fiber could do violence to his idea of right withoutdisaster to his physical being. He had fled from his post of duty, hefelt himself to be a deserter, and this deflection was necessarilyaccompanied by physical disturbance. 

As he sat beside the bright blaze he heard Randolph telling of hissuccessful wooing and saw him tilted back in his chair against theopposite wall of the chimney. Then he stepped from out the ingle-nookand stood in a little old cemetery. They were putting mother and Maryinto the same grave, and he thought the gravediggers cruel becausethey hurled the clods of earth so heavily upon them. 

The cemetery was growing colder now, and he wakened, oppressed withthe dreariness of it all. He replenished his failing fire and then satdown to dream again, but this time he was not alone, for Nannie sat bythe cheery little blaze--not across the way, but close by his side. She had all her brilliant beauty, all her tantalizing, bewitchingways, but he no longer feared to touch her; no longer feared to smoothback the tangled curls and kiss the dear, piquant face, for thedrawbridge was down, the gates were flung open, and Castle Delight washis at last. 

It was a great moment for Steve. Now he had life and had itabundantly; now he had wife and hearthstone. 

He wakened again in a cold, dark room, and he saw gleaming through theblackness a tearful, wistful face which he knew was Nannie's. She wasin trouble--she wanted something, she was calling him in weird, spiritfashion, and he must go!

 XV

When Nannie went out into the garden she saw old Hayseed leaning overthe fence contemplating some of the ruins of Steve's vegetables. Gladof any diversion, she opened a conversation on the subject of Mr. Seymour, of whose death she had heard that day. In far-away times, oldHayseed had known Mr. Seymour's father. 

"I didn't think he could die, " said Nannie. "He was always trying to, but I didn't think he was really sick enough. "

"He hed ter die ter vindercate hisself, " said Hayseed. "Some folks, yer know, hez ter live ter set 'emselves right, but this one 'bleegedter die. He was allers goin' on erbout his bein' out o' health, an'nobody believed him, so he was 'bleeged ter die. Mrs. Seymour's youngwoman was tellin' me she tho't he died to spite folks that wouldn't'low he was sick. She said he was mean enough to do anything. "

"He was; mean as he could be!" exclaimed Nannie. "He was so little andso narrow-minded, and he had no excuse for it either, for he had agood education and he'd been all over the world. "

"Well, now, once in awhile ye see a prune that won't swell. Ye put 'emall in water alike, an' most on 'em gits fat an' smooth, but this onestays small an' shriveled up. There's no accountin' fer therdifference. "

Nannie turned and walked toward the house. She was restless and feltat a loss to know what to do with herself. Since her caper in thegarden Steve had left her absolutely to her own way, and she hadfound, as folks will soon or late, that nothing could be more dreary. She finally started over to see her cousins, the Misfits, but on herway thither she had occasion to pass the house of some plain folk bythe name of Meader, and she suddenly decided to go in there. It wasthe same house from which Steve had heard that anguished wail, andwhen Nannie entered, shortly after Steve had passed on, she found Mrs. Meader weeping bitterly. The woman was so far gone in misery that shedid not resent Nannie's entrance or her question. 

"What is the matter?"

"Oh, I can't stand it no longer. He don't give me nothin' to gitanything with, an' we can't live on nothin'. Whenever he gits mad heplagues me by keepin' everything out o' my han's, an' he won't answerwhen I ask him fer anything. I'd like to know if a woman an' fivechildren kin live without money! Before I was married I used to earnsome. I had enough to live on, but now, what with the cookin', an'washin' an' nussin' all these babies, I ain't no time ter earn alivin'!"

"I should say you _were_ earning it! You earn more than he does!"exclaimed Nannie hotly. 

"He don't look at it that way, " sobbed the woman. "He's ferever makin'me feel so beholten ter him fer every penny an' ter-day when I neededsome money awful fer tea an' I went ter his pocket an' got it, he wenton so afore ther children it seems like I can't never look them inther face agin. He said--he said"--she stammered amid her sobs--"thetI was a thief--a low-down common thief--that's what he said, and thechildren heard him. "

Nannie rose from her chair with clinched hands and a flaming face. 

"Where is he?" she asked under her breath. 

"He's gone ter ther grocery. He ain't working ter-day. He said he'd'tend ter the spendin' of the money. I couldn't be trusted with it. Hesaid thet, he did, afore the children. "

And she broke down again. 

Just then the man himself came walking in. 

"What's up now?" he asked when he saw Nannie's face. 

"You are!" she blazed, "and you're a contemptible brute!"

His face flushed. He looked both ashamed and angry, but a man in hisposition is at a loss to know what to do when attacked by a womanoutside his family. He had enough pride to shrink from this invasionof his affairs, but he did not know just how to resent it. 

"It ain't no matter fer discussion, " he said, "but she's been into mypockets, an' thet's what I can't stand. "

"What do you steal her money for, then?" demanded Nannie. 

He stared at her in stupid astonishment. 

"It's you who steal!" continued Nannie in ringing tones. "There sheis, earning more than you do, and----"

"I don't know how you make that out, " said the man in a sulky tone. 

"Try to hire some one to take her place, and you'll learn. She couldhire your work done fast enough, but there never has been and therenever will be money enough in all your horrid pockets put together tohire what she does for you and the children; and then you are sonasty, and mean, and dishonest as to clutch the money and pretend youhave the right to dole out what belongs to her. I wonder you aren'tashamed to be alive!"

He certainly did look ashamed now. He had probably never before viewedmatters from this point. 

"Well, I don't suppose I done just the right thing. I'm not going terdeny it, but money comes hard, anyhow. "

"And her life is hard enough, anyhow, without your making it harder bytyrannizing over her. "

Here one of the five little ones began to cry, and the mother startedforward to take it, but Nannie intercepted her. 

"You go and get your dinner, " she said. "I'll look after thechildren. "

And taking the two youngest in her arms she coaxed the others along, and they all went out into the warm, pleasant sunlight, and thereNannie sang to them, told them stories, washed their dirty littlefaces, and mothered them generally until their own poor mother couldrecover herself and their father had time to see the error of his wayand repent. 

The sun was setting when Nannie wended her way homeward. She dreadedto see Steve, but found relief in the thought that he would probablyappear as usual. When she learned that he had not returned she feltsurprised, but decided not to wait dinner, and so ate alone. 

She spent the evening at her cousin's house. She did not quite dare togo to Constance's, for she instinctively felt that Constance wouldheartily disapprove of her leaving home in that way at a time when herhusband was likely to be alone. 

Returning, she found the house dark. Steve had probably retired, andshe remembered she had given Bridget permission to go to the city forthe night to look after a sick cousin. Something impelled her to do anunusual thing--open Steve's door a crack and peep in. He was notthere. 

The shock of this discovery was so great that for a moment Nannie wasalmost too bewildered to know what she did, and was half frightenedwhen she found herself at the front door calling "Steve! Steve!"

The leaves rustling on the trees in the soft night wind was her onlyanswer, and she closed the door with a feeling of desolate misery newto her experience. 

At no time was she afraid. The fact of her being alone in the housemerely served to emphasize her realization of her loss, for she had nodoubt that Steve had left her. There was no resentment in her attitudenow; she felt that she deserved her fate. None the less she also feltthat she could not endure it--could not live without Steve. And yetshe had told him that very day that she had neither love nor respectfor him. How could he stay with her after that?

The night passed somehow, and morning found Nannie with a white face, save where the shadows rested 'neath her large eyes. 

Bridget had not yet come home, and she could not endure to stay aloneany longer, so she wrapped a little parcel and started over toConstance's. The parcel was one of a set of articles she was learningto make. Some weeks before this she had appeared at Constance's oneday, and unrolling a large bundle she carried, had spread upon thelatter's bed a quantity of tiny clothing, cut and made in mostoriginal fashion. 

"Why, Nannie!" exclaimed Constance, who had no other idea than thatthey were meant for little baby Chance. "How lovely of you! Thank youever so much!"

"They're not for you, " said Nannie in her crude way. "They're mine. "

The chagrin and embarrassment Constance might have felt over hermistake was swallowed up now in her amazement and delight. 

"Yours! Oh, Nannie, I'm so glad. "

"I haven't any use for them, " said Nannie, bluntly, "but"--and herethere was a hardly perceptible quiver of her lips--"I just wanted themaround. "

"I declare, that's really pathetic, " said Randolph afterward whenConstance told him. "Why don't you teach her, sweetheart--teach her tomake the pretty little things?"

And Constance did, and as a result of all the ripping and cuttingover Nannie had made some exquisite little garments, two of which shepresented to Constance, and the rest kept in a little chiffonier inher room, to gaze at and kiss many times a day. 

Returning from her sewing lesson rather earlier than usual, for shelonged and dreaded to go back to her house, she found Steve awaitingher. 

He was sitting in the little parlor, and his face was flushed and hiseyes strangely bright. 

Nannie stood stock-still on the threshold when she saw him. 

"Steve, " she asked at length, "have you come back to live with me?"

"Yes, " he said, and then something impelled him to hold out his armsto her. 

She hesitated, wavered for a moment like some beautiful wild bird thathad strayed from the forest; then she ran to him in headlong fashion. 

"Steve!" she fairly cried, "I can't make the words, but you know! youknow!"

Steve folded her in his arms and--the dream came true. In the raptureof that moment he knew indeed--knew that this strange, untutored childwas the one woman in all the world to satisfy him. 

 XVI

Time has run on. It is just three years from the morning Steve camehome. He was quite ill for awhile after that, and from his feverishtalk Nannie learned several things. In his convalescence they becameacquainted, and Steve felt that his wife's handy, pretty nursing wasthe sweetest experience he had ever known. 

Shortly after he was on his feet again Nannie returned fromConstance's, whither she had run of an errand one morning, with agreat distress working on her face. 

She entered the study, where Steve sat at his desk writing, and triedto speak, but words failed her, and she sobbed instead. 

Steve went to her quickly, and his gentle face and manner wereeloquent with concern and sympathy. 

"Why, my dear, what _has_ happened?"

"It's the little baby! She's been _so_ ill all night! She can't live!"

"Oh, my dear! Oh, that is too sad!" and Steve's face flushed andquivered. 

"You must come right back with me, Steve; they are in such grief. "

They went in without pausing to ring and tiptoed their way toConstance's room. The house was very still. 

In response to their soft tap Randolph opened the door. When he sawSteve he broke into a great sob and laid his head on the shoulder ofthe dear friend of olden days. 

"Oh, is she gone?" cried Nannie, entering the room. 

Constance nodded and turned away, but Nannie burst into uncontrollablegrief as she saw the little white-faced figure lying in the crib. 

"I never want a child!" cried Nannie passionately. "If God can be socruel as to take her, I never want one!"

It was Constance who was forced to comfort. 

"Don't say that, dear, " she urged gently. "I don't understand why wecouldn't keep her, but I _know_ that God is good. And we'd rather haveher this way than never to have held our own little baby----"

But here she broke down and wept convulsively over the tiny crib. 

And Steve and Nannie wept as they went homeward together hand in hand. 

There is another baby there now--a jolly, roystering little fellow, just one year old to-day, on his mother's birthday, and a veryprecious little man he is; but the dear little girl who just alightedin their arms long enough to lay hold upon their heartstrings and thenflew away with the other angels is not forgotten. 

Randolph stepped over to Steve's desk this morning to ask if he andNannie would be sure to come in the evening to celebrate the doublebirthday. 

"If it's at all clear we will, old man, and gladly, " said Steve, "butit looks to me as if a big storm were brewing. "

"Well, I hope you can come. We think a deal of these anniversaries. Each one of 'em marks off a happy year, I tell you, old man. "

"No doubt, " said Steve gently. 

"And the years have been successful, too, " continued Randolph. "On thewhole--to speak between friends--I've managed pretty well, I think. "

"Pretty well with one, " said Steve, and there was a slight gleam inhis eye as he recalled Randolph's bachelor boast that he could manageforty women. "Now for the thirty-nine. "

"Steve, " said Randolph, "you're a good fellow, but you'll have to letup on that forty. I had sense enough, after all, to marry only one ofthem, and occasionally I have my doubts--looks a little as if eventhat one managed me. Just you drop the thirty-nine. You're using thepoker too freely. "

And then they fell to talking about how warm it was on this same daythree years ago. 

Steve was right, for that afternoon it began to snow and it forgot tostop. He had hard work to get home and still harder to get out andattend to the little stock. The chickens, he found, had had the senseto go to roost before time; both Brownie and the cat were safe indoor;they could look out for themselves, but the gentle, fawn-like Jersey(quite a different animal from the wild-eyed beast of three yearsagone) had expectations, and she must needs receive especial care. 

After Steve had fed her and seen that she was comfortable for thenight, he made his way into the house with a feeling that only a veryhappy man can understand. 

Nannie was busy upstairs and called to him not to come up, as she hada surprise in store. He was to stir the fire and set her chair, whichshe would fill directly, and Steve had done all this and now waswalking about the room, which was bright and pretty in the firelight, handling the books and magazines, trying a chord or two on the piano, and looking occasionally from the windows out into the night. 

That was wild enough, what with wind, and ice, and snow. Every nowand then the little house shuddered in the blast, which was shriekingin the chimneys. The window glass was bearded with snow, which meltedhere and there and ran for a little space; then, lest one should fancythe weather were shedding repentant tears, it stiffened into icestraightway. Down at the foot of the bluff the lake was booming; therewas something to make the blood run cold about its mighty passion. Onethought of the boats at its mercy that night and whispered, God helpthem!

There, in the center of it all, 'neath the trees that were clashingarms with one another in the storm, stood the snug little home, withthe study, over whose pictured walls the cheery, flickering lightplayed at glow and shadow. And there, close to the merry blaze, pokerin hand, sat Steve, as happy, as well content a man as you'd find, though you looked far and wide. Brownie occupied the other chair, andit appeared that he had much to say. Nannie was singing--singing tothe baby upstairs--and Steve and Brownie hearkened to the prettynotes. 

"You hear that, sir?" asked Brownie, with his head slightly tilted andcocked on one side. 

Steve poked assent at the fire. 

"You didn't think much of her at one time, did you?"

Steve was gravely shocked and promptly poked remonstrance into theglowing coals. 

"Well, you were rather discouraged about her--you know that, "persisted Brownie. 

Steve looked ashamed, but he was honest enough to nod slightly. 

"And now you see there isn't a less wearisome, a nicer, brighter----"

Here Steve interrupted by stabbing the fire's front in a mannerbetokening the heartiest concurrence. 

Just at this point the subject of these thrusts entered the room. 

"No, you don't, Steve--no, sir. You shan't even have a squint till Iget to the fire. "

And carefully covering Miss Baby from view, Nannie sidled along to herchair. 

"Now! Ask daddy what he thinks of Miss Loveland!" she exclaimed, dropping all disguises suddenly and holding the pretty little creatureup in the firelight. 

"Oh, Nannie! short clothes!" said Steve with an admiring gasp. 

"Yes, " said Nannie. "Look at the darling little shoes! See her kickthem! Oh, she's so glad to be rid of those long dresses. "

Steve's poker was greatly agitated. 

"Nannie, " he said, in his quiet way, "I hardly think I can wait muchlonger. "

"Then you shall have her. Now! Here she goes, daddy!" and Nannietossed the baby, all laughter and dimples, into the delighted father'sarms. 

True to her sex, she proceeded to grasp all he had--the poker. Steveheld on for safety, but Miss Baby wielded it, and straightway the firesent forth a shower of sparks that went frolicking up the chimney inpure glee. 

"Steve, " said Nannie, pointing to them, "look! See how prone to sinyou are. "

But Steve had no time for his derelictions; he was busy studying thewonderful baby. 

"Nannie, " he said, "this marks an epoch; and it's Constance'sbirthday. "

"It's your birthday, too, you dear old stupid!" laughed Nannie. 

"Why, so it is. I never realized before that we were twins. "

"He never realizes anything about himself, does he, baby?"

The baby gave a great assenting dab at the fire, necessitating aprompt examination of all her gear to see if she had caught anywhere. 

"He's always thinking of other people and forgetting himself, isn'the, baby?"

Another dab still bigger and another overlooking. 

"Oh, my dear!" stammered Steve. 

"Just you hush, " said Nannie imperiously. "And he's too foolish andforgetful of himself to dream that there's a birthday dinner almostready in the dining-room and some be-au-ti-ful things undersomebody's plate. "

Here Steve was helplessly and hopelessly embarrassed, but Nanniesnatched the baby and went on:

"And he's a regular stupid old know-nothing, isn't he, baby?"

And she made the baby give the poker such a thrust of sympathy that itstuck fast in the fire. 

"Whew!" she exclaimed, jerking it out. "How hot that fire is! I'mfairly cooked!"

There was a peculiar expression on Steve's face, and all at onceNannie remembered a newspaper clipping that had dropped from one ofhis note-books that day when she cleared his desk. A sudden thoughtstruck her and caused her to pause with the poker in mid air. 

"Have you been cooking me, sir?" she asked in awful tones, taking herseat as a judge might take his bench. 

Steve's color started and a strange smile dawned upon his face. Hisvery looks convicted him. 

Now it was Nannie who was flushing, and so prettily, pursing up herbewitching mouth in the old way. 

"Am I done?" she asked presently in a lower tone. 

"To a turn!" he replied. 

"Then I think I'll get off the spit, by your leave, sir, " she saidwith saucy bravado. 

And she arose to move back from the fire. 

"Steve!" she cried, "you are _devouring_ me!"

 THE END.