SALEM 
 
 R 
 
 AND 
 
 
 
THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 
 Professor Aram Tor os si an 
 
I f. 
 
 
 Salem Kittredge 
 
 and Other Stories 
 
GIFT 
 
TO MY FATHER 
 
 Ift-AAM 
 
 163 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Salem Kit tr edge, Theologue, ... / 
 
 The Char s Diamond, 89 
 
 By the III, 775 
 
 Lombardy Poplars, . . 7^5 
 
 The Phenix, 76^ 
 
 The Commonest Possible Story, . . 205 
 
 An Incorrigible Poet, 279 
 
 Number Three, 249 
 
 * 
 At Sesenheim, 
 
Salem Kittredge 
 
 Theologue 
 
SALEM KITTREDGE, 
 THEOLOGUE 
 
 I. 
 
 IT always seemed to Salem Kittredge that 
 his heels clicked more noisily than other 
 men s upon the floor of a hotel office, and 
 this uncomfortable impression was renewed 
 as he stepped up to the desk of the Parker 
 House. 
 
 " If Mr. Pitman should call for me, will you 
 tell him that I am here ? 
 
 * What name ? said the clerk, without 
 looking up. 
 
 "Pitman J. Howard Pitman. Oh, you 
 mean my name? Mr. Kittredge Salem Kit 
 tredge. It s rather sultry, isn t it? " 
 
 Excuse me ? 
 
 " I said it was hot." 
 
 The clerk s only reply to this tentative friend 
 liness was to push back his skull-cap, wipe his 
 forehead, and yawn assentingly. The tall 
 young man in black turned awkwardly away, 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 and walked over to one of the big leather 
 chairs by the window. As he seated himself, 
 he pulled out a silver watch, for the tenth time 
 in the last hour, and found that he still had 
 seven or eight minutes to wait. With a nerv 
 ously directed handkerchief he flapped the dust 
 of Andover and the B. & M. Road from off his 
 shoes, and then he drew a telegram from his 
 pocket. Once more he read, " Meet me at 
 Parker House, ten o clock, Thursday, without 
 fail," and wondered again who J. Howard Pit 
 man was, and what he could want of a post 
 graduate student of theology. In absently 
 folding the telegram, his eye wandered to a 
 newspaper lying on the window-sill. There in 
 the advertising columns was the name that had 
 perplexed him. He had seen it a thousand 
 times : Pitmari s Primitive Pellets, in audacious 
 type, and underneath it the familiar face bald, 
 hard -eyed, heavy-mustached and the scrawled 
 signature. 
 
 He was still examining the trade-mark when 
 the proprietor of the pellets hurried in, crossed 
 the office straight toward Kittredge, and put 
 out his hand. 
 
 " And you re Salem Kittredge," he said. 
 " Look just like your father, don t you? Your 
 father n I used to go to school together up in 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 Burridge ; little red school-house, just above the 
 Forks. There yet, ain t it? Le me see, how 
 long is it since your father died ? " 
 
 "Six years," replied Salem, who was still 
 standing, holding Mr. Pitman s hand, and con 
 scious that the clerk was looking at him. 
 
 " Well, well ! Now I shouldn t have heard 
 of you at all, if it hadn t been for Professor 
 Bibb sit down, sit down. Nehemiah Bibb 
 says that you re the young man I m looking for, 
 he thinks." 
 
 Salem smiled intelligently. 
 
 "Bibb came from up in Burridge, too. Knew 
 your father well ; and the other day I was tell 
 ing him what I had in mind, and he said he 
 was sure you d be just the man." Pitman 
 pushed his chair closer and lowered his voice as 
 he went on. " You see, it s about my boy 
 Freddie the only boy I ve got. He s twenty- 
 three years old next month, but he ain t much 
 of a comfort to me, nor to his mother. He 
 ain t a bad boy not really a bad boy ; but he 
 has a little difficulty Freddie has, and about 
 six or eight times a year he has it rough, I tell 
 you ! He s a nice, pleasant -spoken fellow, and 
 he s keen ; he can run the Works the Pellet 
 Works, youVe heard of em ? as well as I can, 
 when he s straight, and he was always a good 
 
 . 5 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologue 
 
 scholar when he d a mind to be. Freddie s all 
 right, when he is all right. 
 
 "Did he go through college?" inquired 
 Salem, sympathetically. "You spoke of his 
 being a good student." 
 
 "One year almost a year, anyway and 
 then he had to leave. They didn t want him 
 at Cambridge, they said ; they were very polite 
 about it, but they didn t want him." 
 
 "It was his scholarship?" ventured Kit 
 tredge. 
 
 " No, it was a cock-fight; " and a smile 
 quavered a moment under the great mustache. 
 " That was over in Somerville, and that boy 
 he wa n t but nineteen took seven hundred 
 dollars out of Boston men that ought to have 
 known better, and I tell you it went against 
 the grain just a little against the grain for 
 me to make him send it back. I don t suppose 
 the fight was any worse between you n me 
 than one we had once up in Burridge, in your 
 grandfather s barn, when your father and Ne- 
 hemiah Bibb had their jackknives up on it ; 
 but that s neither here nor there. 
 
 " So I had to take him out, and he wanted 
 
 to go on the road," continued Mr. Pitman, 
 
 "and he doubled our Southern trade in six 
 
 months. That boy got it into his head that the 
 
 6 
 
Salem Kit tr edge, Tbeologne 
 
 Pellets would cure fever n ague" here J. 
 Howard Pitman hesitated, with a whimsical 
 droop of the eyelid and a triumphant twist of 
 his iron-gray mustache " and they do cure 
 fever and ague ! There s no doubt about it. 
 They re a specific, and that boy found it out. 
 He has more n thirteen hundred signed testi 
 monials from sufferers, up at the Works to-day. 
 He s a hustler, I tell you, when he wants to 
 
 hustle, but " The enthusiasm dropped out 
 
 of his voice, and his eyes fell to the floor. 
 
 Salem was silent, wondering what all this 
 had to do with himself. 
 
 " But just about once in so often," the 
 patent medicine man went on slowly, "about 
 once in two months, Freddie has to take three 
 or four days off, and lets the Pellets roll to 
 Ballyhack, till he gets ready to go on again. 
 I had to go down to Tampa last winter to 
 bring him home, and he came pretty near 
 slipping me in New York as it was. If he d 
 keep straight and settle down, I d give him 
 half the business in a minute; but he don t 
 want to settle yet, he says, and he ll keep on 
 the road, or nothing. I can t get along with 
 out him or with him, and there we are. His 
 mother, she talks to him, but she don t seem 
 to understand Freddie very well she never 
 
 7 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 did ; and our minister s talked to him, and 
 he s just as polite as a boy can be, and just as 
 straight as a boy can be, till the time comes 
 round again, and then everything goes ker- 
 flummux. And here s where you come in. 
 I ve had a talk with the doctor about Freddie ; 
 the doctor saw him after that Tampa business 
 last winter, and again in May, and he says 
 there s just about one chance for him. Your 
 boy, says he, is a confirmed inebriate, or 
 straight on the road to it. It isn t that he 
 wants to drink all the time; he doesn t; he s 
 got the convulsive form of acute alcoholism. 
 You must get a good, steady young fellow to 
 go to Europe with him, or round the world, 
 or somewhere, and watch him night and day 
 when these turns are coming on. If he gets by 
 one or two of them, he may be all right. Then 
 let him come back and settle down at the 
 Works and never go on the road again. It s 
 the only way. Now, I happened to run across 
 Nehemiah Bibb that very afternoon, and he 
 said that you were through your fourth year, 
 and hadn t any particular church in view 
 kind o staying on in Andover, ain t you? 
 and he didn t know but you d like the chance 
 to go around the world." 
 
 " I see," said Salem, trying to think fast. 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologue 
 
 The father watched him keenly. " You d 
 find Freddie a pleasant fellow to be with," he 
 ventured, persuasively, fancying he saw a re 
 fusal upon Salem s face. " And I ought to 
 say this," he continued, " I ll make it worth 
 your while, if you want to go. I know the 
 captain of a brig that sails in August for Aus 
 tralia ; expects to touch almost everywhere, 
 either coming or going. How would this do : 
 I to pay all expenses, and two hundred dollars 
 a month, beginning now ? " 
 
 Kittredge hesitated. It was in many ways 
 the very thing he would like ; and the money 
 tempted him, and the opportunity to win back 
 a young man s life. "But we might not get 
 along together," he suggested. "lam three 
 or four years older, and a licensed minister, 
 
 and " He could scarcely give an exact 
 
 phrase to what he felt to be a certain unfitness 
 in the proposed relationship. 
 
 Exactly ; you want to go slow and sure. 
 Just like your father. That s all right. But 
 see here : the Richard H. Gulick don t sail 
 till the 1 6th of August, and to-day s only the 
 2d of July. Freddie s vacation began yester 
 day. We re running light at the Works, and 
 his next trip wouldn t be till September any 
 way. He proposes to go up to Bar Harbor for 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologm 
 
 awhile ; thinks the air is better there than it is 
 down on the North Shore where his mother is. 
 Now you go up on the Olivette to-night with 
 him, spend a few weeks together, and get a 
 little acquainted. What do you say? " 
 
 But what would your son say ? " 
 
 "Oh, that s fixed, nice as you please. I 
 talked it over with him last night ; told him 
 all about the way your father and I used to 
 hook off from school together up in Burridge 
 guess, though, he d heard me tell that be 
 fore and he says, All right, send Kittredge 
 along. I ve never seen the man yet I couldn t 
 stand if I had to ! 
 
 Salem reflected upon the young man s cor 
 dial way of putting it. "I don t know," he 
 said, doubtfully, " suppose we found we couldn t 
 get on smoothly ? It must be unpleasant for 
 him to know he is watched. It wouldn t be 
 very agreeable for two men at sword s points 
 to go around the world together." 
 
 "To be sure," interrupted Pitman, eagerly, 
 " and that s the beauty of the Bar Harbor 
 idea. Try it for awhile. If it don t work, 
 we won t say anything about the Richard 
 H. Gulick. But I kind o think it will work, 
 and it does seem as if it was about the only 
 thing there was left to try. There s a good 
 10 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologue 
 
 stiff Maine law, you know ; that might help 
 you some." 
 
 A sense of pity smote Kittredge suddenly, 
 for the simple - hearted father, for the mother 
 who did not understand her only boy, for the 
 boy himself, an inebriate at twenty-three. 
 
 " I will undertake it," he said, "and I ll do 
 my best, but I m sure I don t know " 
 
 Pitman sprang to his feet. " The Lord bless 
 you ! Nehemiah Bibb said you would do it. 
 I ll telephone Freddie that you ll meet him at 
 the boat to-night. You know where it is Lew 
 is Wharf. Sails at six, don t she? Look it 
 up in that Globe." And while Salem picked 
 up the newspaper, and found the Primitive Pel 
 lets staring him in the face again before he 
 could turn to the steamboat column, Mr. Pit 
 man stepped to a table and wrote a check for 
 the first six weeks salary. He would not listen 
 to Salem s ineffective protest against receiving 
 it, and they left the Parker House together. 
 Pitman held up his finger for a herdic, and 
 shook the younger man s hand with some emo 
 tion, looking at his watch meanwhile and giving 
 directions to the driver. He already had one 
 foot in the herdic when he turned, and pulled 
 a big Pellet catalogue from his inside pocket. 
 
 "By the way," he said, with a pride not 
 ii 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 quite disguised by his offhand tone, "perhaps 
 you d like to look over one of our new cata 
 logues. It tells all about the Works, and some 
 of those testimonials Freddie got down South 
 are in there. Freddie s picture is on the back 
 page, but he don t know it yet. Good-by ! " 
 The herdic disappeared into Washington Street, 
 leaving Salem Kittredge standing on the pave 
 ment, his cheeks hot with an embarrassed, un- 
 formulated pity, and a colored patent medicine 
 pamphlet in his hand. 
 
 12 
 
II. 
 
 absurdity of the situation came over 
 JL him in a moment, and he hurriedly 
 pocketed the catalogue and began to grin. 
 But there was no time to lose in humorous re 
 flection upon his new occupation, if he was to 
 be ready for the Bar Harbor trip that afternoon, 
 and it grew clear to him that the check in his 
 possession was a providential dispensation. 
 Without it, he had barely money enough to get 
 back to Andover ; with it, he could purchase a 
 few things that seemed absolutely necessary, if 
 young Pitman were not to be made ashamed of 
 his travelling companion. Exactly what these 
 purchases must be, he tried to decide in the 
 course of it would be hardly accurate to say 
 between the courses of a forty-five cent dinner 
 at a Brattle Street restaurant. 
 
 It was plain that he must procure some 
 clothes, for the black frock suit he had worn 
 into Boston that morning, the only really pre 
 sentable thing he had, was shiny with the Sun 
 day preaching trips of two winters and a long 
 
 13 
 
Salem Kittredge, Ideologue 
 
 summer in South Dakota. For the various exi 
 gencies of Bar Harbor life, Salem knew that this 
 garb was quite inappropriate. After a miser 
 able hour of indecision, he took the bit in his 
 teeth, and bought a white flannel tennis suit, as 
 something unministerial and sure to be useful. 
 He had a sort of feeling, too, sufficiently defi 
 nite to make him uncomfortable, that a man 
 going to Mount Desert ought to have a dress- 
 suit, but he was not sure. If young Pitman 
 and he were to start on a voyage around the 
 world in a sailing vessel, a swallow-tail coat 
 would be an impertinence, but trie intervening 
 weeks loomed large upon his imagination, and 
 finally, in his honest way, he made a confident 
 of the salesman who had persuaded him into 
 taking the ready-made tennis suit. The fertile 
 mind of this young gentleman suggested that it 
 might be better to rei^t the evening dress for the 
 time required, and while directing Kittredge to 
 an establishment that made a specialty of such 
 transactions, he assured him that it would be 
 advisable to buy, then and there, whatever else 
 might be needed to complete his evening toilet. 
 The result was that the perplexed theologue 
 gave the salesman permission to pick out what 
 was necessary a commission which the latter 
 cordially executed, and the affair ended by his 
 
 14 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 escorting Salem to the basement and helping 
 him to select a dress-suit case, extraordinarily 
 heavy and expensive, but absolutely correct in 
 design. 
 
 It was with this case in one hand and two 
 big paper parcels in the other he had tele 
 graphed his Andover landlady to forward his 
 trunk to Mount Desert by express that Sa 
 lem walked up the gang-plank of the Olivette 
 shortly after five that afternoon. He was hot 
 and tired and nervous, and the first passenger 
 on board. The purser informed him that a 
 Mr. Pitman had telegraphed for two state 
 rooms, and in one of these Kittredge deposited 
 his belongings. Then, after puzzling over the 
 Spanish notices posted around the cabin me 
 morials of the winter trips of the little vessel 
 he went out upon the big covered wharf and 
 sat down upon a box of freight, folding the 
 tails of his frock-coat over into his lap and fan 
 ning himself with his black Derby hat, while he 
 kept an eye out for Frederic Pitman. 
 
 The Olivette had already taken on most of 
 her freight, but the wharf reverberated with 
 the rolling of hand-trucks and the shouts of the 
 deck-hands as the last consignments were dis 
 posed of. Baggage-wagons clattered up to the 
 open side of the building, and deposited piles 
 
 \\ 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 of trunks, which were checked and put aboard 
 as fast as the owners arrived to identify them. 
 Kittredge kept his seat until he was hustled out 
 of the way by an Italian stevedore, and then he 
 began to walk around among the baggage and 
 wonder whether he could recognize young Pit 
 man when he saw him. The confusion in 
 creased momentarily, and amid the throng of 
 clamorous children, jauntily dressed young wom 
 en, youths in white flannel, jaded mammas, 
 hurrying papas, and Scandinavians and Celts of 
 every condition of servitude, Salem looked in 
 vain for his Confirmed Inebriate. The trunks 
 disappeared gradually within the hold, and the 
 upper deck of the Olivette was filling with pas 
 sengers. Ten minutes before the time of sail 
 ing the wharf was nearly empty once more, 
 and still Salem paced back and forth, pausing 
 to examine the initials upon the late-arriving 
 baggage. 
 
 Once his heart beat fast, as he read a big P. 
 upon a steamer trunk, two valises, and a hat- 
 box, and he stepped forward to meet the 
 owner, a stalwart blond fellow in a checked 
 suit and helmet hat. But the dissimilarity be 
 tween this figure and J. Howard Pitman made 
 him hesitate, and when the stranger, after star 
 ing at him an instant, ordered the first officer 
 16 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 of the Olivette to book his luggage, it dawned 
 gratefully upon Kittredge that P. might also 
 stand for Plantagenet. 
 
 The first officer gravely beckoned to the 
 baggage-master, and continued to converse 
 soothingly with the elder of two ladies, who 
 had been hovering anxiously over the trunks 
 for several minutes. She was a stout little 
 rosy-cheeked personage of fifty-five, and her 
 acute eyes were sparkling behind her gold- 
 rimmed glasses. 
 
 < Such an irresponsible system ! " she ex 
 claimed. 
 
 The first officer shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Auntie," said the younger woman, "are 
 you quite sure the trunk was not put aboard 
 while I was buying the tickets? " 
 
 " Certainly, my child. I was watching 
 every moment. To think that all the plans 
 should be in that particular trunk ! Would 
 your deck-hands, sir, dare to put a trunk on 
 board before it had been claimed while I 
 held the transfer-check in my hand ? 
 
 "I should scarcely think so, madam," re 
 plied the first officer, who had been sum 
 moned from the deck to meet this emergency. 
 "But I will have another search made in the 
 hold at once ; and bowing to the older lady 
 
 17 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologiie 
 
 while looking at the younger one, he shame 
 lessly retreated under fire, leaving Kittredge 
 and the ladies standing near together. 
 
 " It may come yet, Auntie. There are five 
 minutes left and then you have the check, in 
 any case, you know. 
 
 "Yes, but, my dear child Wait ! We 
 
 must telephone the transfer company. Is there 
 a telephone here ? 
 
 This demand was not addressed to anyone in 
 particular, but Kittredge glanced toward her as 
 he heard it, and she made a rapid advance upon 
 him. " Excuse me," she said, " but possibly 
 you can help us. Can you tell me if there is a 
 telephone here ? 
 
 Kittredge glanced vaguely along the floor of 
 the huge building, down the sides, over to the 
 Olivette, up to the rafters ; whence his gaze fell 
 to the sharp bronze feathers of the younger 
 woman s bonnet, and her fine brown hair, and 
 the grave blue eyes. 
 
 " I don t see any," he ejaculated. "I m 
 very sorry. And then he took off his hat. 
 
 " There s a tellyphown in the offus, mum," 
 volunteered an interested cabman, with a jerk 
 of his thumb toward the upper end of the wharf. 
 
 " Ah, thank you. Then will you please 
 telephone the transfer company that they must 
 18 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 trace Check 38 instantly, and that we have only 
 five minutes to spare, and that if the trunk does 
 not reach here in time they must express it to 
 me at the Hotel Occidental, at their expense, 
 and that " 
 
 " Wouldn t it be better to give your name, 
 Auntie? " suggested the niece. 
 
 "Of course. Sign it Mrs. Atterbury, 
 please. 
 
 " Sign it ? " inquired Kittredge. 
 
 " How very stupid in me ! You know what 
 I mean!" exclaimed Mrs. Atterbury, and as 
 the perplexed theologue started on an undigni 
 fied run for the office, she added to her niece : 
 " Rachel, I do believe that in my old age I am 
 growing a trifle nervous ! " 
 
 As Salem reached the office door, the clerk 
 in charge was hurrying out to the Olivette. 
 
 I beg your pardon ; have you a telephone 
 here?" 
 
 < < Right inside. Help yourself. 
 
 Kittredge groaned. He had counted on 
 getting the clerk to do the talking. It was 
 only once or twice a year that he had occa 
 sion to use a telephone, and then he rarely 
 succeeded in making the thing work. But 
 there was not a moment to lose. He laid his 
 hat in a chair, and grasping the handle of the 
 
 19 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 instrument, turned it loud and long. Then he 
 put the receiver to his ear and waited. Out 
 side, there was the hum and rattle of the streets ; 
 down the harbor somewhere, a tug-boat was 
 blowing her whistle; out on the wharf there 
 was a scraping sound as if they were hauling 
 up the gang-plank. Salem put the receiver 
 to his other ear, and rang again ; but still the 
 mysterious machine was dumb. It occurred 
 to him that perhaps he was expected to speak 
 first. 
 
 " Hullo ! " His voice was shaky. 
 
 " Hullo, Central ! " It was slightly louder 
 now, and it seemed to him stentorian. 
 
 "Say, Central! Oh-h. Cen-tr-a-1 ! ! " 
 Never had he closed a pulpit discourse with 
 a purer pathos. 
 
 Then a cold sweat broke out all over him. 
 He had forgotten to press the button. With a 
 trembling hand he began again, and was greeted 
 with a prompt " Hullo ! " 
 
 "Is that the Central? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, I am trying to find Mrs. Atterbury s 
 trunk. It s lost, and she wanted me to tele 
 phone to the transfer company " 
 
 Hold on a minute. 
 
 " What did you say ? " 
 20 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologue 
 
 i Go ahead. Whom did you wish to call up ? " 
 
 " The transfer company. I m trying to find 
 Mrs. Atterbury s trunk, and she wanted me to 
 telephone 
 
 " Yes, yes. But what number? " 
 
 Number thirty-eight. I think it was a sole- 
 leather trunk, and the Olivette is just starting 
 now, and she says " 
 
 " Wait a minute ! " There was a conversa 
 tion at the other end of the machine, and a 
 confusion of sentences : " Lewis wharf" 
 " some one there " " can t make out what he 
 wants" "no such call as thirty-eight in the 
 book." 
 
 Then came a new voice. 
 
 " Who is it that s talking? " 
 
 " Mr. Kittredge, Salem Kittredge. I am 
 trying to find Mrs. Atterbury s trunk; Misses 
 At-ter-bur-y. She wanted me to telephone to 
 the transfer company " 
 
 " All right. Now hold on. Stand up closer 
 to the telephone. What transfer company ? 
 
 Salem s heart came up in his throat. He 
 did not have the remotest idea. "I think it 
 was from the Old Colony Depot," he stam 
 mered desperately. But it may have been 
 the Albany Depot, or perhaps it was the New 
 England. Can t you try them all? " he went 
 21 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 on, penitently but hopelessly. "The fact is, 
 she didn t tell me, and " 
 
 There was a quick rustle of skirts behind 
 him, and Kittredge turned. In the narrow 
 doorway of the dingy office stood Rachel 
 Atterbury, slender, alert as a bird just alight 
 ing, one gray-gloved hand resting on the door- 
 jamb and the other supported by the handle of 
 her parasol. She leaned toward him, a flush of 
 color in her cheeks, her lips parted with her 
 quick breathing. 
 
 "Auntie s trunk is found!" she panted. 
 " It was in the hold all the time! We were 
 so afraid you would be left. It was so very 
 kind of you to take this trouble." 
 
 Salem stared at her an instant in abject, 
 speechless gratitude ; then he let the telephone 
 receiver swing dangling back against the wall 
 and stammered, with admirable sincerity, 
 " You re welcome. You are very welcome." 
 
 They hurried toward the Olivette side by 
 side. The deck-hands had already laid hold 
 of the ropes of the gang-plank, and the boat 
 was quivering with the slow turning of her 
 screw. Frederic Pitman had gone utterly out 
 of Kittredge s mind. But as they reached the 
 boat, they encountered a spectacle which re 
 called to the theologue the aim of his excursion 
 
 22 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 to Mount Desert. A red-faced, pot-bellied 
 hackman bore down upon them, staggering 
 under the weight of a huge, commercial trav 
 eller s trunk ; and in the rear of this combina 
 tion appeared the Confirmed Inebriate, a small 
 ish young man with a pert nose and demure 
 eyes, immaculately dressed in blue serge, russet 
 shoes, and yachting cap, carrying his head 
 thrown forward, his elbows very slightly out 
 ward, and his knees very daintily bent as he 
 walked, and with a bundle of silver - headed 
 sticks and umbrellas in his hand. It was with 
 this bundle that he politely touched the hack- 
 man s elbow, and indicated where the trunk 
 should be thrown on board ; then he caught 
 sight of Miss Atterbury. She recognized him, 
 with a somewhat formal inclination, and passed 
 swiftly up the plank. His lips murmured her 
 name respectfully ; his bow was the perfection 
 of good form. 
 
 "This is Mr. Pitman?" said Kittredge, 
 wondering how Mrs. Atterbury s niece could 
 happen to know an inebriate, but feeling in 
 stinctively sure of his man. 
 
 "Yes; Mr. Kittredge, I believe? I am 
 very glad to meet you. After you." 
 
 And in that order they mounted to the deck 
 of the Olivette. 
 
 23 
 
III. 
 
 THE experience of Salem Kittredge as a 
 student of theology, and even as a fron 
 tier preacher for a space of some four months, 
 had scarcely accustomed him to such prompt 
 action and swift transitions as had marked that 
 afternoon. It was difficult for him to keep 
 more than one thing in his head at a time, and 
 from the moment the Atterbury ladies had ap 
 pealed to him in their anxiety until he spied 
 his Inebriate, he had quite forgotten the real 
 reason of his journey to Bar Harbor. But his 
 memory was sharply jogged before he had been 
 a minute upon the deck of the steamer. Young 
 Mr. Pitman excused himself in order to look 
 up his state-room, leaving Kittredge leaning 
 over the rail of the boat watching her work her 
 way out of the slip. The quartermaster was 
 close beside him, lowering a rope buffer be 
 tween the steamer and the black piles of the 
 wharf, and conversing respectfully with the 
 second officer. 
 
 24 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologue 
 
 l D ye remember that little feller who just 
 come aboard ? 
 
 "No. I don t know as I do/ replied the 
 second officer. 
 
 "Why, he was that feller that wanted to 
 charter the Olivette to carry a cargo of pills 
 from Tampa to Havana, last winter." 
 
 " Is that so ? Well, he was lively for a little 
 one, wa n t he ? " 
 
 "I guess he was ! " And, bending still 
 farther over, he swung the buffer just in time 
 to catch the whole weight of the straining boat, 
 and as it creaked and flattened with the pres 
 sure, he added, judicially : "There ain t any 
 bichloride of gold in his blood ! " 
 
 Salem turned away, with a sudden sinking 
 at his heart. He was there to watch over a 
 drunkard ; such was the service to which he 
 owed his salary ; he had drawn that salary in 
 advance, and he must earn it somehow. Rest 
 lessly he made his way to the upper deck, and 
 there ran across Mrs. Atterbury, who had 
 thriftily taken possession of a chair and had 
 scattered her wraps over two or three others. 
 She scrutinized him through the gold-rimmed 
 eye-glasses an instant, and then stopped him as 
 he was passing her. 
 
 You must let me thank you for your kind- 
 
 25 
 
Salem Kit tr edge, Theologue 
 
 ness," she said, in a clear, rapid voice. " It 
 was very obliging of you to telephone for me. 
 I have no doubt it did some good, even if those 
 stupid porters had put the trunk aboard already. 
 You see the company ought to be reprimanded 
 constantly for its carelessness, on general prin 
 ciples? I am glad they had a man to talk to 
 them. But we feared the boat might start 
 without you ; we were very grateful." 
 
 "Oh, I I really did very little," said Kit- 
 tredge, blushing. 
 
 "That is for us to decide," graciously re 
 plied Mrs. Atterbury, " and no one knows how 
 much good it may have done the transfer com 
 pany." 
 
 The theologue had the appearance of defer 
 entially waiving this question, but he could not 
 think of anything to say, and the pause in the 
 conversation indicated that his brief acquain 
 tance with Mrs. Atterbury had already reached 
 its limit. As he hesitated, on the point of 
 leaving her, the Inebriate brushed past his el 
 bow, and was greeted by the lady with a smile 
 of recognition and an outstretched hand. 
 
 "Why, how do you do, Mr. Pitman! I 
 remember meeting you at Magnolia. Is your 
 mother on board ? 
 
 "Mother is not here," responded Mr. Pit- 
 
 26 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologue 
 
 man, with a slightly husky voice, into which 
 he succeeded in pouring a most unctuous re 
 gret, and with a look of bland resignation in 
 his brown eyes. " Mother has felt obliged to 
 remain in Magnolia this summer. It would 
 have given her great pleasure to meet you 
 again. I see you know Mr. Kittredge," he 
 added, turning to Salem. 
 
 "Yes, indeed! Mr. Kittredge has been of 
 the greatest service to us ; he must have tele 
 phoned all over the city in search of a trunk 
 that contained the plans for our cottage. We 
 couldn t have lost it, you know. Tell me, Mr. 
 Pitman, is not a transfer company liable under 
 the circumstances to the full extent of the 
 law?" 
 
 The Inebriate nodded gravely. 
 
 "Won t you take these chairs ?" she went 
 on. "It will be impossible to find one in a 
 few minutes, the boat is so crowded;" and 
 with hospitable zeal she piled her travelling- 
 rugs upon the deck and insisted that the young 
 men should sit down. The fleet Olivette had 
 already left the docks far behind her and was 
 headed down the channel. Young Pitman and 
 Mrs. Atterbury were still deep in the discussion 
 of the trunk question broken by occasional 
 comments upon the speed of the steamer or the 
 27 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 familiar beauty of the "harbor when Salem 
 caught sight of Rachel Atterbury picking her 
 way toward them through the crowded chairs. 
 She had exchanged the bronze-feathered bonnet 
 for a blue Tarn O Shanter, and the collar of her 
 tight-fitting jacket was turned up around her 
 throat, making her figure seem even slenderer 
 than before. Just as she reached the group, 
 the wash from a passing schooner struck the 
 Olivette s quarter ; and the girl, with a little 
 gasp, threw up her hands to balance herself, 
 and was poised for a single instant in the very 
 attitude in which she had appeared to Salem 
 at the dingy office door upon the wharf. He 
 sprang to his feet, followed by the Inebriate. 
 
 " My niece, Miss Atterbury Mr. Pitman. 
 Oh, of course ! You have met at Magnolia ; 
 I should have remembered it. And Mr. Kit 
 tredge." 
 
 Again Salem noticed that her bow to Fred 
 eric Pitman, though perfectly pleasant, was for 
 mal, far more so than her recognition of him 
 self; and of the chairs which the two gentle 
 men offered her, she accepted Kittredge s. A 
 keen sense of pleasure thrilled him. He talked 
 eagerly, gayly, cutting short her reiteration of 
 gratitude about that wretched telephone ; and 
 young Pitman, glancing shrewdly at them in 
 28 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 the pauses of his own conversation with the 
 aunt, decided that his new companion was 
 more of a ladies man than he looked. 
 
 When the steamer had made the Light, and 
 was headed away for the darkening northeast, 
 the cooler wind and increasing motion drove 
 most of the passengers from the upper deck. 
 But in the west there was a gorgeous sunset, 
 and off the port quarter the flash of first one 
 and then another distant light, and the Atter- 
 bury ladies, wrapped in their rugs, sat watch 
 ing it all until the dusk fell close around the 
 sharp black bow cf the Olivette, and there was 
 a scent in the air like that of a coming fog. 
 Then they went down to supper, leaving the two 
 young men, for the first time, alone together. 
 
 Salem felt that the moment had come for 
 them to reach an understanding of the peculiar 
 relation into which they were about to enter ; 
 and Freddie Pitman seemed to realize his com 
 panion s thought, for he turned up the collar 
 of his overcoat, stretched his feet irreverently 
 upon the chair which Miss Atterbury had aban 
 doned, and sat eying Kittredge as if waiting for 
 him to begin. But it was exceedingly difficult 
 for the theologue to invent an introduction to 
 his discourse, and he had a decidedly vague 
 idea of what the discourse itself ought to be. 
 29 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 " Well," he said, " here we are." 
 
 "Yes," assented Pitman, politely, " here we 
 are." The fact, indeed, was indubitable. Sa 
 lem was shaking with the cold, and dizzy with 
 the rise and fall of the steamer s bow. 
 
 "I suppose," he ventured, "we ought to 
 have something of a talk." 
 
 " Yes? " was the response. " What do you 
 say to a smoke ? Freddie Pitman unbuttoned 
 his coat and held out a plethoric cigar-case. 
 
 "No, I thank you," said Salem, hurriedly, 
 his teeth chattering as he spoke, and the bare 
 idea of smoking or seeing anyone else smoke 
 seemed suddenly to augment by ten or fifteen 
 degrees that upward and downward pitch of 
 the bow. 
 
 " Look here, aren t you cold ? Hadn t you 
 better get your overcoat ? 
 
 " I I left it in Andover. I am a little cold. 
 Perhaps I ought to eat some supper," he added, 
 weakly, as he caught the first whiff of Pitman s 
 cigar. 
 
 " Of course. That will make you feel bet 
 ter warmer, I mean he corrected himself 
 instantly " and I will wait here for you if you 
 like. I had a five o clock dinner, and nearly 
 lost the boat by it, so I think I won t go 
 down." 
 
 30 
 
Salem Kit tr edge, Theologue 
 
 Salem rose unsteadily and made his way aft, 
 while the wind lifted his shiny coat-tails and 
 forced him to keep tight hold of his stiff hat. 
 Down the companion-way he stumbled, and 
 into the dining-saloon, but a single look at the 
 tables convinced him that supper was not what 
 he needed. Slowly, dizzily, he dragged him 
 self to the fresh air of the upper deck once more, 
 and stood there a moment watching the red 
 tip of Pitman s cigar, as the young fellow paced 
 nonchalantly back and forth upon the deserted 
 deck ; but just then the tricky Olivette began 
 to roll a little, Freddie Pitman s cigar-tip seemed 
 to circle up up up, and to whirl down 
 down down, and Salem Kittredge suddenly 
 remembered that he had a state-room. 
 
 Two hours later there was a gentle knock 
 at that state-room door, and Pitman entered 
 quietly. The theologue was stretched face 
 downward in his berth, his coat off, shivering, 
 but too wretched to stir. 
 
 " Hullo ! " said Freddie, " I ve been won 
 dering where you were. Couldn t imagine what 
 had become of you. But it s sensible to turn 
 in early; this looks like a bad night, and I m 
 going to follow suit. Allow me, Mr. Kittredge, 
 it will make you more comfortable." As he 
 spoke, he covered Salem dexterously with the 
 
Salem Kit tr edge, Theologue 
 
 blankets from both berths. " Nonsense, let 
 me pull your shoes off there ! And now, my 
 dear fellow, your teeth are chattering so that I 
 can t go to sleep in the next state-room. You 
 must let me prescribe ; wait a second here, 
 swallow this ; no, I ll hold it; don t try to sit 
 up ; just open your mouth and shut your eyes 
 so-o there ! 
 
 But when Salem had stopped choking, and 
 the fiery liquid had begun to diffuse a delicious 
 warmth throughout his vitals, he opened his 
 eyes sufficiently to behold a friendly and ex 
 traordinarily infectious smile upon the features 
 of the Inebriate, who was carefully screwing 
 down the top of a brandy -flask. 
 
 
IV. 
 
 AT five the next morning the Olivette 
 changed her course and slackened speed, 
 cautiously feeling her way in the fog toward a 
 certain bell-buoy. The altered rhythm of her 
 engines woke Kittredge from a sleep which even 
 the Olivette s fog- whistle, blowing for the past 
 two hours, had not disturbed. He raised him 
 self upon one elbow and stared sleepily around 
 the state-room. There were his new dress-suit 
 case and the paper parcels, just as he had left 
 them ; but his long black coat, which he indis 
 tinctly remembered dropping upon the floor, was 
 now suspended neatly from a hook, and his shoes 
 were placed carefully beneath it. His shoes ? 
 He recalled that when he went to bed he had 
 decided, all at once, not to take off his shoes. 
 Gracious ! There flashed over him the quiet 
 kindness of Pitman and the blankets and 
 that scorching spirituous draught. He flung 
 himself out of the berth and looked in the 
 mirror. His eyes were not bloodshot, nor were 
 
 33 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 his features haggard ; his hair was mussed, cer 
 tainly, but his head was clear as a bell ; he 
 glanced out of the port-hole at the glassy water 
 and the luminous fog through which the boat 
 seemed scarcely more than drifting ; then he 
 counted his pulse, and decided he had never 
 felt better in his life. 
 
 In half an hour he had bathed, arrayed him 
 self, after some hesitation, in his new white suit, 
 and was knocking at Pitman s state-room. As 
 there was no answer, and the door was slightly 
 ajar, Kittredge thrust his head in, and beheld 
 the Inebriate slumbering peacefully in the low 
 er berth. For a moment Salem watched him. 
 It was a very young face, and scarcely seemed a 
 bad one ; the collar of the silk night-robe was 
 drawn close up to the chin, whose lines were 
 delicate and almost firm ; the mouth was win 
 ning, the saucy nose lent a certain gayness to 
 the countenance, the brown hair was tumbled in 
 boyish fashion ; and while Kittredge was still 
 looking, the demure eyes opened wide and 
 smiled a morning greeting. 
 
 " How do you do ? " said Salem ; " I thought 
 I d see if you were awake." 
 
 "That s all right. Come in. What time 
 is it?" 
 
 "It s moving along toward six," replied 
 
 34 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologue 
 
 Kittredge, " and I didn t know but we should 
 be getting in soon." 
 
 "Exactly," yawned Pitman, directing his 
 brown eyes inquiringly at the theologue s flan 
 nel suit. But he made no comment, and an 
 nounced an intention of arising in a very few 
 minutes and annihilating the Olivette s fog- 
 whistle. In this work of destruction Salem was 
 cordially invited to join, and he assented to the 
 extent of agreeing to wait for Pitman upon the 
 upper deck, that they might begin operations 
 together. Thither, accordingly, Salem betook 
 himself, fairly satisfied with the pleasantry he 
 had exchanged with his protege, and feeling 
 himself to be a quite different person from the 
 man who had retreated down those slippery sa 
 loon stairs the night before. 
 
 The morning was delicious. The Olivette 
 was still enwrapped with fog, so thick that with 
 a double lookout at the bow, she did not dare 
 to steam ahead at full speed ; yet in her wake 
 it was all translucent in the sun, gleaming with 
 a hundred tints of mother-of-pearl and clouded 
 opal, and around her keel it slowly rose like 
 drifting smoke from the dull-green water. Kit 
 tredge threw back his shoulders, and took a 
 deep breath of the salt air. Then he observed 
 Miss Atterbury, who was leaning over the rail 
 
 35 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 to watch a floating jelly-fish, and in the buoy 
 ancy of that moment he stepped promptly to 
 her side. She started as she caught sight of his 
 big hand upon the rail, so close to her own, 
 and for an instant she failed to recognize him 
 in his utterly changed attire. 
 
 " Good -morning ! " he exclaimed. " Did 
 you sleep well ? 
 
 "Oh, good-morning, Mr. Mr. Kittredge," 
 she said, straightening up. "I beg your par 
 don? " 
 
 * Did the fog-whistle keep you awake ? 
 He beamed at her with benevolent gray eyes. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, for the longest time. Was it 
 not dreadful ? 
 
 " Well, I didn t hear it myself," he admit 
 ted. " I must have been very sound asleep. 
 But Mr. Pitman says that it was the that it 
 was very annoying. He proposes to smash it 
 when he comes up, and wants me to help him." 
 
 "Ah? Mr. Pitman must be very vindic 
 tive," she said, smilingly. " Don t you think 
 one ought to be more forgiving on a perfect 
 morning like this ? 
 
 "I? Oh, I could forgive anything or any 
 body to-day, I am sure. And perhaps Mr. 
 Pitman didn t mean it. I don t know him 
 very well." 
 
 36 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 "No?" 
 
 "No, not really. In fact, I met him only 
 yesterday. You see I have been a theological 
 student, and " 
 
 He hesitated, and she helped him out a little, 
 in feminine fashion. 
 
 " Yes, I think you told me you had been 
 studying at Andover. What a lovely old place 
 Andover is, isn t it? " 
 
 " You have been there, then? " 
 
 "I have only driven through, with Auntie 
 and a coaching party. But I interrupted you, 
 did I not?" 
 
 " No," he said, bluntly, his feeling of loyalty 
 to the young fellow keeping him from the ex 
 planation he had started to give, " Pitman and I 
 are just travelling together." 
 
 She nodded silently, looking him in the eyes. 
 Kittredge remembered her coolness toward Pit 
 man the night before, and was sure she had 
 guessed the relationship between himself and 
 the Inebriate. But she changed the subject. 
 " I was just watching the funniest jelly-fish ! " 
 she remarked, looking down at the water again. 
 " I wonder if you can tell me its name; there 
 were so many of them here a few moments ago. 
 Do you study jelly-fishes at the theological sem 
 inary, Mr. Kittredge? " 
 
 37 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologite 
 
 "No," he replied; "we have them there, 
 but we don t study them, except incidentally." 
 
 She glanced at him with a delightful smile of 
 comprehension. " I have met some of the men 
 in our own theological school at Cambridge, 
 and yes, they are queer. But many of them 
 are very nice really, not jelly-fishy at all." 
 
 " I don t suppose we can help it to a cer 
 tain extent," said Kittredge, fearing that he 
 had slandered his brethren, and at the same 
 time offering a guilty apology for himself; 
 " it s the nature of the life we lead the defect 
 of our qualities, if you like." 
 
 " No," she insisted, " I don t admit it. The 
 Church the ministry, I mean is a noble pro 
 fession ; it is quite the noblest. And some of 
 the men are charming. We have had several 
 of them in some informal dances this last win 
 ter ; they were so clever, too." 
 
 Indeed ? I am afraid we are not all clever 
 at Andover. But we have some sterling men." 
 
 She interrupted him, pointing eagerly down 
 to the water. " Quick ! " she cried, " isn t it 
 a nautilus? A real Chambered Nautilus? " 
 
 Kittredge looked critically at the tiny float 
 ing object. "I m sure I don t know. Is he 
 sailing away from his low-vaulted past or does 
 he take it with him ? " 
 
 38 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologiie 
 
 "Oh, he leaves it behind ! " she laughed. 
 "Don t you remember? l Leave thy low- 
 vaulted past it comes just after * Build thou 
 more stately mansions, O my soul. That last 
 is the line I ve been teasing Auntie with all the 
 spring. I maintain that her house at Newton, 
 built by old Colonel Atterbury himself, is ever 
 so much nicer than this new cottage at Bar 
 Harbor. Did she offer to show you the 
 plans? " 
 
 "No," said Kittredge, "but I believe she 
 discussed them with Mr. Pitman." 
 
 " Those plans are a perfect mania with Aun 
 tie ; you should hear her talk them over with 
 the coachman ! If the trunk had veritably 
 been lost, Mr. Kittredge, I m sure I can t 
 imagine what we should have done. The 
 architect has just sailed for Europe. Auntie 
 will never forget your kindness, but I am cer 
 tain that you cannot escape looking over the 
 plans." 
 
 " But I shall enjoy it ! " he exclaimed. " I 
 think house-building is very delightful. And 
 until it is finished? " 
 
 " We shall remain at the Occidental." 
 
 The theologue flushed with pleasure. " We 
 are going there too ! " he cried. " Perhaps you 
 will let me let us see something of you?" 
 
 39 
 
Salem Kit tr edge, Theologue 
 
 The thought of the Inebriate made him hes 
 itate ; he wondered whether he should find 
 himself under a social ban because of his com 
 panion, and he had an uncomfortable minute or 
 two while he pretended to watch the nautilus 
 drift away into the lifting fog. 
 
 " I do not really know Mr. Pitman," she 
 began, after a little, as if she were thinking of 
 the very same thing as Kittredge. t I heard 
 some talk about him at Magnolia last summer. 
 His father is the patent-medicine man, is he 
 not?" 
 
 Salem nodded with a queer expression in his 
 face. " Si monumentum quseris, " said he, 
 "just look at that ! " 
 
 The fog had been swept apart by a sudden 
 breeze, and all around there were tiny islands, 
 covered with thick clumps of spruce, where blue 
 jays and crows were calling to each other. On 
 a huge bowlder just off the bow of the Olivette, 
 still glistening from the falling tide, was the 
 following legend, in white letters upon an azure 
 field: Use Pitman s Primitive Pellets. 
 
 "What horrid vandalism!" she cried, in 
 dignantly. " Should you not think that " 
 
 Salem heard a step behind them, and turn 
 ing, hurriedly touched her arm. She smoth 
 ered an exclamation and faced around, a 
 40 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologue 
 
 charming color in her cheeks. The Inebriate 
 advanced unconsciously, his mouth quirked into 
 the most agreeable of smiles. Kittredge tried 
 to throw his broad shoulders between Pitman 
 and that staring sign, but it was Miss Atterbury 
 who saved the day. 
 
 " Mr. Pitman," she said, " we ve been talk 
 ing of your threatened assault upon the steam- 
 whistle, and I don t even know where the thing 
 is. Won t you please show me ? " 
 
 The flattered Inebriate extended his elbow 
 with a bow. She took his arm instantly, and 
 off they marched, with their backs turned up 
 on the bowlder and Mr. Kittredge, who stood 
 there somewhat vacantly by the rail. Miss At 
 terbury and her companion were in perfect step, 
 and she kept turning cosily toward him as they 
 promenaded, but Salem could not help think 
 ing that she was quite too tall for his protege. 
 Possibly Mrs. Atterbury, who joined Kittredge 
 at the instant when his reflections upon this 
 point were in danger of growing a trifle sombre, 
 may have shared his feeling that there was a cer 
 tain incongruity in that sudden friendliness, for 
 she lifted her eye-glasses and regarded her niece 
 steadily, while Kittredge murmured something 
 about getting Pitman away from a Pellet adver 
 tisement that might have been awkward for him. 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 For him ? laughed the widow. " Scarce 
 ly ; I fancy he is not easily embarrassed ; but 
 for my niece and yourself, very possibly. And 
 you were really just looking at it when he came 
 up ! " She laughed again ; a light, resonant 
 laugh for a woman of fifty-five. But my niece 
 can make up her mind very quickly on occa 
 sion, Mr. Kittredge. She can extricate herself, 
 when necessary, as well as most people. 
 
 "I should judge so," said the theologue, with 
 as much admiration as he dared express. " She 
 tells me you are going to build here. 
 
 Yes, the revised plans were in that trunk 
 you so kindly traced for us yesterday. You 
 must let me show them to you some day." 
 
 "Certainly," assented Kittredge promptly. 
 " I shall be most pleased." 
 
 " Very good ; perhaps you will be the one to 
 assure me whether my architect has made a 
 triumph of the stairs. No one seems sufficiently 
 positive about it. We shall be at the Occi 
 dental," she added. 
 
 "I am to be there too ! " Salem exclaimed ; 
 " that is Mr. Pitman and myself." 
 
 "Oh ! " said Mrs. Atterbury, slowly. 
 
 And just then the Olivette leaped forward 
 under full pressure of her steam, glided past the 
 vessels of the White Squadron lying lazily at 
 42 
 
Salem Kit tr edge, Theologue 
 
 anchor in the channel, and in five minutes was 
 made fast to the little wooden wharf at Bar 
 Harbor. Salem took one comprehensive glance 
 at the flotilla of Indian canoes and steam 
 yachts, the crowd of truckmen and hotel-runners 
 on the wharf, the Club House and the big 
 hotels looming through the mist ; then he 
 started for his state-room in search of the two 
 brown paper parcels and his dress-suit case. 
 
 Upon the saloon stairs he met Miss Atterbury. 
 She was hastening up to the deck, buttoning 
 her gloves as she went, but she stopped Salem 
 as they were passing each other. 
 
 "Could he have heard?" she whispered, 
 her eyes looking straight into his. " I was 
 never so frightened in my life. Do you think 
 he heard?" 
 
 "I hardly think so. You were very quick 
 witted; and, if you will allow me," he added, 
 bluntly, " you made him ample amends, even 
 if he did hear." He was jealous of the way 
 she had taken the Inebriate s arm. 
 
 Miss Atterbury fastened her last glove-button 
 deliberately ; then she raised her eyebrows ever 
 so slightly, and made him a mock courtesy. 
 "Yes?" she said, and the crowd upon the 
 stairs swept them apart. 
 
 43 
 
V. 
 
 THE Saturday-night hops at the Occidental 
 were one of the leading features of that 
 admirably conducted hotel. They were not 
 so exclusive as the affairs at the Pelican, nor 
 were they by any means so democratic as the 
 dances at Pibroch s ; a delightful informality 
 prevailed, and yet a great many people from the 
 Cuttyhunk and the Pelican and the cottages 
 were sure to be there. The tiny orchestra 
 played in excellent time, and the ball-room 
 floor was reputed to be the best in Bar Harbor. 
 Long French windows opened directly from 
 the ball-room upon the immense veranda, where 
 hundreds of people could promenade at once, 
 or sit in cosey groups before the windows to 
 watch the dancing. The gentlemen who ran 
 down to Mount Desert to spend Sunday with 
 their families usually preferred to lean against 
 the piazza railing and enjoy a tranquil cigar 
 rather than to make themselves useful to their 
 wives and daughters upon the floor ; and yet, 
 after all deductions, there was always a greater 
 
 44 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologne 
 
 number of available men at the Occidental than 
 anywhere else on the island. 
 
 Salem Kittredge was hardly an available man, 
 inasmuch as he had never danced in his life ; 
 but nevertheless, upon the first Saturday night 
 after his arrival he appeared extremely early at 
 the ball-room, in evening dress. Why he was 
 there he scarcely knew. He had had several 
 wretched days. On reaching the hotel a tele 
 gram from J. Howard Pitman had been handed 
 him : " Have just seen the doctor. Says this is 
 the week to watch him. Look out. God bless 
 you." Was the crucial test coming, before 
 they were even acquainted ? Salem would 
 have flung up his commission in dismay, had it 
 not been for the fact that he had already spent 
 part of the salary, and for the " God bless you " 
 on the end of the despatch. He tried to have 
 a frank talk with his protege, but although 
 Freddie Pitman accepted the situation with the 
 utmost amiability, he absolutely refused to dis 
 cuss it. 
 
 " WV11 stick together, Kittle," he declared 
 he had dubbed his companion Kittie in the 
 course of the first forenoon " and you can 
 keep your eye on me as much as you please. 
 That s what J. Howard is paying the bills for, 
 and much good may it do us all. But if I have 
 45 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 any little eccentricities of my own, they are 
 my own. Do you see ? " 
 
 Salem saw with great distinctness, and the 
 subject was dropped. But all day long, for 
 four days, the young men kept together. They 
 lounged upon the broad veranda, or played 
 feebly at tennis. They drove to Spouting 
 Horn, and paddled a canoe over to Porcupine 
 Island. Hour after hour did they walk around 
 a billiard-table in a dingy second-floor room 
 on the main street of the village, while the 
 Inebriate gave Kittredge forty points in a fifty- 
 point game and invariably beat him. Side by 
 side did they do ravage upon the well-known 
 cuisine of the Occidental, and vainly tried to 
 bribe the head- waiter to give them one of the 
 cool little tables by the window, where the At- 
 terburys were always seated ; and nothing oc 
 curred to mar the polished surface of young 
 Pitman s good nature, or to relieve the wretch 
 ed anxiety that preyed upon Kittredge s mind. 
 He had so little to go by ; he wished he had 
 asked the Pellet man to send the doctor s de 
 tailed statement of the phenomena of the " con 
 vulsive form of acute alcoholism , " or whatever 
 the thing was called, which he might expect at 
 at any moment. He made sure, by a shame 
 faced examination of Pitman s belongings, that 
 46 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologue 
 
 there were no intoxicants there. Even the 
 travelling flask was empty, and that, as Salem 
 ruefully reflected, had very possibly been emp 
 tied by himself. 
 
 He remembered what J. Howard Pitman had 
 remarked about the Maine law, and one day, 
 with some embarrassment, he asked the livery 
 agent who always hung about the door of the 
 Occidental whether there was any place at Bar 
 Harbor where liquor was sold. The agent 
 looked sharply at him from under the visor of 
 his cap. 
 
 "No," he said, "there ain t. And yet," 
 he added, in a lower voice and with something 
 of a twinkle, " if all you want is a drink, I can 
 set right here on this stoop, n point you out 
 seventeen places, not counting drug-stores and 
 hotels, where you can git it. But what s the 
 matter with right here at the Occidental ? 
 
 Salem shrugged his shoulders, with as much 
 duplicity as he could muster, and laughed the 
 question off. But his heart sank. 
 
 It was only at night, after young Pitman 
 had turned out the gas in the inner of the ad 
 joining rooms that constituted No. 37, and 
 called " Good-night, Kittie ! " that Salem had 
 any peace of mind. Then he used to stretch 
 himself comfortably in his own bed, and for a 
 
 47 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologiie 
 
 season forget the Inebriate in meditation upon 
 other subjects. There, for instance, was Miss 
 Atterbury. Kittredge had seen but little of his 
 acquaintances of the Olivette. True to her 
 promise, Mrs. Atterbury had brought down the 
 plans for the cottage and had exhibited them 
 to him one morning upon a sheltered corner of 
 the piazza ; but what with keeping one eye 
 conscientiously on Freddie Pitman, and the 
 other, quite unconsciously, on Miss Rachel, 
 who was promenading back and forth with the 
 stalwart Englishman he had noticed in Boston, 
 Kittredge did not win any peculiar credit as 
 a critic of domestic architecture. He could 
 trace the twinkling of Miss Atterbury s russet 
 Oxford ties down that immense veranda far 
 more accurately than the course of Mrs. Atter 
 bury s marvellous winding staircase. Even 
 after that young woman had dismissed her 
 British admirer, and, rejoining her aunt, had 
 pointed out with her own finger the music-room 
 and the loggia and the butler s pantry, Kit 
 tredge praised the blue sheets confusedly, though 
 at that moment it could not even be urged in 
 his excuse that one eye was directed to Frederic 
 Pitman. It was after Mrs. Atterbury had rolled 
 up the plans, in some politely disguised dis 
 appointment at Salem s perceptive faculties, that 
 48 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologite 
 
 Miss Atterbury made an observation about the 
 hops at the Occidental. The season before 
 they had been very delightful, she said ; the 
 men almost always dressed for them ; it was 
 very good of the men to take the trouble to 
 dress ; did not Mr. Kittredge think so ? 
 
 Salem quoted this remark with some impres- 
 siveness to Pitman, after dinner on Saturday 
 evening, when they were both in No. 37. 
 
 "Is that so?" said the Inebriate, looking 
 up from a novel by Gaboriau. "I imagined 
 those things were informal. Over at the Peli 
 can, you know, you ought to dress for dinner ; 
 that s why I didn t go there. Nevertheless, I 
 suppose one might please the dear creatures 
 once a week. Make your toilet, Kittie; go 
 ahead ; I want to finish this first, and I ve got 
 to shave besides, so don t wait. I ll be there 
 to see you home, my dear. 
 
 Several times during the next half-hour did 
 Pitman glance through the door at the theo- 
 logue, who was brushing the wrinkles out of his 
 rented coat, nervously inserting shirt-studs, and 
 examining his tie despondently in the mirror. 
 Finally he hesitated in Lapham-like wretched 
 ness over the problem of gloves, and Freddie 
 shut his novel and lounged into the other room. 
 
 " Going down ? " he commented, carelessly. 
 
 49 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 " Look here, I don t propose to. wear gloves 
 unless I have to dance, and perhaps not then. 
 You d better back me up." 
 
 " Oh, all right," assented Kittredge, with a 
 promptness that repaid Pitman for his effort. 
 Just as you say. 
 
 Pitman surveyed him critically. " You re 
 as fresh as a rose-bud, Kittie. And that re 
 minds me I ought to have ordered a bouquet 
 for you. I wish I had your color ! Plain liv 
 ing and high thinking, eh? Au revoir ! " 
 
 Salem went down for once in the elevator, to 
 the edification of the boy, and lingered awk 
 wardly a moment at the ball-room door. The 
 orchestra was playing, and some little girls were 
 practising polka steps over in one corner. A 
 few matrons decorated the benches at the sides. 
 Kittredge took a full breath, put his new dress 
 shoes very cautiously upon the waxed floor, and 
 steered obliquely across the room and out upon 
 the piazza, while the matrons examined him in 
 terestedly and the little girls thought that now 
 surely the hop was going to begin. Salem 
 leaned against the window-casing ; his face had 
 all the vacancy of a professional leader of ger- 
 mans ; but the hop did not begin. By and by 
 he dropped into a big rocking-chair outside. 
 He was profoundly uncomfortable. He wished 
 
 5 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologize 
 
 Pitman would come ; he wished that he 
 smoked, so that he might give himself at least a 
 nonchalant air ; he wished that he could walk 
 up and down the veranda, but there was no 
 one to walk with, and he felt that his full dress 
 made him too conspicuous to walk alone. Now 
 and then a bevy of young girls came waltzing 
 down the corridor from the card-rooms, circled 
 the big floor, and whirled back again. A few 
 extemporized couples stepped in from the pi 
 azza, danced a few rounds, and were once 
 more lost in the groups of on-lookers. 
 
 But gradually it began to seem more like a 
 hop. Two or three indefatigable youths in 
 tennis suits and sashes were taking every dance. 
 Young women glided in from nowhere in par 
 ticular ; and when a party came over from the 
 Pelican all of the men in irreproachable toilet, 
 and one with a cravat of exactly the same ex 
 treme style as his own Kittredge commenced 
 to feel not so much out of place after all. His 
 great mistake, he reflected, had been in coming 
 down so early. He still sat there in his rocker, 
 and waited, in a vague way, for Miss Atter- 
 bury. He had a sort of instinct that they 
 would drift together, and that she would be 
 pleased to see him in evening dress. He could 
 not dance with her, he did not even hope to 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 walk with her, and yet he felt sure that they 
 would meet. An hour passed. At last she 
 came; Salem recognized her the instant she 
 emerged from the office door with her aunt. 
 They paused a moment, looking down the ve 
 randa ; then they advanced slowly, the girl in 
 front, threading her way among the crowded 
 chairs close by the railing, where the breeze 
 blew the hanging Virginia creeper against her 
 shoulders, and the electric lamps, blended with 
 the moonlight, shone full upon her face. Peo 
 ple turned to look at her as she went by. She 
 passed the first window and then the second ; 
 Salem was waiting by the third. He sprang up 
 eagerly as the ladies reached it. 
 
 " Good-evening ! " he exclaimed. " I have 
 been hoping for you. Mrs. Atterbury, take 
 this chair. Miss Atterbury, allow me." But 
 the aunt saw an old acquaintance just inside the 
 ball-room, and would not sit down. 
 
 "Rachel may stay if she likes," she gra 
 ciously permitted. " Don t catch cold, my 
 dear ; take this wrap. Thank you, Mr. Kit 
 tredge. 
 
 The girl leaned forward in her chair, and 
 Kittredge dropped the soft wool wrap around 
 her shoulders. Her gown was a delicate blue 
 gauze, and she drew the wrap tightly about 
 
 52 
 
Salem Kit tr edge, Tbeologue 
 
 her as she sat back again and looked up at 
 him. He was finer-looking than she had 
 thought : clear-eyed, dark-haired, with a fresh 
 color in his honest face ; as cleanly -built, 
 wholesome a fellow of twenty-six as Bar Harbor 
 could exhibit. She was pleased to think that 
 someone had been planning for her coming a 
 young woman of twenty- five knows that the 
 time may arrive when these small attentions 
 will be held at their due price and she resolved 
 to be very nice to him. 
 
 They talked of the breeze, the White Squad 
 ron, and the house plans ; of the people from 
 the Pelican, now thick upon the ball-room 
 floor, and of the -fabulous table d" 1 hote at the 
 Cuttyhunk ; they discussed their personal likes 
 and dislikes, the perils of American democracy, 
 and the spread of ritualism in the Episcopal 
 Church ; and still he did not ask her to dance. 
 She wondered if he knew how. She had not 
 supposed him a dancing man, but his full dress 
 puzzled her ; she had not the remotest idea that 
 he had acted upon her chance remark about the 
 gentlemen of the previous season. He was 
 talking well, and she was conscious of liking 
 him, of really liking him very much, and yet 
 she was dying to dance ; it was a delicious 
 waltz the orchestra was playing one of Del- 
 
 53 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologne 
 
 ibes s things. She glanced occasionally at the 
 Honourable Plantagenet, as he circled past the 
 window in a gorgeous waistcoat. He would 
 ask her, she knew. 
 
 Yet she made Salem feel that she utterly ig 
 nored what was going on in the ball-room. He 
 would have sworn that one could not converse 
 so earnestly about ritualism with a mind in 
 clined at the same moment to a mundane pleas 
 ure. Her grave blue eyes did not seem for an 
 instant to be wandering from his own. He was 
 perfectly at his ease now; he was in fairyland. 
 
 It was one of those ardent youths in white 
 flannel, who had been whispering together and 
 looking toward Miss Atterbury, that finally 
 broke the spell, for he crossed to the threshold 
 where she was sitting, and made her his best 
 dancing-school bow. The music was just be 
 ginning again. "Good-evening, Richard," 
 she said, smilingly; " are you sure you are not 
 too tired ? And with a deprecating glance 
 at Kittredge, as if to say, " You see I do not 
 wish to disappoint the boy, she glided off. It 
 took Salem a minute to realize the situation : a 
 boy had carried her away from him, an accursed 
 boy with grass-stains on his tennis trousers and 
 a rent in his rumpled sash ! 
 
 He rose helplessly to his feet. Someone 
 
 54 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologite 
 
 touched his elbow ; it was the little fellow who 
 ran the elevator. The clerk wants to see 
 you in the office, sir," he whispered. Salem 
 groaned. He had forgotten Pitman for two 
 whole hours, and hurriedly he shouldered his 
 way up the veranda to the office, with a cer 
 tainty that something was wrong. 
 
 The clerk leaned over the desk confiden 
 tially. "The head-waiter says he has had to 
 send a good deal of liquid up to 37 to-night. 
 Can you keep that young fellow quiet? " Kit 
 tredge dashed up the two flights and down the 
 corridor to the door of No. 37. He listened a 
 moment ; the Inebriate s husky tenor was me 
 andering gently through the second stanza of 
 Bishop Heber s missionary hymn. He entered 
 firmly. Upon the centre-table, flanked by a 
 little pitcher of shaving water and the glasses 
 from both dressing-tables, stood a beautiful il 
 lustration of the working of the Maine law, 
 while in front of Salem s mirror was Freddie 
 Pitman in his shirt-sleeves. He was trying to 
 shave, but his hand was no steadier than his 
 voice, and he wiped the bloody lather from his 
 razor onto the back cover of the Gaboriau 
 novel, as he turned to greet Kittredge with an 
 oath. 
 
 55 
 
VI. 
 
 AT ten o clock Sunday morning Kittredge, 
 who had shortly before dawn flung him 
 self upon his bed without undressing, was wak 
 ened by a familiar voice. He opened his eyes 
 with a nervous start, stared a moment at his dis 
 ordered evening dress, and then at Freddie Pit 
 man, who was perched in dishabille upon the 
 foot of the bed. The Inebriate s pert little face 
 was rather white and preternaturally serious. 
 
 " Kittie," he began, "you tell me about 
 last night, will you?" Salem shook his head, 
 as if to get rid of a memory. 
 
 "Look here," continued Pitman, " it may 
 not be very pleasant for you, and it isn t so pe 
 culiarly pleasant for me, but I want to know 
 just what happened. You came in while I was 
 shaving, didn t you?" 
 
 Kittredge nodded. 
 
 " Well, I ll shave the other side by and by. 
 You can give the bell-boy a quarter to go 
 around and pick up that razor. It s too good 
 a one to throw out the window. You must 
 
 56 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologue 
 
 have been a trifle nervous at that stage of the 
 game, Kittle." 
 
 The Inebriate himself was certainly cool 
 enough at present. " And then, let me see," 
 he continued; " no, before that you threw out 
 some other articles, didn t you? Yes; well, 
 you needn t say anything to the bell-boy about 
 that. And then you locked the door and 
 tipped your chair back against it, confound 
 you I mean bless you and that s about as 
 far as I can get." 
 
 "That s far enough," said Salem, raising 
 himself upon one elbow. 
 
 "No, it isn t," persisted Freddie. "I ll 
 tell you pretty soon why I want to know. I 
 suppose I used some strong expressions? " 
 
 "Tolerably." 
 
 "Pernicious effect of early education. I 
 take them all back, Kittie. Did I show 
 fight?" 
 
 "Rather." 
 
 "Well, I was outclassed, wasn t I? I got 
 the feather-weight sparring out at Cambridge, 
 but I guess I wasn t in it with you." 
 
 "I began to think, once, that you were." 
 It was when the razor had gone out of the win 
 dow. 
 
 " Thank you," said Pitman, appreciatively; 
 
 57 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologue 
 
 and then he lowered his voice, and there was 
 an uneasy curiosity in his eyes. " Did I roll 
 on the floor much ? 
 
 Kittredge sat up straight, and smoothed out 
 the wrinkles in his shirt-bosom before replying : 
 " I don t see why you should want to go into 
 these details, Pitman." 
 
 Exactly. I don t want to, Kittie ; but if 
 the symptoms aren t improving the doctor tells 
 me I m a gone case done for. You grasp it, 
 I suppose ? Now answer me four questions 
 it s for the doctor, you know and I ll let you 
 off." 
 
 Kittredge shuddered a little, as one image 
 after another pitiful, horrible, grotesque rose 
 afresh before his eyes; but he answered the 
 questions, whereupon Freddie sprang to his feet 
 with a delighted cry. 
 
 " Better ! Every one of them better ! Kit- 
 tie, if man, woman, or dog would stand by 
 me when this thing comes on, I could beat 
 it ! I know it. You see, the interval was five 
 days longer than before. Will you believe me 
 if I tell you something?" He scrambled up 
 nearer to Kittredge and put out his hand. 
 For seven weeks, if we stay together, you 
 needn t worry about me at all. I won t want 
 a drop of anything. I never take a nip at my 
 
 58 
 
Salem Kit tr edge, Tbeologue 
 
 own travelling-flask, even. I m a regular Tem 
 perance Band, all by my little self. But the 
 eighth or ninth week, look out; don t leave 
 me, man, will you? I didn t intend to fool 
 you last night ; I honestly meant to come 
 downstairs, but symptom No. i struck me and 
 I couldn t help myself. If someone would 
 stick right by me then, I d be all solid in two 
 years more. The doctor said so. And," he 
 added, with a queer quavering smile, "I m 
 blessed if I m not worth saving, if I do say 
 it." 
 
 Kittredge wrung his hand. For the first 
 time since he met the Inebriate he felt heart- 
 certain that the young fellow was honest with 
 him. And then Pitman shivered. 
 
 "I m going back to bed; I ll sleep till 
 dinner-time ; two-thirty, you know, Sundays. 
 You must have caught cold, man, lying there 
 just before that window. You d better take a 
 hot bath right away and get some breakfast. 
 Good-by ! 
 
 Church-bells were ringing somewhere as he 
 closed the door. Kittredge lay a moment 
 with his eyes shut, listening to them, before 
 getting up. He had been right, after all, he 
 thought, in coming to Bar Harbor. Then, 
 with joints stiff from the chilly fog that had all 
 
 59 
 
Salem Kit tr edge, Tbeologue 
 
 night overwrapped the village and still clung 
 about the bare summit of Green Mountain, he 
 rose, and followed Pitman s advice about the 
 bath and breakfast. 
 
 Three-quarters of an hour afterward he left 
 the hotel and blundered by mistake into the 
 Chapel of St. Anastasia. The usher set a chair 
 in the aisle for him, and as he had come in so 
 late, he did not wish to withdraw, though he 
 felt no particular interest in the unimpeachable 
 platitudes about The Moral Uses of Courtesy," 
 which a great bishop was delivering. In the 
 course of his brief frontier experience, Salem 
 had written too many poor sermons himself not 
 to know one when he heard it, and his eyes 
 wandered. He had never seen so many per 
 fectly dressed people in his life, and they all 
 seemed listening devoutly. Doors and windows 
 were wide open, and a breeze from the pine 
 forests crept through the chapel, soothing every 
 sense to a delicious calm. He wondered if he 
 should go to sleep if he closed his eyelids a 
 little ever so little they felt so hot. He 
 found himself nodding once, twice, then with 
 a virtuous effort he sat bolt upright, and from 
 this vantage ground discovered Rachel Atter- 
 bury s bonnet. 
 
 It was directly in front of one of the open 
 
 60 
 
Salem Kit tr edge, Tbeologue 
 
 windows, and he had the absurd fancy that the 
 blue-winged lace might fly out at any instant if 
 he did not watch. He bent forward a trifle ; 
 no, it was fastened by velvet ribbons beneath 
 her chin, and they were pinned there with a 
 glistening moonstone. Shamelessly he moved 
 his chair, that he might see her face. It was 
 turned reverently to the bishop ; all its delicate 
 lines were subdued into a gracious harmony of 
 expectant feeling. There was a grave, mystic 
 rapture in her eyes that smote Kittredge with a 
 sense of awe. She must believe herself in the 
 house of the Lord ; he had been tarrying all 
 the time in the Chapel of St. Anastasia. He 
 looked away from her to the preacher and 
 listened for a few sentences, then he glanced 
 back at her with a sort of wonder ; yet to have 
 had her gaze at him as she did at the bishop, 
 Salem would have been quite willing to preach 
 the sermon. 
 
 When the service was over he waited for her 
 in the porch, just as he had seen the swains 
 do in his native town of Burridge, and they 
 strolled back to the Occidental, down the nar 
 row plank-walks, side by side. He felt more 
 at ease in his old black Sunday suit than in 
 white flannel. He felt that it even gave his 
 conversation a certain weight. Not that their 
 61 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 talk was peculiarly profound : it turned first 
 upon Mrs. Atterbury, who had preferred to at 
 tend the Unitarian service, as was her wont ; 
 then back upon the growth of ritualism, until 
 both remembered they had already argued 
 the question the evening before; and finally 
 upon Frederic Pitman. She asked, innocently 
 enough, where Mr. Pitman was, and when 
 Salem remarked inadvertently that he had not 
 yet risen, her face clouded, as if a hint had 
 been given of some irregularity of life. She 
 even went so far as to admit that there had 
 been rumors at Magnolia that he was not en 
 tirely " nice." Salem tried to explain, found 
 it a trifle embarrassing, and then, his honest 
 soul filled with sympathy for the boy s effort to 
 reform, he frankly told her the facts concern 
 ing Pitman s peculiar malady. She listened, 
 at first uncomfortably, then eagerly, at last 
 with something of that passion for reforming 
 things and people without which a good Amer 
 ican woman is incomplete. 
 
 11 So you see how it is, Miss Atterbury," 
 he concluded. " He isn t a bad fellow. A 
 kinder, more thoughtful man doesn t exist; 
 and he has ability, too. As he told me," and 
 Salem s voice trembled as he quoted words 
 that had made a deep impression upon himself, 
 62 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologue 
 
 " if man, woman, or dog would stick by me, 
 I could beat it. 
 
 She looked up at him, with a quick glance 
 of sympathy. He had never seen her eyes 
 so lovely. " May I tell my aunt?" she 
 asked. They were just passing between the 
 stone gate-posts of the Occidental grounds. 
 " She will be so glad to hear this. She 
 knows Mr. Pitman s mother the sweetest little 
 woman, she says. And perhaps, if we could 
 make it pleasanter for Mr. Pitman, we might 
 help you now and then. It is a very noble 
 thing you are doing, may I say so ? It is quite 
 worth devoting one s whole summer to, Mr. 
 Kittredge. 
 
 He had said nothing about that trip around 
 the world. 
 
VII. 
 
 AT dinner that afternoon the head-waiter 
 assigned to Kittredge and Pitman seats 
 at one of the side tables, at the very one, 
 indeed, where the Atterbury ladies already had 
 places. Pitman considered this advancement 
 as the slowly ripening fruit of the fee he had 
 given on arrival, but Salem inferred, and 
 rightly, that Mrs. Atterbury had consented to 
 join the informal league for the moral amelio 
 ration of the Inebriate, and had taken this 
 initial step. Young Pitman s deportment was 
 certainly such as to repay all efforts taken in 
 his behalf. His manners were irreproachable ; 
 indeed, Miss Rachel could not fail to notice 
 that he understood some trifling technicalities 
 better than Mr. Kittredge. No professional 
 diner-out had a richer fund of anecdote, or a 
 more charming fluency. Salem was immensely 
 proud of him, and throughout dinner endeav 
 ored with entire success to keep himself in the 
 background. 
 
 Mrs. Atterbury in particular was delighted 
 
 64 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologite 
 
 with Frederic Pitman. She had reached that 
 age when she wanted to have bright talkers 
 around her, especially if they were good-natured 
 young men with a turn for practical affairs. 
 She liked to see a young fellow efficient ; she 
 enjoyed knowing that Pitman had been so suc 
 cessful in pushing the Primitive Pellets ; she 
 even gave a decided Pellet contour to the con 
 versation, to Miss Rachel s dismay. Mrs. At- 
 terbury had absolutely none of the romanticism 
 that threw a vague but delightful haze over 
 some of her niece s projects. What she saw 
 at all, she saw very clearly, and she flattered 
 herself that in every- day matters she usually 
 knew the end from the beginning. In her way, 
 too, she was democratic. If the Pitmans could 
 do with Pellets what the Atterburys, from the 
 old Colonel down, had done with Leather, why 
 should they not ? And, finally, she was quite 
 sure that if young Pitman had discovered the 
 specific for fever and ague, he would te bright 
 enough to know whether her architect had 
 made a mistake in that winding staircase. 
 
 Dinner over, she announced an intention of 
 inspecting the cottage, and invited the young 
 men to accompany her. " The cottage again 
 and Sunday, too, Auntie ! " exclaimed Miss 
 Rachel but she went for her bonnet. The 
 
 65 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 new summer home of the Atterburys was down 
 behind the Occidental, on the thick- wooded 
 rocky shore. The timbers were already raised, 
 and the ground-plan of the rooms could easily be 
 traced. Salem and Miss Atterbury picked their 
 way over the unfloored joists for awhile, but she 
 declined to mount the ladder to the second 
 story, and the result was that they soon took 
 shelter upon the shady side of the structure, 
 where they sat upon a couple of lime barrels 
 and talked about the " Golden Legend." Mrs. 
 Atterbury and the Inebriate were meantime 
 settling the stair problem from an advantageous 
 position upon the second floor. It all proved 
 very informal and agreeable, and Salem was 
 thoroughly confident, as the four sauntered home 
 together toward sundown, that such companion 
 ship would do a great deal for young Pitman 
 indeed for anybody. As for himself, this whole 
 day, after such a night, had been Paradise fol 
 lowing the Inferno. He could almost fancy 
 that he saw, anywhere in the swiftly changing 
 tints of that northern sunset, the mystic rose. 
 
 In the course of the next week or two the 
 young men fell into the habit of strolling down 
 to the Atterbury cottage of an afternoon, and 
 chatting with the ladies, who where almost sure 
 to be there. The proprietor of the billiard- 
 66 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologne 
 
 room they had patronized supposed they had 
 taken to playing at the Pelican tables, and was 
 grieved at heart, but even Pitman enjoyed him 
 self better watching the workmen, and allowing 
 the ladies to elevate his moral tone, than he did 
 playing billiards against an opponent like Kit 
 tredge. For Salem this period marked an epoch. 
 It is a distinct stage in a man s social evolution 
 when he acquires the proper use of the word 
 "charming," and the theologue, in the stimu 
 lating atmosphere of Mount Desert, learned to 
 prolong the first syllable with a tender enthusi 
 asm that assured his social success. 
 
 Occasionally the four took long buckboard 
 drives together over the perfect roads of the 
 little island. Mrs. Atterbury usually preferred 
 the front seat, just behind the driver, where she 
 could jump easily in case of accident ; and the 
 Inebriate sat with her, partly because she rather 
 petted him, and partly, as he said, out of a gen 
 eral disposition to see the wheels go round. 
 He had that inquisitive temper, that presence of 
 mind and immediateness of interest which fit 
 ted him admirably for the companionship of a 
 woman who liked to feel herself a part of this 
 present world even when driving through the 
 odorous, lonely woods of Mount Desert ; while 
 as for the two young people on the back seat, so 
 
 6? 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologne 
 
 far as their joining in the stream of talk was 
 concerned, they might as well have been 
 where in fact Salem most often was in the sev 
 enth heaven. When the conversation of this 
 pair grew too transcendental, Mrs. Atterbury 
 was wont to insist upon a change of seats, and 
 then young Pitman, more pleased than he would 
 have cared to show, did his best to entertain 
 the niece. He was somewhat afraid of her. 
 He admired her face and the elaborate simplic 
 ity of her gowns ; she did not bore him with 
 Ibsen and Buddhism and University Extension; 
 and yet he knew very well that she was the sort 
 of girl who "organized " the poor and worked 
 altar-cloths and looked askance upon Inebriates, 
 and he held her therefore in proper awe. 
 
 Miss Rachel, if the truth were known, was 
 often quite willing to relinquish the misty up 
 lands where she had been wandering with the 
 theologue for a more commonplace conversa 
 tional saunter with the heir to the Primitive 
 Pellets. She was amused with the Inebriate, as 
 was everyone else, and in addition to that she was 
 conscious of a sort of maternal pity for him 
 being a whole two years older. Then, too, she 
 had a chivalric sympathy for the efforts Kittredge 
 was making to save him from his one error. It 
 seemed to h^r, as she had said, a very noble 
 63 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologue 
 
 thing to do, and she felt a glow of ardor at the 
 thought that she also might be an instrument. 
 Miss Atterbury was something of a saint, and 
 had all the potentialities of a martyr. She was 
 full, for instance, of those renunciatory ideas 
 which cause high-bred girls to throw themselves 
 away on half-bred ministers ; but one is not 
 always equal to one s highest devotion, and it 
 was with some positive comfort under a lesser 
 heat, as it were, of the sacrificial flame that 
 she endeavored to be very nice to Freddie Pit 
 man. 
 
 Kittredge, overhearing scraps of her friendly 
 talk with the young fellow, was delighted to 
 see them get on so well together. He had, per 
 haps, been a little jealous of Pitman, that morn 
 ing upon the Olivette, but now that he knew 
 Miss Atterbury better, he could afford to smile 
 at the memory. He resigned Freddie to her, 
 as one gives up the reins to a better driver than 
 himself; his responsibility for the Inebriate had 
 been lightened by so much since he had walked 
 home from church with Miss Rachel, and had 
 had intuition enough to tell her frankly about 
 Pitman s malady ! 
 
 There were but two things that really troub 
 led Kittredge, as those delicious weeks went by. 
 One of them was the Honourable Plantagenet. 
 69 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 This interesting specimen of his order persisted in 
 promenading the Occidental veranda with Miss 
 Atterbury, deep in the discussion of American 
 isms a harmless recreation of which Salem 
 thought him altogether too fond. Once or 
 twice he was asked to join their buckboard 
 parties, and Mrs. Atterbury had consulted him 
 about the quartered oak wainscoting of her 
 dining-room, having a sort of idea that quarter- 
 ings was a familiar term to the British aristoc 
 racy. The day that Kittredge and Pitman 
 rowed the ladies out to inspect the White 
 Squadron, the Honourable Plantagenet was on 
 board the flagship, renewing a Washington ac 
 quaintance with a multitude of lovely lieuten 
 ants ; and he presented all of them to Miss 
 Atterbury and her aunt, leaving their civilian 
 escorts to examine the new guns at their leisure. 
 Even the imperturbable Pitman growled upon 
 this occasion, and when the burly Englishman, 
 at his own request, steered their boat back to 
 the wharf, Kittredge was quite consoled for his 
 own awkwardness as an oarsman by observing 
 how thoroughly he had succeeded in wetting 
 him down. 
 
 One evening, too, when the Sleighton-Crush- 
 tons gave a huge reception at their cottage in 
 honor of somebody or other, and Mrs. Atter- 
 70 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologue 
 
 bury had secured cards for the two young men, 
 Kittredge felt again a sudden suspicion of the 
 attache. When the dancing began, Salem 
 retreated to a dark little balcony, and grimly 
 watched a more brilliant scene than he had ever 
 witnessed, caring only to see how often Planta- 
 genet was dancing with Miss Atterbury. Once, 
 seeing him advance toward her, and the Ine 
 briate, who was doing his duty like a man, 
 approach from an opposite direction, Salem 
 pushed his way awkwardly across the ball-room 
 and succeeded in keeping himself between the 
 Englishman and Miss Rachel, until Freddie had 
 carried her off; whereupon Salem beat a tri 
 umphant retreat to his balcony. She came out 
 there afterward, with her fingers upon Pitman s 
 elbow, and chatted a moment with Kittredge 
 in most delightful intimacy, the light gleaming 
 from her arms and shoulders ; but she shivered 
 in the sea-air, and Pitman folded a swan s-down 
 wrap about her, and took her back. 
 
 The occupants of No. 37 rarely discussed 
 Mrs. Atterbury s niece, but after their return 
 from the reception that night Salem asked the 
 Inebriate confidentially if he thought that Plan- 
 tagenet was paying Miss Atterbury "serious 
 attention." Young Pitman answered, with en 
 couraging promptness : 
 
 71 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 " He looked like paying serious attention to 
 you, Kittie, I can tell you, when you shipped 
 that cold water into his waistcoat the other day ! 
 Serious about the other matter?" A quizzi 
 cal smile passed over Freddie s pert, sun-burnt 
 face, and he leaned over to untie his shoestrings. 
 "Doubted; it s the summer season, my dear, 
 and he has nothing else to do. Besides, he 
 hasn t a sovereign in the world, you know, and 
 not much chance of ever succeeding to any. 
 Mrs. Atterbury would never let her niece be 
 picked off by a man who had nothing but an 
 attache s salary." 
 
 " But does she understand about the Hon 
 ourable ?" 
 
 " Hm humph!" asserted Pitman, gather 
 ing up his shoes and other articles of his fault 
 less attire, preparatory to retiring to the inner 
 room. 
 
 " How do you know ? " persisted Salem. 
 
 I may have told her myself, said the In 
 ebriate, carelessly. "Everybody knows it. 
 Good-night, Kittie." And Salem went to 
 sleep comforted, though he woke up in the 
 middle of the night and tried to calculate the 
 probable difference between an attache s salary 
 and a minister s. 
 
 From his second subject of anxiety, also, he 
 
 72 
 
Salem KittreJge, Theologue 
 
 was relieved by a word of his protege. As the 
 sailing day of the Richard H. Gulick drew 
 near, Salem found himself shrinking from the 
 idea of that trip around the world as from some 
 thing unthinkable. So much had changed 
 since he had promised J. Howard Pitman to 
 make a trial with the boy ! Every Monday 
 there had come a letter from the proprietor of 
 the Primitive Pellets, closing invariably with 
 God bless you," and Salem had a sore strug 
 gle between his sense of responsibility and his 
 new dreams. He could not go around the 
 world ; yet perhaps he might stay with young 
 Pitman awhile longer, if he was wanted, and if 
 Ah! there were so many "ifs," and his 
 heart was all in a tumult. 
 
 One evening in the second week of August 
 the two young men strolled over to the Atter- 
 bury cottage after dinner, there to await the la 
 dies, who had proposed building a drift-wood 
 fire down by the rocks. The workmen were 
 making rapid progress, in spite of Mrs. Atter- 
 bury s frequent changes in the plans, and Sa 
 lem said something about the attractiveness of 
 the building. 
 
 "Of course it is," assented the Inebriate, as 
 they sat down upon a pile of lath. " Mrs. At- 
 terbury ought to have a fine house. She can 
 
 73 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 pay for it, and she deserves it. She s getting 
 too old to knock around from pillar to post 
 every summer; she ought to settle down." 
 
 "It s a great thing," said Salem earnestly, 
 though somewhat vaguely. 
 
 11 Correct you are, Kittie. I ll be hanged if 
 I haven t about made up my mind to settle 
 down myself." 
 
 He had a whimsical look that made Salem 
 answer " Yes? " without knowing exactly how 
 to take him. 
 
 " Well, why not? I m sick of the road, 
 though J. Howard doesn t suspect it. He d 
 like nothing better than to give me a half-inter 
 est at the Works, and I don t know but I shall 
 be just filial enough to let him be happy in the 
 way he likes best, eh ? " 
 
 " And the R. H. Gulick ? " ventured Kit 
 tredge, his heart beating fast. 
 
 Pitman fluently consigned the R. H. Gulick 
 to Halifax. 
 
 " Kittie, do you really see us going round 
 the world together on a brig ? 
 
 "No," Salem confessed, with an immense 
 relief. 
 
 " Nor I either. We couldn t even play bill 
 iards." Then the sardonic amusement faded 
 out of his face as he added, seriously : "It isn t 
 
 74 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologue 
 
 necessary, Kittie. You know what I mean. 
 If I m not on the road, I can there can be 
 somebody to look out for me, as you did, and 
 stick by me. See ? 
 
 His eager confidence in himself was hard to 
 resist. Salem could not help wondering why 
 he had never been willing to try so simple a 
 plan before, and yet the boy s new purpose fur 
 nished a ready way out of his own perplexity. 
 " I ll write your father to-morrow and resign," 
 he said, rather awkwardly. " My six weeks 
 are about up. " 
 
 "It s been a great six weeks for me." said 
 the grateful Inebriate. " I never had anyone 
 stand right by me at the very dot the way you 
 did." 
 
 " It s been a great six weeks for me," mur 
 mured Salem, but he was not thinking of the 
 aid rendered to young Pitman. A straight 
 path seemed opening before his vision, and a 
 long, long vista down it. 
 
 Miss Atterbury appeared over the brow of the 
 hill, followed by her aunt, and the Inebriate 
 rose, threw away his cigar, and joined her, 
 while Salem sat there two or three minutes 
 longer, in a sort of rapture. Then he helped 
 Mrs. Atterbury pick her way through the debris 
 behind the cottage, down to a cosey nook 
 
 75 
 
Salem Kit tr edge, Tbeologue 
 
 among the rocks by the shore his heart re 
 proaching him somewhat for not having always 
 shown Mrs. Atterbury quite the attention de 
 served by a person so kind and bright and 
 motherly. 
 
 All four set to work gathering driftwood, but 
 they waited till deep dusk before lighting the 
 pile, and then found that the dead seaweed was 
 too damp to burn. Salem struck match after 
 match in vain. At last Miss Atterbury de 
 clared that she had set her heart upon having 
 this fire, and that she was going up to the cot 
 tage for some shavings. Pitman politely in 
 sisted upon accompanying her. Kittredge re 
 mained on his knees, blowing ineffectually at 
 the smoking seaweed, while Mrs. Atterbury, 
 wrapped in a big shawl, was perched not un- 
 picturesquely upon a bowlder. 
 
 " Haven t you any paper? " she asked. 
 
 Kittredge felt through his pockets. His new 
 flannel suit had grown unpresentable, and he 
 was wearing that night the ministerial garb in 
 which he had left Boston. " Here seems to be 
 something," he said, pulling a pamphlet from 
 the inside pocket. " Hullo ! " He tore off 
 the cover and touched a match to it ; the im 
 pervious face of J. Howard Pitman crinkled and 
 shrivelled into flame. 
 
 76 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologue 
 
 Salem tore out page after page, and laid 
 them carefully above the first. 
 
 " It isn t anything you care for? " inquired 
 Mrs. Atterbury. 
 
 "Hardly," he smiled. " Look there ! " 
 The ghastly portraits of Southern sufferers 
 from fever and ague, before and after using the 
 Primitive Pellets, were writhing into distorted 
 and horrible shapes, and the driftwood was 
 catching fire from them. "It s the Pitman 
 catalogue," he explained. " I m glad Frederic 
 wasn t here" and he thought of the delicate 
 way in which Miss Rachel had turned Pitman s 
 back upon the advertisement, that morning on 
 the Olivette. 
 
 "Really!" said Mrs. Atterbury, in some 
 amusement. " I should have liked to see it. I 
 am told that the Pellets are a very valuable 
 property. 
 
 "I suppose so," rejoined Kittredge, with 
 the indifferent air of a man whose interests are 
 beyond the reach of moth and rust. 
 
 "Oh, yes," she continued. "Mr. Pitman 
 told me the other day that a syndicate had of 
 fered a certain sum to buy them out. It was 
 very large indeed. He has a lovely mother," 
 she added, rather inconsequentially. 
 
 " I dare say," replied Kittredge, absently. 
 
 77 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 It had dawned upon him that here was the 
 time and place to speak to Mrs. Atterbury, and 
 the blood flamed into his temples at the thought. 
 He did not know how to begin, but he felt 
 that to take her niece from her without warn 
 ing would be hardly honest. 
 
 " She is something of an invalid," Mrs. At 
 terbury proceeded, " and I think privately that 
 she is too strong a churchwoman. Rachel, 
 now, wouldn t be jarred by that at all. Is 
 Mr. Pitman an Episcopalian ? 
 
 "Do you mean J. Howard?" He was 
 still wondering how to begin. 
 
 " No, no. Mr. Frederic." 
 
 11 He! Oh Excuse me, yes I think so." 
 Her mind seemed to dwell upon Pitman, and 
 he thought he might use this fact to lead up to 
 his own suit. 
 
 " Pitman and I were looking at the cottage 
 to-night before you came," he began. His 
 voice trembled in spite of him. "It seemed 
 very pretty and homelike, you know." 
 
 "Yes," she said, enthusiastically, "and I 
 believe the architect was right about that stair 
 case, after all ! Mr. Pitman said he was, the 
 moment he saw it." 
 
 " Pitman thought it was very homelike," he 
 repeated. " The house, I mean not the stair- 
 
 78 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologne 
 
 case. It really made him think of settling 
 down and I thought so too. Don t you think 
 a young man needs a sort of home ? 
 
 " Of course," she responded, cheerfully. " I 
 hope you will preach that doctrine when you 
 get into the pulpit, Mr. Kittredge. And he 
 told you something about settling down ? 
 
 " Oh, he mentioned it," said Salem, bent 
 now upon getting her attention away from Pit 
 man ; " but I must say I feel much as he does. 
 I want to settle down myself." 
 
 There was a long pause, and he threw a 
 couple of old boat-ribs upon the fire be 
 fore going on. I feel as if the time had 
 
 come " He hesitated, and she broke in 
 
 cordially : 
 
 " Well, I should think you would, Mr. Kit 
 tredge, after studying all these years a system of 
 theology that no one really believes, you see. 
 It must be a great pleasure to get at practical 
 work. We think it has been a wonderful thing 
 for Mr. Pitman to have you with him. It has 
 done so much for him ! 
 
 " It isn t about Pitman that I wanted to 
 speak," he began once more, impatiently ; " it s 
 about 
 
 " Hullo, Kittie ! " called out the Inebriate s 
 gay voice from the top of the cliff. " Stir 
 
 79 
 
Salem Kit tr edge, Theologue 
 
 up your fire, so that we can see the way 
 down." 
 
 Kittredge gave a savage thrust at his bonfire, 
 and the two young people came scurrying down 
 the narrow path into its circle of light. 
 
 "Where are the shavings? " inquired Mrs. 
 Atterbury. 
 
 " We saw Mr. Kittredge s fire, and so we 
 didn t bring them down," answered Freddie. 
 
 Mrs. Atterbury nodded, and moved along 
 upon her bowlder to make room for her niece. 
 But the girl seemed to be shivering : she knelt 
 on the other side of the fire, and drawing off 
 her gloves, held out her slender hands to the 
 blue and green flame of the driftwood, and as 
 she smiled across at Salem through the blazing 
 smoke, he knew he had never seen her so beau 
 tiful. 
 
 " It was good of you, Mr. Kittredge," she 
 said; "you are always doing something for 
 us. 
 
 He made no answer, except to look into her 
 eyes, and he forgot all about her aunt and Fred 
 die Pitman. 
 
 They sat a long time around the fire, but no 
 
 one talked much. It was enough to watch the 
 
 driftwood burning, and to breathe the pine 
 
 odors that the land breeze brought down to 
 
 80 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologue 
 
 greet the sea. They waited till the fire had 
 died quite away, and then scrambled up the 
 cliff-path toward home. Kittredge offered his 
 help to Miss Atterbury, and the very instant he 
 felt her light, firm touch upon his arm he knew 
 that he should speak to her on the morrow. 
 
 8 1 
 
VIII. 
 
 WHEN the morrow came fate favored him. 
 He wrote a letter to J. Howard Pitman, 
 explaining respectfully that Frederic had plans 
 which rendered it imperative that the trip 
 around the world should be given up. The 
 young man would himself communicate them 
 shortly ; for the present it was enough to say 
 that Frederic was contemplating a step which 
 would give his father great pleasure. Salem 
 added that though it scarcely seemed necessary 
 that the peculiar relation between Frederic and 
 himself should continue longer, he nevertheless 
 felt so grateful that his lot had been cast in Bar 
 Harbor that summer that he would cheerfully 
 put himself at the service of the Pitmans at any 
 time, should the young man again desire a com 
 panion, and provided his own circumstances 
 would, in anyway allow him to do so. Kit- 
 tredge was rather pleased with this note ; it 
 seemed to say enough without saying too much. 
 He went to the hotel office to mail it and 
 found there a letter which was singularly oppor- 
 82 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 tune. It was an invitation to preach as a can 
 didate in a desirable church near Boston upon 
 the following Sunday. He had known before 
 that his name had been mentioned there, but 
 had supposed the church and parish would pre 
 fer an older man. It was a most cordial letter ; 
 he felt that it meant a call ; and he strode up 
 and down the side veranda of the Occidental 
 with a nervous smile upon his lips. He told 
 himself to keep steady ; he had seen his An- 
 dover friends do such fatuous things just because 
 they were sure of an income and knew they 
 could marry someone at once ! Yet here was 
 the call plainly in sight ; it was a strong church, 
 even a rich church ; Mrs. Atterbury would 
 know all about it ; he could give the letter to 
 Mrs. Atterbury, or read it to her himself, and 
 she would perceive that her niece was not to be 
 asked to starve in a country parish. As for 
 Rachel, he believed she understood him already, 
 and that a word would be enough. Women 
 had such a wonderful knack at guessing ! 
 
 The ladies were out sketching that morning, 
 and Salem paced the veranda a long time. The 
 Honourable Plantagenet took a few turns with 
 him, and Kittredge found the Englishman not 
 so bad a fellow after all ; he was amused that 
 he had ever been jealous of him. Pitman 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 was deep in a novel ; he seemed rather ill-tem 
 pered for a wonder and Kittredge did not 
 disturb him. They had a dull lunch together. 
 Mrs. Atterbury and her niece were lunching at 
 the Sleighton-Crushtons, and afterward went 
 directly to a tennis party. The afternoon seemed 
 interminable. The Inebriate stuck moodily to 
 his novel and his cigar, while Kittredge walked 
 to Spouting Horn and back, to compose his 
 mind and his speech to Mrs. Atterbury. 
 
 At dinner the young men were again alone. 
 Pitman volunteered the information that the 
 ladies were dining at the Cuttyhunk ; there 
 were some friends of his mother over there ; he 
 supposed he would have to go over there him 
 self. Until dark, Kittredge sat in the office, 
 trying to read the Boston papers. Then he 
 remembered that the Olivette was lying at her 
 wharf for some repairs, having run down a 
 schooner in the fog the night before ; and he 
 sauntered down to the boat to inquire if she 
 would be ready to make the return trip the 
 following evening. It occurred to him that this 
 would give him time Saturday to run up to An- 
 dover and select one of his written sermons. 
 The purser answered his questions and still he 
 lingered upon the Olivette s immaculate deck. 
 He found the place by the rail where he had 
 84 
 
Salem Kittredge, Tbeologue 
 
 stood that wonderful morning with Miss Atter- 
 bury, and he looked over into the black water 
 lapping against the wharf-piles, and saw again 
 her hand and arm as she pointed out the nautilus. 
 Loud talking and laughter at the bow, to 
 gether with brilliant flashes of light, roused him 
 from his dream, and he strolled forward. The 
 quartermaster and second officer were descant 
 ing to a few Mount Desert cronies upon the 
 virtues of their electric search-light ; \vhy, at 
 Port Tampa, the winter before, they had sight 
 ed a fish-line clear at the other end of the big 
 pier ; there would be no use trying to run a 
 blockade nowadays if those duffers on the 
 White Squadron had search-lights half as good ; 
 and then the quartermaster began to flash the 
 slender cone of dazzling light hither and thither 
 on the water and the wharf, out upon the ca 
 noes and yachts lying at anchor, up against 
 the rocky path under the Club House, and 
 even far over to the huge side of the Occi 
 dental, which it illuminated with a pale circle. 
 Suddenly the quartermaster turned the projector 
 upon the wharf again ; it smote blindingly in 
 the faces of a sailor and a woman who was 
 talking confidentially with him. The crowd 
 laughed, but the woman kept his arm, and 
 Salem liked her for it. 
 
 85 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 " Try for them folks on the Cuttyhunk piaz 
 za," suggested someone; "it ain t much over 
 a hundred yards." 
 
 The quartermaster turned to adjust the screws, 
 and even as he did so, an unaccountable pre 
 sentiment took possession of Kittredge s mind. 
 He felt horribly certain that he was to see Miss 
 Atterbury with the Honourable Plantagenet at 
 her elbow ; the thought seized him that he knew 
 but one side of her, that the world of germans 
 and tennis parties and dinners and cottages was 
 one into which he had scarcely had a glimpse, 
 that she belonged to that world in spite of her 
 self, and that she would marry the Honourable 
 Plantagenet after all ! He grasped hard at the 
 capstan to stop his trembling ; the voices of the 
 men buzzed in his ears; then the white rays 
 were flashed full upon the Cuttyhunk, and he 
 saw her. 
 
 She was standing quite at the end of the 
 veranda, with the swan s-down wrap about her 
 shoulders, and seemed as if she were smiling 
 straight at him. The Honourable Plantagenet 
 was nowhere in view. Of those near her, Salem 
 recognized only the diminutive figure and ami 
 able countenance of the Inebriate, and a tumult 
 uous joy swept over him. He might still claim 
 her ; she belonged to no man else ! 
 86 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologue 
 
 He walked the Corniche road for an hour, to 
 give her time to get back to the Occidental. 
 He abandoned all idea of speaking first to the 
 aunt ; she went utterly out of his mind ; he saw 
 only Rachel s slender figure wrapped in swan s- 
 down, and her eyes seemed still smiling into 
 his. 
 
 Miss Atterbury had gone to her room, the 
 clerk told him when he came in, and he hur 
 ried to No. 37 to get a card to send up to her. 
 She would come down to the drawing-room, 
 he knew ; they had sat there together a dozen 
 times ; there was a door leading out to the dark 
 side veranda ; he could ask her to walk a little 
 with him, and then 
 
 He opened the door of No. 37. A man was 
 sitting on the bed, with face buried in his hands. 
 In a startled moment Salem recognized the Ine 
 briate, and he struck a match and lighted the 
 gas. Pitman looked at him ; there were tears 
 in his eyes. 
 
 "I guess I m rather broken up," he said. 
 "Sit down, Kittie; I want to tell you some 
 thing. I proposed to Miss Atterbury last night, 
 and she has just given me her answer. It takes 
 hold of me pretty hard ; I haven t been just the 
 sort of man I might, you see. You know all 
 about it, and of course she does. I told her 
 
 87 
 
Salem Kittredge, Theologite 
 
 everything ; every blessed thing ; a fellow ought 
 to, with that sort of girl. And it s knowing 
 all that and that she knows it that it breaks 
 me all up!" 
 
 It was getting too incoherent for the amazed 
 theologue to follow. "You mean," he broke 
 in, a certain righteous hardness mingling with 
 the sympathy in his shaking voice, "that she 
 refused you on account of your record." 
 
 " No ! " cried Pitman, leaping up, with the 
 queerest smile around his mouth, " that s just 
 what she ought to have done, but she didn t. 
 She accepted me in spite of my record ! She 
 believes in me ! I m an engaged man, Kittie ; 
 queer, isn t it? Put it there !" 
 
 But Kittredge s hands were griping the back 
 of a chair, and his rosy face was gray. 
 
 " I can t," he groaned, " I can t. The fact 
 
 He stopped. Pitman stared at him an in 
 stant, then nodded as if to himself, with a sud 
 den comprehension. 
 
 " I didn t suppose that" he murmured, slow 
 ly. " Of course I knew you liked her. I m 
 I m awfully sorry. It s hard luck, Kittie. 
 Please," and with a boyish timidity the Ine 
 briate put out his hand again. 
 
The Czar s Diamond 
 
THE CZAR S DIAMOND 
 
 IN the heart of Old Berlin, hid away behind 
 the Borse, there stood until very lately a 
 tiny Gothic church. It was so small, and the 
 street upon which it faced was so insignificant, 
 that one might live in Berlin all his life and nev 
 er hear of it. It was very old, much the oldest 
 church in the city, though no one knew exactly 
 the time when its stout walls and quaint, pointed 
 arches had been raised. Yet this spot, at least, 
 had once been occupied by the chapel of a hos 
 pital built for the Crusaders, who brought back 
 from the Holy Land the pestilence and leprosy. 
 Records of the thirteenth century tell of this, 
 and all through the Middle Ages the hospital 
 and its chapel stood there, the latter always 
 bearing the same name, the Church of the Holy 
 Ghost. A hundred years ago three aged lin 
 dens were still to be seen in front of it ; and 
 the tradition was that these had been planted 
 twigs downward by three falsely accused per 
 sons, who proved through the miraculous 
 
The Char s Diamond 
 
 growth, to the satisfaction of mediaeval law, 
 that they were guiltless before God. Here the 
 orphans of the city used to come for worship, 
 after there were no more Crusaders ; and in the 
 eighteenth, century, when a powder explosion 
 had shattered the great garrison church near by, 
 the soldiers of the father of the great Frederick 
 were marched in here on Sunday mornings to 
 listen to the reformed faith. Some old people 
 now living can remember when a congregation 
 of converted Jews used to gather in the chapel ; 
 after the Hebrews came an organization of Re 
 formed Catholics ; and thirty years ago there 
 were special services here for droschke drivers. 
 The old walls, therefore, have harbored strange 
 assemblies, first and last, though in the latter 
 years there has been hardly any congregation 
 at all. Precisely at noon, each Sunday, the 
 sexton carried out two little standards and 
 placed them on the pavement in front of the 
 chapel, for a sign that wagons must go through 
 a neighboring street and make the spot even 
 quieter; and then a few persons, never more 
 than twenty or thirty, most of them old people 
 who lived near by, came in to the service, 
 i There was a little organ in the gallery, and two 
 or three students of theology usually attended 
 in order to help along the feeble singing. But 
 92 
 
The Char s Diamond 
 
 the Lutheran pastor preached with strange ear 
 nestness, and it may be that there was just as 
 sincere worship in the chapel as there was in 
 the crowded Dom, not far distant upon the 
 opposite side of the Spree. 
 
 Nevertheless, the time came at last for the 
 abandonment of the old building, and the re 
 moval of the congregation to a brand-new 
 chapel. One bright March midday the closing 
 service was held, and the good pastor s voice 
 trembled somewhat as he preached from the 
 text: "Except ye turn and become as little 
 children, ye shall not enter into the Kingdom 
 of Heaven." His auditors were more numer 
 ous than usual, and among them were an elderly 
 man and a little girl, who for months past could 
 have been seen every Sunday upon a front seat 
 in the queer old gallery. The pastor had in 
 quired once of the sexton who these persons 
 were, but all the sexton could ascertain was 
 that the man s name was Engel, and that the 
 yellow-haired girl was a daughter of Engel s 
 landlady. Herr Engel always watched the 
 preacher with grave attention. He wore usually 
 a skull-cap, he had a square, immobile face, 
 smoothly shaven, his figure was rather short and 
 heavy, and he was forced to climb slowly up 
 and down the gallery stairs, seeming to like to 
 
The Char s Diamond 
 
 hold the girl s hand as he did so. To see him 
 upon this March day, one would have guessed 
 that the elderly church-goer was a retired artisan 
 or man of some petty business, ending his days 
 in peace, and preparing his soul for the close by 
 listening to the serious words of the thin-faced 
 pastor. The guess would have been partly 
 right. Herr Engel was ending his days, and 
 he came to the Chapel of the Holy Ghost to 
 seek his soul s good ; but behind his tranquil 
 face there was a mind tortured by memory, a 
 will wrestling ever, and ever overcome and 
 growing weaker ; for the man was not what he 
 seemed to be. He was an Englishman and a 
 thief. 
 
 In the spring of 1854 a clever theft of im 
 perial diamonds at St. Petersburg was for a day 
 or two the theme of comment in the European 
 press. The outbreak of war in the Crimea had 
 thrown the Czar s palace into momentary con 
 fusion, and the robbery was so skilfully exe 
 cuted that only the merest accident gave the 
 clew by which the thieves were caught. All 
 the jewels were recovered except one, a stone 
 of high value. The criminals were promptly 
 dealt with, and though the police never found 
 what was done with the missing diamond, yet 
 what mattered a single stone, worth six thou- 
 
 94 
 
The Char s Diamond 
 
 sand rubles though it were, in that battle sum 
 mer? When those members of the small 
 English colony who wished to leave the city 
 were allowed to do so, no one thought of 
 searching Richard Angell, an ingenious lock 
 smith of thirty, who had gained high wages in 
 Russia, but whose highest wage of all was the 
 diamond conveyed to him for his secret share 
 in the robbery at the palace. He brought this 
 diamond with him to Berlin, he had kept it for 
 more than thirty years, and it gleamed now 
 with an evil light in his memory, as he sat in 
 the Chapel of the Holy Ghost and sought in 
 vain to find his peace with God. 
 
 To think that one thing will spoil a man s 
 life ! All he had done was to make some dupli 
 cate keys. The other thieves had been honest 
 with him and had given him what they promised : 
 this one stone. At first, after coming to Berlin 
 and securing work at his trade, he did not dare 
 to sell the jewel, for the risk would have been 
 too great. He used, nevertheless, to speculate 
 about the price and to plan what he would 
 do with the money. The diamond ought to 
 be precious, he thought to himself, with a kind 
 ){ humor, for he had bought it with his honesty. 
 Little by little he shrank from the idea of sell 
 ing it, at least for the present. Often he took 
 
 95 
 
The Char s Diamond 
 
 it at night from its hiding-place, and for hours 
 watched how the candle-flame was flashed back 
 from its facets, how the stone grew luminous 
 within, shining now white and cold like snow, 
 then warm as Crimean sunlight. This Russian 
 diamond seemed a live thing, and fascinated 
 him. The months went by and then the years, 
 before he knew it ; the diamond became a part 
 of his life, and he grew to love it as other men 
 love women. He used to laugh at himself 
 sometimes, and wonder what would come of it 
 all. It was absurd enough : a young fellow, 
 all alone in the world, with no one dependent 
 upon him he might travel and see Europe, he 
 might do so many things with the price of that 
 stone and yet here he filed away in the Ger 
 man workshop, amused himself at night by 
 looking at his big diamond, and did not even 
 care to see England again ! But so he went on 
 years and years. The steady, silent workman 
 felt a gulf opening between himself and other 
 men ; he had something that was all his own. 
 The Angells were a lonely folk, his grandmother 
 had once told him, and did not need other peo 
 ple so much as most. It did not occur to him 
 particularly that he wanted friends. He was on 
 good terms enough with his fellow- workmen, to 
 be sure, and every Thursday night for a long 
 96 
 
The C^afs Diamond 
 
 time had his regular seat at a Stammtisch with 
 them, in a quiet little place in the Spandauer 
 Strasse. But he never added much to the 
 joviality of the company, and when, shortly 
 after the Franco-Prussian War, the new Rath- 
 haus was completed, and the other locksmiths 
 decided to set up their Stammtisch in the huge, 
 crowded Rathskeller, Engel slipped out of the 
 circle, almost without their knowing he was 
 gone. Occasionally he took a stroll with an 
 acquaintance in the Thiergarten on a Sunday 
 afternoon, but more commonly he went alone, 
 sometimes walking as far as Charlottenburg, 
 where he would hunt out a corner in some gar 
 den, under the horse-chestnut trees, and have a 
 glass of Moabit beer with a bit of bread and 
 cheese, before tramping back to his lodgings. 
 He used to watch the Sunday crowds with some 
 curiosity, but with no great interest. All those 
 men and women had their own affairs ; they 
 did not care for him. Well, he did not care 
 for them ; he had his own affairs, too. 
 
 Gradually he came to wonder how he could ever 
 have thought of selling the diamond. As well sell 
 himself; nay, the stone was himself: had he not 
 sold himself to gain it ? There was a dreary sort 
 of amusement in this thought of the identity of 
 himself with the stone, when the idea first oc- 
 
 97 
 
The Char s Diamond 
 
 curred to him, and it amused him twenty years. 
 He smiled at it sometimes while working at his 
 bench, and murmured something in English ; 
 then the other workmen would eye him and 
 whisper among themselves. As he grew older 
 he stooped more, got heavier in figure, and 
 walked less on Sundays. He had always been a 
 diligent hand at his trade, but at last he took so 
 few holidays, and hammered away so taciturnly, 
 that even those who had been on friendly 
 terms with him were inclined to grow pro 
 voked at his lack of sociability, and to discover 
 that he was queer. Richard Engel only dropped 
 his head lower over his work and talked less 
 than ever. But one day he felt a terrible pain 
 at his heart, and went to see a doctor. The 
 doctor examined him carefully. 
 
 "You are a locksmith, you say? You have 
 been bending over your table too much. You 
 should stop work, or if you will go on, it must 
 be at your risk. Have you anything laid up, 
 Herr Engel ? " It was the most natural question 
 in the world, but the patient s face paled with 
 terror. If he had anything laid up ! "No," 
 he stammered, not much. 
 
 For months he remained idle, and then for 
 the first time his conscience gave him real un 
 easiness. He was not so very old ; he had nev- 
 98 
 
The C^afs Diamond 
 
 er thought much of how the matter might 
 end ; of course it was a sin, this queer adventure 
 with a diamond, yet the thing seemed more 
 strange than sinful. But that sudden pain in 
 his chest woke him. Death, then, was waiting at 
 the end of his experiment. He found that he 
 had been playing a cunning secret game, with 
 his soul for stake, and had all these years been 
 losing. The months that he was out of the 
 shop were a torture to him ; he grew restless, 
 nervous, imaginative. He thought of restitu 
 tion, but when he drew the brilliant from its 
 case to look at it, he learned how he had grown 
 to love this stone that had mastered his life. 
 He could not give it up. It was possible to 
 sell it now, and to live the rest of his days upon 
 the money, without risking again the terrible 
 pain in his chest that came from the locksmith 
 work, but he could not bring himself to the 
 thought of parting with it. Sell that diamond ? 
 No ! Nevertheless his conscience stung him so 
 in these idle days of brooding that he went back 
 to his old place. Here he found employment 
 for his hands, but the sharp twitches in his chest 
 kept warning him and turned his thoughts to 
 death; death led him to the fear of judgment; 
 this brought him back to the diamond, and the 
 diamond to his spoiled life, and his life to the 
 
 99 
 
The Char s Diamond 
 
 inevitable death ; such was the inexorable circle 
 in which Herr Engel s mind travelled, and his 
 will had become too weak to break the circuit, 
 and still one year after another slipped by. 
 
 It was of all this that he was thinking, on 
 that sunny March noon, in the gallery of 
 the chapel, while gazing vacantly at the pas 
 tor. Is it a good deal? A drowning man 
 will think of all that in a single moment s 
 time, and Herr Engel felt like a drowning 
 man. It was the last service in the old chapel, 
 and he felt that he would not attend one in 
 the new. He had come here at first with Gre- 
 tel, the ten-year-old daughter of his landlady, 
 and had taken a fancy to the Chapel of the 
 Holy Ghost. It reminded him of a country 
 church in Kent where he had always gone in 
 boyhood, and he fell into the habit of coming 
 regularly, hoping, in a puzzled and indefinite 
 sort of way, to find here some reconciliation. 
 But he had found nothing ; he was a thief, and 
 he knew it; he could not part with the dia 
 mond, and he knew it ; he dared not die and 
 face God without making some reparation for 
 his sin, and yet he could not even make up 
 his mind to confess. Though he tried to listen 
 now, he heard but little of the pastor s last ser 
 mon, and the little that he heard he could not 
 100 
 
The Char s Diamond 
 
 understand. It was about children and the 
 Kingdom of Heaven. 
 
 When the discourse was finished, and the 
 clergyman had dismissed his people in peace, 
 Engel felt as if the waters were closing above 
 his head ; but the blue eyes of the child with 
 him seemed even happier than usual. She 
 jumped upon the seat and helped him on with 
 his overcoat, and then kept tight hold of his 
 hand as they came down the narrow stairs. 
 His heart had fluttered hard as he climbed up 
 them, and he crept down slowly, fearfully. He 
 found himself wondering as never before about 
 the life of a child ; it seemed such a strange 
 thing. There was to him something pathetic 
 about this German maiden s holding his hand ; 
 something incomprehensible in the fact that 
 they two should be coming out of the chapel 
 together. They stopped in the porch and 
 Gretel spelled out once more the inscription 
 upon a tablet that commemorated the repair 
 of the chapel in 1597. Then they dropped 
 some pfennigs into the battered tin box for the 
 poor. 
 
 " We ought to give a great deal to-day, Herr 
 Engel." 
 
 " Yes, Gretel," he answered, " for it is the 
 last time." 
 
 101 
 
The Qw s Diamond 
 
 But next week we shall go to the new 
 chapel ; won t we? And perhaps there will be 
 a new box. 
 
 "Perhaps," said Engel. 
 
 They turned down a narrow street and came 
 out upon the bank of the Spree, along which 
 lay their route homeward to the old house on 
 the Miihlendamm. It was not a long distance, 
 but they usually walked slowly, and Gretel 
 found so much to amuse her on the way, and so 
 many questions to ask, that the walk seemed 
 quite an adventure in itself. There were never 
 such gay throngs of people on this side of the 
 Spree as on the other, where the museums and 
 the palace were, and yet Engel and the child 
 were always sure of seeing some smartly attired 
 young lieutenant stalking stiffly along the pave 
 ment, or a merry droschke load of corps-students 
 in colored caps, or perhaps a stray peasant from 
 the Spree wald, in his Sunday best. The child 
 noticed everything : sometimes she would make 
 Engel stop by the landing over the river to see 
 the fishermen empty the living freight of their 
 black boats into the great water-tubs sent from 
 the fish-market to receive them ; and she would 
 clap her hands when a reluctant eel wound him 
 self skilfully into the meshes of the landing-net 
 and refused to be shaken into the tub as if he 
 102 
 
The Qw s Diamond 
 
 had a premonition of his fate. But even when 
 there was nothing to see upon the street, Gretel 
 was still satisfied, for then she made Engel tell 
 her stories. He told her all the fairy stories he 
 ever had heard in his boyhood, though many 
 of them she knew as well as he, only that 
 in Grimm they were changed a little. When 
 he could remember no more, he began invent 
 ing, and this habit had grown upon him in the 
 months immediately preceding that March day, 
 until he found a certain pleasure in it. The 
 girl always stood ready to help him if his wits 
 gave out, and indeed they called it sometimes 
 just making up stories together. But to-day, as 
 they walked along, his mind was fixed else 
 where than upon her amusement. 
 
 "Tell me, Gretel," he said, absently, 
 " could you understand the sermon? " 
 
 " Oh, yes! It was beautiful, but just once 
 I was a bad girl ; I did not listen. I was think 
 ing of something else." 
 
 "You were? " he remarked. 
 
 "Yes, and you must guess what it was, and 
 then I will tell you. 
 
 "But I am stupid, Gretel." 
 
 " Oh, then I will help you. It is small, and 
 yellow. Can t you guess? And lives in a 
 cage of course you can guess now." 
 
 103 
 
The Char s Diamond 
 
 "It is the canary bird you are going to 
 have." 
 
 "Right! right!" she cried, gleefully. 
 " You are not stupid at all, Herr Engel. But 
 I would have told you, even if you hadn t 
 guessed ; and Gretel added demurely, " So I 
 was thinking of my canary bird, and forgot 
 about part of the sermon." 
 
 " That was not nice," he ventured. 
 
 " Oh, there will be so many sermons more," 
 she said, gayly. " But did not you under 
 stand it, Herr Engel? " 
 
 "No," answered Engel, bluntly. What 
 was the harm in telling the truth to the child? 
 
 "Were you thinking of something, too?" 
 she asked. 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 " Oh, you were, you were, Herr Engel. I 
 will guess, and you must tell me, just as I did 
 you." 
 
 " No ! no ! " he said, sharply, and his heart 
 beat fast and gave him an exquisite pain. " I 
 will tell you something else I will tell you a 
 story. 
 
 It was the readiest escape that occurred to 
 him. She saw that his breath was hurried, 
 and remembered that her mother had told her 
 that Herr Engel must not walk rapidly. 
 104 
 
The Char s Diamond 
 
 " Let us stop a minute," she suggested, with 
 a quaint air of motherliness, "we have been 
 going so fast, Herr Engel." 
 
 They leaned on the iron railing which runs 
 along the stone embankment of the Spree and 
 looked down at the water. Several people 
 were already at the railing near them, watch 
 ing some of the white sea-birds that find their 
 way up the Spree at the end of every winter, 
 and that were fluttering in the March sunlight 
 from one perch to another, now resting on 
 a pole stuck in the river s bed, now on the 
 fishermen s boats drawn up above the Friedrich 
 bridge, now floating on the water itself wild, 
 free things, oddly out of place in the centre of 
 the great city. Gretel was enchanted with 
 them, and it was only after some minutes that 
 she asked for the story. 
 
 "The story? Oh, yes, let me think," he 
 replied. 
 
 He searched his brain, but there was only 
 one story there, and that was his own. The 
 girl had just confessed her little secret to him. 
 They stood together by the water, she still 
 holding his hand. He felt as he had never 
 done before that he was on a level with some 
 one. He was conscious of a sudden curiosity 
 to know what the child would think of his 
 10? 
 
The Char s Diamond 
 
 secret. It had always seemed to him an un 
 natural thing to confess a crime to a friend, 
 perhaps because he had had no friend to whom 
 he could unbosom himself, and he had known, 
 too, that to confess would be to lose the 
 diamond ; but now this curiosity gained hold 
 upon him. A child was such a strange thing, 
 and his life was such a strange thing ; perhaps 
 a child would understand it as well as he. But 
 of course he would not really tell about him 
 self; he would tell only a story ; and this ap 
 peared to form itself without his will. 
 
 "Yes, Gretel, it is a story about about one 
 of those white sea-birds. 
 
 " Good ! I have never heard that," she cried. 
 
 " No," he answered. 
 
 "Is it long?" she asked. " Because if it 
 is, you can tell it after dinner." 
 
 "Yes, it is long," replied Engel. He 
 wanted to say : " thirty years long." " No," 
 he added quickly, "not so very long either." 
 She looked puzzled. 
 
 " One of those white sea-birds," he went 
 on, "no, that is not the way to begin. 
 There was once a little girl, who saw one of 
 those birds, and thought she would like to have 
 it for her own. So she caught it." 
 
 " How? " asked Gretel. 
 1 06 
 
The C\ar s Diamond 
 
 " That that is not in the story. But she 
 caught it, and to keep it from flying away she 
 tied it to her with a string, so that the bird 
 flew over her head wherever she went. It was 
 such a beautiful bird ; only it was not good, 
 and it used to peck at the little girl s fingers 
 and eyes, and so made her trouble always after 
 a while, oh, so much trouble ! " 
 
 " Why didn t she let it go again ? " 
 
 " Because she couldn t untie the string." 
 
 " That was funny," said Gretel. " But go 
 on, Herr Engel ; what did she do then ? " 
 
 " She didn t do anything. What could she 
 do? I said she couldn t untie the string. 
 What could you do, Gretel, supposing it were 
 you, or I ; yes, suppose now it were I? " 
 
 The child laughed ; it was an odd story. 
 Then she had an idea, and cried triumphantly, 
 " You could cut the string ! " 
 
 " But I can t cut it ! " he exclaimed, with 
 inward agony. 
 
 "Why not?" she asked, disappointedly, 
 her mind too full of the problem to notice 
 anything peculiar in the wistful cunning with 
 which he had substituted himself as the actor 
 in the narrative. 
 
 " But I can t ! I can t nor you suppose 
 it were you or the little girl." 
 107 
 
The Char s Diamond 
 
 Once more Gretel s blue eyes sparkled. 
 " No, suppose it were you, Herr Engel. Do 
 you know what we would do ? I would take 
 my scissors and cut it for you, so ! snip ! " 
 
 He looked down at his companion in won 
 der. Would she really ? He forgot her igno 
 rance and innocence, and that he was a man 
 and she a child. 
 
 " But what became of the girl in the story ? 
 she questioned. 
 
 " I don t know yet," he replied. " Come, 
 Gretel." 
 
 They went on again down the sunny street, 
 which was filled with people enjoying a Sun 
 day holiday. Rather a pleasant-looking pair 
 of companions were these ; the elderly, grave 
 man, neatly dressed, stepping carefully, and 
 by his side the decorous German maiden, in 
 her pink hood, cheap cloak, and heavy shoes, 
 with her long braid of yellow hair down her 
 back, and the Lutheran hymn-book in her red- 
 mittened hand. More than one person smiled 
 benevolently at them, as they passed. 
 
 " But didn t anyone ever tell you the end 
 of the story? " Gretel protested. 
 
 Engel did not hear her. "Suppose," he 
 said, slowly, " it were a stone." 
 
 " Suppose what were a stone ? " 
 1 08 
 
The Char s Diamond 
 
 " In the story," he answered. " Suppose it 
 were not a bird at all, but just a stone. What 
 could we do then supposing it were I, and 
 you ? Tell me, Gretel, what could we do ? " 
 
 She looked up in his face, a little frightened 
 by the tone of his voice. " You are so funny 
 to-day, Herr Engel." Yet he held her hand 
 so closely that she was reassured, and she re 
 peated, meditatively : " Suppose it were a stone 
 and it were you and I ; what could we do ? 
 Oh, we could do something, you and I, Herr 
 Engel ! Let us see. And she nodded wisely, 
 amused at the novel idea. 
 
 But they had reached home : one of the 
 huge old houses over the Spree, upon the 
 Muhlendamm. There had once been a long 
 line of them here, but almost all were now 
 demolished. They went under a black arch 
 way, across a stone-paved, dismal court, where 
 the snow was fast melting. The locksmith 
 glanced up at the north wail, where hung an 
 ancient wooden sun - dial, under which was 
 painted an hour-glass surmounting a skull, and 
 the legend " Mors cert a sed hora incerta" It 
 was nearly two o clock. Herr Engel s chest 
 hurt cruelly as he climbed the stairs, but he 
 scarcely noticed it ; he was intent upon a last 
 vague chance, and he had put that chance into 
 109 
 
The Char s Diamond 
 
 the hands of a child. They stood an instant 
 in the dark entry. 
 
 " Put your hymn-book and cloak away," he 
 said, " and then come into my room." 
 
 He wished to have a moment s time, and 
 shut the door of his room behind him. Then 
 he took from its secret place the leathern case 
 which he had made long before to cover the 
 diamond, and laid it on the table by the 
 window. Not two minutes had passed since 
 the girl s hand left his, and he felt already the 
 old irresolution. He hesitated for a terrible 
 second ; then Gretel knocked at the door and 
 came in, and he knew that he had put his 
 affair partly at least out of his own hands, 
 and he felt childishly weak and irresponsible. 
 He was trembling so that he had to sink into 
 his great chair by the table. The room seemed 
 stiflingly hot, and he breathed with difficulty. 
 
 " Open the window; it is so close, Gretel," 
 he murmured. 
 
 She obeyed, although to her the room 
 seemed cool enough. The spring sunlight was 
 streaming in at the window and resting upon 
 the table where lay the leathern case. Gretel 
 eyed the latter curiously for an instant, and 
 then pulled her chair near Engel s. 
 
 " And now shall we finish our story, Herr 
 no 
 
The Char s Diamond 
 
 Engel? Let s make it up together. What 
 kind of a stone must it be ? " 
 
 "It belongs to someone else," was his 
 broken answer, "and it has cursed my life, 
 but I cannot give it up. You see, Gretel," he 
 added, drearily, " I can t cut the string." 
 
 She could not understand him, and his words 
 perplexed and alarmed her. 
 
 " Don t you want to see it, Gretel? Open 
 the case." It did not seem to him that he 
 could stir. 
 
 She did as he ordered, and unfastening the 
 case with her slender fingers, saw the glistening 
 stone; she had seen hundreds of them in the 
 windows on the Friedrich Strasse, some that 
 were shinier than this, if not so large; and 
 her courage came back to her. Engel sat gaz 
 ing steadily at the diamond. It appeared to 
 him duller than it should be, with sunlight 
 on it. 
 
 " Whose is it? " the girl asked, in a subdued 
 voice. 
 
 "He is dead," Engel replied. "It was a 
 long time ago and his son is dead, too." 
 
 She comprehended more clearly than before 
 that a wrong had been done. 
 
 "But the family?" she whispered. "Are 
 they very poor as poor as we are ? She was 
 
The Char s Diamond 
 
 ignorant of the value of the stone, but she knew 
 that such things cost a good deal, as much as 
 a dress, perhaps, or a great many baskets of 
 coal. 
 
 "The family," said Engel, bitterly, "are 
 richer than the Kaiser." She was silent. 
 Richer than the Kaiser? They must be the 
 fairies. Then she asked, with a child s per 
 sistency : 
 
 "Why do you want to keep it, if it does 
 you harm ? 
 
 " Because I can t cut the string," he groaned. 
 " You have forgotten the story. What can we 
 do, Gretel ? He stared at her with imploring 
 eyes. 
 
 She began to be terrified again. She could 
 not grasp his meaning altogether, yet she was 
 sure of this : Herr Engel hated the stone, but 
 he was not able to get rid of it. It must be a 
 bad stone, and as she looked at it, she found 
 herself afraid. Yet the whole adventure seemed 
 to her a kind of fairy story in which she had a 
 part, and that gave her a daring which other 
 wise she never could have had. With a sudden 
 impulse she took the smooth, cold thing in her 
 fingers. Engel did not move. 
 
 "See, Herr Engel," she cried, "let us 
 throw it in the river! " and she tossed it out 
 112 
 
The Char s Diamond 
 
 of the window, and leaping to her feet saw it 
 go flashing down into the mnddy water. 
 
 With heart beating fast at her own boldness, 
 she turned to Richard Angell. He was sob 
 bing, his face covered with his hands. There 
 was a long silence. Then he rose to his feet, 
 and she saw his happy tears. 
 
 "How bright the sun is, Gretel ! " he ex 
 claimed. " The summer must be coming, and 
 this summer this summer " 
 
 But he pressed his hand to his left side ; his 
 face flushed swiftly and then turned white, and 
 Gretel was frightened and ran to call her 
 mother. 
 
By the 111 
 
BY THE ILL 
 
 I HAVE never been in love with a woman ; 
 at least, not enough in love to ask any 
 woman to marry me. I do not know what 
 that is like, nor do I fancy that any people 
 know except those who have themselves experi 
 enced it. Love is like war, they say, and you 
 cannot possibly know anything about real war 
 until you actually smell the powder. It is all a 
 fiction until that acrid odor is in your nostrils, 
 and the singing of the bullets is in your ears. 
 When I was a boy, in North Carolina, I re 
 member running to the pine woods one day 
 with my mother and older brother, and hearing 
 something about General Sherman, and seeing 
 our barns a-blazing up merrily, but though my 
 poor mother said, " Randolph, you will always 
 know now what war is," and the sentence 
 somehow stuck in my memory, I did not, as a 
 matter of fact, know what war was at all. Nor 
 do I know to-day any better, never having 
 heard the bullets nor smelt the powder. No, war 
 117 
 
By the III 
 
 and love are not to be talked about by civilians 
 and outsiders. Yet once upon a time it seemed 
 to me that I knew what they both were like, 
 civilian and outsider though I may have been. 
 
 It was in Alsace-Lorraine, one June, ten 
 years ago. Many a dragging month I had 
 been " oxing " Sanscrit and Greek for my doc 
 tor s degree at Strasburg, and when the thesis 
 had been accepted and the official invitation to 
 the final examination and disputation of " Ran 
 dolph Merivale, from America," had been duly 
 posted upon the university bulletin board, the 
 old trouble with my eyes came back and I was 
 forced to quit work altogether. For a few 
 days I kept to my lodging in the Hennengasse, 
 to avoid the bright light of the streets, but it 
 grew insufferably hot and malodorous in that 
 ancient alley-way, and so one day I packed my 
 tramping knapsack, put on a big pair of goggles, 
 and marching out of Strasburg by the Ruprechts- 
 auer Alice, struck off through the country 
 toward Fuchs am Buckel. 
 
 One can never get to Fuchs am Buckel twice 
 by the same way, so perhaps it is useless to say 
 how one gets there at all. You follow the 
 road easily enough through the village of Ru- 
 prechtsau, between the high walls of plastered 
 brick which enclose fruit gardens and vegetable 
 118 
 
By the III 
 
 plots, and here and there the grounds of some 
 old manor house, with weather-stained and 
 broken-nosed goddesses still gleaming in the 
 tangled shrubbery. But beyond the straggling 
 village the white hard roads curve and intersect 
 so curiously that I should have despaired of 
 following them, even had the glare not been 
 painful to my eyes. So, knowing the general 
 direction, and that any one of a half-dozen 
 footpaths would serve my turn, I struck into 
 the first that offered itself, and for an hour and 
 a half traversed leisurely the rank fields of grain, 
 the back yards of thrifty Alsatian vegetable- 
 growers, and then along under endless lines of 
 poplars, until a sudden turn brought me out 
 upon the high-road again, and across the wide 
 meadows I caught sight of the heavy clump of 
 woodland against which were the big sloping 
 roofs of Fuchs am Buckel. In spite of the 
 goggles the light was so brilliant that when I 
 reached the familiar goal of student excursions, 
 I could scarcely read the C. FUCHS, RES- 
 TAURATION, painted on the sign. The pro 
 prietor of the place remembered me, was able 
 to give me one of the few rooms he kept at the 
 disposal of an occasional lodger, and having 
 darkened the windows and rested a couple of 
 hours, the inflammation in my eyes seemed 
 119 
 
By the III 
 
 somewhat relieved, and I was able toward sun 
 set to get down to the garden. 
 
 By my favorite table, at the extreme end of 
 the garden, where the black 111 swept close 
 under the big willow that shaded my usual seat, 
 there was a woman. She was seated with her 
 back to me, looking up the river toward the 
 west, as I had sat a dozen times before starting 
 back to Strasburg in the cool of the evening. 
 There was a broad glare upon the glassy water, 
 and perhaps that was why I did not notice her 
 until I was just upon her. That end table had 
 never been a favorite one among the noisy 
 patrons of the Restauration, and I had rarely 
 found it occupied before. I remember feeling 
 somewhat disappointed as I took a chair at the 
 next table and rapped for the waitress. While 
 she was getting me some black bread and Miin- 
 ster cheese, a cutlet and a glass of thin white Alsa 
 tian wine, the blaze died off from the water, and 
 I pulled my chair around so that I, too, faced 
 the west. The woman at the last table had 
 apparently finished her supper, for a slender jug 
 of seltzer water stood there, surrounded by 
 some plates, from one of which she was gather 
 ing bread-crumbs to toss to the ducks in the 
 river. She scarcely turned her head as she 
 snapped the tiny morsels into the current, and 
 120 
 
By the III 
 
 I remember that I did not see her face. She 
 had a short figure, with finely modelled shoul 
 ders, and as she swept the last crumbs from her 
 plate over to the struggling, quacking creatures 
 in the river, I noticed that her black dress fitted 
 her extremely well, and that there was a plain 
 ring upon her finger. When the waitress 
 brought my supper the lady had her table 
 cleared, but she paid nothing. She sat there 
 still, and no one came to join her. I finished 
 my own meal, stretched my legs out, American 
 fashion, on an empty chair in front of me, 
 lighted a wretched cigar, and watched the opal 
 tints in the west lose their fire and turn gray. 
 It was nearly dusk, and everyone but ourselves 
 must have left the garden, when old Fuchs 
 made the circuit of the empty tables, gathering 
 up here and there a beer-mug that had been 
 overlooked. He gave me, as usual, a profes 
 sional " Guten Abend, Hcrr Doctor, 1 1 then 
 stopped a moment at the table in front of me, 
 and looking down at the black-dressed woman, 
 said cheerily : " Eh, comment fa va ? Gchf s 
 guet?" " Ganz guet" she answered, in a 
 deep full voice, with a marked Alsatian accent. 
 " Mais comme c* est charmant id ! " she added. 
 Then, in a still lower tone, she repeated, 
 " Ckarmtint comme toujours." 
 
By the III 
 
 " Tu as raison" said Fuchs, with a satisfied 
 shrug, and passed on. 
 
 The evening darkened slowly, and still she 
 did not move. Her head and shoulders were 
 sharply cut against the last pulsation of color on 
 the horizon. A fog began to creep over the sur 
 face of the 111. I was at the end of the second 
 cigar. Suddenly she rose and started toward the 
 house ; in passing my table she stumbled against 
 the chair that upheld my awkwardly extended 
 feet. " Pardon, monsieur, 1 1 she murmured, and 
 before I could touch my hat and mutter an 
 apology she had disappeared. 
 
 The next morning, when I came down for 
 my coffee to the main room of the Restaura- 
 tion, old Fuchs presented me to her as his niece, 
 Mademoiselle Aubepine. Finding that I was 
 an American student, she addressed me frankly 
 enough in German, though hesitating now and 
 then for a word, and betraying the Alsatian ac 
 cent I had noticed the evening before. On my 
 asking her whether she knew Strasburg well, 
 she replied simply that she was born in the 
 Blauwolkengasse, which certainly, as I vent 
 ured to remark, ought to have given her an un 
 mistakable Strasburg birthright. Thereupon 
 Fuchs interrupted us with a long-winded dis 
 quisition upon her relationship to an Alsatian 
 122 
 
By the III 
 
 politician who, during the preceding winter, 
 had exhibited himself as a peculiarly ardent 
 member of the Opposition in the Reichstag. 
 While he was talking, I looked at her. She 
 was a woman of thirty, apparently, and think 
 ing of her now, after ten years, I do not re 
 member anything about her that was really 
 beautiful, except her perfectly developed figure 
 and the depth and purity of her voice. Her 
 hazel eyes seemed old, and her hands were old ; 
 she talked with the directness and unguarded- 
 ness of a married woman, looked me straight in 
 the face, gave me the right word when I groped 
 for it and I liked her. 
 
 That afternoon I liked her still better. The 
 imprudence of the day before affected my eyes 
 seriously, and I was obliged to keep indoors. 
 Mademoiselle Aubepine, after a whispered dia 
 logue with Fuchs, came up to me as I was sit 
 ting disconsolately in a dark corner of the inn, 
 and asked me if I cared to hear some singing. 
 Now the Merivales were never musical, but I 
 should have been stupider than I seemed had I 
 not eagerly assented. We went into a sort of 
 private sitting-room in the rear of the high seat 
 where Madame Fuchs presided over the affairs 
 of the Resf duration, and where she could still 
 have us under her eye if she wished. For an 
 123 
 
By the III 
 
 hour Mademoiselle Aubepine sang ; French 
 chansons mostly, with a couple of Italian oper 
 atic airs, and particularly some Polish slumber 
 songs, to French words ; strange melodies 
 which I did not understand, but which better 
 than all the rest suited her contralto voice, with 
 its somnolent crooning quality. I remember 
 asking her if she did not sing any German 
 songs, and she gave the slightest expression to 
 her shoulders she was seated at the old piano 
 with her back turned to me and said, to my 
 wonderment, that she did not. Soon after she 
 stopped singing. She would listen to none of 
 my awkward thanks, saying simply that singing 
 was her business. I was puzzled by this, until 
 old Fuchs informed me confidentially, that 
 evening, that his niece was a grande artiste and 
 could go upon the stage if she wished. As it 
 was, she was only a singing-teacher in Nancy, 
 but pupils came to her from Luneville, and 
 even from Metz, and once there had been talk 
 of her singing in oratorio at Paris ! 
 
 Yes, I liked Mademoiselle Aubepine. I have 
 never been in love with a woman, as I think I 
 said at the beginning, and it is not my own 
 love-story that I have started to tell. Perhaps 
 it will not even be called a love-story at all, 
 but yet it was about love and war. 
 124 
 
By the III 
 
 I had been at Fuchs am Buckel ten days, and 
 was to leave on the morrow. For the fact that 
 the time had been endurable, I was indebted to 
 Mademoiselle Aubepine. It was she who, in 
 the long forenoons, under the great horse-chest 
 nut trees that shaded the central part of the 
 garden, had read Lamartine and Chateaubriand 
 to me ; these works had been recommended by 
 Madame Fuchs, and indeed they are not so 
 bad. We always talked French after that first 
 morning, and she insisted upon calling me 
 Monsieur Merveille, that being as near to Meri- 
 vale as she declared she could ever hope to 
 come. Her English was rudimentary, without 
 doubt. For days I tried to teach her one 
 English line a line that always murmured it 
 self gently to me as we sat at the end of the gar 
 den under the willow and watched the 111 move 
 straight toward us and then past, scarcely bend 
 ing the rushes, so even was its flow 
 
 " Where yon broad water sweetly, slowly glides." 
 
 At last she could say it all except " glides," 
 and though she could never pronounce that, 
 her attempt resulted in a word of her own, 
 which was to me as musical. Once or twice, 
 accompanied by Madame Fuchs, we walked in 
 the deep woods, beyond the stone bridge under 
 125 
 
By the III 
 
 which half of the 111 shot on its sadden plunge 
 for the Rhine, and she sang each time in the 
 woodland such songs as I have never heard 
 since. But I never knew why she was a sing 
 ing-teacher, and why she wore a black dress and 
 a ring, until the night before I left. 
 
 We had had a sort of family supper together, 
 and out of deference to my choice we were at 
 the end table of the garden. There were four 
 of us : Monsieur and Madame Fuchs, Made 
 moiselle Aubepine, and I. We had had a viva 
 cious time, and Fuchs had insisted upon opening 
 a bottle of Burgundy in honor of my departure 
 on the morrow. He toasted " America," and 
 I ventured, in response, upon a toast I had 
 never dared propose to an Alsatian : " Alsace- 
 Lorraine." This was in 1880, but all three 
 glanced furtively around before they raised the 
 full glasses to their lips and drained the Bur 
 gundy to the last drop. No one spoke ; I sus 
 pected that I had been indiscreet, and was glad 
 when one of the waitresses called Fuchs away 
 on some matter of business, which in a moment 
 required also the presence of his wife. Made 
 moiselle Aubepine and I were left alone at 
 the table where she had been sitting on the 
 night I came to Fuchs am Buckel. The sun 
 now, as then, gleamed down the broad polished 
 126 
 
By the III 
 
 surface of the 111 and was full in my face. She 
 sat at my left, and I, with eyes still too weak to 
 look up the river, stared down at the table, or, 
 more accurately, at the blue veins of her hand 
 as she toyed with the empty wine-glass, and at 
 the ring upon her finger. I pitied her, vaguely, 
 and wished I had not toasted Alsace-Lorraine, 
 and wished, too a little that I was not going 
 away the next morning. And I said something 
 of this, clumsily enough, for she flushed, and 
 doubtless thought I meant something other, or 
 something more, than I did. At any rate she 
 stopped me with a " Pardon, Monsieur" which 
 were the first words she had ever addressed to 
 me. 
 
 " Pardon me, Monsieur Merveille, but you 
 do not understand. It is very possible that you 
 will not understand ; yet I shall tell you because 
 you are an American and a bon camarade. 
 But one should not speak of Alsace-Lorraine any 
 more. She is dead. Deutsche, Deutsche sind 
 wir alle. She hummed bitterly the opening 
 line of a German patriotic song. 
 
 " Yes," said I, with a foolish effort at sympa 
 thetic philosophy, " I suppose you must accept 
 faces as they are." 
 
 Accept? "she cried, in her rapid, impas 
 sioned French. "Of course. That is the 
 127 
 
By the III 
 
 worst of it, that one must accept. Those are 
 fools at Nancy at Paris who talk of the re 
 vanche. We know better, here at Strasburg. 
 What is done, is done. Look at those walls ! 
 she exclaimed, with an unsuccessful effort to re 
 strain her growing excitement. Her hazel eyes 
 were changing color, and following their gaze 
 across the sedge-bordered meadows beyond the 
 111, past a clump of woods and a line of solemn 
 poplars, I saw the long low parapet of Fort 
 Fransecky. 
 
 " Do you know why that fort is impregna 
 ble? " she demanded. "It is because its walls 
 are laid in blood." 
 
 I felt more awkward than ever, and not 
 knowing anything to say, snapped some pieces 
 of biscuit over to the ducks in the 111. What 
 was there for me to say ? 
 
 " Listen, Monsieur Merveille," she went on. 
 " You have no right to speak to me as you did. 
 I did not know but Madame Fuchs had told 
 you; I thought you knew why I let myself 
 treat you en camaradc. 
 
 " But I knew nothing," I answered, hastily ; 
 "though I had supposed" I hesitated, my 
 eyes fixed again upon her ring. 
 
 That I had been fiancee ? It is true. And 
 he is dead. It is very true. But how ? Listen 
 
By the III 
 
 to me. You are going in the morning ; I 
 shall not see you again. I have thought of 
 speaking to you more than once, because I be 
 gan to fear you were still too young to under 
 stand camaraderie. You are twenty-five, Mon 
 sieur Merveille ? 
 
 I nodded. There was a fierce lightness in 
 her tone, and I dared not interrupt her. 
 
 " Well, I am thirty, old enough to say to you 
 what I please. Only, I wish I had told you be 
 fore before to-night. 
 
 The brightness had disappeared from the 
 water now, and I looked up at her steadily. 
 There were contracted lines upon the low 
 forehead, a stern set expression about the 
 mouth, though the round lips were trembling. 
 I had never seen Mademoiselle Aubepine look 
 at once so old and so young. Her eyes flashed 
 in the growing twilight like the eyes of a 
 girl. 
 
 " I was only twenty that August of 1870, and 
 I had been a fiancee six months. He lived in 
 Kehl, just across the river from Strasburg, you 
 know, but in Baden. I met him here, at Fuchs 
 am Buckel. He was second lieutenant in a Ba 
 den regiment, but he would have been free that 
 autumn. He never loved the Prussians you 
 know how it was in Baden but he went with 
 129 
 
By the 111 
 
 the rest, like a soldier. I saw him in July, not 
 ten days before Reichshoffen, and yet we sus 
 pected nothing ; our own little plans were 
 enough for us, you see. 
 
 I was in the country when the war was de 
 clared out beyond Reichshoffen. I could not 
 get back to Strasburg. I saw the last of the 
 French driven down the road behind Elsass- 
 hausen I have seen Mon Dieu ! what have I 
 not seen in those ten days before I could get 
 through the lines to Nancy ! I had an aunt 
 there, and, can you imagine, when I reached 
 Nancy at last it was August i6th, the day the 
 Germans occupied the town, and my aunt had 
 left for Paris the night before ! What could I 
 do ? I went straight to the Red Lion, and asked 
 for a room. They said there were no rooms ; 
 there were fifty Germans there, and the officers 
 were drinking in the dining-room and the land 
 lady was hidden under her bed. I do not know 
 what was in me that day ; it was seven o clock, 
 and I had had no food since morning, but I 
 was strong and I had seen so much that I had 
 no fear left. 
 
 " Why are the Germans allowed to carouse 
 in the dining-room ? I asked. Who is the 
 commanding officer ? 
 
 " The Colonel is in No. 14, blubbered the 
 130 
 
By the III 
 
 they were all frightened out of their 
 senses but no one dares disturb him, and I 
 do not speak German. 
 
 "I knew he lied about that, but I said, 
 Show me No. 14 ! I speak German. 
 
 "We rapped at the door. The Colonel 
 came in his stocking feet and with a blanket 
 wrapped around his shoulders ; he had had no 
 rest for forty hours. 
 
 " I must have a room here in this inn, said 
 I, and I must sleep. I have come through the 
 lines. Here is my pass. Your officers are 
 drinking in the dining-room and terrifying the 
 house. Can you not quiet them ? 
 
 " He looked at me and swallowed a curse. 
 Then, Sie sind ein braves Made hen J he cried, 
 and ran downstairs, and the gar f on and I were 
 close behind him. He flung open the dining- 
 room door. There were three young officers 
 there, who had been drinking champagne since 
 four o clock. They too had had nothing to eat 
 for a whole day. The empty champagne bottles 
 were piled in a pyramid upon the table, and 
 the men were quarrelling. Just as we opened 
 the door the lieutenant with his back to us 
 with his back to us struck his fellow-officer in 
 the face. The Colonel saw it and he threw the 
 door together behind him and thundered out an 
 
By the III 
 
 order, and left me standing outside. I did not 
 see the blow given it was the garden who told 
 me. 
 
 " I do not remember anything more, except 
 a great drowsiness. I was at the end. I be 
 lieve the garden showed me to a room next the 
 landlady s ; I am not sure that I was not car 
 ried into it. But there I fell on the bed and 
 slept ; I did not even lock the door. I did not 
 dream until just before I woke, and then I saw 
 Friedrich sitting in a cloud of smoke with his 
 back to me. 
 
 * The gar f on was pounding on the door. He 
 put his head in and saw me lying there. 
 
 " You are ill? said he. 
 
 " < No, I answered. 
 
 " Mademoiselle can have breakfast. The 
 Badeners are gone long ago ; they have been 
 transferred to the Black Dog. 
 
 " < The Badeners ? I cried. 
 
 " You are ill, Mademoiselle, he said. 
 
 " No ! The Badeners ? 
 
 " Yes. They are all at the Black Dog 
 except the one with his back to us ; the one we 
 saw strike his friend. 
 
 " And he ? I leaped toward the door. 
 
 " They have just shot him. 
 
 132 
 
By the III 
 
 "They shot him. He was my fiance, and 
 it was I that killed him, killed him in the war. 
 Do you know what is in our hearts when you 
 toast Alsace - Lorraine, Monsieur Merveille ? 
 What can you know about 1870? You were 
 only fourteen years old ! But I know." 
 
 Mademoiselle Aubepine had risen, and was 
 grasping the end of the little table to steady 
 herself. Her eyes seemed to be closed. 
 
 " That is why I am a singing-teacher. It is 
 all over forever but I toast Alsace-Lorraine. 
 Come, Monsieur Merveille." 
 
 She filled her glass and my own. 
 
 " To the dead," she said, in a hoarse whis 
 per ; " Austrinken ! " 
 
 Then she turned, gazed at me a moment with 
 eyes from which the horror of that memory had 
 not yet disappeared, and with a low, swift 
 "Pardon, Monsieur" her black dress brushed 
 by me in the twilight, and she was gone. 
 
 I never saw Mademoiselle Aubepine again. 
 When I left in the morning, she had not come 
 down from her room, and I thought the worthy 
 innkeeper and his wife appeared somewhat 
 troubled when I desired them to present my re 
 membrances to Mademoiselle. Perhaps they 
 had fancied, between themselves, that the ac 
 quaintance of the young people would not end 
 
 133 
 
By the III 
 
 in remembrances merely. I do not know. But 
 I know that all the way back to Strasburg the 
 sight of the blood - red poppies in the green 
 wheat made me shudder, and I fancied that 
 everywhere in those lovely June fields, the beau 
 jardin, as Louis XIV. called them long ago, I 
 could trace the lines of battle-trenches ; and the 
 first thing I saw on climbing to my lodging in 
 the Hennengasse and looking out of the win 
 dow, was a Baden regiment marching by, filling 
 the narrow street with their elastic onward mo 
 tion, while the sun gleamed on their helmets 
 and rifle-tips and yellow-skinned knapsacks in 
 shifting lines and blotches of scaly gold, and 
 the black shadows of the crooked street fell in 
 bars across the glistening, sinuous, living mass, 
 until it seemed like the undulation of a serpent. 
 
 i34 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
LOMBARDY POPLARS 
 
 IT was very cool under the rock-maples in 
 front of the Simpson place, and the Dea 
 con, trudging up from the lower meadow in 
 the dazzling July noon, eyed the shade irreso 
 lutely. He was trailing a rake behind him, 
 and in front of him was a panting shepherd - 
 dog. 
 
 Deacon Simpson ! called out a voice from 
 one of the hammocks. " I want to ask you 
 some more questions, Deacon Simpson." 
 
 The opportunity to oblige a boarder coin 
 cided remarkably with his own inclination to 
 sit down, and the Deacon dropped into a com 
 fortable position at the foot of the biggest ma 
 ple. The rake was balanced upon his sharp 
 old knees, and his blue overalls were drawn 
 high above his ankles. He fanned himself 
 slowly with his broad, green-lined linen hat. 
 
 " Yis, ma am?" he inquired benevolently. 
 "Want to ask about another farm, don t ye, 
 Miss Hertford?" 
 
 i37 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
 The trim little woman in the hammock sat 
 up straight. " How do you know I do ? " 
 
 " Why, the women folks said you was off kind 
 o prospectin round. Ruther hot, wa n t it? " 
 
 "Oh, yes; I didn t mind. Didn t you 
 tell me, Deacon Simpson, that the Dickinson 
 place could be bought for four hundred dol 
 lars?" 
 
 "Wai, I guess it could," the Deacon as 
 sented, reflectively. " Jest look at that dog s 
 tongue run out ! Swelterin , ain t it, Jocko ? " 
 
 But the Boston school-teacher was persistent. 
 " And you said that other farm could be had 
 for three hundred and fifty? The one where 
 the barns are blown over." 
 
 " Wai, I shouldn t wonder if three hundred 
 n fifty in cash would come pretty near the 
 sellin price now. Mis Simpson was raised on 
 that farm." 
 
 Really ? I should think you would wish 
 to keep it in the family, Deacon. But I ve 
 found another one that I like better than either 
 of those. 
 
 " You don t say ! Ain t bought it yet, have 
 ye? Set still, Jocko ! " He tapped the dog s 
 back with the rakestale. 
 
 " No, I haven t bought it," said Miss Hert 
 ford, " but I really think I shall, if I can find 
 
 138 
 
Lombard? Poplars 
 
 the owner. Who is he? It s a story-and-half 
 house with a great big chimney, about three- 
 quarters of a mile from here on the county 
 road. There s the loveliest old orchard back 
 of the house, and a brook that runs through 
 a stone-arched bridge, and a great swamp across 
 the road, full of red-winged blackbirds. Do 
 you suppose there are snakes in that swamp, 
 Deacon ? 
 
 The prudent entertainer of summer boarders 
 shook his head. "I never saw any there. 
 Pretty scarce round here, anyway." He 
 thoughtfully omitted to mention the " check id 
 adder " he had killed that morning in the lower 
 meadow. " I dunno s I know which place 
 you mean," he went on. Is there an old 
 shed jest across the road ? 
 
 " No, it s all open ground there, and from 
 the doorstep you can look clear across the 
 swamp and up to Oak Ridge, and at the right 
 you can see all the hills beyond the Deerfield, 
 and Greylock back of those. And there are 
 two old Lombardy poplars in front of the 
 house. 
 
 " Lumbuddy popples, eh ? I want to know 
 if you ve ben clear up to Popple Hill ! Wa n t 
 it awful hot for ye ? I guess you must be talkin 
 about the old Jarvis place. 
 
Lombard? Poplars 
 
 " The Jarvis place," Miss Hertford repeated, 
 slowly. She rather liked the name. " Do you 
 suppose it s for sale ? It is entirely deserted. 
 I went up and looked through the windows. 
 Who is the owner ? 
 
 " They ain t a Jarvis in town," said the Dea 
 con, deliberately. " Old Jedidiah Jarvis is 
 dead, and Monroe Jarvis, he s dead. Young 
 Frank Jarvis s wife died, and he went out West 
 somewhere, and they say he s makin money. 
 He must own that place. He gets back here 
 most every summer, n stays jest about long 
 enough to say How d ye do? and then he s 
 off again. It was his grandfather that set out 
 those popples ; brought the shoots all the way 
 from Philadelphy sewed into the linin of his 
 coat. Kind o curis about Lumbuddy popples 
 now ; they do say that when you plant em in 
 front of a house, the family sort o dies out 
 after a while. Last summer they was a profes 
 sor up here who was tellin me that popples 
 hadn t any sect, or were all one sect, I forget 
 " which. That would make all the Lumbuddy 
 popples in the /hited States jest the same age, 
 ye see, all came by shoots from the fust one 
 ever brought over from furrin parts. No won 
 der they get kind o old n run down, eh ? " 
 
 Miss Hertford made no response to the Dea- 
 140 
 
Lombard? Poplars 
 
 con s botanical fancies. " Do you suppose this 
 Frank Jarvis would like to sell ? she inter 
 rupted. " How much land is there? " 
 
 But before the Deacon could finish his com 
 putation of wood-lot and mowing and pasture- 
 land, the dinner-bell jingled viciously, and 
 Miss Hertford, like a model boarder, aban 
 doned her inquiries. 
 
 All the afternoon, however, she sat beneath 
 the maples, meditating upon the Jarvis place. 
 She even went so far as to write Madame 
 Michel, the accomplished instructor of French 
 at the Reverdy School, and her most intimate 
 friend, that the deserted farm-house they had 
 been in search of was found. It only remained 
 to communicate with the owner and to make 
 the necessary legal transfer ; then they would 
 be emancipated forever from Mis Simpson s 
 buckwheat- cake breakfasts, and the conversation 
 of Mis Simpson s other boarders, while still 
 retaining all that was admirable in South 
 Broughton as a summer home. 
 
 After tea she slipped out of the house, and 
 crossing the Deacon s home pastures, climbed 
 over the stone wall into the county road. In 
 twenty minutes not counting the time lost 
 in picking red raspberries by the roadside and 
 poking at the purple milk- weed blossoms with 
 141 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
 the tip of her parasol she reached Poplar Hill, 
 and stood again on the stone doorstep of the 
 Jarvis place. The poplars rustled gently in the 
 south wind ; under the arch of the stone bridge 
 the brook gurgled placidly ; in the glen that 
 bordered the swamp a wood-thrush was singing. 
 Oak Ridge was still aglow with sunlight, but 
 the wide intervales were already growing damp 
 and cool, and the hills beyond the Deerfield 
 were a deep, dull blue. It was lonely here, but 
 it was the loneliness of peace. 
 
 Miss Hertford walked around the house 
 twice, and then she tried the windows. The 
 one nearest the front door was loosely fastened. 
 She raised it without much difficulty, and 
 profiting by her previous experience in explor 
 ing deserted farm-houses, reached around and 
 unbolted the door. Glancing up and down 
 the grass-grown road, she pulled the door open 
 and slipped in, closing it after her. At the 
 right was the living-room, with a large marble- 
 sided fireplace, and an old-fashioned brick oven 
 built into the chimney. Miss Hertford peered 
 into the oven delightedly ; she approved of 
 every feature of the room, down to the round 
 cat-hole in the foot-board by the chimney cor 
 ner. This would be such a convenience for 
 Madame Michel s Alexis, when they three 
 142 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
 should begin house-keeping ! On the left of the 
 door was the parlor, and a bedroom leading from 
 it. There was a kitchen and woodshed in the 
 rear. Miss Hertford picked her way daintily 
 over the whole house, upstairs and down ; she 
 was by this time an adept in determining the 
 soundness of timbers and the quality of floors, 
 and in distinguishing the properly musty odor 
 of a long-closed house from the mouldiness that 
 comes from a damp cellar. The Jarvis house 
 stood all tests triumphantly. It was perfectly 
 clean and utterly empty ; there were no relics 
 of wayfaring tramps or of haymakers lunches, 
 not even a rusty rat-trap nor an ancient almanac. 
 The only article of any kind to be found in the 
 house was a glass tumbler on the shelf of the 
 bedroom, holding a few withered flowers, so 
 shrivelled as to be unrecognizable. 
 
 While Miss Hertford stood looking at this old 
 bouquet, she felt for the first time solitary and 
 ill at ease in the deserted house. It was grow 
 ing dark, too, and she went out somewhat has 
 tily, bolting the door and closing the window. 
 The light was gone from Oak Ridge now ; fire 
 flies were sparkling in the swamp; the wind 
 had risen, and the Lombardy poplars were 
 creaking mournfully. They seemed unnatu 
 rally tall and rigid, so gaunt and barren in the 
 
 H3 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
 dusk, that Miss Hertford was reminded involun 
 tarily of Deacon Simpson s comment; there 
 was something pathetic in their a-sexualism, 
 their sterile life which, nevertheless, outlived 
 the human generations that sprang up and 
 perished upon this infertile New England soil. 
 Miss Hertford shivered a little. She was thirty - 
 one years old, and alone in the world. In a 
 few years she would be as old as Madame 
 Michel an old woman the old story so it 
 would go. She wished Madame Michel, that 
 cheery philosopher, \vere with her now, and 
 she walked rapidly down the darkening road 
 toward Deacon Simpson s. 
 
 But the next day this mood had passed. She 
 ascertained Frank Jar vis s Nevada address from 
 the postmistress he was in the lumber business, 
 apparently and directed to him what she con 
 sidered a most business-like offer for the aban 
 doned farm. Then she resigned herself to two 
 weeks waiting, spending her mornings in pre 
 paring her new lectures in psychology for the 
 Reverdy School, and devoting most of her 
 afternoons to the Jarvis place. One day, in 
 rambling through the orchard above the house, 
 she found in the upper corner, under the shad 
 ow of a group of blighted plum-trees, a soli 
 tary grave. The burying - ground at South 
 144 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
 Broughton was two miles away, and she was 
 familiar enough with the isolated group of 
 headstones that was to be seen near almost 
 every farm, yet this discovery affected her in a 
 way she could scarcely explain to herself. It 
 seemed almost like sacrilege to offer to buy the 
 place now. The gravestone bore a woman s 
 name Mary Rood Jarvis ; the birth-year was 
 just that of Mary Hertford, and the woman, 
 dying at twenty-one, had been dead ten years. 
 The grass was high around the stone, and Miss 
 Hertford plucked it away a little, and laid some 
 daisies there. She would have liked to ask 
 Deacon Simpson about this Mary Rood, wife 
 of Frank Jarvis, but she shrank from doing so. 
 
 Two or three afternoons later she had a 
 fright. She had walked up to the Jarvis place 
 as usual, and had taken a fancy to go over the 
 house again. As it happened, the last room 
 she entered was the tiny bedroom, and there in 
 the glass upon the shelf, instead of the withered 
 bouquet of last year s blooming, was a handful 
 of fresh iris flowers, such as grew by the brook 
 below the house. For an instant her heart 
 stopped beating ; then, as befitted a corre 
 sponding member of the Society for Psychical 
 Research, she pressed her hands to her temples, 
 steadied herself, and went up to them, to 
 
 H5 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
 test the class of illusory phenomena to which 
 they belonged. But they were no phantasm ; 
 the blue petals were crisp and odorous, and, 
 caught in the hairy heart of one flower, an 
 insect was still struggling to get free. Having 
 done her professional duty, Miss Hertford fled, 
 like a well-bred woman who has unwittingly 
 found herself guilty of intrusion. Fresh flow 
 ers in that deserted chamber ! Who could 
 have brought them there ? 
 
 As Miss Hertford was hurriedly closing the 
 window, after having bolted the door on the 
 inside, a man came around the corner of the 
 house. He was whittling aimlessly at a branch 
 of lilac, and Miss Hertford, from over her 
 shoulder, caught the gleam of the open knife. 
 But she shut the window as calmly as she could, 
 and faced him. He shifted the knife to his 
 left hand, and took off his gray felt hat as 
 politely as was consistent with utter astonish 
 ment. This slender, erect little woman, in 
 blue outing-suit and round sailor-hat, with hon 
 est eyes and wide forehead, a sketching-pad 
 and novel in her hands, was coolly making her 
 exit from his own house ! 
 
 " How do you do ? " he said, dryly. " My 
 name is Jarvis. 
 
 Thereupon Miss Hertford, standing on the 
 
 146 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
 cracked marble doorstep, felt her face grow 
 intolerably hot. 
 
 "Mr. Jarvis, I beg your pardon," she ex 
 claimed. " I I feel like a thief." 
 
 " Oh, you needn t," he replied. He had by 
 this time classified her as a summer boarder. 
 " There isn t much left to steal." 
 
 No, she said, nothing but Miss 
 
 Hertford stopped awkwardly. She was think 
 ing of the blue iris. 
 
 " I see you have learned how to get in," he 
 added, as if trying to place her at her ease. " I 
 thought I was the only one who understood the 
 trick of that window." 
 
 " Please forgive me," she replied, abjectly. 
 " Did you receive my letter ? " 
 
 He stared at her. For a man who had been 
 ten months in a lumber camp, Miss Hertford 
 was a pleasant person to contemplate, and he 
 made the most of his opportunity. 
 
 " I wrote you in Nevada some ten days ago," 
 she explained. " I wanted that is, Madame 
 Michel and I wanted to know whether you 
 would sell this property. We were very anxious 
 to buy it if we could and that, Mr. Jarvis, is 
 my only excuse, and I know it is a wretched 
 one, for taking such liberties here. 
 
 Her apology seemed singularly unsatisfactory 
 
 147 
 
Lombard? Poplars 
 
 to herself. He was so different from the lum 
 berman to whom she had supposed she was 
 writing. He was younger, for one thing not 
 yet thirty-five. His hands and face were deep 
 ly tanned, and his tawny mustache was bleached 
 by the sun. The spare, sinewy figure was clad 
 in a business-suit of the best San Francisco 
 fashion. There was something distinguished 
 about his slightly bald head, when he had taken 
 off his hat. After all, was he the lumberman ? 
 
 "This is Mr. Frank Jarvis, isn t it?" she 
 inquired, in perplexity. 
 
 "Yes," he smiled. " But I did not receive 
 your letter ; I must have started East too soon. 
 You have the advantage of me, Miss ? 
 
 "Miss Hertford. It is you, though, who 
 have the advantage of me," she replied, play 
 ing upon his old-fashioned phrase. " Will you 
 be generous and pardon the intrusion? I 
 really had wished to buy the place very much." 
 Miss Hertford s innocent fancies about the joy 
 of the Westerner when he should receive her 
 munificent offer of four hundred and seventy- 
 five dollars for the farm and buildings had been 
 suddenly dispelled. 
 
 "I don t think the place is for sale," he 
 said, quietly. 
 
 Miss Hertford opened her red parasol, in 
 
 148 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
 preparation for the hot walk back to Deacon 
 Simpson s. Her dream of proprietorship was 
 over. Frank Jarvis threw away his branch of 
 lilac and pocketed his penknife. 
 
 " Mayn t I walk down with you ? " he asked. 
 " You are staying at the village, I suppose ? " 
 
 1 At Deacon Simpson s." She surrendered 
 her parasol to him helplessly. 
 
 "I m going to stop there to-night. The 
 hotel is burned down, I believe." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 As they passed under the shadow of the Lom 
 bardy poplars, Jarvis halted a moment and took 
 a survey of the house. " It s a pretty spot," 
 he said, slowly, "about the prettiest I ever 
 saw anywhere. I always mean to get back here 
 every summer, and see that the grass is mowed 
 round the doorstep, and up on the hill. I 
 always open that window, too, and go inside. 
 We began housekeeping in this old place, be 
 gan and ended." He stopped abruptly. The 
 teacher of psychology pitied him. 
 
 " Those poplars don t look a day older than 
 they did ten years ago, and they were old 
 scraggy trees then," he continued, as they 
 moved on again. "I don t know but they 
 ought to come down. What do you think ? " 
 
 Miss Hertford expressed herself somewhat 
 149 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
 vaguely upon this point, and they started down 
 the county road together, in the hot after 
 noon sun. 
 
 Frank Jar vis stayed ten days at the Deacon s, 
 waiting, as he said, for business letters. Mis 
 Simpson affirmed after the first day that he was 
 "sidlin up" to Mary Hertford. But the " Pro 
 fessor," as Miss Hertford was commonly called 
 at Simpson s, in recognition of the fact that 
 the occupant of the chair of Mental and Moral 
 Science at the Reverdy School was no ordinary 
 schoolma am, was herself not only oblivious of 
 this rumor, but unaware of any grounds for it. 
 She continued to work away steadily in the 
 mornings : she finished her lecture on Con 
 sciousness of Self, recast her old notes upon 
 Hypnotism, and began to take new ones on the 
 Psychology of Dreams. She was scrupulously 
 courteous to Mr. Jar vis, as she endeavored to 
 be toward all her fellow-boarders, but Madame 
 Michel, who had just joined her, really did the 
 lion s share of entertaining the lumberman. He 
 would sit by the Madame s hammock under the 
 maples for hours at a time, amused by her social 
 observations and occupying himself pleasantly 
 by stimulating her romantic appetite for stories 
 of Western life. His experiences were always 
 150 
 
LombarJy Poplars 
 
 related in a slow, unvaried tone, with a mixt 
 ure of New England reticence and Nevada pict- 
 uresqueness of phrase that Madame Michel 
 found extremely fascinating. She was never 
 tired of talking to Miss Hertford about it, and 
 sometimes, when Mr. Jarvis joined the two 
 ladies on their afternoon walks, Miss Hertford 
 seemed to enjoy his companionship. He was a 
 new species, and she analyzed him with a de 
 corous interest. At least, that was the only 
 attitude toward him that, in Madame Michel s 
 opinion and to her disappointment, Miss Hert 
 ford ever seemed to take. 
 
 Yet it was Deacon Simpson, after all, who 
 seemed to get the most unalloyed delight from 
 Frank Jarvis s society. That a South Brough- 
 ton boy, whose home had been broken up by 
 his wife s death when he was twenty-two, should 
 knock around half-a-dozen States and fail in as 
 many enterprises, and finally end by organizing 
 a lumber and fluming company, buying a tract 
 of pine land and a wrecked railroad leading to 
 it, hiring huge squads of Chinamen to get out 
 the timber, then shipping it into Virginia City 
 to be used for braces in the mines, and all at 
 a clear profit as South Broughton people 
 affirmed of forty or fifty thousand dollars a 
 year, seemed to the Deacon little less than a 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
 miracle. After supper, when the boarders lin 
 gered for a while on the front piazza, Deacon 
 Simpson invariably endeavored to " dror Frank 
 Jarvis out," and prided himself upon his skill 
 in accomplishing his purpose. No less than 
 three times, to as many different groups, was 
 Jarvis forced to relate the one really thrill 
 ing incident of his career as superintendent 
 of the lumber company, which had occurred 
 when a horde of angry Chinamen, led on by 
 a drunken overseer, had attempted to take 
 summary vengeance on the superintendent for 
 his vigor in breaking up gambling in the 
 logging camp. Jarvis told his story quietly 
 enough, but it made him a hero in the Dea 
 con s eyes, and even Miss Hertford acknowl 
 edged to Madame Michel afterward, that there 
 was something fine in the man s courage at 
 his lonely post, and something very admirable 
 in his modesty. 
 
 When Jarvis went away, he bade Miss Hert 
 ford good-by under the maple-trees, at two 
 o clock in the afternoon. Mis Simpson, who 
 was watching them from behind the pantry 
 blinds, in the L part, was profoundly disap 
 pointed at this prosaic leave-taking. They 
 stood for several minutes together, Miss Hert 
 ford s hammock between them. Madame Mi- 
 152 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
 chel had gone to her room in search of an auto 
 graph-album, for Jar vis s signature, but it was 
 undoubtedly at the very bottom of her trunk, 
 since she delayed her return. The stage-driver 
 grew impatient, and finally Jarvis was obliged 
 to leave his regards for Madame Michel with 
 Miss Hertford. Then he put out his hand. 
 He had never before referred to the circum 
 stances of their first meeting. 
 
 It was a good moment for me when I saw 
 you come out of my o\vn door," he said. " It 
 ought not to be the last time, ought it ? Good- 
 by, Mary." 
 
 Was it embarrassment, or audacity, that made 
 him say that? Miss Hertford lay awake all 
 night trying to decide. Once or twice she 
 comforted herself by imagining that he was too 
 embarrassed to be aware of what he was saying, 
 only to be alarmed by the reflection that he 
 certainly did not seem embarrassed in the least. 
 His gray eyes had looked fixedly at her so 
 fixedly, indeed, that she was conscious that her 
 own had failed to meet them. Miss Hertford 
 sat down to her books the next morning in a 
 state of singular helplessness, considering that 
 she was an expert in mental processes and had 
 just copied her lecture on Consciousness of Self, 
 and that she wanted nothing in life so much as 
 
 153 
 
Lombard? Poplars 
 
 the opportunity to take a Ph.D. in Psychology 
 at Leipsic. 
 
 One dreary evening in the following Febru 
 ary she had a letter from Frank Jar vis. The 
 yellow envelope, with the name of the lumber 
 and fluming company stamped upon it, had 
 been directed to her in care of Deacon Simp 
 son. It had been two or three weeks upon the 
 way, and she could not help imagining that 
 Mis Simpson had opened it over a tea-kettle 
 and had cunningly stiitk it together again. 
 There was nevertheless nothing in the letter 
 which Mis Simpson might not have been per 
 mitted to read. Its general theme was the 
 severity of the winter at the logging camp. 
 The stage-road had been broken through that 
 day for the first time in six weeks, and the 
 superintendent s only connection with the outer 
 world had been his telephone wire to Checker- 
 berry City. He had pushed over the Divide a 
 couple of times on snow-shoes for his mail, but 
 the drifts were so soft that it was risky work. 
 Five of his wood-choppers had been lost in 
 the snow since Christmas Eve, and but one 
 body had been found, though he had been out 
 for days, following every coyote track for miles 
 around. His men were getting restless ; some 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
 rascal had sledded a cask of whiskey over the 
 Divide, and he could not discover in which 
 cabin it was hidden. The Chinamen were 
 sulky. He had had to break up their gam 
 bling games again. It was rather lonesome 
 business keeping the whip - hand over three 
 hundred men, but there was no help for it. 
 He was thankful enough to have his telephone ; 
 he did not see how he could have held out 
 without that. But now that the stage-route 
 was open once more, all would go well, he 
 hoped. Indeed, he thought he could get down 
 to San Francisco in two or three days more, 
 and in that case, business might summon him 
 East. If he came, might he call upon her ? 
 It would give him great pleasure the very 
 greatest pleasure to do so. And he sent his 
 regards to Madame Michel. 
 
 Miss Hertford did not deliver this last 
 message to her friend. Madame Michel had 
 teased her about Mr. Jarvis all the autumn, but 
 since then had not mentioned his name. The 
 northeast wind shook savagely at the window of 
 Miss Hertford s room, on the third floor of the 
 Reverdy School, while she read and re-read 
 Frank Jarvis s letter. It was not a love-letter 
 not a love-letter she kept repeating to her 
 self, and yet she locked the door of the little 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
 room as if it were. The solitariness of his life 
 came home to her as never before. She pict 
 ured the winter camp in Nevada, with that isola 
 ted figure in the midst of it, toiling as gallantly 
 as if life s best trophies were still to be gained, 
 bravely forgetful of the early wreck his happi 
 ness had suffered. She pitied him, as she had 
 not pitied him since the afternoon in South 
 Broughton, when he had spoken of his early 
 home, and the girl-wife resting in that upland 
 orchard. He must be terribly lonely out there ; 
 she believed she would write him some day a 
 cheery letter. There would be no harm in that. 
 She herself knew what it was to be lonely ; in 
 deed, she was very lonely to-night, with the 
 wind roaring around the Reverdy building and 
 piling the wet snow against the panes, while her 
 one intimate friend, Madame Michel, sat in her 
 cosey parlor on the other floor, before an open 
 fire, stroking Alexis s back. Poor Madame 
 Michel ; she too had had her glimpse of happi 
 ness, but that was long ago, and now she made 
 the best of what was left to her. So it went in 
 this world one person here, another there 
 the figures in the pattern do not match if only 
 the kaleidoscope were shaken a little differently ! 
 Then her breath came quick. What should 
 she say to Frank Jar vis if he called ? She felt 
 156 
 
Lombard? Poplars 
 
 sure he would come ; she knew why he was 
 coming ; it was because he loved her. She 
 was sure of it the moment she saw that yellow 
 envelope. What could she say ? Louder swept 
 the storm around her corner of the Reverdy 
 School ; higher mounted the snow upon the 
 window-sill. It wrought nervously upon her. 
 Her mind failed to obey orders a sort of terror 
 took possession of her. When she went to bed, 
 at last, she turned back, after extinguishing the 
 gas, and taking Jarvis s letter, put it under her 
 pillow. 
 
 Yet the school-teaching consciousness is slow 
 to lose its hold, and even while her hand rested 
 upon his letter, she thought of her morrow s 
 work. The psychology class, now in wild en 
 thusiasm over the phenomena of dreaming, had 
 all agreed to think of some object before fall 
 ing asleep, and to report their dreams in the 
 morning. The teacher, too, had promised to 
 experiment and report. Too tired to direct the 
 stream of her own thought, it now bore her 
 back out of the February storm to summer days 
 in South Broughton, and to long afternoons 
 spent at the Jarvis place. The shadow of the 
 Lombardy poplars still fell across the marble 
 doorrtep the tall, homely trees, patiently 
 watching the inhabitants of the Jarvis place 
 
 157 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
 born and married and buried, secure in their 
 own self-perpetuated, sexless life. Two deso 
 late trees on a lonely hilltop, isolated from all 
 their kind, but peaceful none the less their 
 leaves whitening in this gentle July wind such 
 quiet old Lombardy poplars so quiet And 
 Miss Hertford was asleep. 
 
 Toward morning she awoke from a dream so 
 vivid that conscious life seemed pale when con 
 fronted with it. A hot wind was blowing over 
 fields full of ripening grass and ox-eyed daisies, 
 over a swamp where sweet - flag waved and a 
 few late blue iris flowers lingered, and over an 
 upland orchard of gnarled apple-trees where 
 golden-winged woodpeckers nested, only that 
 the birds were all blown away now by the 
 wind. Fiercer and hotter grew the gale : it 
 twisted the brittle dead limbs from a pair of 
 gaunt Lombardy poplars ; it swayed them back 
 and forth and beat them together till both came 
 crashing down ; then from out the torn and in 
 termingling branches strange flowers started 
 into bloom heavy-odored and so white ! The 
 fallen trees were covered with them as with 
 snow ; no, it was snow snow everywhere fill 
 ing all the intervale away over to Oak Ridge, 
 only Oak Ridge was ten times higher than she 
 had ever seen it, and the intervale was full of 
 158 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
 giant pines. Log-cabins were scattered here 
 and there, and out of them streamed throngs of 
 Chinamen, headed by drunken overseers. All 
 were converging upon a single house their 
 steps were noiseless in the snow, and the wind, 
 grown icy-cold now, drowned their voices, but 
 the moonlight glittered on axe-blades and pis 
 tol-barrels. A lamp flashed in the solitary 
 house, and instantly the dark masses of men 
 made a rush for it, swarming at the door, the 
 window, even on the roof; then a sudden panic 
 seemed to seize them, for they drew off again, 
 except two that lay by the door, black and mo 
 tionless in the moonlight. It was Frank Jarvis 
 there inside. He had barricaded the door with 
 a roller-top desk, and had stuffed a mattress in 
 to the lower half of the window. He was but 
 partly dressed ; there was an ugly look in his 
 gray eyes, and he held a smoking revolver. He 
 was calling up Checkerberry City by telephone, 
 with the same slow voice as ever : " I want a sher 
 iffs posse up here right away. Trouble with 
 the Chinamen. Say John if anything hap 
 pens to me, I wish you would forward a message 
 to Miss Mary Hertford, care of Deacon Simp 
 son, South Broughton, Massachusetts. Got it ? 
 
 Tell her I send my love, and ask her But 
 
 down came door and window under the rush 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
 of axe-blows ; the furious black stream poured 
 in upon him. It was like a swarm of bees 
 black black. The wind died, and she woke. 
 
 It was twenty-three minutes past five. Miss 
 Hertford, in all the strange horror of that 
 moment, noted the fact instinctively, and cal 
 culated the time-difference between Boston and 
 Nevada. She did not doubt that Frank Jarvis 
 was dead, nor that his death had been instan 
 taneously made known to her by the mysterious 
 processes of telepathy. There were hundreds 
 of such cases on record in the books upon her 
 table. She herself had collected half a dozen, 
 and forwarded them to the Society for Psy 
 chical Research. It was not strange to her 
 that she had been made aware of his death, but 
 it seemed pitifully strange that she should have 
 grown conscious of her love for him at the very 
 moment when it was too late. For she knew, 
 now, that she loved him ; indeed, she was not 
 sure that she had not loved him, all unknown 
 to herself, from the day when they walked 
 home from Poplar Hill together. 
 
 The Reverdy girls counted Miss Hertford s 
 gray hairs that morning, for the first time. 
 She seemed to herself, as well as to others, 
 like an old woman. Madame Michel, startled 
 at the utter misery in her face and demeanor, 
 1 60 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
 tried by intervals all the forenoon to pet her, 
 to win out of her the reason of her trouble. 
 She even had her arm about Miss Hertford s 
 waist, in school - girl fashion, when the two 
 teachers came down to their twelve o clock 
 recitations. Miss Hertford s young ladies, in 
 a tumult of excitement over their dreams, 
 were waiting for her in the room at the left 
 of the front door. The door-bell rang, and 
 Madame Michel, disengaging her arm, answered 
 it herself. Miss Hertford was crossing the 
 threshold of her recitation - room, when she 
 heard an exclamation behind her. 
 
 " Mr. Jarvees ! Madame Michel cried again. 
 Enter, if you please ; you are the very wel 
 come ! She ushered him in excitedly. He 
 smiled radiantly at her. One side of his face 
 and mustache was wet with snow ; he shook it 
 apologetically from his fur overcoat. Then 
 he caught sight of Miss Hertford, and in an 
 instant was in front of her, holding out both 
 hands. She was white and trembling ; the 
 effort to raise her hand to his gave her phy 
 sical torture ; she murmured his name inco 
 herently. Madame Michel drew aside the 
 curtains of the reception-room, conscious that 
 the psychology class was studying the situation 
 through the crack of the door. 
 161 
 
Lombardy Poplars 
 
 "You do not arrive from South Broughton, 
 Mr. Jarvees? " she inquired, feeling that some 
 body ought to say something. 
 
 "Oh, yes," replied Jarvis, forgetting to 
 relinquish Miss Hertford s hand, as he half-led, 
 half-followed her into the reception-room. " I 
 stayed at Deacon Simpson s last night. I can 
 tell you the wind blew up there ! This morning, 
 Miss Hertford, as we drove by the old place, 
 the Lombardy poplars were blown down." 
 
 Mary Hertford looked up at him ; the color 
 mounted in her cheeks till they were rosy red ; 
 she lifted her free hand helplessly to the other 
 to his ; and Madame Michel quietly drew 
 the portiere together again, murmuring all to 
 herself a triumphant " Enfin ! : 
 
 Then she crossed the hall to Miss Hertford s 
 recitation-room. "Young ladies," she an 
 nounced, with as nearly perfect an assumption 
 of her dry school-room tone as was possible to 
 her at that moment, " the class in Pseechologee 
 is dismeessed 1 
 
 162 
 
The Phenix 
 
THE PHENIX 
 I. 
 
 " COUNTESS, may I trouble you for that 
 
 v^ cauliflower ? 
 
 The Countess s eyes were hovering restlessly 
 about the farther end of the long pension table, 
 but she recollected herself instantly at the sound 
 of this mandatory voice at her right. 
 
 " Certainly, Frau Lieutenant," she ex 
 claimed. " Pardon me;" and as the servant 
 was still busy at the other extremity of the room, 
 she lifted the nearly empty platter and passed it. 
 
 The Frau Lieutenant surveyed the cauliflower 
 with an eye trained by twenty-five years of ex 
 perience at table-d hote dinners. The selec 
 tion of fricasseed chicken was her specialty, 
 though there was not a woman in Berlin who 
 could be more implicitly trusted to secure the 
 best piece of anything the first time trying ; but 
 really the cauliflower offered no opportunity for 
 her skill. There was but one bunch still un 
 touched, and she divided this into two exactly 
 equal portions. 
 
 165 
 
The Phenix 
 
 " Letty, my dear," she said in English, bal 
 ancing one of these portions upon the spoon, 
 < take this. 
 
 " But, Mammachen," protested Miss Letty, 
 a slender, delicate-complexioned girl of twenty- 
 three, " I don t " 
 
 <; Take it, my dear," said the Frau Lieuten 
 ant, imperturbably, depositing the cauliflower 
 by the side of the stewed mutton on her daugh 
 ter s plate, and rapidly assisting herself to the 
 remaining portion. " It is very fattening." 
 
 This last was in a tone intended for a whis 
 per, but the Frau Lieutenant Dettmar s strident 
 voice had a remarkably penetrating quality, and 
 an under - sized Englishman, who sat directly 
 opposite Miss Dettmar, looked up at the words. 
 He was near-sighted, and the dining-room of 
 the Countess von Eckmiiller s /#j/0 was never 
 brilliantly illuminated, especially on a dingy 
 winter afternoon. It was only two o clock, 
 but the murky fog was already settling down 
 into the Dorotheen Strasse, and the corners of 
 the high, ugly room were growing dusky. The 
 Englishman peered across the table curiously at 
 his two countrywomen, for such did the mother 
 and daughter unmistakably appear to be. Stubb- 
 worth s insight into character, like his visual fac 
 ulty, was not of the keenest, but he could not help 
 1 66 
 
The Phenix 
 
 noting the difference between the muscular, as 
 sertive body of Mrs. Dettmar, her square, red 
 face, with combative black eyes overtopped by 
 a blacker false front of hair, and the slightly 
 stooping figure of Miss Letty, with her light- 
 blue child s eyes, the vague pink of her cheeks, 
 and the shyness with which she pecked with her 
 fork at the cauliflower. The daughter had evi 
 dently the physical characteristics of her father, 
 the lamented Lieutenant Dettmar. So Stubb- 
 worth reflected, as the result of his inspection, 
 and wished that he might address the girl in 
 English ; but not daring to transgress the Count 
 ess s rule that only German should be spoken 
 at meal-times, he let his spectacled eyes fall to 
 his plate again, began to separate the bones out 
 of his mutton stew, and to meditate upon his 
 forthcoming edition of " Middle English Hom 
 ilies," the preparation of which had brought 
 him to Berlin. 
 
 The lower end of the table, where sat the 
 students and the commercial young men, was 
 uproarious, as usual. A Jewess studying for 
 the opera who sat at Stubbworth s left, laughed 
 once or twice at a student witticism so immod 
 erately, that the sedate Englishman was embar 
 rassed, but the effervescing humor lost its sparkle 
 by the time it reached the neighborhood of the 
 
 167 
 
The Phenix 
 
 Countess. The people there were dull. The 
 Widow Dettmar s soup had been cold, she had 
 lost the first chance at the stew, and she ate 
 away morosely. The Countess said nothing, 
 but glanced from time to time toward the emp 
 ty plate at her left, and once she whispered an 
 order to the servant. By and by the Jewess 
 turned her dark face toward the head of the 
 table. 
 
 4 Countess von Eckmuller," she asked, "is 
 not Herr Jarlson coming to-day ? 
 
 "Certainly," was the answer. "He was 
 called at half-past one, as usual. 
 
 l At half-past one ! interrupted the Frau 
 Lieutenant Dettmar. "You don t mean to 
 say that that young man 
 
 "Exactly," said the Countess. "He is 
 called at half-past one. If he does not get up 
 by a quarter to two, I take one of his shoes, I 
 open his door, and I cry Hamlet ! Arise ! 
 and toss the shoe at him. Then he gets up." 
 
 "I never heard of such a thing," cried the 
 Englishwoman. " Did you, Letty, my dear? 
 
 "No, Mammachen," replied Miss Letty, 
 " but it is very funny." 
 
 " It is very irregular," said Mrs. Dettmar, se 
 verely. " He is a wild young man. One does 
 not have to look at him twice to know that." 
 1 68 
 
The Pbenix 
 
 "No, Frau Lieutenant," remarked the 
 Countess, " you misunderstand Herr Jarlson 
 completely. It is only his way." 
 
 " Yes, his way. I know men. When a 
 young actor sits in the cafes till four o clock in 
 the morning, and that every night in the week, 
 and sleeps half the day, of course he is wild. 
 He must be. Oh, I know ! It s better for 
 him to have his fling, though ; he ll settle down 
 when he is thirty. My husband used to say to 
 me that those men were always steady after 
 ward. They make the best husbands. As I 
 told Letty the other day 
 
 Mammachen, pleaded Miss Letty, crim 
 soning. 
 
 But the widow s worldly philosophy was cut 
 short. A door opened half-way down the 
 room, and a tall young fellow entered, apolo 
 getically. Everyone looked up. 
 
 " Here he comes," cried the Countess, with 
 a smile on her shrewd old face. "He has 
 risen, like like why, he is my Phenix." 
 
 There was a chorus of laughter. " The 
 Phenix! The Phenix!" echoed from the 
 students, as Herr Jarlson took his seat at the 
 Countess s left. There was indeed something 
 eagle-like in the curve of his nose, and the stiff 
 masses of his hair, brushed a la Pompadour, 
 169 
 
The Pbenix 
 
 seemed curiously like a bird s crest. " The 
 Phenix," chuckled the Countess again to her 
 self, delighted at her own fantasy. 
 
 "Letty, my dear," whispered Mrs. Dettmar in 
 English, to her daughter, " what is a Phenix? " 
 
 "I think, Mammachen," was the doubtful 
 answer, murmured behind a handkerchief, lest 
 the new-comer opposite should hear, I think 
 it was a bird. Anyway, it rose." 
 
 The Norwegian, bowing respectfully to the 
 English ladies, proceeded to open a bottle of 
 beer, which the Countess provided at dinner 
 for each of her numerous family, and to empty 
 it bodily into a huge silver goblet that stood 
 beside his plate. It was very bad beer, in 
 truth, but Herr Jarlson always maintained it 
 was delicious in his Scandinavian goblet. He 
 took a draught of it now, before unrolling his 
 napkin, and then turning to the Countess he 
 exclaimed, enthusiastically : " It was grand ! " 
 
 "Do you mean the beer, Herr Jarlson?" 
 demanded Mrs. Dettmar, with veiled irony. 
 
 The Phenix lifted his gray eyes to the 
 widow s face. He had a proper terror of her, 
 a terror not diminished by his secret admira 
 tion of her daughter. 
 
 "No, not this time," he replied, in fluent 
 German. " It was the < Ghosts. " 
 170 
 
The Pbenix 
 
 "The ghosts? What do you mean? Do 
 you see ghosts all the forenoon, after coming 
 in at four o clock in the morning?" The 
 widow was so amused at her joke that she 
 did not hear Miss Letty whispering that Herr 
 Jarlson meant a play. 
 
 " It was Ibsen s Ghosts, Frau Lieutenant," 
 explained the Countess, quietly, "given at the 
 Residenz Theatre yesterday." 
 
 "Ah," said the widow. She was not in 
 terested in such matters. 
 
 "It was a feast to my soul," Herr Jarlson 
 went on; "almost as good as hearing it in 
 Norwegian again." 
 
 "You must tell me all about it later," said 
 Countess von Eckmiiller. That was the first 
 representation of "Ghosts" in Berlin, and it 
 had not yet become fashionable to discuss the 
 play at dinner. 
 
 " Herr Jarlson," spoke up the Jewess, " did 
 you remember ? 
 
 " Certainly, Fraulein," and the Phenix un 
 buttoned his frock-coat and pulled out a com 
 plimentary ticket to "Siegfried," which he 
 asked Stubbworth to pass to her. She thanked 
 him so effusively that he forgot to mention that 
 the ticket for which she had applied through 
 him had really not been granted, and that he 
 
The Phenix 
 
 had presented her with his own instead. As 
 an accredited student of acting and a fellow of 
 some promise in his calling Herr Jarlson s 
 name stood higher on the complimentary lists 
 than did hers. 
 
 It was curious to see how the Norwegian s 
 appearance changed the atmosphere of the 
 upper end of the table. The Countess became 
 chatty. The servant brought a new dish of 
 cauliflower, expressly kept hot for Herr Jarlson, 
 but Mrs. Dettmar had a helping from it, and 
 was thereby put in good spirits again. Miss 
 Letty glanced across the table timidly, from 
 time to time, and wondered why the Phenix 
 did not brush his hair like other people; he 
 was such an odd young man. She fancied 
 how he would look with a mustache such a 
 mustache, for instance, as had Major Vischer, 
 her formal engagement to whom was to be an 
 nounced next week, at Christmas. The Major 
 had a luxuriant growth upon his upper lip, but 
 Miss Letty somehow wished he were not so 
 bald ; she would almost rather have his hair 
 stand on end, like Herr Jarlson s. Then Miss 
 Letty blushed to think what Mammachen would 
 say if she knew her daughter had ventured to 
 criticise the estimable Major Vischer. The 
 Major had been so kind, and her ring next 
 172 
 
The Pbenix 
 
 week would be no cheap little German affair, 
 she was quite sure. Mammachen was right, of 
 course ; a husband of forty even if he were 
 bald and fat was forty times better than no 
 husband ; and the Major was so kind ; and 
 yet 
 
 But Mammachen was talking about Christ 
 mas, with the Countess and Herr Jarlson. 
 " No, they should be useful," she was saying, 
 in her polemic voice. "The idea of sending 
 flowers as a gift ! They wither in two days, 
 and it is money thrown away. If anybody 
 sent me flowers, I should be mad." 
 
 The Countess nodded assent, having kept a 
 pension too long to differ unnecessarily with 
 her patrons ; but what she was thinking of was 
 this: " Send flowers to you? Ich danke. I 
 should be more likely to send you a roast-beef 
 rare." 
 
 I remember the first present Lieutenant 
 Dettmar ever gave me," continued the widow. 
 " It was a book, and I have it yet; whereas, 
 you see, if it had been flowers, I should have 
 had to throw them away the day after. My 
 husband was so sensible. Letty, my dear, 
 what was that book that Papa gave me ? 
 
 " It was Proverbs of All Nations, Mam-, 
 machen." 
 
The Phenix 
 
 As Miss Letty gave this information, she 
 was conscious that both Jarlson and Stubb- 
 worth were looking at her. She thought that 
 a certain whimsical expression passed over the 
 Norwegian s thin lips, and she blushed again. 
 She was very timid. 
 
 The conversation turned to other subjects, 
 but as for the Phenix, he continued to meditate 
 upon these countrywomen of Shakespeare until 
 the dinner was over, and then he pushed back 
 his chair, opened another bottle of beer, and 
 began to talk with the Countess about the third 
 act of Ibsen s "Ghosts." 
 
 174 
 
II. 
 
 IT was five o clock in the morning, the day 
 before Christmas. Outside, in the Doro- 
 theen Strasse, it was bitter cold. The droschke 
 drivers on night service slapped their arms and 
 shivered on their boxes, and the tramway horses 
 staggered on the slippery frost as the huge 
 double-decked cars swung groaning around the 
 curve by the Countess von Eckmuller s /<?;/.<?;/. 
 In Stubbworth s tiny bedroom on the third 
 floor, it was not much warmer. The tall por 
 celain stove was polished and white like a 
 tombstone, and fully as cold. The English 
 man had already risen and was seated by his 
 lamp, wrapped in a blanket dressing-gown, 
 and with a towel around his forehead. He 
 was turning the leaves of a huge Latin folio 
 from the Royal Library, and making annota 
 tions. His edition of Homilies had been al 
 most ready, poor fellow, when a German pub 
 lished the startling suggestion that the English 
 monk who wrote them was indebted for some 
 
 175 
 
The Phenix 
 
 of his ideas to the Latin sermons of a certain 
 Dutch bishop of the thirteenth century, where 
 upon Stubb worth had secured a month s res 
 pite from his duties as private tutor in the 
 family of a Norfolk nobleman, and had spent 
 half his year s savings in a trip to Berlin, in 
 order to investigate the extent of the monk s 
 obligation to his worthy Dutch contemporary. 
 The laborious comparison promised to be sin 
 gularly barren of results, but Stubbworth had 
 the comfort of knowing that, provided his meth 
 ods \vere sufficiently painstaking, his chances 
 of securing a Ph.D. were not invalidated by 
 the worthlessness of his conclusions. 
 
 It was with a slight feeling of annoyance at 
 an interruption that Stubbworth paused in his 
 task and listened to a footstep coming down 
 the corridor. He knew it well, for it was the 
 habit of the Phenix to study his roles in the 
 early morning, after getting home from the 
 Kneipe. and before going to bed, and many 
 a time in the preceding three weeks had Stubb 
 worth been wakened by the actor s coming in 
 to borrow his Shakespeare, or to ask puzzling 
 questions about the mounting of Irving s plays. 
 
 " Come in," grumbled Stubbworth, in an 
 swer to the knock ; and then he was ashamed of 
 his inhospitality, for he had been ill the day be- 
 176 
 
The Pbenix 
 
 fore and Jarlson had sat by him the whole after 
 noon, trying to amuse him by showing a col 
 lection of Scandinavian coins, and by telling 
 about student life at the university of Chris- 
 tiania. 
 
 The door opened quietly, and the Phenix 
 entered, his latch-key still in his hand. He 
 unbuttoned his pelisse, threw his fur cap upon 
 the bed, and sat down, dejectedly. " Do you 
 not feel better, Mr. Stubbworth ? " he asked. 
 
 " Something of a headache," said the Eng 
 lishman, " but I think I shall work it off. 
 And you?" 
 
 The actor shrugged his shoulders. "I am 
 freezing, for one thing. May I light a ciga 
 rette ? 
 
 As Jarlson rolled it, Stubbworth noticed that 
 his fingers, which were of extraordinary length 
 and delicacy, were blue with cold. 
 
 Have you been in the Kneipe till now ? 
 asked Stubbworth, handing him a match. 
 
 " Till three o clock," was the answer. " It 
 was stupid, to-night. And since then I have 
 been walking the streets. I suppose, if I had 
 been a practical Englishman, I should have had 
 my gloves with me." He tossed the burned 
 match toward the stove, and settled back 
 gloomily into his chair again, muttering an im- 
 177 
 
The Phenix 
 
 precation upon Berlin tobacco. Stubbworth 
 watched him silently, not having sufficient con 
 versational command of German to say exactly 
 what he thought. " What did you walk the 
 streets for ? " he finally asked. 
 
 " Without doubt, because I was a fool. All 
 men are fools in Berlin ; read what Heine says 
 about it. Do you know Major Vischer ? 
 
 " I have seen him here. Miss Dett- 
 mar s ?" 
 
 " Yes, the betrothed of Mees Letty. We 
 were both in the Cafe Bauer last evening ; I 
 had been reading the Fliegende Blatter and it 
 lay on my table. He sent a waiter for it and I 
 handed it to the waiter." This last clause was 
 in a stage tone that made Stubbworth smile. 
 
 "Well?" said he. 
 
 "But I should have flung it in the Major s 
 face," cried Jarlson, fiercely, "and then two 
 hours from now we should have been standing 
 over on the Hasenheide, waiting for the word. 
 Would you have been my second? I would 
 have wanted you there to tell Mees Letty after 
 ward." 
 
 " God forbid ! " exclaimed Stubbworth. 
 "The Major would have brought you down 
 like a partridge, and it would have broken Miss 
 Letty s heart." 
 
 178 
 
The Phenix 
 
 Do you think she would really care ? 
 
 " Of course she would care, you silly fellow," 
 growled Stubbworth, affectionately. " Do you 
 think any girl with an English mother wants to 
 have a duel fought about her ? She is to be 
 formally engaged to the Major to-morrow, is 
 she not ? Do you suppose she would want to 
 marry a man who had just killed you ? 
 Stubbworth had very rarely put together as 
 much German as that at a time, and was rather 
 proud of it. 
 
 The Phenix tossed away his cigarette, and 
 thrusting his shivering fingers deep into the 
 pockets of his pelisse, dropped his chin upon 
 his breast. 
 
 You would better go to bed and get 
 warm," continued Stubbworth, virtuously, if 
 you have had nothing better to think of than 
 fighting Major Vischer, while you were walking 
 Unter den Linden." 
 
 But I had ! exclaimed the young fellow, 
 eagerly. " Much of the time I was thinking 
 about her. " 
 
 Stubbworth shut his Latin folio, and pushed 
 his chair around to face Herr Jarlson. There 
 were no love episodes in the " Middle English 
 Homilies," and he felt ill at ease in his role of 
 confidant. 
 
 179 
 
The Phenix 
 
 " I was thinking of Mees Letty," Jarlson 
 went on, " and the air was all like spring. Is 
 she not beautiful ? 
 
 "Why, yes," admitted Stubbworth, wonder 
 ing at the Norseman s simplicity. 
 
 "Do you think she would accept a gift 
 from me to-day, the day before she is be 
 trothed ? 
 
 Stubbworth stared at him. " A gift ? " 
 
 " It is only a philopena. I lost it to her at 
 dinner yesterday. But I did not think the Frau 
 Mamma wished me to pay, and I did not know 
 the English customs. She is really an English 
 girl, you know, in spite of her German father 
 and her continental life. Must I send her 
 gloves ? 
 
 "Why, no," said Stubbworth, hesitatingly. 
 " I don t see why you can t give her anything 
 you like, if you fairly owe it. 
 
 " Very good ; " Jarlson s hands came out of 
 his pockets with an inquiring gesture " and 
 now, could I give her a book ? " 
 
 " I should think so ; why can t you put it on 
 the Christmas-tree to-night ? " 
 
 The Phenix sprang to his feet. He was 
 blessed with a volatile temperament, and not 
 withstanding his tragic designs of the past night, 
 he had the healthy courage of his twenty-four 
 i So 
 
The P be nix 
 
 years. He struck his hand into Stubbworth s 
 just as Don Carlos greets the Marquis of Posa. 
 11 Mr. Stubbworth," he cried, " if I had had ai 
 confidant like you six weeks ago, when I first 
 met her, all might have been different. I do 
 not understand the English ways ; I have not 
 dared address her, and I have been afraid of the 
 Mammachen. But now I will put that book 
 upon the Christmas-tree in spite of all the Ma 
 jors in Prussia, and if she thanks me for it, I 
 will tell her in English " 
 
 " You had better put it in German," inter 
 rupted Stubbworth, grimly. 
 
 " Bewahre ! It shall either be in her mother 
 tongue or in mine ; she knows not a word of 
 Norwegian, and I shall say to her in English, 
 / atore you ! If she is angry, you will find 
 me lying out on the Hasenheide in the morn 
 ing." 
 
 And nodding his head sententiously at the 
 astonished Englishman, who had not taken the 
 actor s devotion to Miss Letty quite seriously 
 enough, Herr Jarlson gathered his pelisse about 
 him, and bowed himself grandly out of the bed 
 room door, in what would have been an admi 
 rable stage exit, had he not backed into a 
 frightened servant, hurrying along the narrow 
 corridor to start the kitchen fire. As for Mr. 
 181 
 
The Phenix 
 
 Stubbworth, he stood a full minute looking at 
 the door, before he found breath enough to 
 grumble out something to himself about love 
 being blind. But it was chillier in his room 
 than it had seemed before, and he lighted his 
 pipe and wasted ten minutes in a dull dream of 
 something that had happened in his own under 
 graduate days. Then he wiped his spectacles, 
 knotted the towel more closely around his fore 
 head, tightened the belt of his old dressing- 
 gown, and found his place again in the Latin 
 folio. 
 
 182 
 
III. 
 
 AT six o clock that evening the whole pen 
 sion, with a single exception, was gath 
 ered in the long dining-room. Through the 
 crack in the folding - doors at one end, there 
 could be seen the green and gilt of the Christ 
 mas - tree, which had been selected by the 
 Countess herself at the Jahrmarkt the night 
 before. The beloved Crown Prince Frederick, 
 wandering with his younger children through 
 the Jahrmarkt also and, as it sadly proved, 
 for the last time had stopped in admiration 
 before this very tree, though they had finally 
 decided that it was not quite tall enough. But 
 the incident was sufficient to add to the aroma 
 of the fir a sort of odor of royalty. 
 
 There had been a remarkably good dinner at 
 four o clock, but now the table was cleared, 
 save for a huge punch - bowl in the middle. 
 Several toasts had been drunk already, and 
 there were plenty more to come, for the tree 
 was not to be lighted until eight o clock. Each 
 member of the. miscellaneous family was pledged 
 
 183 
 
The Pbenix 
 
 to do something for the common entertainment, 
 and the Countess began, bringing out a dusty 
 harp from behind the sideboard, and playing 
 fantasies in a fashion which made it easy for her 
 audience to believe that the harp had resounded 
 in the Countess s ancestral halls upon the Oder 
 for immemorial centuries. Fran Lieutenant 
 Dettmar, who was sceptical about the antiquity 
 of the Countess s title, was unfortunately not in 
 the dining-room. The postman had brought 
 her some letters, just as dinner was over, and 
 she had retired to her own room to read them. 
 She did not come back. A medical student 
 from Madrid danced a Spanish dance amid 
 thunderous applause, and a toast was drunk to 
 Spain ; but Mrs. Dettmar was still absent. Miss 
 Letty, arrayed in her last season s Homburg 
 finery, played, in the most modest and pretty 
 \vay imaginable, her whole repertory of five 
 pieces upon the guitar, and a toast was drunk to 
 her native land ; but Mammachen was not there 
 to see. Mr. Stubbworth, under the mellowing 
 warmth of the occasion, delivered, in broken 
 German, an impressive homily upon the inti 
 mate relations of England with Germany, and 
 the students insisted upon toasting England 
 once more ; and still Mrs. Dettmar sat in her 
 room, reading those two letters. 
 184 
 
The Phenix 
 
 The first was from a retired Prussian officer, 
 an old friend of her husband. Presenting his 
 apologies for referring to a matter so delicate, 
 and alleging as his excuse his deep interest in 
 the family of the late Lieutenant Dettmar, the 
 writer made bold to inquire, in view of the ap 
 proaching betrothal, whether the Frau Lieu 
 tenant was aware that Major Vischer, so far 
 from being the man of property he was reputed, 
 was, as a matter of fact, considerably in debt ? 
 Knowing that a mere word upon this subject 
 would be sufficient to impress upon such a pru 
 dent mother the importance of an exact under 
 standing of the financial condition of her future 
 son-in-law, the writer begged leave to subscribe 
 himself her very humble servant and the de 
 voted friend of her lamented husband. 
 
 In debt ? Major Vischer in debt ? Major 
 Vischer, who had served under her Franz in 
 that Holstein business and again in the Aus 
 trian campaign ; who had sowed his wild oats 
 long ago ; who owned, as she supposed, that 
 fine estate in Saxony, and who was devoted to 
 Miss Letty Major Vischer actually in debt ! 
 The valiant widow trembled, like a rider who 
 pulls up on the verge of a precipice. She had 
 almost made the one blunder of her life ! 
 
 The second letter was from the Major him- 
 185 
 
The Phenix 
 
 self. He was chagrined to inform her that his 
 duties as staff- officer suddenly called him away 
 from Berlin that day, to inspect the fortress of 
 Konigstein. In vain had he pleaded with his 
 superiors the importance of his family engage 
 ment ; they had been inexorable., and the mor 
 row, to which he had looked forward with such 
 ardent anticipation, would behold him in Sax 
 on-Switzerland. He hoped to return by Syl 
 vester Evening, the 3ist,and he trusted that his 
 dearest Miss Letty would consider New Year s 
 Day as propitious a time for their betrothal 
 as Christmas Day would have proved, had it 
 not been for the stern duties of his profession. 
 
 Mrs. Dettmar breathed a little easier on 
 reading this. Providence had come to her help, 
 she \vas sure. There was a whole week in 
 which to break to her daughter the dreadful 
 news of the Major s poverty, and to prepare 
 her for the inevitable rupture. Miss Letty 
 worshipped the Major ! It would nearly break 
 the dear child s heart, but that could not be 
 helped. No girl of hers should ever marry a 
 man who had misrepresented his income ! Still, 
 she could not bear to spoil Letty s Christmas- 
 eve. 
 
 She went back into the dining-room. The 
 Jewess was just ending an aria from " Norma," 
 1 86 
 
The Pbenix 
 
 amid rapturous expressions of delight. Then 
 there was a moment s awkwardness. Tolerant 
 as was this cosmopolitan pension, it could hard 
 ly be expected that anyone would propose a 
 toast to the Hebrews. But Herr Jarlson was 
 equal to the emergency. 
 
 "Gentlemen and ladies," he cried, "in 
 token of our appreciation of Fraulein Gold- 
 schmidt s talent, I propose that we drink to 
 the glory of Art ! 
 
 Bravo ! called out the Countess. 
 
 Miss Letty clapped her little hands enthu 
 siastically ; it had been so quick-witted in Herr 
 Jarlson ; not even the Major could have shown 
 a kinder heart. Mrs. Dettmar, who had taken 
 the seat reserved for her between the Countess 
 and Stubbworth, and at some little distance, as 
 it happened, from Miss Letty, joined with the 
 rest in the formal homage to Art. Then there 
 were loud calls for the Phenix, from all over 
 the room : Play something for us ! " " Herr 
 Jarlson ! " " Herr Jarlson ! and some of those 
 who knew the roles he had been studying, 
 cried, "Uriel Acosta ! " and others, " Der 
 Prinz von Homburg ! The Phenix glanced 
 inquiringly at the Countess. 
 
 "You must obey, my Hamlet," she said, 
 * but you shall take whatever role you please. 
 
 187 
 
The Phenix 
 
 He rose, buttoned his coat, and passed to 
 the farther end of the room, where the students 
 made place for him. 
 
 "It will be nothing improper, will it?" 
 whispered Mrs. Dettmar. 
 
 " No," answered the Countess, sharply. 
 " He is innocent as a child. He is thoroughly 
 good ; he is not so much of a worldling as you 
 or I, Fran Lieutenant. His late hours and his 
 Kunstlerleben are nothing but boyishness. 
 
 " Gentlemen and ladies," said the Phenix, 
 "I shall have the honor of reciting from the 
 first act of Don Carlos, where the Prince 
 confesses to the Marquis of Posa his love for 
 the Queen" 
 
 His face was pale and his voice husky. In 
 stead of sleeping, that forenoon, he had been 
 the round of the Berlin book-stores. There 
 was a hush all through the room. Half-way 
 down one side sat Miss Letty, leaning forward 
 in her chair, an eager color in her gentle face. 
 She expected to enjoy this so much. It was 
 not often that Mammachen could be persuaded 
 to go to the theatre, and here was the theatre 
 come to them. 
 
 Slowly and somewhat heavily did the Phenix 
 get under way, shaking his crest once or twice 
 as if to free himself, but rising gallantly as he 
 1 88 
 
The Phenix 
 
 caught the gusts of that great scene ; and then 
 ascending, whirling in swift gyre upon gyre, 
 he swept onward down the splendid storm of 
 Schiller s passion ; and the frail English girl, 
 who was half German after all, followed him 
 with dilating eyes of admiration. She had 
 never seen Herr Jarlson look so handsome. 
 
 As he paused at the end of the scene, there 
 was a great clapping of hands. 
 
 Is Herr Jarlson really a good actor ? 
 asked Mrs. Dettmar of the Countess. 
 
 " That is for you to judge. I think so. He 
 plays these First Lover roles well, do you see, 
 because he has so much feeling, and because he is 
 young," she added, shrewdly; "but his voice 
 and his face fit him admirably for old men s 
 parts. You should hear him play Polonius. 
 
 " You don t mean to say that he can make 
 a living on the stage ? 
 
 " There is no doubt of it. He has had good 
 offers here, but prefers to make his debut in 
 some provincial theatre. He is no fool, my 
 Phenix." 
 
 There was a fresh burst of applause from the 
 other end of the room. Herr Jarlson was go 
 ing on. " I will give you the fifth scene in that 
 same act," he said gravely, " where Don Carlos 
 makes his love declaration to the young Queen." 
 189 
 
The Phenix 
 
 Again there was the perfect silence, broken 
 by his husky, fervent voice. The passage was 
 perfectly familiar to most of those in the room, 
 but Miss Letty had never seen it acted. It 
 made her tremble a little at the outset ; that 
 hapless love was such a terrible thing. And 
 the poor Queen, to be married to a graybeard 
 when all the while she really loved the gray- 
 beard s son ! To marry the wrong person and 
 find it out when too late too late it would be 
 horrible. She wondered if Philip II. was fat 
 and bald like like a certain person ; and then 
 she was ashamed of herself, and frightened at 
 the way Herr Jarlson looked at her. He 
 was playing his part to her ; he was pleading 
 there as Don Carlos with her alone, and his 
 gray eyes flashed so that she could not look 
 away from them. Her heart beat hard. It 
 was so hot there in the dining-room, and 
 something choked her. Why could she not 
 look away from him ? Her head swam ; she 
 grasped her poor soiled fan as tightly as she 
 could, to hold on to herself, to make sure 
 that it was herself and not the Queen. But 
 she was the Queen ; it was she herself who was 
 saying : 
 
 "Sie wagen es, zit hoffen, 
 Wo A lies, A lies schon verloren ist?" 
 
 190 
 
The Phenix 
 
 and yet it was not Don Carlos, but Herr Jarl 
 son, who cried, in passionate answer : 
 
 " Ich gebe Nichts verloren als die Todten" 
 
 The room whirled around. The actor s fig 
 ure was lost in a gray blur she caught at her 
 chair to save herself from falling. 
 
 But Herr Jarlson had stopped, and the up 
 roarious plaudits and the clinking of glasses 
 brought her to her senses. The Jewess leaned 
 over and said: "You are a little faint, Miss 
 Letty ? 
 
 " Oh, no," she answered, "not now." 
 
 < Come, Phenix," cried the Countess, " we 
 have had enough tragedy. You must help me 
 light the tree now." Herr Jarlson bowed 
 obediently, and they disappeared behind the 
 folding-doors. Miss Letty sat there, strangely 
 ill at ease. She was thinking. 
 
 Mammachen, whose black eyes had been 
 riveted upon her daughter and the Phenix, was 
 thinking too. She was a far-sighted woman, 
 and that was a very distant horizon upon which 
 she could not see a cloud like a man s hand. 
 But she was nervous. That letter about the 
 Major had upset her, and she had to talk to 
 somebody. Sitting next her was Stubbworth, 
 blinking in the light, and awaiting fearfully the 
 191 
 
The Phenix 
 
 distribution of the gifts. He had inner visions 
 of the Phenix lying out on the Hasenheide in 
 the morning. 
 
 " Herr Jarlson is a capital actor, isn t he ? " 
 she remarked affably, in English. 
 
 "Indeed he is," said Stubbworth ; "he is 
 a man of fine feeling. 
 
 "Ah?" 
 
 "He is very good - hearted. I was ill yes 
 terday, and he spent nearly all the afternoon 
 showing me his collection of coins." 
 
 Stubbworth spoke with some agitation. 
 
 " Of coins ? I shouldn t have supposed that 
 he could afford to have a collection of coins. 
 
 Why, yes, was the eager answer. * Herr 
 Jarlson s father is only a country clergyman, 
 but his grandfather is a great land-owner. He 
 sent him to the university of Christiania, and 
 then here ; and if all goes well with Herr Jarl 
 son, he will inherit a very neat property." 
 
 " Indeed ! " exclaimed the widow. " I I 
 am somewhat surprised. But that is very fort 
 unate for him, I mean. You are quite sure, 
 Mr. Stubbworth? " 
 
 " Quite," said he. But his voice was lost 
 
 in the Christmas hymn that all the others were 
 
 singing as the doors drew back. There blazed 
 
 the noble tree, decked with colored candles and 
 
 192 
 
The P he nix 
 
 cheap gilt, and all the pension admired it im 
 mensely, laughing like children when the fir 
 needles caught fire or the candles burned 
 crookedly, and most of them had no thought 
 beyond the peace and good -will of that ever- 
 blessed time. But Stubb worth and the Phenix 
 scarcely looked at the Christmas - tree ; they 
 eyed the Countess as she distributed the pres 
 ents that lay piled upon a table. At last she 
 reached it ; that little package upon whose re 
 ception a romantic Norseman had staked his 
 happiness. Stubb worth himself handed it to 
 Miss Letty ; it was a Prachtband in ugly cover 
 of red and gold. Herr Jarlson s card slipped 
 from the title-page. Miss Letty s fingers shook ; 
 she did not glance at the title. 
 
 " Mammachen ! " she exclaimed, in a helpless 
 whisper. " He has sent me a gift, and I am to 
 be betrothed to-morrow. What shall I do ? " 
 
 Mrs. Dettmar took up the card deliberately. 
 It was a very stylish card, and " Philopena " 
 was pencilled faintly upon it. She opened the 
 book ; it was a copy of ( Proverbs of all Na 
 tions." 
 
 " Letty, my dear, it is a philopena. He is 
 a very sensible young man. Of course you 
 must go and thank him." 
 
 The Phenix was standing apart from the 
 
The Phentx 
 
 others, and Miss Letty obeyed. " Herr Jarl- 
 son," she said, falteringly, "it was so kind 
 it was very good " and then their eyes met. 
 She stopped, but she did not turn away; a 
 deep blush crimsoned her face, as she stood 
 looking up at him. Nor did he speak at first. 
 Then his English came to him. 
 
 "Mees Letty," he whispered, " / at " 
 
 But someone touched his arm. It was Mam- 
 machen. " Herr Jarlson," she said, with the 
 black eyes straight in his face, "it was very 
 thoughtful of you to give that useful book to 
 my daughter. We have tea served in our room 
 every afternoon at four ; may we not see you 
 there soon ? Come, Letty, my dear, it is time 
 for us to go." 
 
 194 
 
IV. 
 
 THE Phenix did not go out to the Hasen- 
 heide and put a bullet through his brains ; 
 on the contrary he dragged Mr. Stubbworth 
 around to the Cafe Bauer to partake of a most 
 excellent late supper. But they did not talk 
 about Miss Letty ; the conversation was mostly 
 upon philology and the forthcoming edition of 
 the Homilies. 
 
 The next day, at four, Jarlson presented 
 himself at the Widow Dettmar s room, sipped 
 his tea with counterfeited pleasure, and an 
 swered several shrewdly disguised interrogations 
 about himself. He was as favorably received 
 as any young man could have been, but alas ! 
 Miss Letty, to her mother s chagrin, had gone 
 out with the Countess to admire the Christmas 
 display in the Passage ; and had stood so long 
 before each shop window that even the Coun 
 tess s impatience did not bring them back to 
 the pension before Herr Jarlson had finished 
 his call. Miss Lotty s delay had been inten 
 tional ; she dreaded talking with the Norwegian 
 
 195 
 
The Phenix 
 
 again so soon after that strange moment and 
 that inexplicable, half-uttered English sentence 
 of the night before. Her professed admiration 
 for the toys in the Passage was a makeshift 
 for her frightened little heart; but Mam- 
 machen had no suspicion of this, and repri 
 manded her for her lack of courtesy to such a 
 promising young man as Herr Jarlson. The 
 widow was tempted to go farther and expose 
 the deception of which Major Vischer had been 
 guilty, but she did not have quite the heart to 
 tell Miss Letty all. Her explanation, the night 
 before, that the Major had been called to Sax 
 ony for a week on military service, must do for 
 the present. That fact of itself should have 
 been hard enough for the Major s fiancee to 
 bear, and yet Mammachen thought that Letty 
 had listened to the news without any very deep 
 sense of disappointment. Upon almost every 
 other subject the widow was extraordinarily un 
 imaginative, but as a mother, and a provident 
 mother, she had a sort of faith that something 
 would happen before the week was over to make 
 clearer her duty toward her darling child. 
 
 Nevertheless the week went by uneventfully. 
 
 Herr Jarlson dropped in again for tea, it was 
 
 true, but again Miss Letty absented herself. 
 
 Sylvester Evening came, and as she sat with 
 
 196 
 
The Phenix 
 
 the others in the pension dining-room, after the 
 eight-o clock supper was over, the widow was 
 sorely troubled. The Major might arrive at 
 any moment. To be sure, she had sent a note 
 to his lodgings asking him to come, not that 
 night, but the next morning, when she pro 
 posed to herself to see him alone and charge 
 him to his face with having deceived her about 
 the property; but in his eagerness he might 
 drive directly from the station to the pension, 
 and then there would be a delightful state of 
 affairs. 
 
 On Sylvester Evening it had long been cus 
 tomary at the pension to pass the time as mer 
 rily as possible until the old year was nearly 
 gone, and then to sally forth to enjoy the brief 
 carnival enacted each year in the Berlin streets 
 at midnight. But the Widow Dettmar was in 
 no mood for the songs and speeches and toasts 
 which recalled the gayety of the week before. 
 She sat in a corner with Miss Letty, and trem 
 bled whenever the door opened lest she might 
 behold the radiant countenance of Major 
 Vischer. The hours seemed to her to crawl so 
 slowly by ; the merriment was only a forced 
 echo of Christmas ; at any moment to-morrow 
 at the latest the Major would arrive, and 
 Letty, thanks to her mother s consideration, 
 197 
 
The Phenix 
 
 was still ignorant of his baseness and unac 
 countably obstinate in avoiding Herr Jarlson. 
 It was provoking. Gloomily did Mrs. Dettmar 
 survey the Phenix as he rose in obedience to 
 the Countess s desire and acted Polonius. He 
 was a worthy young man, with fine prospects 
 professionally and otherwise, and yet his Polo- 
 mus, admirable as the Countess pronounced it to 
 be, appeared to Mrs. Dettmar to lack some of 
 the fervor which had characterized his Don 
 Carlos. Miss Letty sat with her eyes in her lap 
 all the time he was reciting. It was enough to 
 discourage the stoutest maternal heart. 
 
 Eleven o clock came, then half-past. The 
 Major did not arrive. At a quarter to twelve 
 the company broke up in little parties. The 
 Countess asked Mrs. Dettmar and Miss Letty, 
 Herr Jarlson and Mr. Stubbworth, to accompany 
 her. Miss Letty was very silent as she put on 
 her wraps. Her mother, arraying herself in a 
 fur cape and straw hat for she had gone with 
 out a winter bonnet for the sake of adding 
 to Letty s trousseau watched her nervously. 
 The old year was almost gone ; with the next 
 morning would come the broken engagement, 
 and then another campaign on the part of a 
 devoted mother who had already fought her 
 best. 
 
 198 
 
The Phenix 
 
 "Mr. Stubbworth," said the Countess, as 
 they descended the huge winding staircase, 
 " you shall escort Miss Letty, and you may 
 talk English. My Phenix must watch over 
 the Frau Lieutenant and myself. Mrs. Dett- 
 mar s heart sank again. 
 
 Dorotheen Strasse was perfectly still, save 
 for a few hurrying groups of people like them 
 selves. There was no moon, but the night 
 was fine, and warmer than the day had been. 
 They turned down Charlotten Strasse, past the 
 black shadow of the Hotel de Rome, and 
 crossed Unter den Linden diagonally. The 
 wide street was empty, but almost every build 
 ing was still lighted, notwithstanding the late 
 ness of the hour, and as they reached the 
 southern side, they could see special policemen 
 stationed everywhere. Just as the Countess s 
 little company, keeping close together, started 
 down Friedrich Strasse, somewhere, high up in 
 that tranquil midnight air, a deep bell struck 
 one two Hark ! There was a rush and 
 roar of many feet, a manifold cry of confused 
 voices, and in an instant hundreds and thou 
 sands of people poured into the narrow street, 
 a black stream issuing from every building and 
 alley-way, and on every lip there was the one 
 jubilant shout : 
 
 199 
 
The Pbenix 
 
 Prosit Neujahr ! Prosit ! Prosit 
 jahr!" 
 
 "Prosit!" answered the Countess, as a 
 workman shouted his greeting in her face, for 
 the etiquette of this carnival demanded a 
 perfect democracy of well-wishing. "Pro 
 sit Neujahr!" shrieked Herr Jarlson into 
 the ear of a policeman, who was struggling 
 to keep the crowd from trampling upon one 
 another. 
 
 Prosit Neujahr ! called out Miss Letty, 
 vaguely, fearing a condign punishment from 
 some source if she did not conform to the law 
 of the hour ; and back and forth surged the 
 tumult, and higher and higher rose the boister 
 ous greeting to the opening year. 
 
 Herr Jarlson was in front, trying to keep 
 the ladies from being too roughly jostled, and 
 at the same time to guard his silk hat, which 
 he had foolishly worn, and which was con 
 sidered a fair target for friendly blows. Sud 
 denly he stopped. A large cafe had flung open 
 its doors, and hundreds of men were pouring 
 out across the pavement ; it was impossible to 
 force a passage for the moment, and the five 
 people from the pension were crowded out 
 toward the street by the pressure from behind. 
 The dazzling electric light from the cafe 
 200 
 
The Phenix 
 
 streamed across the disorderly mass of figures 
 in a wide bar as bright as day ; it gleamed on 
 the faces of the men and women upon the op 
 posite pavement. 
 
 " Oh, what is the matter over there ? " cried 
 Miss Letty. 
 
 It was only a couple of shop-girls, without 
 escort, teased by a ring of men. The same 
 instant that Miss Letty spoke, a short man with 
 sweeping mustache grasped one of the girls 
 from behind and kissed her, then let her go 
 again, and stood there with his face full in that 
 brilliant bar of light, laughing at his New 
 Year s joke. It was Major Vischer, in civilian s 
 dress. Stubbworth recognized him, and in 
 stinctively threw himself in front of Miss Letty, 
 that she might not have the shame of seeing 
 who it was. But he was too late. 
 
 " Mammachen," said Miss Letty, in a chok 
 ing voice, " can we not go home now? I am 
 so tired ! 
 
 "Why, yes, Letty," answered Mrs. Dett- 
 mar, who had been peering with some interest 
 into the open door of the cafe ; " certainly, if 
 you have seen enough; " and with great dif 
 ficulty they all turned around and began to 
 struggle back through the on-coming crowd. 
 The gentlemen made heroic efforts to clear 
 201 
 
The Phenix 
 
 a passage, but they were all separated more 
 than once, and when they finally emerged into 
 Unter den Linden again, Miss Letty was lean 
 ing against Jarlson s arm, Stubbworth was sup 
 porting the Countess, and Mammachen toiled 
 painfully in the rear. Then Stubbworth offered 
 her his other arm, and she took it, her maternal 
 heart beating fast as she saw Letty s slender 
 figure close against the Norwegian s pelisse. 
 Mrs. Dettmar knew very well that it was not 
 conventional in Berlin to allow two young 
 people to walk together like that ; but then, 
 did not Napoleon win his battles by ignoring 
 the Prussian rules ? 
 
 The Phenix and Miss Letty walked together, 
 therefore, across Unter den Linden and up the 
 silent Charlotten Strasse. They walked slowly, 
 the wide night above them, the uproar of the 
 carnival growing fainter behind them, and be 
 fore them was the New Year. They said little. 
 The obligation to which Miss Letty had struggled 
 for a. whole week to be faithful had been sud 
 denly, and by no act of hers, destroyed. She 
 was certain that the Major could not have 
 loved her, any of the time; but her chagrin 
 was already lost. It seemed hours since that 
 moment back in Friedrich Strasse ; that was at 
 the Old Year s end, and now she was living in 
 
The Phenix 
 
 the New, as she and Herr Jarlson passed slowly, 
 quietly toward home. 
 
 As they reached the pension, the others were 
 close behind. Herr Jarlson unlocked the door, 
 Miss Letty passed in, and he followed her. 
 The Countess s foot was already on the lower 
 step, when Mrs. Dettmar stopped. 
 
 "Wait," she said, "let us see if we can t 
 still hear that shouting. 
 
 The three listened. Stubbworth thought he 
 could detect a distant murmur ; the Countess 
 declared she could hear nothing at all ; Mrs. 
 Dettmar seemed to be in doubt. 
 
 "Wait," she insisted, "let us listen once 
 more." But this time, after a longer trial, 
 they all agreed that the noise had died quite 
 away. 
 
 Miss Letty and the Phenix were awaiting 
 them on the landing. Mammachen s sudden 
 curiosity about the shouting had given these 
 two a minute s time together. A minute is 
 not much, but it is long enough for a simple 
 English sentence. 
 
 When Mrs. Dettmar and her daughter were 
 alone in their room, the girl broke down. 
 
 " I cannot marry Major Vischer," she sobbed, 
 hiding her face upon her mother s robust bosom. 
 " I do not love him. I cannot love him." 
 203 
 
The Phenix 
 
 " Don t cry, Letty, my dear," said the 
 widow, gently stroking her daughter s hot 
 cheek, "don t cry don t cry. If that s the 
 way you feel about him, Mammachen will ar 
 range it Mammachen will arrange it." 
 
 Mammachen arranged it. Two years later, 
 when Dr. Stubbworth visited Berlin to get 
 material for a new edition of the Homilies, 
 the Countess told him on the night of his ar 
 rival that his old friend Herr Jarlson was play 
 ing Second Old Man with great success at the 
 Deutsches Theatre, and that he might be seen 
 sitting by the side of Mammachen almost any 
 Sunday in the English chapel, gravely reading 
 the responses. The next morning Stubbworth 
 took an early stroll in the Thiergarten, and 
 whom should he meet coming down the Sieges 
 Allee but the Phenix, pushing a baby carriage 
 with one hand, and with a play of Shakespeare 
 in the other ! 
 
 204 
 
The Commonest Possible 
 Story 
 
THE COMMONEST POSSIBLE 
 STORY 
 
 "PHILANDER ATKINSON, bachelor of 
 
 JT law and writer of light verse, sat one 
 murky August evening in his hall -bed room, 
 with the gas turned low, wondering whether 
 the night would be too hot for sleep. At a 
 quarter before ten a loitering messenger-boy 
 brought him a line from his friend Darnel : 
 Come around at once. Just back. The very 
 greatest news. Thereupon Atkinson discarded 
 his smoking-jacket, reluctantly exchanged his 
 slippers for shoes, and took the car down to 
 Twelfth Street, remembering meanwhile that 
 Darnel s brief vacation from the Broadway 
 Bank expired that day, and speculating as to 
 the nature of the great news which the clerk 
 had brought back from Vermont. The lawyer 
 was a Vermonter, too, and it was this fact, as 
 well as a common literary ambition, that had 
 drawn the young fellows together at first, long 
 before Philander, on the strength of having two 
 207 
 
Tbe Commonest Possible Story 
 
 triolets paid for, had moved up to Thirty-first 
 Street. Philander Atkinson liked Darnel, 
 admired his feverish energy and his pluck, 
 envied his acquaintance with books. He had 
 always persisted in thinking that Darnel s sto 
 ries would sell, if only some magazine would 
 print one for a starter ; and he had patiently 
 listened to most of these stories, and to some 
 of them several times over. Yet Darnel had 
 never had any luck ; had never had even his 
 deserts ; and the sincerity of his congratulations 
 whenever Atkinson s verses saw the light al 
 ways caused Philander to feel a trifle awkward. 
 He knew that the indefatigable clerk had two 
 or three manuscripts " out " out in the mails 
 when the vacation began, and as he turned 
 in at Darnel s boarding-house he had almost 
 persuaded himself that The ALon had accepted 
 " Laki," his friend s Egyptian story. It was 
 a long climb up to Darnel s room, and the 
 writer of light verse mounted deliberately, be 
 ing fat with overmuch sitting in his office 
 chair. On the third floor the air was heavy 
 with orange-flowers and Bonsilene roses, and a 
 caterer was carrying away ice-boxes. A whim 
 sical rhyme came into Philander s head, and 
 he made a mental note of it. Just then Darnel 
 appeared, leaning over the balustrade of the 
 208 
 
The Commonest Possible Story 
 
 fourth - floor landing, his coat off, his collar 
 visibly the worse for the railway journey, and 
 an eager smile upon his thin, homely face. 
 
 " Hullo, D.," said Philander. " Here I am. 
 Been having a wedding here ? " he added in a 
 low voice, as he grasped Darnel s hand. 
 
 " I believe so. I m just back. Come in, 
 Phil. You got my message ? " 
 
 "Why else should I be here, old fellow? 
 Is it Laid, sure? " 
 
 Without answering, Darnel led the way into 
 his tiny room. His trunk lay upon the floor, 
 half unpacked, the folding-bed was down, for 
 the better accommodation of some of the 
 trunk s contents, and the desk in the corner, 
 under the single jet of gas, was covered with 
 piles of finely torn paper. Darnel s manner, 
 usually nervous and somewhat conscious, be 
 trayed a certain exhilaration, but he was under 
 perfect self-control. 
 
 " Laki ? " he said, seating himself in his 
 revolving chair and whirling around to the 
 desk, while Atkinson threw himself upon the 
 bed, " Laki? Oh, I had forgotten. It s 
 probably here." He pulled over the mail 
 accumulated during his absence. "Yes." 
 He tore open the big envelope. " The editor 
 of The ^E on regrets to say, etc. ; " and he 
 209 
 
The Commonest Possible Story 
 
 tossed the printed slip, with the manuscript, 
 into his waste-basket, with a laugh. 
 
 Atkinson s heart sank. Poor Darnel ; it was 
 not a cheerful welcome home. But Darnel 
 was busied with his letters. 
 
 "And here are the others," he went on. 
 " I thank the Lord none of them were ac 
 cepted." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Philander, turning 
 upon his elbow. 
 
 Darnel looked at him with a puzzling smile. 
 
 "That s why I sent for you," said he. 
 " Phil, all that I ve been writing here for three 
 years is stuff, and I ve only just found it out. 
 I can do something different now." 
 
 Atkinson stared. Darnel had rarely talked 
 about his own work, and then in a scarcely 
 suppressed fever of excitement and anxiety. 
 Many a time had Atkinson noticed his big, 
 hollow eyes turn darker, and his sallow face 
 grow ashy, even in reading over with a shaking 
 voice some of that same stuff. 
 
 "I have learned the great secret," Darnel 
 added, quietly. 
 
 " You have Aladdin s ring? " said Atkinson. 
 " Or are you in love? " 
 
 " Both," replied Darnel. "It is the same 
 thing." 
 
 210 
 
The Commonest Possible Story 
 
 Philander flung himself back upon the pillow, 
 with a little laugh. " Go ahead, D." 
 
 "I have found her, and myself. Let me 
 turn down the gas a little ; I see it hurts your 
 eyes. I belong in the world now ; I am in the 
 heart of it I said to myself coming down the 
 river this afternoon in the heart of the world. 
 He lingered over the words. " Phil/ he ex 
 claimed, suddenly, " all the time I was trying 
 to write I was really trying to lift myself by 
 the boot - straps. I was laboring to imagine 
 things and people, and to get them on paper. 
 It was all wrong. Do you remember that 
 French poem you read me last winter, about 
 the idol and the Eastern princess how she lay 
 on her couch sleeping the night was hot 
 with the bronze idol gazing at her with its por 
 phyry eyes, while her brown bosom rose and 
 sank in her sleep, and the porphyry eyes kept 
 staring at her staring but they never saw ? 
 Well, I believe my eyes have been like that. 
 In Laki, now, you know I wanted to de 
 scribe the exact color of the stone in the quar 
 ry, and asked the Egyptologist up at the Mu 
 seum to tell me what it was ? He laughed at 
 me. Very well. It was a dull-red stone, with 
 bright - red streaks across it ; I saw the same 
 thing in Troy this afternoon, when a hod- 
 
The Commonest Possible Story 
 
 carrier fell five stories and they picked him up 
 from a pile of bricks." 
 
 " You re getting rather realistic," muttered 
 Philander. Darnel was not looking at him, 
 and went on unheeding. 
 
 " I have but to tell what I see. I have 
 stopped imagining ; my head has ached Phil, 
 you don t know how it has ached trying to 
 imagine things. I am past that now ; if you 
 only shut your eyes and look, it is all easy. 
 Take that old Edda story that I tried to work 
 up, about the fellow who fought all day long 
 against his bride s father, and when night came 
 the bride stole out and raised all the dead men 
 on both sides, by magic, so that the next day, 
 and every day, the battle raged on as before. 
 I used to plan about the magic she used, and 
 tried to invent a charm. Why, all she did 
 was to pass over the battle-field at night, where 
 the dead lay twisted in the frost, and while the 
 wolves snarled around her and the spray from 
 the fiord wet her cheek, she stooped to touch 
 the dead men s wrists ; and they loosed their 
 grip upon broken sword and split linden shield, 
 their breath came again, soft and low like a 
 baby s, and so they slept till the red dawn." 
 
 " Look here," said Atkinson, sitting up very 
 straight, "you ve been reading The Finest 
 212 
 
The Commonest Possible Story 
 
 Story in the World, and it has turned your 
 head." 
 
 " Oh, the London clerk who was conscious 
 of pre-existences, and forgot them all when he 
 fell in love? I could have told Rudyard Kip 
 ling better than that myself." Darnel gave an 
 impatient whirl to the revolving chair. 
 
 "You mean you think you can," replied 
 Atkinson, sharply. 
 
 "As you like." He spoke dreamily, and 
 Atkinson dropped back on the pillow again, 
 watching his friend as narrowly as the dim 
 light would allow. Hard work and unearthly 
 hours had told on Darnel ; he certainly seemed 
 light-headed. 
 
 Sickening heat black frost "he was 
 murmuring; "marching, stealing, fighting, 
 toiling joy, pain the life of the race is a 
 man to grow unconscious of these things in the 
 moment that he really enters the life of the 
 race, that he feels himself a part of it? What 
 do you think, Phil?" 
 
 " I think," was the slow reply, " that what 
 ever has happened to you in Vermont has 
 shaken you up pretty well, old fellow. They 
 say that when someone asked Rachel how she 
 could play Phedre so devilishly well, she just 
 opened her black Jewish eyes and said, I have 
 213 
 
The Commonest Possible Story 
 
 seen her. And I think, in the mood you re 
 in now, you can see as far back as Rachel or 
 anybody else. It s like being opium-drunk ; if 
 you could keep so, and put on paper what you 
 see, you could beat Kipling and all the rest of 
 them. But you can t keep drunk, and you 
 can t write prose or verse on love-delirium. It s 
 been tried." 
 
 " Suppose Rachel had said, I am Phe- 
 dre? " 
 
 Atkinson lifted his stout shoulders, laughing 
 uneasily. " So much the worse. I should say, 
 the less pre-existence of that sort the better. 
 You might as well tell me the whole story, D. 
 What is her name ? 
 
 " In a moment. She loves me, Phil. She 
 is waiting for me in her little house among the 
 hills. I left her only this morning, and soon I 
 shall go back and leave New York forever. I 
 can write the story up there the story I have 
 dreamed of writing for I shall always have the 
 secret of it. I have but to shut my eyes and 
 tell what I see ; and it is because she loves me. 
 All the life of all the past I can call that A 
 Story of the Road. Then there will be the 
 future to write of the men and women that 
 are to come ; for we shall have children, Phil, 
 
 and in them " 
 
 214 
 
The Commonest Possible Story 
 
 "You re making rapid progress/ ejaculated 
 Philander. 
 
 " 1 shall know the story of the future. 
 
 Even now I know it ; I do not simply foresee 
 it, I see it. Why not A Story of the Goal ! 
 For I belong to it do you not understand ? 
 Yei, after all, what is that compared with the 
 present ? It shall be A Story of the March ! 
 Look there ! 
 
 He threw his eyes up to the ceiling, which 
 was brightened for an instant by the headlight 
 of an elevated train as it rushed past. 
 
 " Do you know what that engineer was really 
 thinking of as he went by ? That would be 
 story enough. Or what was in the heart of the 
 bride to-night, down on the third landing 
 you smelled the orange-flowers as you came up ? 
 To feel that your heart is in them, and theirs 
 in you " 
 
 But Philander Atkinson was not listening to 
 the lover s rhapsody. He was thinking of a 
 certain summer when he, too, had had strange 
 fancies in his head ; when his thoughts played 
 backward and forward with swift certainty ; 
 when he had grown suddenly conscious of great 
 desires and deep affinities, and for a space of 
 some three months he had dreamed of being 
 something more than a mere verse - maker, a 
 215 
 
The Commonest Possible Story 
 
 master of the file. Then whether it was that 
 she grew tired of him, or they both realized that 
 some dull mistake had been made it was all 
 over. There was still in his drawer a package 
 of manuscript he had written that summer : in 
 blank verse, none too noble a form for the 
 high thoughts which then filled him ; in a 
 queer new rhythm, too, the secret of whose 
 beat he had caught at and then lost, for the 
 lines read harshly to him now. He looked 
 these things over occasionally, as a sort of awful 
 example of himself to himself; though he had 
 gone so far as to borrow some of their imagery, 
 not without a certain shame, to adorn his light 
 verse. His card-house had fallen, but some of 
 the colored pasteboard was pretty enough to be 
 used again. Curiously, he found that he could 
 cut pasteboard into more ingenious shapes than 
 ever since his brief experience in piling it ; 
 fancy served him better after imagination left 
 him ; his triolets were admirably turned, and 
 his luck with the magazines began. Altogether 
 it had been an odd experience ; half those 
 crazy ideas of Darnel had been his two years 
 before, but he was quite over them yes, quite 
 and now it was D. s turn. He listened again 
 to something that Darnel was murmuring. 
 " And she is an ordinary woman, one would 
 216 
 
The Commonest Possible Story 
 
 say ; a common woman. That is the mystery 
 and the glory of it. I do not know that she is 
 even beautiful. There must be thousands of 
 women like her ; I can see it plainly enough, 
 that there must be thousands of women in the 
 world like her." There was a reverent hush in 
 his voice. 
 
 Atkinson choked back an exclamation. Was 
 D". s head really turned ? "A common woman 
 "not know whether she is beautiful?" A 
 face rose before him, unlike any face in all the 
 world : eyes with the blue of Ascutney, when 
 you look at it through ten miles of autumn 
 haze ; hair brown as the chestnut leaf in late 
 October ; mouth 
 
 Philander trembled slightly, and rising to his 
 feet, stood looking down at Darnel, haggardly. 
 It was quite over, that experience of two sum 
 mers before, but while it lasted he had at least 
 never dreamed that there were thousands of 
 women in the world like her. 
 
 " Sit down, Phil, I am almost through. A 
 woman like other women, and the story, when 
 I write it, a common story. It will be the 
 commonest possible story ; common as a rose, 
 common as a child. I am going back to Ver 
 mont, where I was born, and where I have 
 been born anew. There will be plenty of time 
 217 
 
The Commonest Possible Story 
 
 for the story years, and years, and years. I 
 have only to close my eyes some day, and she 
 will write down all I tell her, and I shall call 
 the story hers and mine." 
 
 But Atkinson still stood, his hands in his 
 pockets, his heavy figure stooping, the lines 
 hardening in his face, while he watched the 
 rapt gaze of Darnel, and drearily reflected how 
 strange it was that a woman should open all the 
 gates of the wonder- world to one man s imag 
 ination, and that some other woman should 
 close those secret gates, quietly, inexorably, 
 upon that man s friend. 
 
 " Wait," said Darnel. " Must you go back 
 to your triolets ? Let me show you her picture 
 first." He turned the gas up to its fullest 
 height, and held out a photograph. 
 
 It was the same woman. 
 
 218 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
AN INCORRIGIBLE POET 
 
 IT was the very end of summer, and there 
 were yellowing leaves upon the lower 
 branches of the birches that lined a narrow val 
 ley in the Vosges. But not a leaf was stirring 
 in the dead air of the late forenoon, and Philan 
 der Atkinson, American poet, climbed slowly 
 and with some weariness along the bed of the 
 shrunken stream. He was thinner than three 
 years before, when he had had that strange talk 
 with his friend Darnel, and had shortly after 
 sailed for Europe without even bidding Darnel 
 good-by. This last June the fever had clutched 
 him at Capri. All through July and August he 
 had lain in a hospital on the hill-slope above 
 Naples, and it was only within two weeks that 
 he had felt able to get North again, and to try 
 a walking-trip, by easy stages, in lower Alsace. 
 To-day he shifted his knapsack restlessly. The 
 glare of the sun made him dizzy after a while 
 and he wondered if he had quite thrown off the 
 fever. 
 
 221 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 Just then the valley narrowed to a gorge ; 
 the birches and the sunlight fell away together, 
 and the shadow of huge fir-trees blackened the 
 creeping surface of a pool. At its head the 
 streamlet slipped almost noiselessly over bright- 
 beaded moss, at its foot the overflow trickled 
 away again beneath an arch of heavy masonry, 
 while right and left through the sombre firs 
 stretched a Roman wall. Rome again ! At 
 kinson threw off his knapsack and drank of the 
 shadowed water, then lay back listlessly against 
 the gray wall. Rome again ! 
 
 There was no escaping her. Wherever he 
 had wandered in Europe he had found the arch 
 or the road, the word or law, that spoke still 
 of the world s mistress. When he first land 
 ed he scarcely thought of the Mediterranean 
 countries. A sudden legacy had set him free 
 from the pretence of calling himself a law 
 yer, and he had taken passage for Germany 
 with the duplicate proofs of his first volume of 
 verses in his bag. To the second edition, is 
 sued the following autumn, he had added, " In 
 Heine s Land," poems on German themes. 
 For the Muses had been gracious to Philander, 
 and keeping him far from the Germandom 
 of lecture-rooms and barracks, had sent him 
 into Thuringia and the Hartz, the Black Forest 
 
 222 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 and the Bavarian Alps, the last refuge-places of 
 Romance. Critical notices of "In Heine s 
 Land which reached him from time to time 
 praised the advance upon the cleverness, the 
 mere brightness, of his earlier verse. His touch 
 was certainly softer, and now and then he 
 struck a deeper note than had been his wont 
 since he began to publish. In Bavaria he al 
 ways went to church. An old priest who was 
 his companion for a week at a Salzburg inn 
 thought him ripe for conversion, and Atkinson 
 did indeed come to the conviction that some of 
 his walk and conversation with Darnel in New 
 York had been rather godless. A new world of 
 emotional life opened before him. He com 
 prehended instinctively, as he thought, such 
 apparently separate phenomena as the South 
 German peasant, the early drawings of Durer, 
 and the heart-breaking change of key in Heine s 
 songs. Back of the thirteenth century his 
 mind rarely wandered, nor very far forward into 
 the nineteenth, and he thought seriously of 
 renting a couple of rooms in Marburg Castle and 
 settling down to the new dream of his life, the 
 revivification of romantic poetry. 
 
 Then, one restless day, he promised a friend, 
 a young Australian painter, to spend the next 
 winter on the Nile. It was an evil hour for 
 223 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 Philander, and the guardian Muses must have 
 slept. Little by little the North faded from 
 his mind : its art, its serious faith, his own im 
 aginative impulse all these grew unreal under 
 the Egyptian sky. But he never wrote such 
 facile verse as on the deck of the dhahabiyeh, 
 pipe in mouth, with the Australian forever 
 interrupting him to discuss color-values. He 
 discovered that three or four dozen Arabic 
 words enlarged his rhyme - list marvellously, 
 and that his readers liked that sort of thing. 
 "Oriental Overtones," a collection that his 
 publishers issued in the spring at a dollar and a 
 quarter, the cover ornamented with a pink camel 
 squatting before a blue pyramid, was lauded for 
 its gorgeous imagery and sonorous diction, and 
 netted poor Philander in the first six months 
 the munificent sum of twenty-seven dollars and 
 a half. Poor Philander for the Australian 
 told him that the "Overtones" were "rot," 
 and he knew it well enough himself. 
 
 They parted in Syria, the American journey 
 ing westward, along a Roman road. But he 
 lingered on the shores of the Mediterranean, 
 for here he made new discoveries in himself. 
 He found a sense of beauty impatient of mys 
 tery or awe, a feeling for the harmony of line, 
 a satisfaction in subtleties of light and shade. 
 224 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 He gazed at blue water and volcanic headland 
 and graying temple until he felt that his eye 
 was right at last. An enthusiasm for the clas 
 sics, forgotten since his school-days, awoke in 
 him. There was no use in trying to write like 
 Byron or even like Uhland, but he really 
 thought, after two months in Sicily, that he 
 could imitate Theocritus. At least he translated 
 Theocritus, then turned to Virgil and Horace 
 again, steadied his sense of form, trained him 
 self into a cool paganism of temper, and wrote 
 verses delicate yet firm in outline as the sculpt 
 ures on a sarcophagus. Henceforward he de 
 termined to be a classicist, to restrict the quan 
 tity of his poetry, to be less lavish with its 
 hues, less individual in its form, but to aim at 
 perfection. He quite outgrew, as he supposed, 
 that transient medievalism. His dreams went 
 backward to the lovely Graeco-Roman world, 
 and forward too, for one day, on the rocks at 
 Capri, he saw more clearly than ever before 
 what might, with good fortune, be his place 
 among twentieth-century poets. And the next 
 day the fever took him. Rome and Sicily, 
 Marburg and the Nile, alternated with one 
 another in his delirium for weeks and weeks, 
 while the sisters of the hospital counted quiet 
 prayers for him, pagan as he was. 
 225 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 It was of all this that Philander was thinking, 
 as he lay there in the Alsatian valley, with his 
 head against a Roman wall. The coolness of 
 the place was infinitely restful, and the fir-forest 
 brought back many an outworn dream. He 
 watched the eddies of the pool circle away from 
 a broad rock that lay mid-stream, its top al 
 most touched by the stealthy water, and thought 
 of the folk - lore of the North, the stories of 
 Undine and of the water-sprites, the maidens 
 of the spring and nymphs of the wave, and 
 thence his mind wandered aimlessly to the sea- 
 goddesses of the South. Scarcely could he 
 keep his eyelids apart, so drowsy had he grown, 
 and he smiled drowsily at his own fancies, and 
 wished the fever had left his head steadier for 
 these long mornings in the Alsatian sun. 
 
 All at once she was there her feet just free 
 from the clear ripples which washed that broad 
 rock in the middle of the pool, the water still 
 trickling from her glistening limbs and luminous 
 body, and dripping from her upraised arms as 
 she knotted her wet yellow hair. Then she 
 leaned forward, with fingers clasped about her 
 rounded knees, her friendly blue eyes fixed 
 upon Philander, and a slight inscrutable smile 
 upon the full contented lips. 
 226 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 " My brother " she said, and he knew her 
 at that word, and his breath came slower. It 
 was no maiden of the spring, nor wave-born 
 goddess of the doves ; she was the calm Classic 
 Muse whose inspiration he had sought at many 
 a lonely place and quiet hour on the shore of 
 the Mediterranean. 
 
 "Shall I tell you something, my brother? 
 I have known you a long while, ever since that 
 day at Brindisi, when you thought you turned 
 your back forever on the North. I pitied you 
 at Capri for your fruitless gazing across the 
 water, and I wished to come to you in your 
 fever, while the black-robed sisters were asleep. 
 But it is better that I waited until now. Do 
 you not know, poor boy, that it is all in vain 
 that you seek me? You were born too late, 
 and I, who am very old you need not smile 
 know very well that no hour comes twice, not 
 even to us of the timeless world. There were 
 two men in this century of yours who might 
 perhaps have given themselves to me utterly. 
 One was a Jew boy who fell in love with his 
 cousin and broke his heart, so that I could not 
 teach him a single note, though he and I sat to 
 gether one noon in the Hartz forest, and he 
 used to cry out for me passionately now and 
 then. The other was a tall Englishman whose 
 227 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 heart was troubled about his God, so that he 
 could look at me only for a moment, though I 
 drew near him more than once in the high 
 Alps. They were born too late, like you, and 
 into a world which is not mine. But what 
 matters it ? Each to his own world. Why do 
 you give yourself the fever ? I love you, my 
 brother of this strange new age, but you must 
 never try to behold me any more. You have 
 your own world, and I am told it is a brave 
 one : why do you look back ? 
 
 Atkinson opened his eyes slowly. The stream- 
 let was still murmuring over the moss, but no 
 voice mingled with its tune ; upon the broad 
 rock a gray bird was tilting, and the beautiful 
 nude form no longer gleamed against the brown 
 shadows. He sprang to his feet. His head 
 felt strangely clear. The dizziness had gone, 
 as if the lingering Italian fever had been exor 
 cised by his draught from the mountain stream, 
 but a lassitude had taken its place. He knew 
 he had been dreaming, yet he felt ten years 
 older than when he had flung himself down 
 against that lichen-covered wall. Something 
 was broken in him. He remembered each syl 
 lable that had fallen from those musical, sensu 
 ous lips, and for an instant his own heart lay 
 228 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 open before him as the water - deeps. The 
 dream-divinity was right : no hour comes twice. 
 The hour for that fair Graeco-Roman world was 
 past, and not even a poet could bring it back 
 again, or strive to tarry in it save to his own 
 hurt. How blind he had been, ever since that 
 day at Brindisi ! 
 
 Mechanically he shouldered his knapsack, 
 and started up the valley. His feet stumbled 
 once and again upon the narrow path, and he 
 wondered if he had strength enough to finish 
 the climb to Ueber-See-und-Thal a famous 
 monastery once, then a convent, but half secu 
 larized now and become a show-place. The 
 rocky wall of the gorge kept crowding closer 
 upon the thin stream, sliding inertly from pool 
 to pool. The air was heavy with balsamic 
 odors; at every turn in the path there was 
 something to remind Philander of that world of 
 romance which had so long held him captive. 
 It was like getting home again. Here was a 
 hollow under the cliffs fit for a Siegfried s drag 
 on ; there a lonely rock-walled glade like the 
 one in the incantation scene of " Der Frei- 
 schlitz. Airs of operas, bits of poetry, whimsi 
 cal legends, slipped back into his mind as if 
 they had never been absent from it. As he 
 neared the valley s head there was a view back- 
 229 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 ward through the jagged fir-trees, past the sunlit 
 hazy slopes of birch and beech, and out upon 
 the wide Rhine-plain, misty even in high noon ; 
 and there was a charm, a mysterious fascination 
 about it all, after those clear, pale distances in 
 Italy ! 
 
 But he was too weary to stand looking, and 
 pushed on across the hot pasture-land and up 
 to the walls of Ueber - See -mid- Thai. The 
 path led him close to the door of the lower 
 chapel, and he loosened his knapsack and went 
 in. His guide-book had told him that the 
 chapel to Mary of the Fir-tree was very old, yet 
 he was scarcely prepared for the crudeness and 
 simplicity that marked the interior, as his eye 
 grew accustomed to its twilight. The sand 
 stone statue of the Virgin belonged to the ear 
 liest period of Northern sculpture ; the black 
 font was worn deeply at the side by centuries of 
 finger-touches ; the rude benches of darkened 
 pine were soiled with the candle-drippings of 
 Alsatian pilgrims. Faith was still unshaken in 
 this nook of the Vosges. Before the tawdry, 
 pitiful altar was crouching an old woman, her face 
 bowed to her knees, her crooked fingers trem 
 bling over her rosary ; and the huge stone pillar 
 by the door, built when Barbarossa was a child, 
 was hung around with votive offerings poor 
 230 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 little tin figures of broken limbs, and waxen 
 hearts, and yellowing slips of paper laboriously 
 written with " Pray for Me," " Pray for Us," 
 " Dear Mary of the Fir-tree, I am Thankful." 
 Philander murmured the words softly to him 
 self, before he went out. 
 
 A few sisters of the suppressed religious order 
 had been allowed to remain at Ueber-See-und- 
 Thal to provide for the wants of the pilgrims 
 and sight-seers, and the American was shown to 
 the refectory and served with a dinner of boiled 
 beef and turnips, with black bread and the white 
 wine of Oberhausbergen. The nun who waited 
 upon him had a round, childish face, with eyes 
 serious as a Madonna s and of a brown that he 
 had never seen outside of the Black Forest. 
 She spoke French badly. Philander watched 
 her, and as he finished the simple meal, pointed 
 to the open door of the refectory. 
 
 Far below was the Rhine, and beyond it, al 
 most hidden in the haze, there were dim moun 
 tain lines. 
 
 "That is the Hornisgriinde over there, is it 
 not? " he asked, in the Black Forest dialect. 
 
 A startled look came into her eyes, and her 
 grave mouth grew curiously wistful. 
 
 " Certainly," she answered, in the same 
 drawling gutturals, without following the direc- 
 231 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 tion of his hand. " That is the Hornisgrimde. 
 She paused a moment in embarrassment. "I 
 thought you were not French. The gentleman 
 is an American." 
 
 " But I have lived in the Black Forest," as 
 serted Philander, " for months and months." 
 
 "And I was born there." She glanced 
 toward the doorway now, as if scarcely con 
 scious of the stranger s presence. 
 
 "I was sure of it. And how came you 
 here?" 
 
 He had gone too far. She turned to him, 
 almost with terror. 
 
 " No, no ! " she cried. " You must not ask. 
 I have been here a long time, and I am very 
 happy." 
 
 Philander lifted his eyebrows. "Do you 
 mean that ? " he remarked, quietly. 
 
 For answer she looked away from him, and 
 gathered up the empty dishes without a word. 
 
 When she returned she brought his coffee, 
 and spoke French. 
 
 Would Monsieur not prefer to take coffee 
 upon the terrace? The view is very beautiful, 
 and people come a long distance to see it." 
 
 He rose and walked to the doorway, the nun 
 following with a sugar-bowl and a tiny flask of 
 chartreuse. The blazing sunlight made him 
 232 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 hesitate. He turned irresolutely, and took a 
 long look at the cool, dim refectory, with its 
 dark oak timbers and whitewashed walls, and at 
 the Black Forest woman, with her calm eyes 
 and her mask of French and her unknown 
 history. 
 
 "Why do you look back?" she asked, 
 naively. 
 
 Philander was strangely moved ; those were 
 the very words spoken by the smiling goddess 
 of his morning dream ; but could he not linger 
 even in the shadow-land of Romance ? He 
 made no answer. 
 
 " There is a breeze under the linden by the 
 north door," she went on, " and there are tables 
 there. I will show you." 
 
 He followed, without noticing whither she 
 was taking him. " There, Monsieur," she said, 
 "here is the coffee, and the sugar, and the 
 liqueur, and " in a lower voice "here are 
 some Americans adieu ! " 
 
 Philander raised his eyes. It was too late 
 to retreat, and besides he recognized Virginia 
 Johnson, a former table companion at the 
 boarding-house on Twelfth Street. She was a 
 student at the Art League then, on the eve of 
 going to Paris. . 
 
 " Why, Mr. Atkinson ! " she cried, dropping 
 
 233 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 the illustrated paper she was perusing, and put 
 ting out her hand joyfully, " this is delightful. " 
 
 "Thank you," said Atkinson, rescuing her 
 paper from its dangerous proximity to her coffee- 
 cup. You still read Life, I see. 
 
 "Of course. While there s Life, there s 
 hope. Do you remember the triolet ? Or 
 have we forgotten our humble beginnings, sir? " 
 
 It seemed natural to have Virginia Johnson 
 chaff him. 
 
 "No," he said, "I haven t forgotten. 
 That triolet in Life was the first thing of mine 
 to be accepted, and I have never doubted that 
 it was your thumbnail sketch that made them 
 take it. And excuse me wasn t that your 
 first acceptance too? And the week it came 
 out you got the number first and gave it to me 
 at dinner, with < While there s Life, there s 
 hope marked in red." 
 
 She bowed with mock gravity. You de 
 serve your fame, Mr. Atkinson. You are loyal 
 to that dear old boarding-house. Let me in 
 troduce you to my father. 
 
 An elderly gentleman in gray, with a felt hat 
 pushed well back upon his bald head, laid 
 down his newspaper and set his eyeglasses 
 higher upon his nose. 
 
 "This is Mr. Atkinson, papa Mr. Phi- 
 
 234 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 lander Atkinson." She repeated the words 
 impressively, as if hoping that her father would 
 recognize a name already distinguished in the 
 world of minor poetry. But Mr. Johnson 
 shook hands in utter innocence of the honor 
 conferred upon him, and was conscious only of 
 the pleasure in meeting a fellow-citizen. 
 
 " Glad to know you," he said. " I tell you 
 it seems good to find an American over here. 
 Haven t seen one since we left Heidelberg; 
 there were lots of em there. That was a week 
 ago, wasn t it, Virginia? " 
 
 " Three days," replied the girl, smiling. 
 
 " Well, it s long enough, anyhow. There 
 are nice places here in Europe, Mr. Atkinson, 
 but a man gets kind of lonesome, doesn t he? " 
 
 " Sometimes," admitted Atkinson, putting a 
 lump of sugar into his coffee. 
 
 "Exactly. I should say he did! My 
 daughter, now, has been over here five years, 
 and says she hasn t been homesick once. I 
 don t understand it ; " and he shook his bald 
 head dubiously. 
 
 " Papa has been away from New Jersey ex 
 actly five weeks," commented Miss Johnson. 
 "We have made I don t know how many 
 business calls on woollen manufacturers what 
 comical times we have had ! and now I want 
 
 235 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 him to go to Normandy for a month to see 
 some of the places where I ve sketched, you 
 know and he insists upon our taking the 
 steamer next Saturday. Can t you talk to him, 
 Mr. Atkinson? " 
 
 The man of woollens smiled imperturbably, 
 and took out a couple of cigars. " I wish 
 you d try one of those," he said. " I brought 
 over a couple of boxes; Virginia has been 
 managing the custom-house end of it. And 
 here s a Sun, if you like ; we got our papers at 
 Miihlhausen last night, and haven t had time to 
 read em until now. Nine days from New 
 York to Miihlhausen isn t so bad, eh ? " 
 
 But Philander declined the newspaper. The 
 talk drifted to Miss Virginia s art-studies in 
 Paris, and by and by Mr. Johnson dropped out 
 of it, and buried himself contentedly in the 
 New York stock quotations. Atkinson found 
 himself studying the girl curiously as she 
 chatted on. Was she the little Miss Johnson 
 of five years back, who used to come in from 
 Newark for five days in the week, and spar with 
 Darnel and himself at dinner-time ? She must 
 have been barely eighteen then, but had already 
 learned to manage her gray eyes with absolute 
 accuracy and irreproachable composure. She 
 had been on fire for Art, but as to everything 
 
 236 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 else cool as a woman of thirty. When Phi- 
 lander s triolet, illustrated with her sketch, had 
 been accepted by Life, he had grown distinctly 
 sentimental over their joint production, but she 
 laughed him down to a prose level in no time, 
 and pocketed her half of the eight dollars with 
 a most professional air. There was no non 
 sense, Darnel had once remarked oracularly, 
 about Virginia Johnson ; and when her father 
 sent her to Paris, even the most acrimonious 
 woman among the Twelfth Street boarders 
 found nothing to criticise in her conduct, and 
 could not help wishing her well. 
 
 And this, Atkinson reflected, as he watched 
 the radiant creature opposite him, was little 
 Miss Johnson ! She was grown taller now and 
 more womanly in figure ; her hair was done up 
 differently, as far as the Paris hat would allow 
 him to observe, and instead of the faint, clear 
 color that she had had that winter in New York, 
 her face was full-blooded and sun-browned, for 
 she had been painting in the open air since 
 May. Her eyes only were unchanged, but even 
 they seemed more brilliant than of old. For a 
 poor fellow just escaped from the black-robed 
 sisters of a hospital, Miss Johnson s travelling 
 gown was a miracle of Parisian audacity. Its 
 color reinforced her eyes peculiar gray, and 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 the long suede gloves that lay by the Life upon 
 the little table were exactly the shade of her 
 coiled hair. More marvellous still to the jaded 
 spirits of Philander, was the pulse-beat of a 
 strong personality beneath this feminine and 
 sophisticated charm. Through the clearness 
 of her gay voice there was the subtle thrill 
 that comes only with the consciousness of 
 success. He remembered now that his friend 
 the Australian, when fresh from Paris, had told 
 him about some medal or other that Virginia 
 Johnson had won, and he wondered why he 
 had not paid more attention at the time. But 
 there was something more than medal-winning 
 back of that unobtrusive faith in herself. 
 
 And yet you are going back to New York ? 
 he said rather discontentedly, as she finished an 
 exposition of the latest impressionist fad. 
 
 "Of course," she replied. "I ve already 
 rented my studio. Why not ? 
 
 " Oh, I don t know. What s the use? " he 
 asked, suddenly. 
 
 She looked grave. Have you done anything 
 since i Oriental Overtones ? " 
 
 You saw those ? 
 
 "Most certainly." She did not tell him 
 that she had cut the verses from the American 
 papers wherever she had found them, and had 
 
 238 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 cherished them for old acquaintance sake, 
 though knowing perhaps better than anyone how 
 bad they really were. 
 
 " Yes, I have done a good deal since then. 
 But a very beautiful woman and a person who 
 ought to know, I suppose intimated to me no 
 longer ago than this morning that I have been 
 tarrying among the tombs." His eyes were 
 half-closed as he spoke, and he heard again the 
 plash of water into the pool by the Roman wall. 
 But there was a sort of mockery in his voice that 
 Miss Johnson did not like. 
 
 < Where have you been this summer ? she 
 asked, somewhat at random. 
 
 " Since June, up to two weeks ago, in a Naples 
 hospital. It was not particularly cheerful. Be 
 fore that I was at Capri, and Paestum, and 
 Taormina." 
 
 "I did not know you had been ill!" 
 exclaimed Miss Johnson. " Why did you not 
 let " She stopped, flushing a little. "Any 
 one of the Paris boys would have gone down. 
 You ought to be ashamed of yourself! And 
 there was nothing about it in the papers from 
 home." 
 
 " No," he said, " such is fame ! " 
 
 " But what lovely places you have seen," said 
 the young woman, with a change of tone. 
 
 239 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 " Yes, if you don t take the fever," he replied 
 quietly. "And if you don t try to raise the 
 dead to life. 
 
 It occurred to Miss Johnson that the fever 
 might not have altogether left Mr. Atkinson s 
 brain. Involuntarily she glanced toward her 
 father, who had strolled away to the edge of the 
 terrace, and was trying to focus a field-glass upon 
 the haze-hidden spire of the Strasburg cathedral. 
 
 " Did you happen to see In Heine s Land ? " 
 asked Atkinson. 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 I wish you would tell me what you thought 
 of it. Really thought of it, I mean ; just as you 
 did of the triolet before we sent it to Life. 
 
 She remembered, all too distinctly, the fun 
 she had made of his triolet, but he was appeal 
 ing now to her candor as well as her artistic 
 sense. 
 
 " I thought there were beautiful things In 
 Heine s Land, " she said, hesitatingly ; " very 
 gentle and very perfect in feeling. I was reminded 
 of one of them this morning may I say so ? 
 when we were in the lower chapel and I read to 
 papa some of those prayers hung upon the pillar. 
 Do you remember your own poem about one of 
 those ill-spelled prayers ? Then you ought to, if 
 you please ! And yet you know you asked 
 240 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 me to say it, Mr. Atkinson is it really the best 
 work you can do? Isn t it too foreign, too 
 mediaeval, somehow ? I know those old German 
 motifs are the loveliest things in the world, 
 almost ; they make me cry, and yet all the time 
 I can t help thinking that they are not for us. 
 Haven t we something better ? An artist simply 
 must not hark back you should have heard our 
 boys in Normandy talk that to each other ! You 
 see one can t, if one wants to, and you will 
 forgive me, won t you? wouldn t it be better 
 not to try ? " 
 
 She was leaning across the table. 
 
 " I daresay," he said, wearily, yet wondering 
 a little why she had cared enough for his work to 
 tell him the truth about it, and not quite free 
 from the masculine fondness for a pretty woman s 
 preaching; "but if a man is going to accom 
 plish anything, he must do the best he knows at 
 the time." 
 
 "Most certainly!" she cried. "I don t 
 mean that it wasn t worth doing, then, if you 
 were in the mood. I never saw anything more 
 touching than those bits of paper in the chapel. 
 And I wanted immensely to sketch that nun who 
 waited on us at dinner. You see I make that 
 concession to Romance ! Yet I imagine the 
 poor cieature, in spite of her face, is prosaic 
 241 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 enough at bottom. It s partly her robe, you 
 know, and the half-light of the refectory." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Philander, " but you should 
 .have seen her eyes fill when I spoke to her in 
 German. She comes from over there" he 
 nodded toward the Rhine " and she has a his 
 tory, or she never would have left the Schwarz- 
 wald for the Vosges. 
 
 Miss Johnson was silent. 
 
 "It s a little thing like that," he went on, 
 impetuously, with a subdued passion in his voice, 
 " that makes me imagine there is still a place 
 for poetry in the world. Here and there is an 
 unspoiled corner of it, like Ueber-See-und-Thal, 
 but there are not many of them left. Did you 
 know there was a railway tunnel beneath the 
 rock where the Lorelei used to sing ? 
 
 "No," she answered, slowly, "but do you 
 not suppose, Sir Poet, that you could find wom 
 en reclining in those railway carriages who are 
 all the Lorelei was, and more ? 
 
 "You are talking like Archie Darnel now," 
 said Atkinson, dryly, but his heart beat quicker 
 in spite of himself. 
 
 " Yes ? Tell me about Mr. Darnel. He used 
 to be so ambitious, and I have never heard from 
 him." 
 
 " Did you not know? Darnel and his wife 
 242 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 were killed on their wedding journey, three 
 years ago." 
 
 "How terrible!" she murmured. "And 
 how strange, after all Darnel meant to do ! " 
 
 "There was nothing so very strange about 
 it," remarked Philander, bitterly ; "it was the 
 most commonplace accident in the world. A 
 drunken brakeman forgot to flag a train, and so 
 spoiled the great story." 
 
 " What story? I don t. understand." 
 
 " Well," said Atkinson, " I didn t altogether 
 understand myself, but Darnel s idea was this 
 and he told of the ecstasy of his friend concern 
 ing the Commonest Story. But he failed to 
 mention the fact that he too had known Mrs. 
 Darnel, and that he had sailed for Europe the 
 day before the wedding. She listened gravely, 
 but with a light kindling in her eyes. 
 
 " Ah ! " she cried, as Philander finished, " if 
 he had only lived ! He was on the right track, 
 w r as he not ? If anything great is ever again to 
 be done, it will be in that way. Darnel is on 
 my side or rather on our side there are so 
 many of us ! There are pictures, poems, operas 
 oh, there are a thousand things to be done, 
 and we fin-de-siede people, we science-spoiled 
 people " there was a fine irony in her tone 
 " must do them. And we shall do them ! It 
 
 243 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 is grand to go back to New York. Just think 
 of the men and women there all trying for the 
 same thing, and all trained for it, too ! And 
 the great story may be written any day, or the 
 great picture painted. Oh, it is beautiful here 
 in your quiet corner of Ueber-See-und-Thal, 
 and it was beautiful in Normandy, but it always 
 makes me restless to get to Paris or London or 
 New York. Work work don t you fairly 
 thrill with the sound of the word ? Men my 
 brothers, men the workers Please, Mr. 
 Poet, what is the rest of it ? " 
 
 Philander shook his head. He was watching 
 her as a sick man watches for the daybreak. 
 The artist in her w r as all on fire but the wom 
 an ? New thoughts, or rather old, forgotten 
 thoughts, surged up within him. He took the 
 chance. 
 
 " Yes," he said, deliberately, " you talk ex 
 actly like Archie Darnel. But Darnel was in 
 love body and soul in love." 
 
 Their eyes met. Virginia Johnson s fell 
 first, but in that single instant he was clair 
 voyant enough to perceive why she had illus 
 trated his triolet, so long ago, and why she 
 had been annoyed that he did not telegraph 
 when he lay ill with the fever. She had cared 
 for him all the time. 
 
 244 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 " Halloo, Mr. Mr. Atkinson ! " called 
 Miss Johnson s patient father from the terrace. 
 " I wish you d give me the exact direction of 
 Strasburg. I can t tell whether I m focused 
 on that spire or not." Philander rose without 
 a word and joined him, leaving Miss Virginia 
 playing with her suede gloves. The Black 
 Forest woman, who had been standing in the 
 shadow of the refectory for several minutes, 
 came forward to remove the coffee-cups. With 
 a sudden impulse, the girl took out a gold 
 piece, and thrust it into the nun s cool palm. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said she. " I must not." 
 
 " For the poor, then." 
 
 " If Mademoiselle desires. May you have 
 the blessing of Our Lady of the Fir-tree! " 
 Then she glanced toward Atkinson with a sin 
 gular expression, and added, timidly: "And 
 I wish you happiness, Mademoiselle." 
 
 "Hush!" replied Virginia, severely. But 
 her heart was dancing. 
 
 " Where do you go from here?" inquired 
 Mr. Johnson of Philander, when the location 
 of the cathedral spire was definitely deter 
 mined. 
 
 " I am going back to New York," said At 
 kinson. There was a ring in his own voice 
 that surprised him. 
 
 245 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 "You don t say! " cried the elder man, 
 delightedly. < Passage taken ? 
 
 "Not yet." 
 
 "Well, why not sail with me Saturday? 
 It s the French line, and I m afraid there won t 
 be many Americans on board. You d better 
 join us. 
 
 "There will be Americans enough," said 
 Philander, as they strolled back toward the 
 linden. "But I don t know whether I may 
 join you. That depends." 
 
 The Alsatian coachman whom Mr. Johnson 
 had hired was fussing impatiently with his 
 horses, for it was mid-afternoon. Philander 
 stooped for his knapsack. 
 
 "You walked up all the way?" asked Mr. 
 Johnson. " Ride down with us." Philander 
 glanced involuntarily at Miss Virginia. 
 
 "You had better," said the girl, quietly. 
 " He has been ill, papa," and in spite of her 
 swiftness in reaching for the field-glass and 
 turning away for a last look at the view, At 
 kinson saw the color mount into her face. 
 
 " That settles it," cried the woollen manu 
 facturer, cheerily. 
 
 "Very well," said Atkinson, with a look 
 that his hospitable fellow-countryman could not 
 fathom. " We will let that settle it. And I 
 246 
 
An Incorrigible Poet 
 
 think I shall sail on La Champagne." His 
 heart was like a boy s. 
 
 Coachman put in that knapsack. 
 The Alsatian obeyed. "See?" added Mr. 
 Johnson, triumphantly, turning to Philander, 
 " these fellows understand you if you only talk 
 plain United States to them. All the same, it 
 makes me lonesome to travel where there aren t 
 any Americans. I tell you, it doesn t do man 
 or woman any good to knock around too much 
 alone. That s just what I say to my daughter. 
 Isn t that so, Virginia? " 
 
 But Virginia, with field-glass directed rather 
 vaguely out upon the Rhine-plain, stood motion 
 less, as if she had not heard ; whereupon Phi 
 lander caught her travel-stained Life from the 
 table, swiftly folded it and thrust it into his in 
 side pocket. He was an incorrigible poet, after 
 all. 
 
 247 
 
Number Three 
 
NUMBER THREE 
 
 "It is very desirable that a missionary should be mar 
 ried. . . . Nor is it well to defer all attention to the 
 subject till the eve of departure from the country, though 
 excellent wives have been obtained even then." Manual 
 for Missionary Candidates, Revised Edition , Boston, 1891. 
 
 THE suppers at Mrs. Jackson s boarding- 
 house were generally considered her most 
 successful effort of the day. There was an un 
 deniable sameness about the breakfasts, and the 
 theological students who boarded there were 
 inclined to swallow their coffee morosely and 
 hurry to the seminary. The dinners might well 
 have been worse than they were, though meat 
 was always poor and high in Hart well, and it 
 was impossible to keep a theologue very plump 
 at three dollars and a half a week. But by tea- 
 time Mrs. Jackson was wont to repent of her 
 small economies, and being a master-hand at 
 hashes and croquettes and hot pastry, she gained 
 for her suppers a reputation that spread through 
 the seminary. Then, too, her theologues, at 
 the close of the day, were usually in a cheerful 
 251 
 
Number Three 
 
 mood, and ready to be pleased with trifles, cul 
 inary and otherwise. They saved their best 
 jokes, culled from the funny corner of the relig 
 ious papers, for this evening meal. Here they 
 mimicked the professors, and delivered them 
 selves oracularly concerning politics and sci 
 ence. Most of them were second- and third - 
 year men, and could chaff one another upon 
 preaching experiences, the size of congregations, 
 and the probability of calls. When all other 
 topics failed, there was one which had for them 
 a perennial fascination. Whether they ap 
 proached it coyly, or with practised noncha 
 lance, there was not a man out of the dozen 
 who did not feel that his future profession and 
 his past experience warranted him in mention 
 ing woman with the assurance of one who knew 
 whereof he spoke. Matrimony was for them 
 no speculative and problematical affair, to be 
 meditated upon at idle moments as one of the 
 possibilities of a distant future ; very far from 
 it. Within two or three years at most, they 
 all expected to be married, as a matter of 
 course. Their widest usefulness in their chosen 
 calling for instance depended largely upon 
 the abnegation of the single state. Some of 
 them had been engaged to be married for years 
 and years ; there were faithful school-teachers 
 252 
 
Number Three 
 
 and farmers daughters patiently waiting until 
 their lovers should finish the college and semi 
 nary course. It happened, however, that most 
 of Mrs. Jackson s boarders, though cherishing 
 a blessed certainty as to their ultimate condi 
 tion, were still open to conviction as to the ex 
 act person whom Providence might indicate as 
 their life-companion ; and this slight air of un 
 certainty as to particulars mingled curiously 
 with their innocent cock-sureness about woman 
 in general. 
 
 An outsider would have been more amused 
 than irritated by it all, but there was only one 
 non-theological boarder at the table, a nephew 
 of Mrs. Jackson, who did chores for his board 
 and attended the academy, and who was not 
 old enough to sink his irritation in his amuse 
 ment. Dan Jackson was wont to declare to his 
 school-boy friends, that the nudges and winks 
 and sly allusions to the ladies on the part of his 
 aunt s boarders made him tired. Toward the 
 spring of the year, when the mud began to dry 
 up in the long street of Hartwell, and the elm- 
 tree buds to redden, and the theologues to pre 
 pare for their final examinations, Dan Jackson s 
 weariness perceptibly increased. Three of the 
 graduates were to be married in a month, and 
 each day they had to face a concealed battery 
 
 253 
 
Number Three 
 
 of comment and interrogation and conjecture 
 from their fellow -boarders. Then, too, there 
 was Leffingwell s case. Leffingwell was con 
 sidered the best all-round man in the Senior 
 Class : a stubby, old-faced fellow from the Far 
 West, with a preternaturally wide skull flat on 
 top and with high cheek bones. His hair 
 was thin, and his big ears moved slightly as he 
 ate. Whenever he stated a proposition or in 
 dulged in repartee, he closed his eyes, in order 
 to concentrate his faculties upon the question in 
 hand. He was entitled by rights to the Berlin 
 fellowship for the next two years, but in pur 
 suance of a long-cherished wish, was about to 
 sail as a missionary to Senegambia. He had 
 refused two chairs of philosophy in Western 
 institutions, and was popularly reputed at the 
 seminary to have devised a philosophical system 
 of his own, completely reconciling the claims 
 of religion and of science. It was currently be 
 lieved that as soon as he had mastered the Sene- 
 gambian tongue, he would publish his system 
 in that language in an abridged form, thereby 
 at once allaying the native philosophic doubt of 
 the Senegambians and putting them in touch 
 with the most recent Occidental thought. The 
 Board had already accepted him, provisionally. 
 His statement of faith was considered the most 
 
 254 
 
Number Three 
 
 masterly document composed by a Hartwell 
 man for ten years; transparently simple in 
 outline, and Scriptural in terminology, but in 
 wardly packed so full of Leffingwell s irrefrag 
 able system that any attempt to pick flaws in it 
 was logically as dangerous as to meddle with 
 dynamite. No serious criticism had even been 
 offered upon it, and there was but one obstacle 
 to Leffingwell s immediate embarkment for his 
 field. He was a bachelor, and the Board pre 
 ferred that its representative in Senegambia 
 should be a married man. 
 
 Leffingwell s plight was thoroughly appre 
 ciated by his fellow-students, and three times a 
 day he was obliged to run the gauntlet of their 
 suggestions and admonitions. Open raillery 
 was ventured upon but seldom, for Leffingwell s 
 deliberate way of closing his eyes and selecting 
 the adequate epithet for retort was disconcert 
 ing to his adversaries. Some of their choicest 
 witticisms, therefore, were reserved until after 
 Leffingwell s departure from the table. One 
 evening late in April he was so manifestly 
 absorbed and ill - tempered, that two of the 
 theologues winked at each other as he left the 
 room. 
 
 " Leffingwell s rather down on his luck, isn t 
 he ? " remarked one. 
 
 255 
 
Number Three 
 
 " Looks like it. Can t say that I blame 
 him, though : two refusals in three weeks must 
 ruffle even a philosopher, eh ? How is that, 
 Tommy ? 
 
 " Speak for yourself, man. I don t know the 
 sensation." And the youth glanced blandly at 
 an engagement ring that he had worn for six 
 years. 
 
 How do you know he has had the mitten 
 twice ? " put in another. 
 
 " Never mind that : it s straight. I ve seen 
 both their photographs. One of them preferred 
 Japan, and the other didn t fancy him because 
 he proposed by letter. 
 
 "Good for her," said the man with the ring. 
 " He deserves to be blue." 
 
 " But that isn t the reason why he s blue 
 now, Tommy," cried the other, delightedly. 
 " Look here, you fellows won t say anything ? " 
 There were but four or five boarders remaining 
 at the table, and they all glanced up, except 
 Dan Jackson, who was devouring one of his 
 aunt s best hashes, with his eyes fixed, as al 
 ways, upon his plate. 
 
 " Don t let it out," continued the well-in 
 formed young man, " but there s a No. 3 ! " 
 
 " No ! " " You don t say ! " " Come ! " 
 were the incredulous ejaculations of Leffing- 
 256 
 
Number Three 
 
 well s associates. They had not believed him 
 capable of such rapid manoeuvring. 
 
 " Fact, though. That fellow has an address- 
 book compiled by his aunt, and this girl was 
 third in the list. She isn t as strong as No. i, 
 nor as well educated as No. 2, but she is pretty, 
 and she has seven or eight thousand dollars in 
 her own right." 
 
 This array of facts was respectfully listened to 
 by all except Dan Jackson, who reached scorn 
 fully across the table for some sweet pickles. 
 Dan was fifteen, and had a due contempt for 
 matrimonial gossip. 
 
 The speaker looked around the circle tri 
 umphantly before adding his remaining bit of 
 information. " He s waiting her answer now 
 and she s a Hartwell young lady." 
 
 There was a chorus of quick guesses and offers 
 to bet no stakes on naming her in three 
 chances ; but the well-informed youth rose, and 
 shoved his chair under the table. 
 
 " No," he said, uprightly. " I ve gone too 
 far now. You don t get her name out of me." 
 As a matter of fact, though all he had said was 
 true enough, he did not know her name him 
 self. The others crowded after him out of the 
 room, with even more than the usual hilarity, 
 leaving young Jackson alone at the table. 
 257 
 
Number Three 
 
 Dan poured himself a final glass of milk, 
 awaiting his aunt s entrance. He raised the 
 milk to his lips, and then set it down again, 
 with a troubled expression upon his freckled, 
 homely face. He was trying to put two things 
 together. 
 
 It had been his turn, on the previous Sunday 
 evening, to take tea with his Sunday-school 
 teacher, Miss Achsah Millicent. She had given 
 him good things to eat, and had been very en 
 tertaining she was the only nice Sunday-school 
 teacher in Hartwell, as all the boys admitted 
 but when he had proposed going home, soon 
 after tea, under the supposition that it was 
 proper to mention going and then yield to per 
 suasions to remain, she had not urged him to 
 stay ; and he had been forced to come away, in 
 some chagrin. At the gate he had met this 
 Leffingwell going in ! He thought nothing of 
 it at the time : theologues were always calling 
 at Deacon Millicent s. But what he had just 
 heard startled him. Suppose Leffingwell were 
 really going to marry Miss Achsah ? 
 
 By George, he, Dan Jackson, wouldn t al 
 low it ! She was too good for him ; a million 
 times too good. She was the prettiest girl in 
 Hartwell, if she was getting a little old, and 
 the nicest girl anywhere. She ought to marry 
 
Number Three 
 
 a big lawyer, or a hotel-keeper, or the president 
 of a railroad. To think of her marrying a 
 missionary, who had to get a wife or lose his 
 job! 
 
 And she might be giving Leffingwell her an 
 swer that very minute. Dan gulped off his milk 
 fiercely ; there was no time to lose. Some 
 thing had to be done about it, and there was 
 apparently no one but himself who would or 
 could do anything. For a minute he gazed 
 despairingly about the room ; then he looked 
 suddenly at his cuffs and felt of his necktie. 
 Mrs. Jackson came in. 
 
 "Dan l," said she, " don t you think you 
 better be a clearing off those dishes ? 
 
 Dan rose with dignity. " I suppose you ll 
 have to excuse me to-night, Auntie. I ve got to 
 make a call, right away. ? 
 
 " Why, Dan l, where on earth are you going 
 to make a call ? 
 
 " On my Sunday-school teacher," said Dan, 
 virtuously, and Mrs. Jackson mentally decided, 
 for the second time that day, that after all was 
 said about his breaking dishes, Dan l s heart was 
 in the right place, anyhow. 
 
 In a quarter of an hour the boy had arrayed 
 himself in his Sunday suit, donned a red necktie 
 and high collar, and had painfully written " D. 
 259 
 
Number Three 
 
 Webster Jackson" in violet ink upon a bevel- 
 edged card. Then he started stiffly down the 
 long street toward Deacon Millicent s, his boyish 
 heart still full of stern suspicion and righteous 
 wrath. 
 
 Miss Achsah Millicent sat under the hanging- 
 lamp in the sitting-room, gazing abstractedly at 
 a map of Senegambia. She had on her best 
 cashmere ; it was two years old, to be sure, but 
 she had put in full sleeves that spring, and had 
 added velvet cuffs. Perhaps it would last 
 until well, until she had several new gowns at 
 once ; then she wondered if they wore leg-of- 
 mutton sleeves in Senegambia; and then she 
 knew she was blushing, and she glanced timidly 
 around the immaculate room. She was all alone 
 in the house. The Deacon was attending a 
 conference meeting in an adjoining town. Her 
 mother had been dead for many years. Both 
 mother and father had early consecrated their 
 daughter to the service of the Lord in the foreign 
 field, if the way should be providentially opened. 
 The Deacon had told about it in prayer-meeting 
 so often that it was a standing joke in Hartwell 
 society ; and the girl felt her heart beat faster 
 whenever her father rose to speak, through fear 
 that he might forget his promise and tell the 
 church again about that early vow. For thus 
 260 
 
Number Three 
 
 far there had never been providentially opened 
 a way to its fulfilment. 
 
 Achsah Millicent had known many theologi 
 cal students who expected to be missionaries, 
 and some of them had been very good friends 
 of hers, but none of them had ever asked her to 
 marry him. Nor had anyone else. For ten 
 years she had been considered the nicest girl 
 in Hart well, and numberless young men had ad 
 mired her both afar and in tolerable proximity, 
 but no man had ever told her that he loved her. 
 No man, that is, except Mortimer G. Leffing- 
 well, who had used that expression on the pre 
 vious Sunday evening, and had asked her to 
 accompany him to Senegambia. 
 
 She had requested two days for consideration, 
 and this was the second day. It had been a 
 strange experience ; not at all like what she had 
 at times imagined it would be, if it ever came 
 to her. He had not gone down on one knee, 
 nor was there any lovelight in his eyes ; he had 
 sat quite tranquilly with his knees crossed, and 
 one of his feet dangling deliberately ; his eyes 
 were closed, as he formulated his proposition. 
 Miss Millicent was conscious of a vague disap 
 pointment here, and yet she was not sure but 
 Mr. Leffingwell would have looked ridiculous if 
 he had chosen any other way. As it was, he 
 261 
 
Number Three 
 
 had not been ridiculous at all, though perhaps 
 a little prosaic. She suspected, however, that 
 he was rather a matter-of-fact person, though 
 she knew he was very bright, and that the pro 
 fessors considered him an ornament to the 
 seminary. He would undoubtedly make a good 
 husband for someone and she herself well, 
 she was no longer a school-girl, and ought not 
 to expect a proposal in the terms of a school 
 girl s fancy. It was enough that he had pro 
 posed at all, was it not ? All these years she 
 had been waiting for just that, had she not? 
 Really, that is ; of course not so to be acknowl 
 edged, even to herself, up till now. But at last 
 the door had been opened, and why should she 
 stand hesitant before it? Her father would 
 praise the Lord for his mercy, she was sure ; her 
 mother in spite of the fact that Mrs. Millicent 
 had always insisted that her chief trial in this 
 life was to have a man around would have re 
 joiced with the Deacon, had she been alive. 
 Perhaps she knew all about it, as it was. Achsah 
 Millicent had never felt so near her mother as 
 she did in those two days ; full of soft affection 
 for her, and an intense longing to have her back 
 again. Yet, after all, she reflected, the main 
 question was not concerning parental approval, 
 but whether she loved Mr. Leffingwell. Did she 
 262 
 
Number Three 
 
 love him ? She was not at all sure that she did, 
 and yet When she reached this point in the 
 circle of inner argumentation, during the course 
 of those two days, she invariably wanted to cry. 
 For she had never loved anybody that is, any 
 man that is, not since she was the merest girl 
 and perhaps she was now incapable of the emotion 
 that other people seemed to feel. The happiness 
 of it might be meant for other people ; she had 
 always had a quiet, virginal happiness of her 
 own. And still, she was not sure. Perhaps 
 love had to grow, like other beautiful things, 
 and very likely respect was the proper soil for it. 
 She certainly respected Mortimer G. Leffingwell 
 very much indeed. Like herself, he had been 
 early consecrated to the foreign field, and he was 
 now expecting to give up a great deal that was 
 tempting to him in order to go to Senegambia. 
 Those dark faces called to him day and night, 
 he had said ; and he had added, with closed 
 eyes, that he was sure she, too, would obey the 
 call. And there were but two days for her 
 answer. Oh, the time was so short ! And it 
 had already expired ! 
 
 There was a sharp, uncompromising ring at 
 
 Deacon Millicent s front door. Miss Achsah 
 
 rose unsteadily ; one hand was pressed to her 
 
 side, the other fell to the table and rested on the 
 
 263 
 
Number Three 
 
 map of Senegambia. She glanced downward at 
 it involuntarily, and a sense of her duty flashed 
 upon her. The providential way was made 
 straight ; she would accept Mr. Leffingwell s 
 offer. Slowly she moved into the front hall ; 
 she did not wish to open the door too soon ; it 
 seemed scarcely modest. Modest ? She caught 
 ber breath again. It was immodest to admit a 
 man to the gentle, prim seclusion of her heart, 
 when she more than half-suspected that she did 
 not love him. Her answer should be No ! 
 And yet she hesitated. The bell rang again, 
 almost angrily. "Yes" or " No ? " In an 
 agony of uncertainty, the girl took the gambler s 
 choice : she would let Leffingwell s face settle the 
 question, when she opened the door. If there 
 was a certain something in it, she would marry 
 him ; she did not know what it would be, but 
 she felt that she could tell if it was there. 
 She closed her eyes, an instant, then she threw 
 the door wide open and stepped back. 
 
 Dan Jackson stood there with his red necktie 
 and his laboriously written card. There was a 
 determined scowl above his honest eyes ; his 
 hair, still wet from the brush, was rigorously 
 parted ; a flush of embarrassment was upon his 
 freckled face. The nicest girl in Hartwell gave 
 a little gasp; then, with a smile that would 
 
 264 
 
Number Three 
 
 have quite turned the head of a less inflexible 
 visitor, she put out both hands to him. 
 
 " Why, Dan ! " she cried. " I m so glad to 
 see you. I I didn t expect you. Come in ! " 
 
 She relieved him of his hat and the bevel- 
 edged card, and offered him the best chair in 
 the sitting-room. He sat up very straight, 
 looking at her with admiring scrutiny. His 
 gaze made her a trifle uncomfortable, though it 
 pleased her, too. 
 
 "It is very good of you to come to see me, 
 Dan, she said. l I am all alone this evening. 
 
 " Well," he remarked, with a covert mean 
 ing which she did not grasp, " I am glad of 
 that. I didn t know that you would be." He 
 pulled out his clean handkerchief, and without 
 unfolding it, passed it over his forehead. The 
 Millicent sitting-room seemed warm, and he had 
 a great task imposed upon him. 
 
 Miss Achsah opened a window and let the 
 cool, April night-breeze into the room. A fine 
 rain was falling. 
 
 " Why, you came down in the rain, Dan ! " 
 she exclaimed. " I did not notice it." 
 
 "I don t mind the rain," he said. "I 
 haven t carried an umbrella all winter." 
 
 " Indeed ? Isn t that rather imprudent ? 
 
 " Oh, I hate to bother with one. I had a 
 265 
 
Number Three 
 
 good umbrella, though, last fall ; a dollar-and- 
 a-half umbrella, and one of those theologues 
 stole it from me." 
 
 " Do you really think so? " she said, laugh 
 ingly. " That s a serious charge, Dan." 
 
 " Well, it s true," he went on, vindictively. 
 " Those fellows will do anything ; you have to 
 watch em all the time. I leave it to any acad 
 emy boy." 
 
 " I m afraid that wouldn t be quite fair. 
 Aren t the boys just a little prejudiced ? " 
 
 " I dunno maybe," he admitted, magnani 
 mously. " But I ain t. I live right there with 
 em, at my aunt s. I eat with em three times 
 a day. I know all about em. I tell you, you 
 want to look out for em. She was amused by 
 his growing heat, without in the least under 
 standing the reason of it, and she led him on a 
 little recklessly. Any moment Mr. Leffingwell 
 might appear at the front door. 
 
 "Why, Dan, anyone would think, to listen 
 to you, that the theological students were crimi 
 nals. Now you know better than that. You 
 really respect them very much ; come, be 
 honest ! " 
 
 "Respect em!" he cried, incredulously. 
 But she was looking him in the eyes and he 
 was forced to modify his statement. " Respect 
 266 
 
Number Three 
 
 em? Why, of course, I respect some of em. 
 There s one at the Obed house, who was sub 
 stitute half-back on the Yale team. He s all 
 right. And one or two at our house may be all 
 right. But take em together, they make me 
 tired. And if a man makes you tired, Miss 
 Achsah, I don t see that it makes any difference 
 whether you respect him or not." 
 
 She dropped her eyes a little; her fingers 
 were drumming on the open map, as if she were 
 turning over the boy s aphorism in her mind. 
 Dan Jackson saw that she hesitated, and he 
 drew a long breath, and took the plunge. 
 
 " Now, for instance," he continued, dispas 
 sionately, "there s a theologue who sits oppo 
 site me at the table. He s got a head that s flat 
 on top, just as flat as a dirt-court. You could 
 play tennis on it, honestly, if it was a little big 
 ger. And when he s got anything to say of 
 any importance, he kind of shuts his eyes and 
 opens his mouth and fires at you. His name is 
 Leffingwell. Mortimer G. Lefnngwell. He s 
 going to be a missionary somewhere. And he 
 makes me tired. Now I want to know whether 
 it makes any difference whether I respect him 
 or not ? 
 
 She was silent an instant, and the boy, car 
 ried away by the triumphant force of his own 
 
 267 
 
Number Three 
 
 argument, made an incautious move. " He 
 isn t a friend of yours, is he ? I don t suppose 
 I ought to say anything against him, if he is. 
 
 Miss Achsah detected the transparent hypoc 
 risy. " Mr. Leffingwell is a friend of mine," 
 she said, quietly. " I am sorry you do not 
 like him, Dan. He is a very noble man." 
 
 Dan s heart came up in his throat. His 
 worst fears were true, then. " Oh, that s all 
 right," he said, weakly; " it s all right if you 
 like him." Then, in a passion of revolt, he 
 added : " Did you ever watch his ears wag 
 when he eats ? 
 
 The girl laughed in spite of herself. There 
 was no denying it ; Mr. Leffingwell was occa 
 sionally ridiculous ; and all the gentle proprieties 
 of Miss Achsah s nature recognized and resent 
 ed the fact, for the first time. But the boy 
 thought she was laughing at him, and tears of 
 helpless anger started to his eyes. He did not 
 know what more he could say against Leffing 
 well ; he groped among the chaos of sensations 
 in his mind, as a diver spreads his arms uncer 
 tainly in the dim under-world. Then his fingers 
 closed upon something. 
 
 " Well," he said, desperately, " I don t sup 
 pose it makes any difference whether I like him 
 or not. He can get some girl to like him, and 
 268 
 
Number Three 
 
 they ll go off and be missionaries. He s got a 
 regular list of girls, and as fast as one of em 
 won t have him, he just tries the next. He s 
 tried two in the last three weeks." 
 
 The boy s vision was so blurred that he could 
 not see Miss Achsah s face. He got up awk 
 wardly, too proud to let her suspect his misery. 
 " I suppose I must go now, Miss Millicent," he 
 remarked, formally. " I ve had a very pleasant 
 time." 
 
 " Dan," she said, rising swiftly and laying 
 her right hand on his shoulder, with a voice that 
 scared him by its intensity, " are you making 
 that up about the list ? 
 
 "Honest Injun hope to die" affirmed 
 Dan, gloomily. " The theologues were laughin 
 about it at supper to-night. 
 
 Miss Achsah did not lift her right hand from 
 the boy s shoulder, but with the left she reached 
 around to the table behind her and noiselessly 
 closed the map of Senegambia. 
 
 " Dan," she remarked, with a tone of matter- 
 of-fact hospitality that greatly relieved him, " I 
 don t believe you have to go just yet. Let s go 
 out in the kitchen and make some molasses 
 candy ; and if anyone calls, you can come in 
 and say that I am engaged." 
 
 They made candy with great glee, and in un- 
 
Number Three 
 
 disturbed seclusion, until the academy regula 
 tions forced Dan to take his departure, at five 
 minutes before ten. It was quite too late for her 
 to expect any other caller. Just as he was go 
 ing out of the door, Miss Achsah, to his utter 
 amazement, bent impulsively and kissed the 
 boy s forehead. 
 
 Mr. Mortimer G. Leffingwell awoke the next 
 morning with a sort of half-regret. He had in 
 tended to call upon Miss Millicent the previous 
 evening, indeed very soon after supper but 
 happening to pick up a Review, he found an 
 epoch-making article that bore not directly 
 perhaps, but none the less significantly upon 
 the second point in his statement of faith. It 
 had interested him exceedingly, but he was able 
 to say, when he laid it down, that it had not 
 shaken a single clause of his own system of 
 thought. The evening had been therefore well 
 spent, though in his concentration upon the 
 article, he had forgotten Miss Millicent until it 
 was too late to think of calling upon her. He 
 would go after dinner to-day, instead. But be 
 fore dinner, as he sat by his study table, the 
 student whose turn it was to bring the mail flung 
 a note into his lap. Miss Millicent, while rec 
 ognizing the privilege and honor extended to 
 270 
 
Number Three 
 
 her, wrote that she felt compelled to decline his 
 offer, and begged most earnestly that the subject 
 might not be alluded to again. 
 
 Leffingwell ejaculated a line of Hebrew, and 
 tipped back mournfully in his chair. It was a 
 great disappointment to him. He had made up 
 his mind that she was just the wife he needed. 
 The fact that the two previous ones had rejected 
 his proposals, thereby clearing the way for Miss 
 Millicent, had looked like such an unmistakable 
 indication of Providence ! And yet after all, 
 he reflected, perhaps his confidence in the ac 
 curacy of the providential indicator had been 
 well-placed, and he had simply misread the num 
 ber the minute mark, as it were, upon the 
 matrimonial dial at which the indicator had 
 seemed to be temporarily arrested. He there 
 fore took his address-book out of the drawer, 
 but before turning to the next name on the list, 
 he spent a moment in drawing a pencil mark, 
 regretfully and elaborately, through the name of 
 Number Three. 
 
 271 
 
At Sesenheim 
 
AT SESENHEIM 
 
 WE never should have gone to Sesenheim 
 at all, if it had not been for Rhodora. 
 It was a Saturday afternoon in June, and we 
 that is, Rhodora and her husband and the 
 Scribe, who was an old friend of them both 
 were standing on the north side of the minster 
 square at Strasburg, in front of an old bric-a- 
 brac shop. There was a blaze of sunlight on 
 the square, and it seemed as if waves of heat, 
 reflected from the huge red sandstone minster, 
 were fairly beating in our faces. The shop 
 looked dark and cool. Its windows were hung 
 with rare old weapons, curious drinking-cups in 
 pewter and clay, odd bits of eighteenth-century 
 china, and carved wooden crucifixes, together 
 with peasants rings and charms and many a 
 queer ornament in ivory or silver. It was not 
 a shop that a woman like Rhodora could easily 
 pass by, and that which drew her fancy specially 
 was a pair of silver candelabra, tiny graceful 
 things, a trifle battered. 
 
 275 
 
At Sesenbeim 
 
 " How much do you think they would want 
 for them ? she asked. 
 
 " I am sure I don t know," John answered, 
 without enthusiasm. 
 
 " They are so lovely," she said, reflectively. 
 And I can just see them over our fireplace, 
 John. Wait a minute. Then she disappeared 
 within the shop, leaving John and the Scribe 
 upon the scorching pavement. There was the 
 sound of an eager dialogue, but the questions 
 soon grew slower and more subdued, and pres 
 ently Rhodora reappeared, empty-handed save 
 for the Baedeker which now emerged from its 
 temporary hiding-place underneath her travel 
 ling-wrap. 
 
 "Three hundred francs! " she exclaimed, 
 with an impressive whisper. "Did you ever 
 hear of anything equal to that? " The gentle 
 men were silent. " Now do you think that he 
 could have suspected I was an American ? she 
 demanded. " I m sure I didn t make any mis 
 take in the German." 
 
 Her companions laughed. "It is queer that 
 so many shopkeepers do take you for an Ameri 
 can," remarked John, ironically. 
 
 Do you honestly think your bonnet looks 
 like a German bonnet ? the Scribe ventured 
 to ask. 
 
 276 
 
At Sesenheim 
 
 Rhodora was mollified. " I hope not," she 
 sighed, as if the idea brought some comfort with 
 it. She stepped off from the narrow pavement, 
 apparently to go toward the minster, and then 
 stopped, as if surveying the city for final judg 
 ment. 
 
 " I believe I m a little disappointed with 
 Strasburg," she declared; "except, of course, 
 for the cathedral. Three hundred francs for 
 those candelabra ! She turned regretfully 
 toward the shop windows again, and her eye fell 
 upon the name of the owner, in faded gilt letters, 
 above them. " Brion, she repeated. Brion ? 
 It must be a French name. Why, Brion 
 who was Brion ? Tell me, one of you two 
 gentlemen." But John and the Scribe looked 
 at each other helplessly. " Brion why, of 
 course ! exclaimed Rhodora. Friederike 
 Brion, Goethe s Friederike ! John, Sesenheim 
 must be near by, and I ve always wanted to go 
 there. It s so hot and dirty here ; let s go to 
 spend the Sunday at Sesenheim ! 
 
 That is how we three happened to make our 
 pilgrimage to the quiet Alsatian village, whose 
 sole claim to notice is that it was once the scene 
 of a love episode more idyllic and more tenderly 
 told than perhaps any other that ever won its 
 gentle way into the world s literature. 
 
 277 
 
At Sesenbeim 
 
 It was all Rhodora s enthusiasm. We got 
 but slight encouragement from Jean, our skeptic 
 al head-waiter at the Maison Rouge, to whom 
 we applied for information. " Sesenheim ? " he 
 repeated, with a head-waiter s shrug. " II y a 
 de bon vin rouge la bas, mais " Clearly he 
 knew nothing about Friederike Brion. There 
 were no more trains that day. But Rhodora 
 was not thus to be put down, after all her desires 
 to visit Sesenheim, which dated back, she gravely 
 informed us, to her school-girl days, when she 
 had first read Goethe s Dichtung und Wahrheit, 
 and had promptly fallen in love with Friederike. 
 She dispatched the Scribe in search of a cheap 
 edition of Dichtung und Wahrheit; she explained 
 to her husband that for this once she would not 
 object to a Sunday train ; and she had her own 
 way in everything. To tell the truth, John, 
 who during his summer vacation was inspecting 
 the chemical laboratories of German universities, 
 and the Scribe, who was keeping him lazy com 
 pany, were both of them tempted by the idea 
 of escaping for a day from the round of travel, 
 and of going to seek an Arcadia. 
 
 We were lucky enough to find a guide to our 
 
 Arcadia in the shape of a tiny book on Friederike 
 
 Brion, written by Pastor Lucius of Sesenheim ; 
 
 and as the early morning train carried us out of 
 
 278 
 
At Sesenbeim 
 
 Strasburg into the fresh greenness of the level 
 Alsatian country, the Scribe was deputed to read 
 the important passages from the Pastor s loving 
 little chronicle. So with Friederike Brion in one 
 hand and Dichtung und Wahrheit in the other, 
 he read aloud, and gradually the story took 
 shape : how the Strasburg student, twenty-one, 
 brilliant, lovable, rode to Sesenheim in the 
 autumn of 1770, and met the slender, light- 
 haired daughter of the village pastor ; how the 
 gentleness and the gayety of this maiden of 
 eighteen won the student s heart, so that when 
 he went back to Strasburg he could not rest, but 
 must write her letters, bright, tender, and infi 
 nitely winning, and must send her verses with all 
 the lyric passion of the "young Goethe" in 
 them, and must ride out to Sesenheim again and 
 again, tarrying longer at each visit, until it 
 seemed to himself and to all as if he " belonged 
 there;" then how he grew restive, perhaps 
 because his genius stung him and he knew him 
 self to be only twenty-one, with the wide world 
 before him ; how he leaned down from the sad 
 dle and parted with her, ill at ease himself, and 
 not daring, probably, to tell her the truth ; how 
 he wrote a final letter to her, only to find that 
 her gentle answer "tore his heart," while his 
 conscience troubled him a long time, forcing 
 279 
 
At Sesenheim 
 
 him in Gotz and Clavigo to do poetic penance ; 
 how in journeying southward with the Duke of 
 Weimar, eight years later, he made a solitary 
 detour and visited the parsonage, to find all its 
 inmates unchanged toward him, and Friederike 
 calm and affectionate as of old, so that the next 
 morning, at sunrise, he rode away from Sesen 
 heim "in peace," as he wrote the Fran von 
 Stein ; and how after that the lovers never saw 
 each other again, Goethe rising steadily upon 
 his splendid and solitary path, and Friederike 
 Brion, spinster, growing old, and dying, in 
 1813, at her brother s house in the tiny village 
 of Meissenheim, having lived a life of such un 
 selfish ministration and such sweetness that an 
 old woman who has survived into our own day 
 tells us that when as a child she heard about 
 angels, she " always thought of Aunty Brion in 
 a white dress," and that "the sick, and chil 
 dren, and old people" loved her. 
 
 Between the scraps of reading we kept look 
 ing out of the wide - opened windows of the 
 slowly moving train, upon the fields of hops and 
 the wide reaches of grain and grass, intersected 
 here and there by lines of heavy foliage, and 
 darkened by clumps of scattered woodland. To 
 the left were the Vosges, in a retreating blue 
 distance, while as we rolled northward, all 
 280 
 
At Sesenbeim 
 
 along on the right, beyond the Rhine, were the 
 wooded summits of the Black Forest, misty yet 
 and shadow-barred in the morning sunlight. It 
 was Trinity Sunday, and the peasants in holiday 
 costume thronged the station platforms, intent 
 upon excursions to neighboring villages. Aside 
 from the recurrent peasant laughter, the morning 
 was perfectly still. After an hour, we passed 
 Drusenheim. It was the place where Goethe 
 changed horses, and the very next village was 
 Sesenheim. 
 
 We got out. " It s much like the rest, after 
 all," said John, as he stretched his lank body 
 and eyed the typical modern German station, 
 with its new, neat ugliness. 
 
 But Rhodora, holding her skirts together as 
 she passed quickly through a stolid group of 
 peasant women, had already started around the 
 corner of the building. "Come," she said, 
 " I know I shall find my way." We followed 
 her along a foot-path through a clover field. 
 To the left, over a fruit orchard, were the red 
 dish-gray roof tiles of the village and the eight- 
 sided tower of Pastor Brion s church. In a 
 moment more we emerged upon the road, white 
 in the glaring June sunlight, and winding its 
 way into Sesenheim. As we passed the first 
 houses, a girl was busily at work draping a white 
 281 
 
At Sesenheim 
 
 cloth about a temporary roadside shrine of the 
 Virgin, in honor of the feast day. Oh, the 
 Gasthaus zum Anker was easily to be found, she 
 said ; and presently we reached it, standing just 
 where the Anker of Goethe s time stood, close 
 by the church. 
 
 The main room of the inn proved to be 
 deserted, except for the innkeeper s daughter, 
 and two or three peasants quietly taking their 
 bread and cheese and wine in a corner. The 
 place was scrupulously clean, with yellow-painted 
 tables and benches, after the Alsatian fashion. 
 Rhodora soon discovered on the wall a print of 
 the old parsonage and of the Brion family, as 
 the latter had existed in the idealizing mind of 
 some tolerable artist. The present parsonage 
 was modern, the Fraulein smilingly told us, but 
 the barn was just as it was when Goethe and 
 Friederike painted the old chaise together, and 
 had such ill luck with the varnishing ; and the 
 jasmine bower, where they sat in the moonlight, 
 was there, too. Pastor Lucius had moved away, 
 but his successor would be glad to show every 
 thing to us. 
 
 We had an Alsatian country dinner, with such 
 delicious water that even " le bon vin rouge was 
 almost a superfluity, in a small room whose 
 window looked out on a garden, beyond which 
 
At Sesenheim 
 
 was the old gray church. A faint smell of June 
 roses came in from the garden. Perhaps it was 
 only Rhodora s fancy, but it veritably seemed 
 as if we became aware of something subtler than 
 any rose-scent in the atmosphere of this place. 
 There was a hint here of an immortal fragrance. 
 During the meal we talked much of Goethe 
 of his capacity for loving, his impressionable- 
 ness to external influences, and that reflection of 
 his actual experiences in his poetry which makes 
 what he has written such a revelation of the 
 modern mind. Did his life turn once for all, 
 here in this quiet Sesenheim, and adopt certain 
 lines of choice ? Was the Sesenheim experience 
 a spiritual crisis for him, or was it only an inci 
 dent in his development, like his love affairs 
 with Annette and Gretchen and Lili and many 
 another ? We fell to discussing, naturally 
 enough, his reasons for breaking faith with Fried - 
 erike, and came no nearer a solution than other 
 people have done, who have never taken dinner 
 under the shadow of the Sesenheim church. 
 Rhodora was inclined to be lenient with the 
 young genius. Would it have been wise or right 
 for him, she asked, to make this gentle country 
 girl happy, when his future was unsettled, when 
 the consciousness of power was strong within 
 him, and he knew she could never keep pace 
 
 283 
 
At Seseriheim 
 
 with him ? Rhodora is a brilliant talker, espe 
 cially with the odds against her, and she was 
 quicker than either of the men, and knew more 
 about Goethe. But John burst out finally, his 
 brown eyes flashing, and his hand playing ner 
 vously with the last of his cherries : 
 
 " You make one mistake, my dear : no Ger 
 man in Goethe s time, and hardly one in our 
 own, would dream that his wife could keep 
 pace with him ; and he would not want to 
 have her do so, even if he believed she could. 
 You forget where you are. Now do you sup 
 pose," he added, almost fiercely, "that any 
 man of genius has the right to break the heart 
 of a girl like Friederike, in order to further his 
 own development ? " 
 
 "But I think, John," Rhodora answered, 
 slowly, " it is not a question of what is right or 
 wrong : it is a question of the inevitable, of 
 something that would lie outside the man s 
 will." 
 
 It seemed to the Scribe that the last word 
 had been said, on each side. Perhaps the 
 Fraulein suspected it, too, for she came up tim 
 idly, and suggested that as there was to be a 
 funeral service in the church, we might make 
 the best of the opportunity to see the interior. 
 So we paid for the dinner, while Rhodora drew 
 
 284 
 
At Sesenbeim 
 
 on her tan-colored gloves, straightening her 
 bonnet stealthily before a cracked glass in the 
 main room of the inn, and we strolled over to 
 the church, entering in the wake of half a dozen 
 slowly pacing women. The edifice, consisting 
 of a single narrow nave and rounding choir, 
 was built in the fifteenth century, and since the 
 time of Louis XIV. has been used by Roman 
 Catholics and Protestants alike, as is often the 
 custom in Alsace-Lorraine. In the aisle was a 
 tombstone, with the inscription half effaced, 
 bearing the date of 1557, over which the young 
 Goethe s feet once stepped so lightly; and 
 there was the Pastor s pew, in which, by the 
 side of Friederike, he found her father s ser 
 mon " none too long." In the apse was a tin 
 selled altar, with crucifix and candles and the 
 image of the Virgin, while on the right wall of 
 the nave was the pulpit, decorated, as were all 
 the windows, with long green branches in 
 honor of Trinity Sunday. The seats were filled 
 with peasant women, in dark, immobile rows ; 
 each dressed like all the others, in a black al 
 paca gown, a short sack of the same material 
 edged with velvet ribbon, a brocaded silk neck 
 cloth, and a queer little quilted black silk cap, 
 with wide, stiff bows of ribbon that stood out 
 from the head like the wings of a huge, dusky 
 285 
 
At Sesenbeim 
 
 butterfly. They were all of that age, from 
 thirty to sixty-five, when- peasants look just 
 alike their hair bleached yellow and their 
 faces browned by labor in the fields ; shrewd 
 faces, many of them, with strong features, but 
 absolutely untouched by any lines of thought ; 
 with animal patience and endurance in them, 
 and in the eyes something of the expression 
 that a dog or horse has when he looks at you 
 and does not understand you. They were all 
 hushed and reverent now, in the presence of 
 the offices of the church. 
 
 The Lutheran Pastor ascended into the pul 
 pit, and read the formal death notice of the 
 person whose funeral sermon he was to preach. 
 It was an old woman, born in the very year 
 that Friederike Brion died. There had once 
 been an irregularity in her life, it appeared. 
 "My beloved ones, this woman was sinful," 
 the round-faced blonde young Pastor began, 
 " but we are all sinful." He paused, and there 
 was a profound stillness. An old peasant wom 
 an on the seat in front of us turned to a compan 
 ion, and whispered, the tears starting from her 
 bleared eyes, " Das ist wahr." He went on 
 again, preaching from the text, " Dust thou 
 art," amid a silence almost painful. A few 
 children sat in front of the pulpit. On the very 
 286 
 
At Sesenheim 
 
 back seat were three men, not old, but with 
 strangely wrinkled . faces, and all of them were 
 sobbing. Through the open window near the 
 pulpit the June breeze blew in, making the lin 
 den branches rustle gently, and throw flicker 
 ing shadows on the whitewashed wall. The 
 Scribe found himself looking at Rhodora. She 
 sat leaning forward slightly, intent upon the un 
 familiar language; her gloved hands clasped 
 and resting in her lap, her jaunty brown jacket 
 loosened ; a touch of color in her face, her gray 
 eyes wide and never moving from the Pastor, 
 her thin lips parted. Beyond this delicate, 
 sensitive, highly organized American woman, 
 curiously out of place here, were the rows of 
 Alsatian peasants, whose lives were narrowed 
 down to Sesenheim and the fields around it. 
 " Dust thou art," the preacher kept reiterating ; 
 ay, but of what different clay, and how differ 
 ently breathed upon ! Yet here, in this out-of- 
 the-way corner of the world, in the presence of 
 these reverent souls and these solemn words, 
 life seemed all of a sudden very simple and to 
 be tested by simple standards, whether the life 
 be Goethe s or a peasant woman s. 
 
 We came out into the full glow of the after 
 noon. Along a stone wall that inclosed the 
 churchyard were ranged a dozen boys, waiting 
 
 287 
 
At Sesenlmrn 
 
 for the sermon to come to an end. " Just as 
 if it were a New England country meeting 
 house ! " laughed John. The short grass of the 
 churchyard was covered with small w r hite dai 
 sies ; some geese toddled away from us as we 
 wandered around to look for the gravestones of 
 the elder Brions, which we found leaning up 
 against the outer wall of the church, with name 
 and date almost illegible : and all this was more 
 like a country churchyard in the Old England 
 than in the New. The sexton came out soon, 
 bringing the Protestant Bible, and a procession 
 of white-robed girls, ready to be confirmed that 
 afternoon in the Romanist faith, was already 
 waiting at the door. They were homely brown 
 little things ; we looked in vain for a graceful 
 Friederike. But Rhodora took a sudden fancy 
 to one of them, a stooping, shy girl with great 
 unworldly eyes, and went up and spoke to her. 
 What she said we did not know ; perhaps the Al 
 satian did not, but the dark sad eyes smiled for 
 a moment, and she actually turned and nodded 
 at Rhodora, as the awkward procession filed 
 into the porch. Women are curious creatures. 
 We walked over to the parsonage and gazed 
 at the historic barn, while John reached his 
 long arm over the fence and plucked a blos 
 som from the famous jasmine bush. Just as 
 
At Sesenheim 
 
 Rhodora was protesting that she did not care 
 to enter the new-fangled house, even to see one 
 of Friederike s letters, the rosy-cheeked pastor 
 appeared at the door, and asked if he could be 
 of any service. We looked at Rhodora. She 
 accepted the offer with prompt wilfulness, and 
 with a superlative expression of gratitude in her 
 queer German that must have amused the dom 
 inie. We all began to feel a little like tour 
 ists now, and rather ashamed of ourselves, 
 though the pastor made a charming host, and 
 explained why the old parsonage was torn 
 down, and when the jasmine bush was trans 
 planted, and how he had had to study Dichtung 
 und Wahrheit in order to answer visitors ques 
 tions ; and finally he took us to his library, 
 where some of Friederike s letters are preserved. 
 But a yellowed old letter counts for so little 
 after it is framed and hung ! Something, del 
 icate and intangible, escapes. After we had 
 put our names in the visitors book we were 
 almost the only ones from America we came 
 away, with a consciousness that antiquarianism 
 and curiosity, that prose, in short, had breathed 
 its spirit for a moment upon our hitherto un 
 spoiled Sesenheim idyl. 
 
 Fortunately, the best was yet to come. We 
 walked down the winding white road again, 
 289 
 
At Sesenheim 
 
 past the straggling cottages white, too, except 
 where the great weather-beaten beams ef the 
 framework were left exposed, crossing the plas 
 tered walls at all odd angles and on out of 
 the village a hundred yards or so, in search of 
 the spot whither most German pilgrims to Sesen 
 heim first direct their steps, the hillock where 
 Friederike passed many an hour in that favorite 
 arbor of which Goethe himself has had so much 
 to say. We found the place easily enough. 
 Some Goethe lovers have bought the hillock, 
 which proved to be an ancient burial-mound, 
 and have erected a new arbor, bearing the in 
 scription " Friederiken Ruh, 1770-1880." It 
 commands a characteristic Alsatian view : in 
 front, to the west, the village peeping through 
 its abundant trees; to right and left, the wide- 
 sweeping fertile plains, fed by slow watercourses 
 and interspersed with forest land ; while on the 
 east stretches the long line of trees that mark 
 the course of the Rhine, beyond which lie the 
 northern heights of the Black Forest, as they 
 group themselves brokenly about Baden-Baden. 
 The arbor itself was too slender to shield us 
 much from the June sun, so we took refuge under 
 a great ash in the adjacent meadow ; and lying 
 upon the hay, mown the day before, we watched 
 for hours the white clouds drift across the heaven 
 290 
 
At Sesenbeim 
 
 and pile themselves into a huge, glistening mass 
 above the Black Forest. Our talk wandered, 
 too, apparently as inconsequently as the clouds, 
 but it always drifted back to Goethe. Toward 
 sundown we strolled up to the arbor again, and 
 waited for the train which was to carry us back 
 to Strasburg. It was a pompous sunset, with 
 slow- fading splendors that suffused the light flecks 
 of cloud far in the south and north, and tinged 
 with a rim of fire the great cloud rampart above 
 Baden. We strained our eyes toward Stras 
 burg, fancying that we could see the minster 
 spire, a speck against that saffron sky, but the 
 light faded out before we were quite sure. The 
 wide landscape darkened gradually ; we heard 
 the nightingales in the deep woods along the 
 Rhine. Just before the whistle of our train 
 sounded from Niederbronn, Rhodora rose and 
 left us for a moment. We could see her bend 
 ing in the dusk above one of the bushes near the 
 arbor; then she came back with some white 
 primroses in her hand. She gave us each one, 
 and stuck a third through the buttonhole of her 
 jacket. There was just one left. John took it 
 suddenly, and, reaching up, fastened it in the 
 lattice of Friederike s arbor. " Why, of course, 
 John ! " said Rbodora, softly. "The poor girl ! " 
 Then she took John s arm, and we came away. 
 
 291 **/ 
 
 c 
 
 I*.