ue 
 
 Froman
 
 ^-* -** 
 
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 QRANDHOTHER 
 
 OF OALir. LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES
 
 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 A Tale of Old Kentucky 
 
 BY 
 
 y 
 
 <- / v> 
 SUE FROMAN MATTHEWS, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "Sic Vita Est," a semi-religious story. 
 " A Beggar's Story," a tale for children. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
 57 ROSE STREET.
 
 COPYBIGHT 1911. BY 
 
 J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
 
 To 
 
 The Cggleston Club, 
 
 Vevay, Indiana, 
 
 This Book 
 
 Is 
 Affectionately Dedicated. 
 
 2131109
 
 Mine is a time of peace, and there 
 
 is Grace to be had ; 
 And God, not man, is the Judge of 
 
 us all when life shall cease ; 
 And in this Book, little Annie, 
 
 the message is one of Peace. 
 
 "The Grandmother" TENNYSON.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. UNCLE HENRY ...*>:.. 9 
 
 II. VARENA 23 
 
 III. "EXPERIENCE JOIN'D TO COMMON 
 
 SENSE 
 
 To MORTALS is A PROVIDENCE" . . 38 
 
 IV. THE TOBACCO BARN 55 
 
 V. RARE GEMS 70 
 
 VI. THE BERNADOTTE BALL .... 96 
 
 VII. MATERNITY 121 
 
 VIII. FORGIVENESS 136 
 
 IX. ELEANOR 150 
 
 X. A DISCOVERY 161 
 
 XL BOARDING SCHOOL 169 
 
 XII. DEVELOPMENTS 205 
 
 XIII. TROUBLE 224 
 
 XIV. THE SPECTRE 235 
 
 XV. 'REVELATIONS ... 260
 
 GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 UNCLE HENRY. 
 
 "Marse John! Marse John! Ain't this hole deep 
 'nough? We got t' get it done 'fore the cock crows. 
 My! this iron box is powerful heavy. 
 Can't you lift that end, Marse John? 
 My back is 'most broke, diggin', diggin', diggin' 
 . . . O, Marse John!" 
 
 "Uncle Henry, keep quiet and listen to me. You 
 have so much fever that you do not know what 
 you are saying. Mr. John has been dead a long 
 time. The pain in your back is caused by your ill- 
 ness." 
 
 The old negro looked at his mistress with a 
 glimmer of intelligence. 
 
 "Do you understand me, Uncle Henry?" she 
 continued. "You are better to-day, and, if you'll 
 lie still and sleep, you'll get well. Don't talk about 
 things that are buried with the past." 
 
 "Buried! Sure, Miss Laura. We got it buried. 
 . . . The smooth ground and green sod over 
 it. ... Just when I looked up over the big hill, 
 there came the sun, a blazin' away at us. I thought 
 it was the eye of the Lord." 
 
 "Hush! hush, Uncle Henry. Take this powder 
 and try to sleep. The Lord willing, your mind 
 will be clear in the morning."
 
 io GRANDMOTHER 
 
 She gave him an opiate and quietly left the room. 
 She closed the door, locked it on the outside, and 
 put the key in her pocket. There was stillness 
 throughout the house, save the voice of the sick man, 
 who continued to murmur unintelligible words, until 
 he fell asleep, saying, "D. V. D. V." 
 
 Mrs. Falconer wandered through the rooms in 
 search of the children, smiling sadly as she recalled 
 the days when the old-fashioned home was crowded 
 with inmates. Then, some one merrily dubbed the 
 place, Finden, because there were many cozy cor- 
 ners where young people could hide for confidential 
 tete-a-tetes. A part of this old Kentucky dwelling 
 was built before the advent of nails, when the roof 
 was made of walnut clapboards fastened with wal- 
 nut pegs. Then, as the land around was cleared 
 and cultivated and the family increased, rooms were 
 added and improvements made until it grew into its 
 present form. It might now be likened to an im- 
 mense carpenter's square. The front parlor, the 
 main hall, the family sitting-room, the "white-help" 
 dining-room, and the negro quarters faced the 
 south. The back parlor, the library, and Grand- 
 mother's room looked toward the west. Inside the 
 square on which the doors of the three west rooms 
 opened was a veranda fourteen by forty-six feet. 
 At right angles to this was the family dining-hall, 
 and beyond, pantries, et cetera. The second story 
 followed the same plan. The front yard sloped 
 down to a little brook that skirted the base of a 
 range of high hills and found its way to the Ohio 
 River. On the west side, the rolling ground ter- 
 minated in a grove of trees of various kinds. 
 
 Finding no one in the house, Mrs. Falconer went 
 out to the end of the veranda and stood looking 
 over the grove, for a moment, forgetful of the 
 children of whom she was in search. Her thoughts 
 were filled with misgivings concerning the faithful
 
 GRANDMOTHER n 
 
 old servant whose life was so mysteriously linked 
 with her own. Her years had passed the half-cen- 
 tury mark. Her form, stately and supple, her hair, 
 golden and luxurious, her complexion, soft and fair, 
 were as pleasing to behold as, when a girl of six- 
 teen, she was called the belle of the country. But 
 silver threads among the gold, the character sketches 
 on the face, and the impenetrable depths of the 
 dark eyes revealed the beauties of an individuality 
 that had passed through great tribulation and come 
 out refined and pure. 
 
 A scream and a merry ripple of laughter attracted 
 her attention, and a gentle smile spread over her 
 face a rare expression, seen only in the counte- 
 nances of those in whose hearts grandchildren have 
 a home. She walked down to the grove. A cool 
 breeze was blowing from the river, and it caress- 
 ingly tossed about the leaves of a large poplar-tree, 
 whose silver linings reminded her of frolicsome 
 faces. As she drew near, she saw with surprise the 
 smiling face of her ten-year-old granddaughter 
 peeking at her from the heart of the tree. On the 
 ground beneath were two boys. One, a handsome, 
 brown-eyed fellow of twelve years, was laughing and 
 pleading with the girl to come down from her 
 perch. The other, also twelve years old, was im- 
 patiently digging a hole in the soft earth. At sight 
 of the newly overturned sod, Mrs. Falconer's smile 
 disappeared. 
 
 "My dear, what are you doing?" she asked. 
 
 The boy looked up, surprised by the tremor in his 
 grandmother's voice, and replied, "Making a cave 
 for our gold." 
 
 "If you are going to play robbers again, find a 
 hiding-place under some other tree. I don't want 
 you ever to dig here," she stated positively. 
 
 "All right, Grandmother; we won't need to play 
 robbers if Sister will come down out of the tree till
 
 12 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 we get things fixed," said Ralph, throwing down 
 his spade. 
 
 "We'll fill up the hole and put the sod back, 
 Grandmother," Russell promised, accompanying his 
 words with the work. 
 
 They had built a house in the tree, where the 
 large boughs extended almost parallel with the 
 ground. Some new boards formed the floor, green 
 branches the roof, and a light ladder the means of 
 ascent. Varena was now in possession, with the 
 ladder drawn up beside her. She sat on a limb, 
 swinging her feet back and forth, while she coolly 
 disengaged her long curls from the twigs, around 
 which the wind had fastened them. 
 
 "You will fall over backward, Varena, if you're 
 not careful," Mrs. Falconer cautioned. 
 
 "And be hung by the hair, as Absalom was," 
 laughed Ralph. 
 
 "What were you making up in the tree?" asked 
 the grandmother. 
 
 "That funny little building," began Russell, point- 
 ing to the house, "where that little queen has undis- 
 puted possession " 
 
 "But it is disputed," Ralph interrupted. 
 
 "Any way," continued Russell, "that wonderful 
 house is the World's Palace. The ground, all 
 around the grove, is the 'three-fourths water of the 
 globe,' and the trees are the different nations. That 
 tall acorn-tree is England." 
 
 "That's not an acorn," Ralph corrected. 
 
 "O well," continued Russell, "it has to be. You 
 know, Grandmother, an oak is hard and strong and 
 long-lived. Then, you see, those three small trees 
 are just in the position to be Scotland, Ireland, and 
 Wales." 
 
 "Then, all together, you would call it, what?" 
 questioned Mrs. Falconer.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 13 
 
 "The British Isles," Varena responded. 
 
 "Good for you, little Sister. Now, come down 
 from the tree," begged Ralph. 
 
 "That black-looking tree yonder is Africa. That 
 yellow pine is China, and this cherry tree is Japan," 
 Russell explained. 
 
 "What do you call the big sycamore tree?" asked 
 Mrs. Falconer. 
 
 "Russia. The black-walnut is Turkey. The lit- 
 tle birch tree is Switzerland. The maple tree is 
 France. That evergreen is Italy," continued Rus- 
 sell, conscious of the pleasure he was giving his 
 grandmother, in making practical application of the 
 lessons they had learned, for she was their only 
 teacher. 
 
 "But where is the United States?" asked Mrs. 
 Falconer. 
 
 "O, didn't we tell you? That red-wood tree. 
 It says in our geography that Sequoia is shipped to 
 all parts of the world. It is of great value to every 
 nation, that's why we call it the United States," ex- 
 plained Russell. 
 
 "But we had to give up trying to hold a World's 
 Conference," complained Ralph, "because Sister 
 wouldn't play unless she could be treasurer. Then 
 I said we would play 'Robbers.' Then, Sister pulled 
 the ladder up and wouldn't do anything. Now, 
 she's laughing at us. Make her play fair, Grand- 
 mother, won't you?" 
 
 "It is almost time for your study-hour, and Va- 
 rena must practise her music; so we shall go to the 
 house and talk of the peace quarrel later," said 
 Mrs. Falconer. 
 
 "Why, Grandmother!" called Varena, from the 
 tree, "You said we need not have any lessons until 
 Uncle Henry was better." 
 
 "We'll not have lessons; but you can study and 
 practise. Come, dear."
 
 i 4 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 Russell helped lower the ladder and held it while 
 Varena came down. 
 
 When Mrs. Falconer was left a widow by the 
 death of her husband, the minister, she retired from 
 active church-work and came back to Kentucky, to 
 reside with her only daughter, who was married 
 and living in the old homestead. In the midst of 
 the complications of an extraordinary mystery, her 
 son-in-law was taken away; and, in less than a year, 
 her daughter died, leaving the little girl baby and the 
 two boys to the tender care of their grandmother. 
 She faithfully and conscientiously devoted her life 
 to the orphans; for she was thoroughly capable of 
 being all things to them. When they attained to 
 the age of school-children she began with their les- 
 sons, and, as the presence of a governess was unde- 
 sirable, she purposed continuing their instructions 
 until they were able to enter a high school or college. 
 That which once had been the sitting-room of their 
 great-grandfather's family, was now their school- 
 room. Old-fashioned portraits of ancestors hung 
 above the fireplace. Steel engravings, of Plock- 
 horst's "Christ Blessing Little Children," Hof- 
 mann's "Among the Doctors," and Paul Thuman's 
 "Psyche at Nature's Mirror," covered the wall be- 
 tween the front windows. Above the old Steinway, 
 the familiar faces of Beethoven, Bach, Handel, 
 Liszt, Mendelssohn, Mozart, Schubert and Schu- 
 mann were grouped. Near the bookcase, were 
 portraits of Longfellow, Whittier, Gladstone, and 
 Spurgeon. In one corner, a what-not was filled with 
 statuettes, rare vases, shells, and curios. About 
 every article the children were conversant; but that 
 which engaged their attention daily was Webster's 
 Unabridged Dictionary. It occupied the center of 
 the schoolroom. Ralph called it "Grandmother's 
 hobby-horse"; for she required the children and 
 servants to use proper words and to pronounce cor-
 
 GRANDMOTHER i$ 
 
 rectly; and she was proud of being one of the com- 
 paratively few Southern women who trained their 
 servants to speak the language of the mistress, in- 
 stead of permitting the dialect of the darkies. In 
 this atmosphere of purity and refinement and aris- 
 tocratic conservatism, Russell, Ralph, and Varena 
 Farnam were being developed. 
 
 After they had come in from the grove and taken 
 up the duties of the hour, Mrs. Falconer slipped 
 away to the room of the sick man. She found 
 Uncle Henry awake and delirious. Calling a serv- 
 ant, she sent him to town with instructions to bring 
 the old family physician, and no one else. 
 
 An hour later Varena fretted: "I've learned my 
 lessons, Grandmother, and I've practised; but, now, 
 we can't go and play in the big tree because it rains." 
 
 "Did you get the little Chopin waltz committed?" 
 
 "Yes'm; I played without looking at the notes." 
 
 "Did you use the metronome?" 
 
 "No, Grandmother; it goes too fast." 
 
 "Be patient, dear, and you will get it up to presto 
 before long. Go call the boys and come out on 
 the veranda, and we shall watch it rain and play 
 games," said Mrs. Falconer. 
 
 Seated on the broad veranda, where rich, heavy 
 curtains, suspended from old-fashioned windows, 
 formed the background, where rafters of unfinished 
 timber made an artistic ceiling, and an immense 
 crimson rambler in full bloom shaded an old arm- 
 chair, Mrs. Falconer and her three wards made a 
 picture that would have delighted the eyes of the 
 domestic artist, Millet, or, with the misty rain, 
 would have charmed the sombre Corot. 
 
 "What shall we play?" asked Mrs. Falconer. 
 
 "Bible game," Ralph suggested. 
 
 "Now, when I call a letter of the alphabet, the 
 one who calls the name of a Bible character begin- 
 ning with that letter, scores one. Ten is the game.
 
 1 6 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 Remember the sacred names must not be used," ad- 
 monished Mrs. Falconer. 
 
 "All right. Go ahead, Grandmother," Russell 
 urged. 
 
 "B," said Mrs. Falconer. 
 
 "Beelzebub," Baal," "Bethel," all came at once. 
 
 "How can I mark the score when you all begin 
 at once?" 
 
 "Baal was the shortest and I was done first," 
 Ralph declared. 
 
 "Well, one for Ralph. G," said Mrs. Falconer. 
 
 "Goliath," "Gabriel," "Gulliver." 
 
 "Ha-ha-ha, Sister, you are out. Gulliver's not 
 in the Bible," laughed Ralph. 
 
 "I know it," Varena answered; "but it was all 
 I could think of." 
 
 "D," called Mrs. Falconer. 
 
 "Daniel," "Deuteronomy," "Devil." 
 
 Daniel scored for Russell. 
 
 "W," said Mrs. Falconer. 
 
 "That isn't fair, Grandmother. You know there 
 are no proper names in the Bible that begin with 
 W," Ralph objected. 
 
 "Is Devil a proper name?" asked Russell. 
 
 "I suppose you would call it an improper name. 
 Any way, I didn't score on it," answered Ralph. 
 
 "H," was called. 
 
 "Hiram," "Haman," "Hannah." 
 
 "Don't yell so loud, Varena," said Ralph, 
 "Grandmother isn't deaf." 
 
 The game was continued until Russell had won 
 ten points. Then, cities were made the test; next 
 presidents, kings, and queens. While it was a jolly 
 frolic, it also quickened the memory and sharpened 
 the wit. 
 
 "Now, Grandmother, tell us a true story, please," 
 Russell entreated.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 17 
 
 "Shall I tell you about the little child your Grand- 
 father baptized?" 
 
 "The one who put his hand in the water and 
 sprinkled some on Grandfather's head?" asked 
 Varena. 
 
 "No; this was in another place," said Mrs. Fal- 
 coner. "It was communion day, in a beautiful 
 church full of people. The organist was improvis- 
 ing softly and sweetly, around the old tune, 'When 
 he cometh to make up his jewels.' The elders were 
 seated before the sacramental table. At a sign 
 from the minister, an elegantly dressed lady and 
 her husband came forward, bringing a little child, 
 perhaps three years old; daintily dressed in a kilt 
 suit, wide sash, white shoes, and silk hose. Your 
 grandfather leaned forward, and the child's name 
 was whispered to him. Then, he baptized 'Jessie.' 
 As he was praying that the parents might be enabled 
 to train up their beloved little girl in the way she 
 should go, the child spoke out in a clear, abused 
 voice, saying: 'I am a boy!' ' 
 
 Ralph rolled over on the floor and yelled, Russell 
 smiled in his quiet, amused manner, while Varena, 
 failing to see the point, became the target of her 
 brothers' badinage. Mrs. Falconer looked at her 
 watch and hastened to Uncle Henry's room to ad- 
 minister his medicine and attend to his evening meal. 
 
 The days passed slowly. The sick negro, suffer- 
 ing with malarial fever, was alternately better and 
 worse. The duties of the household, the care and 
 instruction of the children, the supervision of the 
 affairs of the farm, with the surveillance of the sick- 
 room, were relaxing the elasticity of the steps and 
 deepening the unselfish furrows of the kind face of 
 the grandmother, and proving deleterious to her 
 constitution.
 
 1 8 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "Grandmother, why do you do all the work for 
 Uncle Henry? You can make Jim take care of him. 
 If you're afraid he will forget the medicine, let me 
 do it, please, and you lie down and rest. Won't you, 
 Grandmother?" urged Russell. 
 
 "You must not neglect your studies, dear," she 
 made excuse. 
 
 "I can take my books and study in his room," 
 he argued. 
 
 "And get the fever. Then where could I find 
 rest?" and she smiled into the boy's earnest eyes. 
 
 "I'm so strong and well, and you look so tired. 
 Please, Grandmother." He put his arm around her 
 neck, and did not try to conceal the tears that 
 pleaded for him. 
 
 "Russell, Uncle Henry is more to me than a faith- 
 ful old servant. We were born in the same year, 
 cradled by the same nurse. When we were grown- 
 up children, my father promised to give Henry to 
 me as a wedding-present. He was very proud of 
 that, and was my most devoted slave. My horse 
 and buggy were always at my service; my skirts 
 were brushed, my shoes cleaned. In fact, he would 
 neglect everything else to see that 'Miss Laura's 
 wishes were gratified." 
 
 "I heard him tell Ralph that he used to be mean 
 to you," Russell intimated. 
 
 "Well, he wasn't," insisted Mrs. Falconer. "I 
 know to what he referred. He disliked to churn, 
 and that was his regular job Saturday mornings. 
 In the fall, when papaws were ripe and I was very 
 fond of them he would get the churn back of the 
 kitchen where mother could not see, and then in- 
 duce me to churn while he went to get papaws for 
 me. Years after, he told me that he always pro- 
 cured the papaws the night before, when he went 
 after the cows, so he could get behind a rose-bush
 
 GRANDMOTHER 19 
 
 and sleep till the butter came. There was nothing 
 very mean in that." 
 
 "Did you ever see anything mean in what any- 
 body did?" Russell suggested. 
 
 "When Lincoln's proclamation to free the negroes 
 was sent through the South," continued Mrs. Fal- 
 coner, "Henry insisted that he could not accept his 
 freedom because he was honor-bound to be my wed- 
 ding present," 
 
 "He has always lived here; so you didn't take 
 him when you were married," put in Russell. 
 
 "I married a minister and we went North and 
 West, and I could not keep a colored man in the 
 family. When we came home on our annual visits, 
 he was here to wait on us; and, when my beloved 
 daughter came here to live and take care of her 
 grandparents, he was as faithful to her as he would 
 have been to me." 
 
 "Grandmother, did mamma marry your old 
 sweetheart?" asked Ralph, coming into the room 
 and hearing part of the conversation. 
 
 "Well, yes, dear. In the Kentucky sense of the 
 word I suppose he was an old sweetheart of mine," 
 replied Mrs. Falconer. 
 
 "That is the novelty part of Kentucky. When 
 a man doesn't get the girl he loves, he waits and 
 marries her daughter. I'll bet you had a lot of 
 sweethearts, Grandmother. I wish papa and 
 mamma and grandfather and great-grandfather 
 and great-grandmother were all here. Wouldn't 
 we have a house full of nice people," gushed 
 Ralph, looking at the portraits. 
 
 "I wish I could share the responsibility of you 
 three orphans with some of your parents," and 
 Mrs. Falconer became serious. 
 
 "We are nearly thirteen years old, and you ex- 
 pect us to be ready for college in a few years; but
 
 20 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 I would rather be more help to you than to study 
 and practise all the time," said Russell. 
 
 "Don't worry about me. You do more than 
 your share as it is; for you do what Ralph leaves 
 undone," Mrs. Falconer replied. 
 
 "Grandmother, you know I'm too much of a 
 Kentucky gentleman to like to work," laughed 
 Ralph. "Russell is the new South; I'm the old." 
 
 "Your father was one of the best men I 
 ever knew," began Mrs. Falconer, "and your 
 mother " 
 
 "The most beautiful," Ralph interrupted. 
 
 "She was very pretty," continued Mrs. Falconer, 
 "but not so beautiful as Mabel Murratt, a young 
 lady who united with our church when we lived in 
 the city of Louiston. Mabel made a great pet of 
 your mamma, who was then a young girl. I have 
 been reminded of her often by an expression in Rus- 
 sell's eyes; and, as he grows older, that little dimp- 
 ling around the lips is even more like her." 
 
 "O Grandmother, come quick and look at the 
 sky," Varena called, from the hall door. 
 
 "The aurora borealis. Isn't it fine?" exclaimed 
 Russell. 
 
 It was about eight o'clock in the evening, and 
 the auroral display was beautiful and sublime. Such 
 phenomena were seen rarely in this latitude. There 
 were faint tinges of colored lights; and not alone 
 the usual brilliant streams toward the zenith, but 
 shimmering, cloudlike masses of light would float 
 upward and fade away in upper space with almost 
 the rapidity of sheet lightning. Then, again, sombre, 
 shadowy banks of darkness would appear in the 
 northern horizon, rise upward like a huge mountain- 
 cloud, and, around its edges, a brilliant auroral col- 
 oring would burst forth, from which there appeared 
 to be dashed upward fleecy snow-drifts, of the 
 brightness of the moon. Suddenly, the dark mass
 
 GRANDMOTHER 21 
 
 be divided by streams of light, seeming to 
 f(rm in the zenith a grand dome of the heavens. 
 Tis, fading away, would again be succeeded by 
 thi shimmering light and electric clouds, and the 
 dak mass again settle back to the horizon like a 
 hug mountain promontory in the sea. 
 
 'One could readily imagine the scene of creation 
 wasbeing re-enacted," said Mrs. Falconer, "that 
 Godwas separating the light from the darkness in 
 the creation of the new world." 
 
 "A-e the other worlds inhabited?" Ralph asked. 
 
 "Tiey may be," replied Russell. "Don't you re- 
 memhr the legend that told how the Creator made 
 a hunlred worlds and only one of them fell away 
 in sin, and Christ died to save it; and the angels in 
 heaver rejoiced more over it than over the ninety 
 and niie just ones that were never lost?" 
 
 Ther evening prayers were said on the veranda 
 in the atmosphere of God's world of wonders, and 
 Morphms peopled their dreams with angelic beings 
 floating in space. 
 
 Aftei weeks of convalescence, Uncle Henry was 
 able to sit in his chair out on the lawn, greatly to 
 the delight of the children. Varena sang to him 
 and read to him, gathered flowers and crowned him, 
 and made her white Eskimo dog, Flash, perform 
 for his anusement, and her kitten go to sleep in his 
 lap. Tie boys reported to him concerning the 
 farm, al] that Jim had done and more that he had 
 left undone. They felt as if life would begin anew 
 when Uncle Henry, who had superintended the 
 place for two generations, was at the helm again. 
 
 The old negro had made up his mind that Rus- 
 sell was to take charge when his labors were over. 
 To-day, as he contemplated the boys, he said: 
 
 "Grandmother, you'll have to send Ralph to the 
 city when he is old 'nough. He will make ? good 
 banker. That investment down at Harlam, Tenn.,
 
 22 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 is just the thing for him. He is first-rate at fig;res. 
 It takes brains to be a farmer, and Russell mist 
 stay here and keep care of you." 
 
 "There will be several years before we fecide 
 about that. I expect to depend on you for ? long 
 time yet, Uncle Henry," Mrs. Falconer repljtd. 
 
 "I'm afraid I've got to go. D. V., Grandi/other. 
 All the while I was sick, I could hear a voicdcalling 
 to me: 'Go seek D. V., go seek.' And ( said: 
 'Give me back my strength, Lord, and I'll go I can't 
 go back on my promise to the Lord, Miss Laura," 
 pleaded the colored man. 
 
 "You're not well, yet, Henry. I shall sind Rus- 
 sell to read to you. Then, you had betteifgo back 
 to bed before you get too tired." 
 
 Russell came out and was requested to read the 
 twentieth chapter of II Kings, the story of Heze- 
 kiah. 
 
 "I read that to you yesterday," said Russell. 
 
 "I want to hear it again, 'cause it is jujt my case. 
 Do you think I'd be sitting here gettiig well if 
 Grandmother hadn't prayed for me? Just like 
 Hezekiah, I turned my face to the wall and wept, 
 and, sure, Marse Russell, sure, my life is len'thened 
 fifteen years," averred Henry, fixing a searching, 
 questioning gaze on the face of the boy. "She 
 prays, I work. Some day, D. V. !" He dropped 
 his head on his chest and listened to the reading of 
 the Scripture.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 VARENA. 
 
 Two years have passed. It is the season of berry- 
 picking. There is a point on top of the hills back 
 of Finden, from which can be seen the towns eight 
 and twenty miles distant. To the west, the Ohio 
 River winds in and out among its picturesque hills 
 and valleys. The luxuriant tobacco-fields glow 
 richly in the noonday sun; the herds of cattle, satis- 
 fied with the morning's grazing, peacefully chew 
 their cud in the shade of the locust-trees that clus- 
 ter on the hillside; flocks of sheep nibble at the 
 roots of grass, or pant in the warmth of the sum- 
 mer heat; the squirrels flit from tree to tree, and 
 the birds carol to their mates. 
 
 Early in the morning, Varena Farnam and Jennie, 
 the housemaid, laden with baskets of edibles, rode 
 up the hill on old Mazeppa. Russell, Ralph, and 
 Jim, the chore-boy, walked up and carried empty 
 pails. A grassy plot, under a shady maple-tree on 
 the summit of the high hill, was chosen as the place 
 for the picnic dinner. A few hours of industry and 
 all the buckets were filled with luscious, ripe black- 
 berries. Then, while Jim was building a little fur- 
 nace to boil the coffee and Jennie was spreading the 
 dinner, Russell and Ralph stretched themselves on 
 the grass for a snooze. Varena wandered away 
 through the woods. She loved to talk to the trees, 
 and imagine they nodded in assent, or shook in dis- 
 approval; she delighted in mimicking the birds, or 
 in trying to teach them a new note; and she was 
 
 23,
 
 24 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 happy in gathering wild flowers and chasing the 
 squirrels. She followed a tiny brown fellow down 
 through a ravine and up to a large tree that stood 
 out alone on the top of an adjoining hill. 
 
 By the time dinner was ready, the boys were 
 ravenously hungry; for their appetites were sharp- 
 ened by the aroma of coffee, the odor of fried 
 chicken, the smell of fruit, and the stimulus of fresh- 
 air exercise. As their sister had not returned, they 
 started in opposite directions to seek her. 
 
 "Varena! Varena!" called Ralph, as he sought 
 her through the forest. "If you are hid and want 
 us to find you, please show up till after dinner. I'm 
 too hungry to play hide-and-seek now." Cheer- 
 fully, he hunted, in the bushes, behind the logs, and 
 under the leaves, without success. Again, he called, 
 "Varena! Varena!" 
 
 A gay ripple of laughter floated down to him 
 from above. He looked up and saw his sister sil- 
 houetted against the sky, in the top of a large tree 
 that stood alone on the opposite side of the ravine. 
 One foot was resting on a bough, the other, swing- 
 ing; one hand was holding to a branch, and with the 
 other, she threw kisses at him, saying: 
 
 "I am going to be a dryad and live in this tree. 
 Ha, ha ! You can't get me, this is my tree." 
 
 "O Varena," cried Ralph, "you venturesome 
 girl! You'll fall and get killed." He was so dis- 
 tressed, he clenched his hands and held his breath, 
 wondering what had become of Russell, who always 
 knew the right thing to do in an emergency. "No, 
 Sister; don't try to come down. If you move, you'll 
 fall. I'll climb up and help you." 
 
 She laughed merrily, saying: "I can climb where 
 I please. If you cross the ravine, I'll jump. O, it's 
 glorious up here." 
 
 But she swung her foot a little too far: she lost 
 her balance, the twig snapped in her hand, and she
 
 GRANDMOTHER 25 
 
 came crashing through the branches. Ralph was 
 on the spot in a moment, and, to his surprise, he 
 found Russell lying on the ground unconscious, and 
 Varena bending over him. 
 
 "I've killed him! I've killed him!" cried the girl. 
 
 "He will be all right in a minute," Ralph con- 
 soled. "It takes more than a tumble to knock Russ 
 out." 
 
 "I saw him over the hill," continued Varena; 
 "but I didn't think he could see me. He must have 
 come up behind the bushes and got here just as I 
 fell. Why don't you do something, Ralph?" 
 
 "His heart is all right. Hello! Russell, wake 
 up." They lifted him to an upright position and he 
 opened his eyes. 
 
 "Are you hurt?" asked Varena. 
 
 "No. Are you?" Russell returned. 
 
 "The dryads pulled my hair awfully," said Va- 
 rena, arranging her curls; "but I'm glad you're not 
 hurt. Why didn't you get out of the way?" 
 
 "Because I wanted to break your fall. I didn't 
 know that your knees are like two baseballs," re- 
 plied Russell, smiling. 
 
 "If you are both all right, let's hie away to din- 
 ner. I'm hungry," Ralph suggested. 
 
 The meal proved enjoyable, notwithstanding this 
 little episode, though Varena appeared less frolic- 
 some than she had been in the morning. A few 
 original jokes and trite conundrums kept the spirit 
 of mirth awake until the conversation drifted into 
 the more serious contemplation of the prospect of 
 college life. 
 
 "It will be lonely for you, Sister, when we go 
 to the university this fall," Russell suggested. 
 
 "You will have a jollier time in town than you 
 would going with us, Sister," averred Ralph, sooth- 
 ingly. 
 
 "If I went with you, Grandmother would be lone-
 
 26 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 some," Varena replied, softly. "And I'm not go- 
 ing to town either until I can start in the high school. 
 I'd rather study at home." 
 
 "Two years in the preparatory and four in col- 
 lege is a long time to keep studying," groaned 
 Ralph. "And what's the use of it? I'm a natural- 
 born gentleman of the old Kentucky type, and I 
 intend to take life easy." 
 
 "You have to be a banker," Varena declared. 
 
 "So Grandmother says. You don't like to work 
 on the farm any better than I do, Russ. Do you?" 
 
 "I don't object to the farm; but I would like to 
 live in a large city for a while. I'd like to travel, 
 and see the skyscrapers and monuments, and big 
 union stations, and large libraries and museums and 
 zoological gardens. Life in a city must be always 
 interesting, never monotonous. There you can hear 
 fine lectures and beautiful music," said Russell, with 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 "And spend a lot of money," laughed Ralph. 
 "What would you like, Sister?" 
 
 "I'd love to sing and play and paint and be " 
 
 "Be what?" teased Ralph. "Grandmother says 
 'a woman's highest mission is to be a good man's 
 faithful wife 1" 
 
 Her eyes shone with a deeper blue as she winked 
 the tears away, and said softly, "Be always good, 
 just like Grandmother." 
 
 "You needn't cry, Pet," said Ralph. "Nobody 
 on earth can be as good as Grandmother." There 
 was a very tender chord vibrating in his heart when 
 he called his sister Pet. He caught her in his arms 
 and carried her to a pile of hay, saying: "Mighty 
 few fellows know what it is to have our grand- 
 mother. I believe Mamma was just like her. Don't 
 you, Pet?" 
 
 "Let me go, Ralph. Mamma used to ride old
 
 GRANDMOTHER 27 
 
 Mazeppa," she replied, pulling away from her 
 brother and going to where the horse was making 
 his dinner off the savory grass. She put her arms 
 around his neck, and petted and talked to him, until 
 preparations to start home were completed. 
 
 Jennie was put on the old family horse with the 
 hamper of picnic remnants in front of her; Varena 
 on behind her, back to back, insisted on having the 
 largest bucket of berries. This, she balanced on 
 old Mazeppa's rump, and the procession started 
 down the hill through the woods. They followed a 
 sheep path that zigzagged under the trees, making 
 the descent easier for the horse. Ralph lingered be- 
 hind, in order to take a short cut down the steep 
 hill and meet them as they came out into the open 
 pasture. 
 
 Suddenly, their idle prattle was hushed by an un- 
 earthly yell; and, looking up the hill, they saw Ralph 
 spring into the air, above the brush and briers, and 
 sail toward them like a flying-machine. Pie com- 
 passed a distance of twenty or thirty feet, struck 
 the ground with his heels, rolled over his pail of 
 berries, and arose with a pale face, and staring eyes, 
 and a red shirt. 
 
 "What's the matter? Marse Ralph, you look like 
 you had had a fight with the old boy hi'self," said 
 Jim, running to his aid. 
 
 In racing down the hill, Ralph had almost run 
 on an enormous snake, coiled ready to strike. Ow- 
 ing to the speed with which he was moving, he was 
 unable to stop; and, with great presence of mind, 
 he gave a tremendous leap, landing on his heels 
 and rolling over his bucket of berries. 
 
 In the excitement over Ralph, Jennie rode under 
 a tree, and, lifting a limb to pass it back over their 
 heads, miscalculated, and it came down between 
 them and gracefully pushed Varena and her bucket
 
 28 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 off the tail of tbe horse, spilling the berries over 
 the grass. It was so neatly done, they all roared 
 with laughter. 
 
 While the boys were picking up as many of the 
 berries as were not crushed or soiled, Varena took 
 a handful of fruit and strayed toward a flock of 
 sheep to see if they would eat from her hand. She 
 was a great lover of animals and had no fear of 
 them; consequently, she was wofully surprised when 
 a big buck sheep came fiercely toward her. She was 
 standing above him on the hillside, and did not com- 
 prehend his evil design until his head went between 
 her knees. Her skirts caught over his head, blind- 
 ing and frightening him so that he whirled, and 
 away he ran, with her on top of him, down the hill, 
 over the brook, up the ravine. She clung to him, 
 crying and laughing, her curls flying, her large eyes 
 staring, afraid to let go and tumble lest he turn 
 and stamp her. She enjoyed the joke on the sheep, 
 for she believed the boys would rescue her. 
 
 Ralph's nerves were completely unstrung by his 
 narrow escape from the venomous snake; so that, 
 when he saw his sister a second time in danger of 
 her life, he could only sink to the ground, pointing 
 toward her, saying, "O Russ!" 
 
 Russell gazed at the queer object racing around 
 the field several minutes before he realized what it 
 was. Then, he was after them like the wind. 
 
 "Don't let go till I say when," he called. 
 
 The sheep circled and he made a spring and 
 missed them. Varena laughed faintly; she was los- 
 ing her strength, though not her courage. The sec- 
 ond time the buck circled near Russell, he called, 
 "Now!" and caught her in his left arm, and, with 
 the right, struck the sheep with a club that he never 
 knew where, or how, he got possession of. The old 
 leader of the herd was too frightened to wage battle,
 
 GRANDMOTHER 29 
 
 but shook himself and scampered up the hill to 
 where his companions stood watching him in meek 
 wonder. 
 
 When Varena had recovered from a spell of hys- 
 terical laughter, she was placed on the horse behind 
 Jennie, and the procession again headed for home. 
 Supper was ready and Mrs. Falconer anxiously 
 waiting when the dishevelled, besmeared company, 
 with their depleted pails, appeared. After the 
 grandmother was assured that no bones were 
 broken, or injuries sustained, they were sent to the 
 bathroom to prepare for the evening meal. Their 
 appetites had been satiated with berries, and, though 
 they occupied their accustomed seats at the table, 
 the food was neglected in the more enjoyable excite- 
 ment of recounting the events of the day. 
 
 "An ancestor of this same sheep," said Mrs. Fal- 
 coner, "once played a serious trick on your great- 
 grandfather. He had an artist friend, who was here 
 making sketches of the different views. They had 
 walked down to the creek, below the little falls 
 where the water is several feet deep, and were stand- 
 ing on the bank with their backs toward the brook. 
 Father was commenting on the beauties of the land- 
 scape, pointing with pride at the rustling corn-field, 
 and waving his hand over the broad meadow. He 
 was unaware of the approach of the sheep, which 
 evidently interpreted his gesticulations as a banter, 
 and, in a quick rush, struck him square in the stom- 
 ach and landed him in the pond. The painter was 
 so frightened, he climbed up on the stone pier and 
 yelled like a schoolboy. Uncle Henry went to the 
 rescue. He found father unconscious. All that 
 had saved him from drowning was the fact that his 
 head rested on a large bowlder." 
 
 "Was it the sheep that knocked him senseless, 
 or the stone?" asked Varena.
 
 30 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "Both, perhaps," Mrs. Falconer replied. 
 
 "Where is Uncle Henry now?" questioned 
 Ralph. 
 
 "Porter on the packet," stated Mrs. Falconer, 
 reservedly. 
 
 "Does he like to work on the boats?" asked Va- 
 rena. 
 
 "I think he will come home when he gets tired," 
 answered Grandmother. 
 
 "I wish he were here to help weed my pansy bed. 
 They are such beauties." 
 
 Varena left the table, and, later, came out on 
 the veranda with her hands full of her favorite 
 flowers; little yellow faces, brown beauties, black, 
 white, and variegated blossoms. 
 
 Pressing them to her lips, she said: "Tansies 
 are for thoughts, my dear.' ' She dropped them 
 in her Grandmother's lap, and, drawing a stool up 
 in front of her, sat down to arrange them artis- 
 tically, saying: "They always make me think of 
 mamma. When I was a very little girl, you used 
 to tell me how my mamma loved to creep out to the 
 pansy bed, and coo and prattle to the pretty faces, 
 and, once, she was scared at a big brown pansy, be- 
 cause it looked like the face of a bulldog. Look 
 there, Grandmother, isn't that like Jack Lindley's 
 dog?" She held up the blossom, smiling at the 
 queer resemblance. 
 
 "When the boys come out, I will tell you an ex- 
 perience I had, in those days when your mamma 
 loved to talk to the flowers," said Mrs. Falconer. 
 
 "We're here, Grandmother," Ralph cried, throw- 
 ing himself along the settee, while Russell ensconced 
 himself in a rocker. 
 
 "We were living in Michigan, not far from an 
 Indian reservation. About two years before, the 
 Gypsies or Indians had stolen a white child, and 
 the horror of it was still fresh in the minds of the
 
 GRANDMOTHER 31 
 
 people. One Thursday afternoon, your mamma, 
 dressed in a dainty white dress, with a gold chain 
 around her neck, and her curls tied back with a 
 bright blue ribbon, which made her appear remark- 
 ably beautiful, sat by her pansy bed, singing and 
 talking to the flowers. A well-dressed stranger 
 walked past the gate and stopped. Leaning on the 
 fence, he watched the child for some time, then 
 went away. In about an hour he came back. This 
 time I was sitting where I could get a better view 
 of his face, and I did not like it, though his evident 
 admiration of my baby was gratifying to my vanity. 
 He passed back and forth half a dozen times, fas- 
 cinated by the child. However, we went in to sup- 
 per, after which I gave her a bath and put her to 
 bed in her cradle down stairs in my room. 
 
 "Our church was on the corner, with a large yard 
 between it and the parsonage. When the last bell 
 rang for prayer-meeting, I called to Anna, the serv- 
 ant girl, to come stay with Rolette till I came home. 
 As I went into the church door, I glanced back and 
 saw that the light was still burning in Anna's room, 
 and I knew that she had not gone down. Many of 
 the people were in their seats, and I went to the 
 organ and played the first hymn. Then, your grand- 
 father read a whole chapter from the Scriptures. 
 Truly, I think it was the longest one in the Bible, and 
 I did not hear a word of it. First, I began to im- 
 agine Anna up-stairs reading her novel; then, I 
 could just see that old Gypsy stealing in and carry- 
 ing off my baby. I was hoping that a young girl, 
 who sometimes played the organ for me, would 
 come in, and I could slip out without subjecting the 
 service to any interruption or annoyance. She did 
 not come, and your grandfather began to pray; I 
 am sure he never left any corner of the globe un- 
 prayed for that night. He had no knowledge of 
 the agony that I was suffering, picturing my beauti-
 
 32 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 ful baby miles and miles away in the dense forest 
 that spreads through northern Michigan, yet not 
 daring to disturb the service, for, in that Holland 
 community, they had once let their town burn up, 
 rather than break up the religious worship. We 
 were anticipating a protracted meeting; and, full of 
 the Spirit, your grandfather prayed for our church 
 and all the churches in the town, the Sunday-schools 
 and Endeavor Society, the League and the B. Y. 
 P. U. ; the Presbytery and Conference and Asso- 
 ciation; the State, the General Assembly, and the 
 President and ruling officers of Church and State; 
 the missionary fields; Persia, India, Morocco, Kon- 
 go, Korea, China, Japan, Cuba, Brazil, Dutch 
 Guiana, Boliva, Venezuela; then up again to Rus- 
 sia, Siberia, Poland, Burma; then back to Salt Lake 
 and the Mormons; and he even dropped down here 
 to old Kentucky, and prayed for the mountain 
 whites and the freedmen. Such an agonizing of soul 
 as I went through, none but a mother can know." 
 
 U O hurry up, Grandmother," urged Ralph. "Did 
 the Gypsy get mamma? If he did, you rescued her, 
 else we wouldn't be here now." 
 
 "Well, your grandfather did finally say 'amen,' 
 and I motioned to Genevieve, who had come in, to 
 come to the organ, and I started for home. I had 
 grown so pale under the suspense I was enduring 
 that the folks thought I must be very sick, and 
 three or four of the ladies started out after me. 
 Their husbands, fearing I was about to faint and 
 would need their strength to carry me home, fol- 
 lowed their wives. Of course, everybody's thoughts 
 were with us, and the meeting was fairly at an end. 
 I rushed into my room, and there sat Anna by the 
 side of the cradle, reading her novel and the baby 
 sleeping as sweet as any cherub." 
 
 "Good gracious, Grandmother! I'll bet you felt 
 ashamed to go back and meet the prayer-meeting
 
 GRANDMOTHER 331 
 
 crowd that was coming after you," Ralph exclaimed. 
 
 "I shall never forget the expression of disgust on 
 the face of one old elder, when, in answer to his 
 query, 'What is the matter, Mrs. Falconer?' I re- 
 plied: 'I was afraid somebody had stolen my 
 baby.' " 
 
 The old homestead, where books and music were 
 conned under Mrs. Falconer's careful supervising, 
 the fields and flowers, hills and woodland, where they 
 hunted and played, the river in which they learned 
 to swim and to boat, were not all the influences that 
 had part in the development of the characters of 
 the orphans. The village church and Sunday-school 
 were essential elements in the inculcating of a spirit 
 of reverence for religion and sacred things; and 
 their social life was limited to Sunday-school picnics 
 and an occasional birthday party. But Varena built 
 many air-castles about the lovely times she would 
 have when she was a young lady. She did not care 
 anything about boys now; she simply wanted to run 
 wild and romp and play and practise; but, some time, 
 she would have sweethearts galore. For the pres- 
 ent, her heart was content in her love for Grand- 
 mother and her pleasure in her music. Whatever 
 she enjoyed in nature, she found in her music. She 
 played little selections from Haydn's "Seasons." 
 In one, she was sure she could hear the wind teasing 
 the leaves on the trees; and in "A Lowly Cottage," 
 she could hear a child singing a tune to the accom- 
 paniment of a boiling tea-kettle. In Mendelssohn's 
 "Songs Without Words, No. 38" she could hear a 
 mermaid singing, as she sat by the river's brink 
 and tossed pebbles into the water. When she was 
 studying "Consolation," her Grandmother told her 
 that she had somewhere read, that Mendelssohn was 
 inspired to write "Consolation" by overhearing a con- 
 versation between a saintly old lady and a beautiful 
 girl. The girl was troubled and impatient over
 
 34 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 some of her love affairs, and, when she would try to 
 relieve her heart by giving her confidence to the old 
 lady, she received for reply each time, the one soft, 
 consoling strain. 
 
 "Will it be that way with us, Grandmother, when 
 I am grown up? Shall I have lots of lovers, who 
 will make trouble, and I'll come and tell you and 
 be comforted?" asked Varena. 
 
 "I hope you may never have any trouble, dear, 
 and just one true lover," Mrs. Falconer replied. 
 
 "O that wouldn't be any fun. I want to be ter- 
 ribly heartbroken and miserable, not knowing which 
 one I love best. Of course, they will all love me. 
 Don't you think so, Grandmother?" asked the child. 
 
 "Your future may be very different from what 
 you imagine," said Mrs. Falconer. "Come, play 
 your favorite for me and I shall rest and listen." 
 
 "I'll play 'Cabaletta,' Do you know 'Cabaletta' 
 is the Italian for a little horse, Grandmother? Now 
 listen and you can hear the feet of the little Shet- 
 land pony clatter over the street paved with as- 
 phalt." The child was filled with ecstasy over the 
 sound of the little feet that she could so perfectly 
 mimic on the piano. 
 
 Ralph's musical qualification was limited to a 
 good tenor voice, which he used as a member of the 
 village choir. Russell was a natural-born musician, 
 and, at the end of four years he had gone beyond 
 his teacher. His grasp of technique and comprehen- 
 sion of the soul of music, his insight into the mind of 
 the composer, and his power of interpretation were 
 remarkable. His ability to improvise made him 
 an admirable organist. He played for church serv- 
 ices in the town and arranged to pay part of his col- 
 lege expenses by playing for chapel exercises. 
 
 The time was approaching when the boys were 
 to leave home for six years of boarding-school life. 
 Varena was to continue her studies with her grand-
 
 GRANDMOTHER 35 
 
 mother. The separation would be painful for all, 
 but best in the end; for Mrs. Falconer felt that she 
 could no longer do justice to the young men. Be- 
 sides, it was necessary for them to come in contact 
 with other minds and interests to broaden their ca- 
 pacity for usefulness. One great source of regret 
 to Varena was in not having her brothers to go 
 swimming with her. 
 
 Often, Mrs. Falconer, with her grandchildren 
 and Jim and Jennie, and occasionally some of the 
 neighbor boys and girls, would go down under the 
 river bank, build a fire, swim and boat, and ride 
 the waves of a passing steamer, dress in a little 
 tent, eat supper on the beach, and go home to a 
 happy, healthful night of slumbers. Varena could 
 swim, dive, float, and tread water the same as the 
 boys. They had taken more pleasure in training her 
 than in performing feats themselves, and they were 
 very proud of her water-sport ability. She had an 
 occasion to reward their labors one evening in this 
 last summer of their childhood; such it might be 
 called for things never seemed quite the same, after 
 the boys returned from college. 
 
 They were alone on the beach with Mrs. Fal- 
 coner, when Russell and Ralph determined to swim 
 across the river and back. They made the opposite 
 shore very comfortably; but Ralph was so tired he 
 was afraid to start back, and Russell, wishing to 
 make the round trip, started to swim back and take 
 the skiff over after his brother. He did not realize 
 that he was winded, until he was near the Kentucky 
 shore, where the water was very deep. Varena was 
 paddling in the water, watching him with pride, and 
 shaking her hand toward Ralph, as a vanquished 
 swimmer when Russell disappeared so quickly she 
 held her breath in surprise, watching here and there 
 for his head to appear. He came up and down 
 again; then, under she went after him. Mrs. Fal-
 
 36 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 coner sprang into the little boat, secured the oars, 
 and was soon out in the river and down below some 
 distance, to be ready where the current would carry 
 them. Seconds seemed minutes, and minutes hours, 
 till the brave little girl came to the surface, pulling 
 the boy with her. He appeared to have strangled 
 and was black in the face. Varena caught hold of 
 the boat with one hand and held on to Russell with 
 the other. Mrs. Falconer was rowing for the shore 
 when she heard a cry for help from Ralph. He had 
 seen the trouble and started to swim to the rescue 
 and was almost exhausted. 
 
 "Can you hold on, Varena, if I turn back for 
 Ralph?" cried Mrs. Falconer. 
 
 The child nodded her head. She could not find 
 her voice. Mrs. Falconer prayed and pulled. 
 Ralph kept in sight till he grabbed the oar, then 
 rested a moment, caught the side of the skiff, and 
 soon had an arm around Russell. 
 
 "Get in yourself," said Varena. "I'm all right." 
 
 Ralph climbed in, and, together, they got Russell 
 up and on the bottom of the boat. Varena would 
 not let him take time to help her in, and he began 
 working over his brother. He had seen boys resus- 
 citated and knew what to do; and before they 
 reached the shore, Russell opened his eyes. After 
 all danger was passed Varena buried her face in 
 her grandmother's lap and cried. 
 
 "Well, Grandmother," said Ralph, when they 
 were able to start home, " 'all things work together 
 for good,' you say. Where do you find good in to- 
 day's catastrophe?" 
 
 "Surely it is good that we are all alive, when I 
 might have been deprived of all three of you at 
 once. Since we are alive, I am glad it happened 
 as it did. You boys have always wanted to swim the 
 river. You are satisfied now, and I can feel at ease 
 about you when you are away at school. This expe-
 
 GRANDMOTHER 37 
 
 rience will be a lesson not soon forgotten. You will 
 not run the risk again, especially where Varena is 
 not near to save you." 
 
 "We owe our live to you, little Sister," said Rus- 
 sell. 
 
 "You all owe your preservation to Him who com- 
 manded 'the waves to be still,' " Mrs. Falconer cor- 
 rected. 
 
 "Well, as Uncle Henry would say, I am 'power- 
 ful' thankful that we are pretty good swimmers," 
 Ralph replied. 
 
 "Indeed, I am grateful to have escaped such a 
 tragedy," said Mrs. Falconer. 
 
 "But it ended in comedy," laughed Ralph, "or 
 tragicomic." 
 
 "With you children, the greater the danger, the 
 more keenly you enjoy the sensation of recalling it. 
 Not so with me; I can't allow any more swimming 
 this fall. I can not think of the river without a 
 feeling of dread, and yet of gratitude that the 
 waters did not overwhelm my soul," Mrs. Falconer 
 added.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "Experience join'd to common sense, 
 To mortals is a Providence." 
 
 The first two years of life spent at Danboro Uni- 
 versity were uneventful, as far as anything out of 
 the ordinary occurring. Russell and Ralph Farnam 
 matriculated as other students; and, being in the 
 preparatory department, they were not subjected to 
 very severe hazing. The blanket-tossing, pump- 
 soaking and snipe-hunting were endured stoically 
 and satisfied their comrades that they possessed suf- 
 ficient grit to hold a place among them. Russell 
 was the handsomer of the two boys, and perhaps the 
 stronger character; and his position, as chapel or- 
 ganist, gave him advantages from which he could 
 have profited; but his retiring disposition, his pecu- 
 liar atmosphere of reserve and his dignified repell- 
 ing of advances, cut him off from the social life of 
 the institute. His conception of girls was like that 
 of a beautiful picture, poem, or piece of music 
 something to be studied, analyzed and enjoyed as a 
 thing apart. His letters to his grandmother contained 
 descriptions of the town, the University buildings, 
 the campus and groves along the little river, the 
 country and huge mountains in the distance; char- 
 acter sketches of the professors, their work and idio- 
 syncrasies. To Varena, he wrote of music, often 
 interpreting a new piece for her, and always wish- 
 ing she were with him in the enjoyment of some 
 opera or oratorio. Ralph's letters abounded in epi- 
 sodes, narrow escapes, and daring achievements. 
 
 38
 
 GRANDMOTHER 39 
 
 He was gay, happy, and debonair, and popular with 
 all classes. He was the beau-ideal of the girls at 
 the Seminary, a paragon for the boys in the Academy, 
 and a favorite with his instructors. However, the 
 brothers seemed to progress equally well in their 
 studies. At the end of each semester, they passed 
 their examinations and were promoted; so, that, 
 at the beginning of the third year, they entered col- 
 lege as regular freshmen. 
 
 It was at this period that Mrs. Falconer relegated 
 to the garret the little desks and blackboard that had 
 made the schoolroom at Finden a sacred place to 
 her. Tender memories of childhood days clung 
 round each tablet and book. Still, it was with pride 
 that she saw her granddaughter mount her pony 
 and ride into town to enter the village high school. 
 Her advent created a sensation; for Varena Far- 
 nam, with the enthusiasm of a girl of fourteen, 
 trained in the seclusion of a country home, where 
 morality, gentility, and punctilious behavior formed 
 an important item in the curriculum, was no small 
 factor in a community. Under the new environ- 
 ments, her nature was aroused to an impetuous 
 activity, and emotions that hitherto had lain dor- 
 mant were quickened into being. The novelty of 
 contact with a host of boys and girls added spice to 
 her life; and her overflow of good-humored vivacity 
 drew around her a coterie of the brightest scholars. 
 She was ignorant of the admiration and envy that 
 she excited, and abandoned herself to the full en- 
 joyment of competition proud of the accuracy 
 with which her early training enabled her to grasp 
 and solve her problems, and quick to rise to an 
 emergency. 
 
 On one occasion, the duty of a recitation had been 
 assigned to Varena as a part of the program for 
 the Friday afternoon exercise. She simply forgot 
 all about it. When her name was called, she looked
 
 40 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 up for a moment, dazed. Then, intuitively divin- 
 ing that there was a desire on the part of some that 
 she should fail, she drew down her forehead in 
 anxious contemplation, and, the next instant, walked 
 firmly up on the rostrum and repeated the longest 
 rule in arithmetic. She spoke it perfectly, made a 
 little courtesy, and returned to her seat. Some of 
 the scholars giggled, but the majority applauded 
 heartily. The principal of the school had taken a 
 dislike to Varena, because she often solved a prob- 
 lem so readily that it placed him at a disadvantage; 
 and he resolved to use this circumstance to her hu- 
 miliation. The F. F. K. as the Farnam family 
 of Kentucky was called was too influential for the 
 child to be dealt with summarily; so it was not until 
 the regular meeting that this audacious conduct was 
 placed before the school board. The unpopular 
 principal was deeply chagrined when it was decided 
 that a comprehensive rendering of a rule in arithme- 
 tic or algebra is of more benefit to the pupil than 
 the committing of simple rhymes, however pretty or 
 poetical. 
 
 Before Varena was again on duty, she had the 
 pleasure of attending a church entertainment, in 
 which an elocutionist, from the City Lecture Bureau, 
 gave some very dramatic readings. The girl was 
 fascinated; and, being a natural mimic, she anxiously 
 awaited an opportunity to display her own ability 
 along this line. The occasion came at the close of 
 the winter term, and the schoolroom was filled with 
 visitors. Varena sat, expectant, in her seat, her 
 cheeks burning and her eyes, like lustrous lapis-lazuli 
 gems between two American Beauty roses. When 
 her turn came, she took her position, made a little 
 graceful movement of her figure, and greeted the 
 audience with a radiant smile, so exactly as the elo- 
 cutionist had done that the imitation was at once
 
 GRANDMOTHER 41 
 
 recognized, and eager faces leaned forward to be 
 entertained. She announced her piece, "In Old 
 Kentucky." Then, she accompanied every thought 
 with its appropriate gesture, neatly as a trained 
 artist, and with the graceful affectation of senti- 
 ment of the modern reader. Unaware of the prin- 
 cipal's hostile feelings toward her, she addressed 
 the last words to him, bowed, and returned to her 
 seat. 
 
 In Kentucky. 
 
 "The moonlight is the softest 
 
 In Kentucky. 
 Summer days come oftest 
 
 In Kentucky. 
 
 Friendship is the strongest, 
 Love's fires grow the longest, 
 Yet, a wrong is always wrongest, 
 
 In Kentucky. 
 
 "The sunshine's ever brightest 
 
 In Kentucky. 
 The breezes whisper lightest 
 
 In Kentucky. 
 
 Plain girls are the fewest, 
 Maiden's eyes are the bluest, 
 Their little hearts the truest, 
 
 In Kentucky. 
 
 "Life's burdens bear the lightest 
 
 In Kentucky. 
 The home fires burn the brightest 
 
 In Kentucky. 
 
 While the players are the keenest, 
 Cards come out the meanest, 
 The pockets empty cleanest, 
 
 In Kentucky.
 
 42 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "Orators are the grandest 
 
 In Kentucky. 
 Officials are the blandest 
 
 In Kentucky. 
 Boys are all the flyest, 
 Dangers are the nighest, 
 Taxes are the highest, 
 
 In Kentucky. 
 
 "The bluegrass waves the bluest 
 
 In Kentucky, 
 Yet bloodhounds are the fewest ( ?) 
 
 In Kentucky. 
 
 Moonshine is the clearest 
 By no means of the dearest 
 And yet it acts the queerest, 
 
 In Kentucky. 
 
 "The dove notes are the saddest 
 
 In Kentucky, 
 The streams dance on the gladdest 
 
 In Kentucky. 
 
 Hip pockets are the thickest, 
 Pistol hands are slickest, 
 Cylinders turn the quickest, 
 
 In Kentucky. 
 
 "Song birds are the sweetest 
 
 In Kentucky, 
 Thoroughbreds the fleetest 
 
 In Kentucky. 
 
 The mountains tower proudest, 
 Thunder peals the loudest, 
 The landscape is the grandest 
 And politics the est, 
 
 In Kentucky.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 43 
 
 Varena read in the pleased expression of her lis- 
 teners the success of her attempt at elocution, and 
 was surprised by the principal abruptly demanding 
 a copy of her poem. She had not learned of his 
 disapproval of her reciting "The Rule of Cube 
 Root" and she would have been gratified to know 
 that, a second time, the school board pronounced 
 her work "well done." But the irate professor 
 took the matter in his own hands and gave her a 
 severe reprimand, stating positively that, the next 
 time she appeared on the platform she must speak 
 a simple little piece, in a quiet manner, that would 
 be more suitable for a modest young girl. The mat- 
 ter soon spread among the indignant students. 
 
 Another Friday that Varena was called on, she 
 demurely walked to her position, and, without a 
 smile or a sign of interest or enthusiasm, looked over 
 the faces of her friends, all aglow with lively antici- 
 pation, and soberly spoke the whole of "Mary had 
 a little lamb." One had only to look into her deep, 
 dark eyes to know that a volcano of emotion was 
 held in bounds by the force of her strong, yet gentle 
 will. This time, the school went wild with enthu- 
 siasm. They crowded around her during the inter- 
 mission to praise and congratulate her. 
 
 She was a very popular girl; still, her innocent 
 good-fellowship was enigmatical to the boys, who 
 would rather have had a more responsive divinity 
 for the object of their admiration. It is a psycho- 
 logical fact that the young woman who is free and 
 easy in her intercourse with the stronger sex is less 
 given to succumb to the tender passion than one who 
 indulges in prudish reserve. 
 
 These were happy school-days for Varena. The 
 little pony that carried her back and forth was her 
 most beloved companion; and the hour before sup- 
 per, when she sat by the side of her grandmother on
 
 44 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 the big veranda, the happiest time of the day. It 
 was then that she told of all her pleasures and 
 triumphs, all her vexations and disappointments; 
 and, with the telling, trouble vanished and only 
 pleasure remained; for Mrs. Falconer was able to 
 supplement each incident narrated with some per- 
 sonal experience that would have a tendency to off- 
 set the evil and make stronger the better influences. 
 Detecting in her granddaughter an enthusiastic en- 
 joyment of the admiration of the boys, and fearing 
 that she would awaken to the knowledge that ad- 
 miration is very closely allied to love, she endeav- 
 ored to forestall the result by adroitly influencing 
 her mind, in giving her the history of a beautiful 
 girl whom she had known in one of their city par- 
 ishes, and whose frivolous coquetry had marred a 
 beautiful character. 
 
 "Come, Varena, bring a cushion for the back of 
 my chair, and I'll tell you a true story," said Mrs. 
 Falconer, one day. 
 
 "Tell me something about mamma, Grand- 
 mother. I'd rather hear about her than any one 
 else," Varena pleaded, adjusting her grandmother's 
 chair and fixing one for herself. 
 
 "I'll tell you about a young lady who loved your 
 mamma, when she was a young girl not so old as 
 you are now. We were living in Louiston. Your 
 grandfather was pastor of Calvary Church. It 
 seems, as I look back to those times, that it was 
 the most beautiful church, the prettiest parsonage, 
 and the most enjoyable pastorate we ever had. Your 
 mamma was a great pet with the church people, 
 especially with the members of my Bible class, who 
 made wealth, education, and travel the criterion of 
 social caste. Among the members of my class were 
 two young ladies, inseparable friends, though they 
 were as unlike as darkness and daylight. Luella 
 Kendrick was small of stature, with straight black
 
 GRANDMOTHER 45 
 
 hair that could not be done artistically; dark, 
 gloomy eyes, a sharp voice that cut through com- 
 pressed lips; but she was very intellectual, thor- 
 oughly good, and a noble, conscientious woman. 
 Mabel Murratt was tall, lithe, and willowy; com- 
 plexion pure, clear, and soft; hair of a light brown, 
 which fell in little waves and ringlets over a broad 
 forehead; eyes, the kind of blue in liquid depths 
 that are always craving to be loved; the long eye- 
 lashes drooped over her cheeks like a shadow from 
 her dark eyebrows. The expression was like Rus- 
 sell's, save that his eyes are brown. The contour 
 of her face and throat was as perfect as the Greek 
 Galatea." 
 
 "Who was Galatea, Grandmother?" queried Va- 
 rena. 
 
 "A statue of a beautiful woman, chiselled out of 
 marble by Pygmalion, King of Cyprus. She was 
 so perfect and so exquisitely human that the King 
 loved her and prayed to the gods to quicken her 
 with life. Don't you remember, Russell wrote to 
 you of hearing Julia Marlowe in the play, "Pygma- 
 lion and Galatea?" 
 
 "O, yes, I remember. But, Grandmother, did 
 every one love Mabel, and no one love Luella? 
 And which one loved my mamma?" 
 
 "They both loved your mamma and gave her 
 beautiful presents; for they were very wealthy. 
 Luella was too exclusive to have many friends. 
 Mabel was a natural-born coquette. She could no 
 more help it than she could change the aura that 
 surrounded her. Once within the atmosphere of 
 her winning personality and there was no hope for 
 man or boy." 
 
 "And don't you think that was nice? I wish I 
 could be so charming that everybody would love 
 me," said Varena, thoughtfully. 
 
 "If I could make you realize the seriousness of
 
 46 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 genuine love, and the misery of unrequited affec- 
 tion, I believe you would take back your wish. You 
 would not, for the gratification of personal vanity, 
 be so cruel as to keep men hoping and longing for 
 that which they could never attain," chided Mrs. 
 Falconer. 
 
 "But I should think, Grandmother, that you 
 would have to let them love you long enough for 
 you to decide which one you liked best," Varena 
 argued. 
 
 "It was not so with Miss Mabel," continued Mrs. 
 Falconer. "She was fascinated with the ravishing 
 sensation of her own adorableness; with knowing 
 that a dozen men came to church to gaze up in the 
 choir-loft at her lovely face and listen to her sweet 
 voice; with the fact that some stood on the street 
 corner for hours to catch a glimpse of her as she 
 drove past; that, when she lost a handkerchief, it 
 was treasured against some heart as a souvenir." 
 
 "And didn't she care for any of them?" 
 
 "Indeed she did, though her foolish coquetry 
 almost resulted in her marrying the wrong man," 
 Mrs. Falconer replied. "There was a medical stu- 
 dent among her satellites an irreligious, ambitious, 
 young man; tall, dark, and homely; of strong per- 
 sonality and an interesting conversationalist; cap- 
 able of loving like a tyrant; determined on possess- 
 ing money and power. He was visiting in the home 
 of Miss Luella, whose brother, Richard, he had 
 known in college, when he met Miss Mabel; and, 
 soon after, he decided to locate in Louiston. The 
 shrewd tactics that he pursued led Miss Mabel to 
 believe that it would require an extra exertion on 
 her part to bring him to acknowledge her suprem- 
 acy; consequently, she exerted her powers in a direct 
 manner, by which he was able to claim that she had 
 committed herself to him; then, he pressed his suit 
 in a tyrannical fashion. In fact, he so dominated
 
 GRANDMOTHER 47 
 
 her that she was afraid to refuse him. Mabel was 
 of a gentle, clinging disposition; it was her womanly 
 dependableness that made her so dear to the heart 
 of every man. This new doctor seemed to hypno- 
 tize her, so that she came under his influence more 
 and more. When he was absent, she hated him 
 bitterly and dreaded the sight of him; but, the mo- 
 ment he came in the room or near, her will was 
 swayed by a stronger one, her gaiety was subordi- 
 nated to his intellectual mood; her affections dor- 
 mant under his over-mastering passion." 
 
 "Go on, Grandmother. Think out loud," said 
 Varena, smiling. 
 
 "Bonny View Boulevard, like Hyde Park, Lon- 
 don, is the place where all the rich, if not the roy- 
 alty, drive during the summer evenings. The view 
 overlooks the river, from which there is usually a 
 pleasant breeze. I remember very well, the night 
 they drove past the parsonage on their way to the 
 boulevard. Miss Mabel waved her white-gloved 
 hand at me; and she told me, afterward, that my 
 little talismanic expression, 'D. V.', flashed across 
 her brain, and she resolved, the Lord willing, she 
 would end that affaire d' amour during the ride, one 
 way or the other. The doctor entertained her with 
 graphic descriptions of travel, interesting reviews of 
 popular novels, and positive plans for the future, 
 assuming that she was to marry him." 
 
 "What was the doctor's name, Grandmother?" 
 asked Varena. 
 
 "I cannot recall it, dear. He was not a member 
 of our church. I may think of it presently," Mrs. 
 Falconer answered, endeavoring to recollect the 
 name. 
 
 "And did she marry him?" 
 
 "Miss Mabel had a strong distaste for the duties 
 of a wife and mother. She did not want to marry
 
 48 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 any one. She luxuriated in dinners, receptions, 
 clubs, balls, the opera, golf, and tennis, and would 
 not risk the little encumbrances that accompany con- 
 jugal felicity." 
 
 "I don't know what that means, Grandmother," 
 said Varena. 
 
 "Miss Mabel would have been happy in having 
 a good, kind husband," explained Mrs. Falconer, 
 "to whom she could turn for soothing caresses, 
 when weary of the excitement of social functions, 
 provided he would not require her to be burdened 
 with maternal cares. 
 
 "The doctor was urging her to name the day for 
 the consummation of his hopes, and she was de- 
 bating in her own mind the contingencies of a long 
 engagement, when they rounded a corner and came 
 face to face with Miss Luella and her brother. 
 In the surprised encounter, each read the other 
 correctly. Miss Mabel's heart ceased its palpitat- 
 ing, and cold shivers ran down her spine. She knew, 
 intuitively, that Miss Luella loved the doctor. Her 
 innate nobility of character gave her strength to 
 resist the man and be true to her friend." 
 
 "And did the doctor marry Miss Luella?" asked 
 Varena, in surprise. 
 
 "Yes; your grandfather performed the marriage 
 ceremony in 1876, and they went to the Centennial 
 at Philadelphia, and Miss Mabel and Luella's 
 brother, Richard went with them." 
 
 "And, of course, they finally married and lived 
 happily ever after," laughed Varena. 
 
 "Richard and Miss Mabel had always loved 
 each other; but his unexpressed disapprobation of 
 the things she enjoyed, annoyed her. While he was 
 like a good brother, caring for her, and often shield- 
 ing her from the nuisance of some assiduous ad- 
 mirer, he was patiently waiting for her to become 
 satiated with the homage of the crowd. The year
 
 GRANDMOTHER 49 
 
 we left Louiston, your grandfather officiated at 
 their wedding, and your mamma was one of the 
 flower-girls. I often wonder if they have 'lived 
 happy ever after.' The Doctor had a garish in- 
 tellect and an evil heart, and was ambitious and 
 revengeful; but Richard was generous, erudite, and 
 unsuspicious." 
 
 "I am not going to love any one, and I don't want 
 to be loved; then, there'll be no trouble," Varena 
 announced. "Now, there is Ralph. Russell says 
 he's in love with half a dozen girls, who are in 
 love with him. What can he do?" 
 
 "Ralph is not serious. That's just his foolish- 
 ness. He will quit playing with girls after a while, 
 and settle down like a man," said Mrs. Falconer. 
 
 "But, Grandmother, that was the way with Miss 
 Mabel, and she came near spoiling her own life and 
 her friend's, too." 
 
 "You are right, Varena. All kind of flirting is 
 wrong. It will mar the most beautiful character. 
 I want you to live for something better and nobler," 
 said Mrs. Falconer. 
 
 Away at Danboro College, Russell was beginning 
 to be seriously concerned about his brother. Ralph 
 was not satisfied with formal calls at the Seminary 
 on the regular reception evenings: he must meet 
 the girls at the lectures, pass notes during class, 
 happen along to and from church; and be out night 
 after night, walking or driving, with permission or 
 without, it mattered not to him, so he got the girl. 
 Notwithstanding his dissipation, he was gay and 
 happy, making good grades in his studies, and an- 
 ticipating with pleasure the summer vacation. 
 
 "Three months with Grandmother and Sister, 
 then back again for another year of study and 
 pretty girls," laughed Ralph to Russell, as they 
 boarded the train for home.
 
 50 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "I can't see what you find in girls," said Russell. 
 "They are such a waste of time and energy." 
 
 "Just wait till you fall in love with one," re- 
 sponded Ralph; "then, you'll see how impossible 
 it is to live without them." 
 
 "But you love a dozen," continued Russell, in 
 disgust. 
 
 "Well, I can't help it; they are so confoundedly 
 sweet and dear." 
 
 "Still, I should think you would take one at a 
 time." 
 
 "That would make it too serious and would mean 
 business," laughed Ralph. 
 
 "Aren't you in earnest with any of the girls?" 
 asked Russell, in surprise. 
 
 "What a foolish question," replied his brother. 
 "Don't you know that I have to go to school three 
 more years, and learn the banking business before 
 I can be serious? Why, Leila, Mildred, Afra, Har- 
 riet, Jeannette, Dollie, Nettie, and Elma will all be 
 through school and doubtless married before that 
 time. But say, Russ, wasn't the triumph of the 
 Kappas glorious? I was proud of you when you 
 won the medal. Youngest of the contestants, 
 weren't you? I wish there was something good to 
 tell Grandmother and Sister about me, too. Can't 
 you think of something, even if you have to stretch 
 a little?" 
 
 "You had the highest marks in both Latin and 
 mathematics. I think that is pretty good," Russell 
 suggested. 
 
 "That's so ! I'm glad you remembered it. I don't 
 know what I did with my papers. Must have left 
 them in the class-room when I carried those flowers 
 over to the girls. But Grandmother will believe you. 
 Won't they be glad to see us? They'll be standing 
 on the veranda watching for us, Jennie in the kitchen,
 
 GRANDMOTHER 51 
 
 one eye on the fried chicken, the other peeking out 
 the window." 
 
 "Grandmother will be so happy, and Varena I 
 wonder if she has changed much. She writes that 
 she is taller and wears her dresses longer," pondered 
 Russell. "We haven't seen her for ten months." 
 
 "I can't conceive of little Sister being grown up. 
 I like to remember her going down the hill astride 
 the old buck sheep. I often entertain my girls by 
 telling them the outrageous things that Sister has 
 done," laughed Ralph. "She'll have a reputation 
 before she goes to college." 
 
 At the railroad junction, they bade good-bye to 
 some comrades, purchased lunch and a magazine, 
 and settled down in their seats to read and doze until 
 they could catch a glimpse of the hills at home. 
 
 Mrs. Falconer and Varena were on the top of a 
 high hill when the train went whizzing by; but the 
 distance was too great to distinguish any one. They 
 had climbed up there to make the afternoon pass 
 more quickly. It required twenty minutes to walk 
 down to the house, and, in that time, Jim could drive 
 the boys from the village station. 
 
 Flushed and excited from the trip through the 
 forest and glad in the anticipation of the home-com- 
 ing, Mrs. Falconer and Varena stood on the big 
 porch, waiting. Both wore soft, clinging white 
 dresses. In Grandmother's hair was a beautiful 
 Marechal'Niel rose; Varena's curls were tied back 
 with a blue ribbon, and on her breast was a bunch 
 of violets. The canary-bird was singing his wildest; 
 the bees were humming over the crimson rambler. 
 Flash gave one joyous bark and sped through the 
 arbor to the open gate and came zigzagging back, 
 jumping and biting the boys' hands. 
 
 "Varena, how much you look like Grandmother!" 
 cried Ralph, as he caught her in his arms and kissed 
 her.
 
 52 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 Russell's heart throbbed with a new emotion as 
 she stood before him in the first fresh beauty of 
 ripening womanhood. While Ralph overwhelmed 
 her with rapturous kisses, he greeted Grandmother 
 heartily, though less demonstrably. Then giving 
 place to Ralph, he turned to Varena. She was gaz- 
 ing up at him with wide-open, wistful eyes. As he 
 looked into them, a peculiar trembling sensation took 
 possession of him. He tried to say "little Sister," 
 but his tongue remained inactive. He took her 
 hand; the flush left her cheeks, she dropped her eye- 
 lids, pulled away her hand, and, throwing her arms 
 around Ralph's neck, hid her face on his shoulder 
 and sobbed. Russell stood, pale and irresolute, for 
 a moment, then went to meet and greet the servants. 
 
 "My, little Sister!" said Ralph. "Are you so 
 awfully glad to see us that it makes you cry?" 
 
 "I don't know what is the matter with me. I am 
 trembling all over. Maybe I am tired," she sobbed. 
 
 "We climbed to the top of the hill to watch the 
 train come in," said Mrs. Falconer. "She will feel 
 better after she has rested and eaten supper." 
 
 "Hold up here, Sister, and let me look at you. 
 You are a beauty and no mistake. Say, Russ, how 
 will Sister compare with the girls at school?" Ralph 
 asked. 
 
 Russell came slowly back from the dining-room 
 door, watching Varena as she straightened her 
 crushed violets. He did not speak and she did not 
 raise her eyes from the flowers on her breast. A 
 crimson spot glowed on her cheek, and, as she felt 
 the blush spread over her face, she ran into her 
 grandmother's room to bathe in cool water. 
 
 In the course of an hour supper was announced. 
 
 "This is the most delicious meal that I ever ate in 
 my life," gushed Ralph, as he winked to Jennie to 
 bring him more chicken. "Varena, you're not eat- 
 ing anything. You've been accustomed to this kind
 
 GRANDMOTHER 53 
 
 of food all the year. You ought to see some of the 
 grub we have at Moxley's; then you'd know how 
 to appreciate home and Grandmother. Yes, and 
 Jennie, too. She knows how to fry chicken. Is there 
 another breast there, Jennie?" 
 
 "You didn't have any dinner, did you?" asked 
 Mrs. Falconer. 
 
 "We bought sandwiches and coffee at the junc- 
 tion," replied Russell, "and some fruit on the train." 
 
 "There's the man with your trunks," said Mrs. 
 Falconer. "Go show him where to put them, and 
 when you have opened them and hung up your coats, 
 come out on the veranda and tell me about com- 
 mencement week." 
 
 An hour later, they were seated where most of 
 the summer evenings had been spent during the years 
 of childhood. Mrs. Falconer in the old armchair 
 with the background of crimson ramblers, laden with 
 blossoms, questioned; Varena, in a little rocker near 
 her, listened; and the boys on the settee, talked, 
 Ralph being, by far, the most loquacious. All the 
 important events of the year were catalogued, col- 
 ored by the pride that the boys entertained for each 
 other, and restrained by a sympathy that would 
 shield the grandmother from unnecessary worry. 
 When things pertaining to the interest of the farm 
 were discussed, it was decided that a new tobacco 
 barn should be built during the month that the boys 
 could superintend it. Tobacco was becoming more 
 and more the staple product of Kentucky and the 
 easiest crop to raise while the boys were in college. 
 The land could be let in small lots of three or six 
 acres to tenants whom Jim could manage, for he 
 had grown from a choreboy to a reliable overseer. 
 
 While this proposition was under consideration, 
 Varena went into the parlor and quietly opened the 
 piano, and, in the dark, played Mendelssohn's "Con- 
 solation." Over and over she played it, strong,
 
 54 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 earnest, questioning chords, low, soft, soothing re- 
 sponses. She did not know why she played it, or 
 why the tears traced each other down her cheeks. 
 Nor did she know that Russell had slipped into the 
 room and lay on the sofa listening, unable to com- 
 prehend her music or his own anomalous mood.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE TOBACCO BARN. 
 
 "It will be all work and no play, this summer," 
 said Russell, early one morning, as he and Ralph 
 walked out to the stables, followed by Jim. 
 
 "It won't take long to build a tobacco barn," 
 Ralph replied. 
 
 "This stable is to have a new roof; there are two 
 new fences to put up, and the little cabin must be 
 moved down by the spring and fixed for the tenant," 
 enumerated Russell. 
 
 "Then there's the water-gap that the last rain 
 washed out. The worst job is getting the thistles 
 cut out of the pasture. It makes me tired," sighed 
 Ralph. 
 
 "I'm ashamed we don't get more done in your 
 absence, Marse Russell," said Jim, apologetically. 
 
 "That's all right, Jim. You do as much as one 
 man can do. The gist of the matter is, that Grand- 
 mother has set her heart on too many improvements 
 for one summer. I wonder why she don't get Uncle 
 Henry to come back?" Russell asked. 
 
 "Jack Lindley saw. him on the mailboat, last 
 week," said Ralph. 
 
 "Was he porter?" 
 
 "I think so," replied Ralph. "Wonder why he 
 left the packet?" 
 
 "He was here the week 'fore you got home from 
 school," added Jim. 
 
 "He was!" and Ralph exchanged a look with 
 
 55
 
 56 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 Russell. "Strange that Grandmother never spoke 
 of it." 
 
 "Yes, sir; he was here and ate his supper. And 
 Uncle Henry an' Grandmother were sittin' down 
 under your old Peace Palace tree, a talkin' when I 
 went to town. I took four little calves down an' 
 shipped 'em to the city, an' didn't get back 'fore nine 
 o'clock; an' he was gone. Somethin' mysterious 'bout 
 that old nigger. Now, Jennie, she says, Uncle 
 Henry ain't more'n half bright, an' the Grand- 
 mother's just got to humor him, 'cause she's know'd 
 him so long," explained Jim. 
 
 "And what Jennie says is about right, eh?" teased 
 Ralph. 
 
 "Jennie's no lame duck. She generally knows 
 what she's talkin' 'bout," grinned Jim, turning his 
 back to hide his pleasure in being teased about the 
 maid. 
 
 "So it's a sure thing, is it, Jim?" laughed Ralph. 
 
 " 'Away down South in de land of roses, 
 Is my honey dat I love so well,' ' 
 
 hummed Jim, in an undertone. 
 
 "I think this is the site for the new barn," and 
 Russell stopped on a knoll a short distance from 
 the stable. "Get out your dimensions, Ralph, and 
 let us stake it off and see if we can have room for 
 a wagon road on the north side." 
 
 "The carpenter gave me the chart of the tobacco 
 barn that he put up last week." Ralph took the plan 
 from his pocket and continued: "Why not follow 
 these estimates? This is about what Grandmother 
 wants." 
 
 After an hour's deliberation, Jim was sent to re- 
 pair the water-gap, Ralph to town to purchase build- 
 ing material, and Russell to secure men to extermi- 
 nate the thistles.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 57 
 
 Before the brothers separated, Ralph remarked: 
 "Do you know, Russ, I think Uncle Henry knows 
 some secret of importance." 
 
 "I credit him with knowing a dozen," assented 
 Russell. "He lived through war times, when all 
 sorts of queer things were done. I've heard him 
 tell of helping pack boxes of silver, and fine china, 
 and shipping them to Indiana and Ohio, to be kept 
 by friends till the war closed. One old woman had 
 two cats that she loved like babies; and she imagined 
 the guerillas would kill and eat them up, so she put 
 them in a box and marked it, 'This side up, handle 
 with care,' and expressed them to her daughter in 
 Cincinnati." 
 
 Ralph rode away laughing; but Russell turned to 
 his duties, seriously pondering the situation. The 
 absence of the faithful old overseer could not be ex- 
 plained on simple grounds; but so long as Grand- 
 mother withheld her confidence, idle curiosity should 
 be restrained. 
 
 About noon, Ralph rode up to the pasture, where 
 he expected to find Russell superintending the men 
 in the grubbing of the thistles, and learned that he 
 had not been there for two hours. He sought him 
 at the house, and was told to look up on the hillside. 
 From the kitchen window, he could see his brother, 
 stretched out on the grass in the shade of a big tree, 
 while his sister was sitting near, reading aloud. Oc- 
 casionally their laughter would float down, and Va- 
 rena could be seen tossing bread crumbs to her pet 
 gophers and squirrels. 
 
 "How long before dinner will be ready, Jennie?" 
 asked Ralph, fishing the chicken liver out of the 
 skillet. 
 
 ' 'Bout twenty minutes, sir," replied Jennie. 
 
 "Well, I'll take a rest, too." Taking a news- 
 paper, Ralph found a shady place on the lawn; but 
 soon he was in dreamland, where pretty girls were
 
 '58 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 building a pyramid of books over his empty stomach. 
 
 "Hello, old fellow! All your lumber bought, 
 back home and fast asleep," said Russell, standing 
 over his brother with Varena's magazine in his hand. 
 
 Ralph stretched himself, saying: "You're a great 
 architect. I thought, when you weren't in the pas- 
 ture, you'd be poring over the plans for the building. 
 Who was it said, 'all work and no play this summer?' 
 I wanted you to go back to town with me. I didn't 
 buy half the stuff." 
 
 "What's the trouble, Ralph?" asked Russell, 
 blushing, "I didn't mean to shirk. I was so hot grub- 
 bing in the sun, and Sister looked so cool and inviting 
 in the shade of her big tree, that I ran over to tease 
 her a bit, and she began reading aloud." 
 
 "O it's all right. I know you do twice the amount 
 of work that I do. We'll go together this afternoon 
 and complete the purchases. They had a new kind 
 of roofing and patent hinges for the airing-planks, 
 and an invention for lifting the tobacco sticks to posi- 
 tion, and I was not competent to decide about them. 
 There's not much time lost. The workmen will be 
 here Thursday; so, if we get the material out to- 
 morrow, I'm sure we can rush the thing right along." 
 Ralph rose and they went in to dinner. 
 
 For weeks the work on the farm progressed ad- 
 mirably; the tenant house was repaired, the water- 
 gap remade, the stable roofed, the stock cistern 
 cleaned, and the new barn loomed up in fine propor- 
 tions. In fact, the building was complete, with the 
 exception of a few feet of flooring, when Russell 
 went to the house to get the money to pay off the 
 workmen. 
 
 The last plank was laid, the tools stacked in their 
 cases, and the men waited. Ralph praised the work 
 and the speed with which it was done, told several 
 jokes and college yarns, and still his brother did not 
 return. Jim, coming from the village, drove by the
 
 GRANDMOTHER 59 
 
 barn, with a basket of apples in the spring-wagon, 
 which Ralph took and passed over to the laborers, 
 then urged him to hasten to the house, supposing he 
 had been sent to town for change. In the enjoyment 
 of the fruit, time was not noted; but no paymaster 
 appeared, and Ralph impatiently started on the 
 hunt of him. Before he reached the yard gate, he 
 heard the explanation: Russell and Varena were 
 playing duets. Even in his vexation, Ralph smiled, 
 remembering when his brother let his music cause 
 him to forget to come to class for the closing exam- 
 ination. Hearing the footsteps, Russell bounded up 
 from the piano and rushed to the barn. Ralph 
 understood; for he went to sleep night after night, 
 listening to "Zampa," u Olympia," "Calif of Bag- 
 dad," or some other duet from the Leipzig collec- 
 tion. 
 
 Altogether, this was a rare summer. A new wire 
 fence enclosed the lots that were luxuriant in to- 
 bacco plants; the tenants occupied the little cottage 
 by the brook; the cows feasted on the long grass 
 free from prickly thistles; harvests were bountiful, 
 and the weather fine. The neighborhood and vil- 
 lage friends were stirred to chattering curiosity by 
 invitations to a birthday party at Finden. The young 
 people were invited to a one o'clock dinner, and sup- 
 per on the beach, including boating and bathing in 
 the river. 
 
 "Whose birthday can it be?" fretted Clara Pryor. 
 
 "What does it matter?" Angie Ross replied. 
 "Mrs. Falconer stated positively that there must 
 be no presents." 
 
 "If it were Varena's birthday, I'd take one any 
 way," Clara declared. 
 
 "Russell's, you mean," laughed her friend, teas- 
 ingly. 
 
 "She'd like to give herself to Russell," said Jack 
 Lindley, coming up with his sister.
 
 60 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 Clara drew herself up haughtily, and replied: 
 "There are not many sensible girls who wouldn't." 
 
 "Come in, girls, and let's talk the matter over," 
 said Florence Lindley. "Jack, bring some chairs 
 out of mamma's room; it's cooler on the veranda. 
 I wonder what we shall do all day. Mrs. Falconer 
 will not let us dance, or play cards, or even have a 
 jolly kissing game." 
 
 "Varena never kissed any boy, except her broth- 
 ers. You can't say that of yourself, Florence," said 
 one of the girls, laughing. 
 
 "Don't want to. I'm sure I don't enjoy kissing 
 such a tease as Jack is," replied Florence. 
 
 "I'll wager Varena gets a kiss from some other 
 boy if it's her birthday," bragged Jack Lindley. 
 
 "My cat against your dog, you don't dare," 
 laughed his sister. 
 
 "Shake hands, old girl, you'll see. If I win your 
 cat, I'll kill it, too. I hate cats," said Jack. 
 
 "And I'll sell your dog," she replied. "I don't 
 like dogs." 
 
 As the merry crowd assembled on the big veranda 
 at Finden, they were greeted by the hostess and her 
 grandchildren, and conducted to rooms in which 
 they could put off their hats, adjust a tie, or fasten 
 up a stray curl. 
 
 "Mrs. Falconer and Varena are dressed exactly 
 alike," whispered one girl. "I believe it's their birth- 
 day." 
 
 "That's no sign," Angie Ross declared. "They 
 always dress alike, winter and summer. Their fine 
 clothes and every-day dresses are made from the 
 same pieces of goods. Varena does it." 
 
 "They just worship each other," said Florence 
 Lindley, in an undertone. 
 
 "There isn't any sign of dinner," Angie Ross 
 whispered. "I saw in the dining-room."
 
 GRANDMOTHER 61. 
 
 "Hush I" urged Florence, "and loosen this hat 
 pin, if you can, please, without spoiling my hair." 
 
 "Listen! listen!" Clara exclaimed. 
 
 "That's the village hotel bell. Sounds as near 
 as the barn," averred Angie Ross. 
 
 "Come, girls!" called the boys from the veranda. 
 
 "Where are you going?" they cried, as they fol- 
 lowed them through the arbor, out toward the barn. 
 
 "Where's your grandmother?" Florence inquired 
 of Varena. 
 
 "Come, I'll show you," she replied, leading on to 
 where the boys were giving expression to their sur- 
 prise, in wild vociferation. 
 
 The girls crowded on to the threshold wondering, 
 laughing. The inside of the new tobacco barn was 
 festooned from king-post to ground floor with all 
 the colors of the rainbow. Soft, fleecy bunting hung 
 in waves from the crossbeams, fastened here and 
 there with flowers and green branches. A pyramid 
 of boxes was hidden with blooming potted plants. 
 Two long ladders were decorated with green and 
 white and joined at the top with the date of the 
 day, in gilt letters. Across the new pine floor was 
 a table, four by thirty feet, bountifully laden with de- 
 licious edibles. When the young people were seated, 
 Russell knocked on the table and they listened 
 breathlessly, expecting to learn whose birthday they 
 were celebrating. Mrs. Falconer quietly asked a 
 blessing. A sigh of disappointment went round the 
 board, but was soon forgotten in the merry feast- 
 ing. 
 
 After dinner, the company divided into smaller 
 groups. Some took part in the games that had been 
 arranged for their amusement; others stole away 
 to the house, where they could have music, or swing 
 in the hammock; a few brave ones climbed in a hay- 
 mow and indulged in the excitement of jumping down 
 a distance of eighteen or twenty feet to a pile of soft
 
 62 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 hay. Jack Lindley and Varena were the most ven- 
 turesome, making the drop from a beam twenty-two 
 feet high. 
 
 At five o'clock, the jolly party started to the river. 
 Mrs. Falconer and the servants had gone on before. 
 The point selected was a gravelly beach. The bank 
 above it was about thirty feet high, perpendicular in 
 some places; in others made accessible by projections 
 of broken rock, shrubbery, or roots of trees. On top 
 of the bank was a narrow strip of forest. The 
 happy young people scrambled down the winding 
 path, stumbling, falling, screaming, laughing, jest- 
 ing, teasing, playing any kind of a prank that would 
 add to the excitement or furnish amusement. 
 
 "O look at the tents ! Our bathing-suits are there. 
 I saw Jennie collecting them," cried one. 
 
 "One, two, three, four, five rowboats," counted 
 another. 
 
 "Don't that fire blaze high! Here, brother, take 
 this stick along," Florence ordered. 
 
 "All right," said Jack. "You boys, there, gather 
 some brush as you go along, and add fuel to the 
 flames. Don't leave it all for Jim to do." 
 
 "What is Ralph doing?" asked Clara. 
 
 "Building a little furnace to make coffee. Was 
 there ever anything so jolly," gushed Florence. 
 
 "W r hat's that other thing? It looks like a sum- 
 mer house or bower." 
 
 "What is it, anyway, all covered with leaves and 
 flowers?" 
 
 "It's a throne. The birthday queen is to occupy 
 it, sure as may name's Jack." 
 
 Already the boats were full and paddles were 
 splashing. A few were in the water, while others 
 were getting on their bathing suits. 
 
 "Hello, Jack! Where have you been? Are you 
 afraid of the water? Get ready and come out, and 
 I'll race with you," called Varena, from the river.
 
 GRANDMOTHER '63 
 
 Jack did not need a second invitation. He was 
 infatuated with the girl. Full of the lively anticipa- 
 tion of winning the wager he had made with his sis- 
 ter, he now saw his chance to beat her in the race, 
 catch her, and get a kiss for his reward. When he 
 made his appearance in the river, the bathers and 
 others on the shore prepared to watch the race with 
 interest. 
 
 "How much handicap will you give me and race 
 to the corner of the barge yonder?" asked Varena, 
 pointing to the wreck of an old barge that was some 
 distance down the river. 
 
 "Two minutes," said Jack. 
 
 Ralph timed the start and the race began. The 
 distance between them was not lessened until after 
 Varena had passed the limit designated, when she 
 turned to receive Jack's acknowledgment of her skill. 
 The expression in the boy's face frightened her, and 
 she knew instinctively that he was determined on 
 catching her. The long barge was between her and 
 the land, so she started down-stream. On, they 
 went, with Mrs. Falconer running along the shore, 
 calling them to "Come back," but the reckless girl 
 turned toward the middle of the river. The crowd 
 was so intent on watching the swimmers that they 
 did not notice a skiff that two strong arms brought 
 dancing to the rescue. Jack was in an arm's length 
 of Varena when Russell dropped his oar, caught 
 her by the hand, and pulled her into the boat. 
 
 "Don't leave Jack, Russell; he's almost ex- 
 hausted," panted the girl. 
 
 Chagrined and disappointed, Jack held to the boat 
 a few minutes, and then swam to the shore. 
 
 Half an hour later, a cloth was spread on the 
 ground, rugs placed around it, and the crowd, orien- 
 tal fashion, enjoyed their supper. 
 
 "Mrs. Falconer, tell us a story, please," some 
 one called.
 
 64 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "What kind of a story?" she asked. 
 
 "A funny one," said one. 
 
 "A love-story," another suggested. 
 
 "Don't have anybody killed," said Clara. 
 
 "I always tell true stories," Mrs. Falconer stated. 
 
 "Tell us about people getting married, and 'living 
 happy ever after,' " laughed Jack. 
 
 "Chestnuts," called his sister. 
 
 "Tell about the girl with the awful temper," Va- 
 rena suggested. 
 
 "Shall I describe the first marriage ceremony that 
 your grandfather performed?" Mrs. Falconer asked 
 of Varena. 
 
 "O yes, please!" spoke several. 
 
 "He was quite a young man at that time, and had 
 spent most of his years in intellectual pursuits and 
 studious preparation for the ministry; consequently, 
 he was very timid and modest in society. When an 
 invitation came, requesting him to officiate at the 
 wedding in an aristocratic family, he was deeply 
 concerned about his ability to give satisfaction, and 
 determined to put forth his best efforts and make 
 a reputation that would give him popularity with the 
 young people. Not wishing to use the manual, he 
 memorized the marriage rite; and to make sure 
 that he would do every part perfectly, he went up 
 into his bedroom and placed a chair by the side of 
 the bed-post. He stood before them and smiled at 
 the chair in the manner he thought would encourage 
 the bride, bowed to the bed-post with the dignity 
 necessary to impress the bridegroom, and married 
 the chair to the bed-post. This he did day after day, 
 until he felt sure he could not possibly forget a word 
 or a gesture. The wedding-hour came. In those 
 days, a previous rehearsing with the couple them- 
 selves was not practised; so he was ushered to his 
 place. The brilliant light and the elaborate decol- 
 lete dresses dazed him for a moment; but he kept his
 
 GRANDMOTHER 65 
 
 mind on the formula, and his eyes on the door 
 through which the bride and bridegroom would en- 
 ter. When they came slowly toward him, his col- 
 lar began to tighten, his coat grew small across the 
 breast, one knee hit against the other; and he forgot 
 every thing, staring before him, seeing nothing but 
 a chair and a bed-post." 
 
 "O land! And didn't he marry them?" asked half 
 a dozen. 
 
 "I suppose he pronounced them 'man and wife' 
 after some sort of fashion, as no one was called upon 
 to repeat the ceremony," added Mrs. Falconer. 
 
 "Tell another one, please." 
 
 "Yes, do. It's lots of fun to lie here and eat and 
 listen." 
 
 "There was a very nice couple to be married when 
 we lived in Wisconsin. The bride was one of those 
 sweet, modest girls, whose careful bringing-up made 
 her a choice morsel for a good man. The bride- 
 groom was a bashful gentleman, and I'm sure that he 
 never had kissed her. He was too timid to have 
 done such a thing. The minister met them in a pri- 
 vate room, made out the certificates, and told them 
 about what the ceremony would be. He had a droll 
 humor in him that was often taken seriously. 
 
 " 'Now, then, I shall have the first kiss,' he said, 
 as they prepared to enter the parlor. The bride 
 blushed. 
 
 " 'No, sir,' emphatically spoke the bridegroom. 
 
 'That is my privilege, though it is not often 
 that I claim it,' said Mr. Falconer, with an amused 
 twinkle in his eye. 
 
 "The guests were assembled. Lohengrin's wed- 
 ding-march was calling them to join heart and hand. 
 The ceremony was half through; that is, they each 
 had responded, 'I do,' and the preacher raised his 
 hands to make the prayer before pronouncing them 
 'man and wife,' when the bridegroom, mistaking the
 
 66 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 movement for an attempt to get the kiss, slipped his 
 arm around the girl, put the other hand under her 
 chin, and kissed her lips heartily, and the preacher 
 went on praying." 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha," roared the crowd. 
 
 "Tell another. Tell another," came the request. 
 
 "A venerable-looking Southerner, with a beautiful 
 black-eyed Northern lady came to the parsonage 
 after we had moved South. When the papers were 
 made out, Mr. Falconer noticed that they bore the 
 same name, had been married, and divorced. When 
 he questioned them, he learned that they had married 
 each other before the war, and separated because of 
 their political principles; she had taken their babe 
 and gone North to her father's, and he had fought 
 for the Southland. After peace was declared, he 
 courted her again, and we married them when their 
 boy was fifteen years old." 
 
 "I suspect ever so many couples parted during the 
 war," commented Florence. 
 
 "Never to meet again," drolled Jack. 
 
 "Tell some more, please." 
 
 "No," said Ralph. "Everybody go stand down 
 in front of the flower throne and shut your eyes, 
 till I say 'now'; then open them and see how many 
 snowflakes you can catch." 
 
 "I've eaten so much I can't get up," groaned Jack. 
 
 The crowd collected in front of the rustic flower- 
 trimmed bower, and, with peeking eyes and smiling 
 lips, watched Mrs. Falconer take the seat and open 
 a large paper box. 
 
 "O you're looking," said Varena to Jack, step- 
 ping in front of him and covering his eyes with her 
 hands. 
 
 "Now!" cried Ralph. "It is Grandmother's 
 birthday. Lookout!" 
 
 Mrs. Falconer, laughing like a child, began throw- 
 ing at them handfuls of bonbons and tidbits; egg-
 
 GRANDMOTHER 67 
 
 kisses, caramels, funny-caps, whistles, paper faces, 
 and queer little contrivances that amused the jolly 
 picnic party. As Varena drew down her hands, 
 smiling into Jack's face, the opportunity, the tempta- 
 tion, was too great for him. Before she was aware, 
 he caught her to him and kissed her. Releasing her 
 instantly, he found himself sprawling on the ground. 
 By the time he had comprehended what had hap- 
 pened to him, Russell had put Varena into a skiff and 
 pushed out into the river. The girl's cheeks were 
 crimson and her brother's were whiter than his col- 
 lar. The excitement and interest in catching the 
 dainties and snapping the bonbons was a cover to 
 Jack's humiliation. Those who saw him fall, thought 
 he was scrambling to get a paper cap that the wind 
 carried away. 
 
 Ralph saw the blow, and, stepping down to Jack, 
 said: "I hope you'll not get mad, Jack. Russ didn't 
 design to strike so hard, and I apologize for him. 
 He's a fool about Sister and you know he's one of 
 those boys who never kissed a girl in his life. I 
 know you were just in fun. I don't want any ugly 
 feeling to spoil Grandmother's birthday. Jack, you'll 
 consider her; that's a good fellow." 
 
 "I'll overlook it for her sake, but " he began. 
 
 "Hush," whispered Ralph, as a crowd of girls 
 came toward them. 
 
 "We want you to make a speech, Jack," said his 
 sister. "Come and congratulate Mrs. Falconer and 
 thank her for the pleasure she's given us." 
 
 He went forward and perfunctorily stammered a 
 few words, and Mrs. Falconer assured them she ap- 
 preciated all they would like to express and that she 
 had enjoyed the day fully as much as they had. 
 
 When the party climbed the bank, Russell and Va- 
 rena could be seen far up the river, apparently sit- 
 ting together, letting the skiff drift down-stream. 
 
 "It's kind o' tough on you, Marse Ralph, to help
 
 68 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 get all these buggies," said Jim, harnessing a horse 
 that night. 
 
 "Don't speak of it, Jim. Russ had a little bout 
 with Jack, and I reckon he won't bring Sister home 
 till he's gone," said Ralph, in an undertone. 
 
 "I saw it," grinned Jim. "Served him right." 
 
 "It's all right to kiss other fellow's sisters; but 
 other fellows mustn't kiss our sister. That's the 
 great commandment, is it? Do as you wouldn't be 
 done by," commented Ralph. 
 
 By ten o'clock the young people were gone, the 
 servants asleep and the house quiet, save for Mrs. 
 Falconer's step as she paced back and forth along 
 the veranda, while Ralph dozed on the settee. Again 
 and again, she stopped at the end of the veranda, 
 looked away in the starlight, and listened. 
 
 "Wake up, Ralph; I know something has hap- 
 pened to the children. It may be the boat sprang 
 a leak, or run into a snag and upset. Ralph, how 
 can you sleep when they may be in distress?" she 
 urged. 
 
 "Grandmother, I wish you wouldn't worry," said 
 Ralph, rousing himself. "I know they floated down- 
 stream, enjoying the moon on the water, forgetting 
 that it would take longer to row back up-stream. 
 The river is falling and the water is swift. I would 
 go after them in a minute, if I weren't sure they are 
 safe and just having a good time." 
 
 Mrs. Falconer sat down and waited until the clock 
 struck eleven. Ralph was disturbed in his slumbers 
 by hearing her leave the veranda. 
 
 "Come back, Grandmother," he called, "and wait 
 just five minutes; then I'll go." 
 
 "This afternoon, I thought this one of the hap- 
 piest days of my life," said Grandmother; "but, 
 now 
 
 "Listen !" interrupted Rdph. "Didn't I tell you !
 
 GRANDMOTHER 69 
 
 That is Russ's call. He wants us to know they're 
 
 coming." .. , 
 
 "And now it really is the happiest, she smiled 
 as she brushed a tear from her cheek. 
 
 "O Grandmother, we're so sorry that we've kept 
 you worrying," pleaded Varena. "It was so lovely 
 on the water. We just couldn't come in; but, indeed, 
 we didn't mean to stay so long." 
 
 "How far down the river did you go?" yawned 
 Ralph. 
 
 "Not very far. We sat on the bank a while atter 
 we came back," said Russell. 
 
 "I wish you'd tell us the next time, so I could go 
 to bed and Grandmother would not worry so," was 
 Ralph's good-night speech. 
 
 "We didn't know it was so late," explained Va- 
 rena. 
 
 " 'All's well that ends well,' " quoted Mrs. Fal- 
 coner. "It has been a very happy birthday, and a 
 pleasant dedicating of the new barn." 
 
 "I hope you will live to see it filled with fine to- 
 bacco for m^ny, many years," said Russell.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 RARE GEMS. 
 
 Going back eighteen or twenty years, to the period 
 when a radical change was taking place in the ad- 
 ministration of the government, when the party that 
 had been reaping the benefits of executive and elect- 
 ive emoluments for two dozen years was voted to 
 step aside and permit a new jurisdiction to enjoy the 
 remunerative places of a reconstructed nation, the 
 honorable office of District Judge of the Federal 
 Court of Louiston was given to J. J. Johnson, a man 
 of deep convictions, erudite, experienced, keen- 
 sighted, just, secretive, persistent, and merciless. He 
 was a bachelor, who had spent his early life pouring 
 over his law books, and laying up money with which 
 he purposed building a lovely home for the dear girl 
 he had enthroned in his heart. The home was never 
 built; for the girl, ignorant of the love of the great 
 lawyer and the honor in store for her, had quietly 
 married his subordinate partner. Cherishing his 
 secret, he watched over her interests, took her hus- 
 band into full partnership; and, after her death, he 
 gave his untiring devotion to her daughter. It was 
 to a reception in the palatial home of the latter, he 
 was now hastening. The air was oppressively warm, 
 and he stopped on the veranda, recognizing, with 
 an ugly smile, the voice that floated through the win- 
 dow. 
 
 'Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and en- 
 dures, and is patient,' " quoted Dr. Harding. 
 
 70
 
 GRANDMOTHER 71 
 
 " 'Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of 
 
 woman's devotion, 
 List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines 
 
 of the forest, 
 List to a tale of a love in Acadia, home of the 
 
 happy,' ' 
 
 continued Mrs. Kendrick, throwing a mischievous 
 glance at her quondam lover. 
 
 They stood before a little statue, modelled after 
 S. F. Lynn's "Evangeline." Her hands are clasped, 
 her head bowed, her whole attitude expressive of 
 deep sorrow as she contemplates a nameless grave. 
 
 "Woman's devotion," sneered Dr. Harding, " 'In- 
 consistent as the passing wind.' ' 
 
 "Evangeline." Mrs. Kendrick laid her delicate, 
 jewelled fingers over the hands of the statue and 
 quoted: 
 
 ' 'Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on 
 the crosses and tombstones, 
 
 Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that per- 
 haps in its bosom 
 
 He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber 
 beside him.' ' 
 
 "The sculptor portrays her in a state of aberra- 
 tion, grief having affected her brain," commented 
 Dr. Harding, satirically. 
 
 "The artist may have such an idea. Longfellow 
 does not so represent her. On the contrary, we find 
 in her character a clear, sane, beautiful delineation 
 of love that is faithful unto death," insisted Mrs. 
 Kendrick. 
 
 "All human love is irrational and insane," com- 
 mented the Doctor; "but Dryden says, 'There is a 
 pleasure in being mad.' ' 
 
 " 'Which none but mad men know/ " Mrs. Ken-
 
 72 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 drick finished the quotation, and, smiling, left him 
 to meet other guests. 
 
 The drawing-room into which they entered was 
 large and artistically furnished. The French win- 
 dows, of crown glass, were delicately shaded with 
 curtains of Brussels net. On a pedestal between the 
 windows, stood a statue of Gibson's "Tinted Venus." 
 On the walls, a few rare paintings found a becoming 
 background in the delicate gray ingrain that extended 
 three-quarters up, to where a misty forest contained 
 suggestions of the deer and hounds ; above the whole, 
 was a ceiling like a Corot sky. The furnishings were 
 in rosewood. An exquisite grille separated this room 
 from the parlor, where, from a mahogany daven- 
 port, looking through a polygonal bay-window, one 
 could enjoy a view of the green lawn. On the west 
 side of the parlor, there was a colonial mantel with 
 brass andirons in the fireplace; four antique brass 
 candle-sticks and a faience vase stood on the mantel, 
 showing double in the French mirror above. A 
 dozen leather-bottomed mahogany chairs, and a 
 square table with chocolate and coffee service of 
 Sevres cups and souvenir spoons, completed the at- 
 tractions. To the left of this, the library extended. 
 Here, there was a large rectangular bay-window, 
 with an upholstered window-seat and half a dozen 
 pillows, screened by heavy curtains; a centre-table of 
 quartered oak, covered with periodicals, from Har- 
 per's to the City Daily; rows of books, embracing 
 history, biography, poetry, most of the old masters, 
 and the best of the new novels; and comfortable 
 chairs and divans. Above the cases were busts of the 
 authors, and over the ceiling and upper wall floated 
 oreads, dryads, and cupids in a maze of cloudy 
 scenery. Beyond the library was the music-room. 
 A Steinway grand, a guitar, a music-cabinet, portraits 
 of the old masters and modern artists, ebony furni- 
 ture, and delicate green decorations, formed an at-
 
 GRANDMOTHER 73 
 
 mosphere of peaceful harmony. The dining-room, 
 to the right of the music-room, was of white pine, 
 with just a suspicion of spring blossoms and straw- 
 berries in the tinted walls. There were a few steel 
 engravings, Millett's "Angelus" ; Corot's "Dance of 
 the Nymphs"; Holme's "Can You Talk?" and 
 "Words of Comfort." The reception-hall and stairs 
 were unique, in that each pilaster in the balustrade 
 was modelled after a statue, most of them mythologi- 
 cal. Hard wood and Wilton velvet rugs throughout 
 completed the lower floor of this elegant home. 
 
 Still, the most beautiful adornment was the young 
 mistress, now welcoming a number of friends to an 
 evening reception. Gowned in a princess of empire 
 green cachemire de sole, bodice decollete, ravishing 
 sleeves of soft tucked tulle, finishings of panne velvet 
 and petals of roses, with a diamond brooch holding 
 a single la France rose on her breast, and coiffure a 
 mystery of waves and ringlets, she moved across the 
 room. A warm hand-clasp for one, a pleasant wave 
 for another and a smile for all, she soon had the 
 party adjusted as each would enjoy the other most. 
 This was her pride, her ambition, to be a successful, 
 accomplished, and beloved hostess. She was an 
 adept in bringing together congenial people and in 
 avoiding the shoals of intrigue and the pitfalls of 
 malice. Her hobby was to be intrinsically beautiful 
 in character and in personal appearance. Of envy, 
 and jealousy, she desired to remain in ignorance. 
 She was zealous in works of charity, enjoying the en- 
 comiums of the ragamuffins; ardent in the esthetic 
 enjoyment of the church service, for the regard and 
 appreciation of the minister and the officials contrib- 
 uted to her satisfaction with herself; and enthusiastic 
 in the literary work of the clubs, with a deep joy in 
 the consciousness of matching witticism with intellect, 
 repartee with reason. She possessed a peculiar fac- 
 ulty of being able to draw the most brilliant thought
 
 74 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 from the brain of one, and then turning it back for 
 his admiration as her own conception. Mabel Ken- 
 drick believed that God designed for his creatures 
 a life of goodness and happiness, and that it was 
 the duty of every one to shun whatever would vex 
 or annoy. A great admirer of her husband, she re- 
 joiced in the consciousness of perfect love and confi- 
 dence. 
 
 "This is a genuine pleasure, Judge Johnson," said 
 Richard Kendrick, standing near his wife and grasp- 
 ing the hand of their friend. "We began to fear 
 that you were not coming." 
 
 "I'm not so late as I appear. I have been on the 
 veranda," apologized the Judge. He stood erect, 
 glancing thoughtfully through the rooms; which 
 were filled with dress suits, and floating clouds of 
 sheeny, filmy habiliment, where sparkling gems vied 
 with the brightness of laughing eyes; and tinted 
 lights kissed the blushing cheeks. 
 
 "Is that not a picture to make you forget your 
 gloomy court-room and horrid trials," said Mrs. 
 Kendrick, following his gaze. 
 
 "Rather it is a subject of serious contemplation, 
 that, beneath that bright surface of innocence and 
 beauty, there flows an undercurrent of passion which 
 can lead to the cruelties that result in divorce and 
 
 ruin- 
 
 "My dear Judge, don't, don't!" interrupted Mrs. 
 Kendrick, beaming on him with radiant smiles. 
 "You have been a criminal lawyer so long you see 
 the wicked in everything, like the cartoonist who 
 can't see a person straight or normal. I must pre- 
 scribe a course of treatment for you, and put you 
 under the influence of the sect who claims that you 
 can make a person what he should be, by just think- 
 ing him so." 
 
 "That is a wise doctrine for one to whom existence 
 is simply to enjoy life and impart to others her talis-
 
 GRANDMOTHER 75 
 
 manic delectableness," said the Judge, gallantly, as 
 his hostess turned to other guests. "It is not the 
 privilege of one who is studying human nature in a 
 desire to acquire the ability to read unexpressed 
 thought," he continued, speaking to his host. 
 
 "Do you think Dr. Bertillon will give any material 
 aid in the matter of detecting criminals by his photo- 
 graphic measurements?" asked Richard Kendrick. 
 
 "That remains to be proved," the Judge answered. 
 "The theory of 'danger-word questioning' is gaining 
 some advocates. With me, the eye is the index of 
 the brain. I can detect the lie in any eye that I have 
 ever looked into." He lowered his voice as Dr. 
 Harding appeared. 
 
 "Judge Johnson," said the Doctor, "I'm glad you 
 find time for a social gathering occasionally." 
 
 "I am a habitue of only a few places; this is one 
 of them. But where is your wife? I do not see 
 her here," replied the Judge. 
 
 "The boys were restless, and she preferred to 
 remain with them until they went to sleep. She'll 
 be in later. You know we live next door, all in 
 one yard," said Dr. Harding, absently, his eyes 
 following his hostess. 
 
 "I do not forget that your wife is a sister of Mr. 
 Kendrick, and that you have two of the handsom- 
 est places on the avenue," the Judge replied. 
 
 "We don't boast of anything like this," added Dr. 
 Harding, indicating the beautiful rooms, as his eye 
 swept the vista to the far music-room in search of 
 the hostess. 
 
 "You have more to be proud of in Mrs. Harding's 
 two fine boys," said the Judge. "A home is not com- 
 plete without children." He laid his hand affec- 
 tionately on the shoulder of his host. 
 
 A shadow passed over the serene countenance of 
 Richard Kendrick. He did not reply, but walked 
 back to the parlor, where his wife was dispensing
 
 76 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 coffee and wafers to her guests. The aura of her 
 beauty, temperament, talent, and heart, permeating 
 the circle and filling the atmosphere with a glad ra- 
 diance of happiness, thrilled the soul of her hus- 
 band, until he was startled from his proud contem- 
 plation of the scene by the insinuating tones of his 
 brother-in-law, who stood at his elbow, saying: 
 
 "Peerless as Josephine; more generous than Na- 
 poleon." 
 
 Again the cloud passed over the brow of the host; 
 but this time he turned away in anger and ran 
 against a bright young girl, to whom he said: "I 
 beg your pardon, Miss Inez." 
 
 "I wasn't thinking of you turning 'round so 
 quickly," she laughed. "Mrs. Kendrick sent me to 
 bring you and Judge Johnson to have your coffee." 
 
 "Come, we'll find the Judge in the drawing-room," 
 he replied, leading the way, exchanging a word here 
 and there as they passed among the guests. "Miss 
 Inez is to escort you to the lunch-table, Judge John- 
 son." 
 
 "The prettiest little girl in the room," laughed 
 Judge Johnson, offering her his arm. 
 
 "I'm to take you both," she said, putting her 
 dainty fingers on Richard Kendrick's arm also. 
 
 As they approached, Mrs. Kendrick said to the 
 Judge: "Did you forget that I was waiting for you, 
 Judge Johnson? I can't allow any one else to sugar 
 your coffee." 
 
 "Your smile makes it sufficiently sweet for me," 
 replied the Judge, taking the coffee and refusing the 
 sugar. 
 
 "She won't allow me to make pretty speeches to 
 her," said Edgar Mills, a young man who stood be- 
 hind her chair, looking with rapture on her volup- 
 tuous throat. 
 
 "Have you ever tried?" she asked, reprovingly. 
 
 "No, madam, I never dared," he replied, abashed.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 77 
 
 "It is an old friend's privilege," said the Judge, 
 good-naturedly. 
 
 "I wish I were an old friend, or a kid," said 
 Edgar, hanging his head in pathetic affectation. "I 
 heard one of those little nephews say he loved his 
 Aunt Mabel better than he did his papa." 
 
 "Will you kindly bring some of the ladies for 
 their coffee?" asked Mrs. Kendrick, ignoring the 
 last remark. 
 
 "With pleasure," he replied. 
 
 He left her immediately; but, finding Miss Inez 
 alone on the library window-seat, pouting because 
 her sweetheart was enamored of their hostess, he 
 did not return. Their seclusion was not long with- 
 out interruption; for, here, the literati collected to 
 enjoy this treasury of jewels, this thesaurus of rare 
 and beautiful gems. Not the polished stones of lapi- 
 dary that were found in the mines of the earth, or 
 the dark unfathomed caves of the ocean; not the 
 products of material elements: no combination of 
 the chemist could produce any likeness to them; for 
 they belonged to a higher kingdom spiritual in- 
 habitants of the world of thought. 
 
 "I shall have to excuse you, Judge Johnson. I 
 see Richard looking longingly at his books," said 
 Mrs. Kendrick. 
 
 Answering his wife's smile with a face aglow with 
 pleasure, the host replied: "I have some new pub- 
 lications that I know you will be glad to examine; 
 and I have been culling from old pamphlets some 
 rare gems that I wish to combine in a book of favor- 
 ite poems. I should like for you to look at them." 
 
 As they passed from the parlor, he greeted his 
 sister cordially, saying: "I'm glad you have come, 
 Luella; Mabel is waiting for you." 
 
 "Come, Luella, please, and take my place," said 
 Mrs. Kendrick, resigning her seat by the table to 
 her sister-in-law, Mrs. Harding. "I'm so glad you
 
 78 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 left those naughty boys; for I need you. I must 
 go and speak to some who are leaving early. Did 
 the boys let you come, or did you leave them cry- 
 ing?" 
 
 "They let me come to bring a kiss to Aunt Ma- 
 bel," replied Mrs. Harding. 
 
 "The little dears, how nice of them. I don't know 
 how we could live without those boys," gushed 
 Mabel. 
 
 "I thought you did not care for children," spoke 
 a woman in surprise. 
 
 "I would not be bothered with one of my own 
 for the wealth of Croesus," laughed Mrs. Kendrick; 
 "but I dote on Luella's boys. They are darlings." 
 
 "My children are the strongest tie between me 
 and my husband," said a serious little woman, whose 
 husband was a notorious "lady's man." 
 
 "It takes children, good looks, and money to hold 
 my little man," laughed Mrs. Benson, wife of an 
 elder in Calvary Church. 
 
 "I think it is the man himself that keeps my hus- 
 band true," said Mrs. Kendrick, seriously. "I'm 
 sure I could not love and respect him if any one 
 could win him to indulge in a single wandering 
 thought. A man who can be enticed from his alleg- 
 iance to his wife is not a man at all. He's a ninny 
 or a rascal." 
 
 "Experience proves that many good men have 
 been fascinated or bewitched by some unscrupulous 
 beauty," gently mused the little woman. 
 
 "Anyway, it looks to me," continued Mrs. Ken- 
 drick, "that the law allowing a woman to sue for 
 damage for alienated affection is extremely absurd. 
 It presupposes that the wife was not worthy of his 
 love and needed pay for her own deficiencies, rather 
 than his dereliction of duty." 
 
 "Pardon me, Sister," said Mrs. Harding; "you
 
 GRANDMOTHER 79 
 
 forget that men marry 'for beter or for worse,' and 
 the law of God demands the fulfilment of the VDW." 
 
 "O well, I never argue," laughed Mrs. Kendrick; 
 "for argument leads to vexation, and every annoy- 
 ance brings a wrinkle. We must all keep our good 
 looks if we would keep our husband's affection." 
 
 "But where there is no beauty to preserve?" ques- 
 tioned the serious little woman. 
 
 "Whatever the qualities were that won the sweet- 
 heart should be more winning with the embellish- 
 ment of years," continued Mrs. Kendrick. "Ex- 
 cuse me, ladies, I've promised the young people 
 some music, though it will be a shame to disturb the 
 gentlemen in the library." 
 
 "You are fortunate in possessing these rare col- 
 lections," said Elder Benson, taking an old volume 
 from a shelf. 
 
 "My father found them while travelling in dif- 
 ferent countries. That book you hold is Vedic Sans- 
 krit; and hidden in its pages are many beautiful 
 thoughts," replied the host. 
 
 "It is fortunate for us of limited education that 
 most of our brilliant gems have a setting in imper- 
 ishable English words. Pure English, pure Eng- 
 lish," mused the elder, looking curiously into the old 
 Latin and Greek books. 
 
 "I have a pet theory," said Mrs. Kendrick stop- 
 ping on her way to the music-room, "that English is 
 the language of poetry. Byron may have been as- 
 sisted in his loftiest flights by the sunny skies, the 
 balmy breeze, and dolce far niente spirit of Italy; 
 but "Childe Harold" could only have interpretation 
 in the language of Shakespeare. Judge Johnson can 
 you forget Blackstone long enough to give us your 
 favorite gem of poetry?" 
 
 "Listen to me first, Judge," laughed Elder Ben- 
 son. "Here is Butler's 'Hudibras,' " and he quoted:
 
 80 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 " 'Laws do not put the least restraint 
 Upon our freedom, but maintain it; 
 Or, if it does, 'tis for our good, 
 To give us freer latitude; 
 For wholesome laws preserve us free, 
 By stinting of our liberty.' ' 
 
 "My fair friend," said the Judge, smiling on his 
 hostess, "thinks my cranium is crammed with crim- 
 inals, that I am a crabbed creature, created to cre- 
 mate crime, when in reality, I lead a dual life. To 
 prove this statement, I shall give you my favorite 
 verse and tell you why I love it. It was many, many 
 years ago, when the sunshine was a curiosity, when 
 a sound was a mystery, and the light was bewilder- 
 ing, that there came to my infantile mind a soft 
 melody that seemed a reminiscence of some former 
 state of being; and, under its soothing spell, I sank 
 away into a sweet dream of converse with the inhabi- 
 tants of the upper realm; and ever through my 
 childhood and on through my developed physical 
 and mental manhood, I cherished these nursery 
 rhymes : 
 
 1 'Hush, my babe, lie still and slumber, 
 
 Holy angels guard thy bed, 
 Heavenly blessings without number, 
 Gently fall around thy head.' 
 
 "Set in the same casket is that truly universal 
 prayer: 
 
 " 'Now I lay me down to sleep, 
 I pray the Lord my soul to keep, 
 If I should die before I wake, 
 I pray the Lord my soul to take.' 
 
 "Those are gems of the first water. They never 
 grow old ; and we never grow too old to repeat them 
 and feel their power."
 
 GRANDMOTHER Si 
 
 "I remember very well," said the Rev. Mr. Elliot, 
 pastor of Calvary Church, "when, in youthful days, 
 and verging on to the development of mental powers, 
 how sublime seemed the realm of poetry. It first 
 came to me as a revelation through the precious 
 word of God. It was with poetic rapture that I 
 translated from the Hebrew the first words of Gene- 
 sis and lost myself in the grand metrical truths: 
 
 " 'In the beginning God created 
 And God said let there be light, 
 And there was light.' 
 
 "Then, in later years, when able to comprehend 
 more of the true and beautiful, and view the earth 
 and created things as the expression of the divine 
 will, I found in the poetic composition of the sacred 
 books, the highest satisfaction which the esthetic ele- 
 ment of our nature is capable of enjoying. What 
 grand imagery is drawn from the starry heavens; 
 what poetic flights into fathomless space ! The 
 doors of the spiritual world are opened, and mortals 
 hold converse with the eternals. Where, in all fields 
 of poetry, ancient or modern, do we find a charm 
 like this : 
 
 " 'In thoughts from the vision of the night 
 
 When deep sleep falleth upon man, 
 
 Fear came upon me and trembling, 
 
 Which made my bones to shake. 
 
 Then a spirit passed before my face, 
 
 The hair of my flesh stood up, 
 
 And stood still, but I could not discern the form 
 
 thereof 
 
 An image was before mine eyes. 
 There was silence, and I heard a voice saying 
 Shall mortal man be more just than God? 
 Shall a man be more pure than his maker?'
 
 'B'2 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "These are the words of old Job; have they ever 
 been surpassed?" 
 
 "One line from Solomon contains a volume of 
 poetic thought: 'His banner over us is love,' " said 
 Edgar Mills, looking out from his curtained seat 
 in the window. 
 
 "Let me give you a paragraph of pure and per- 
 fect English," said the host, opening a volume of 
 Milton. "It does not depend upon alliteration of 
 words, nor the harmony of rhyme ; but this old prince 
 of poets stirs the soul with sad sympathy as we fol- 
 low our first parents from the Eden-Paradise into 
 the world of storms and wild beasts. In this closing 
 paragraph, we have the very perfection of the high- 
 est art, a jewel imperishable as the soul itself: 
 
 " 'Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them 
 
 soon: 
 
 The world was all before them where to choose 
 Their place of rest, and Providence their guide. 
 They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow 
 Through Eden took their solitary way.' ' 
 
 When Richard Kendrick closed the book from 
 which he had been reading, Dr. Harding, appearing 
 at the door of the music-room, quoted : 
 
 ' 'Music the fiercest grief can charm, 
 And fate's severest rage disarm, 
 Music can soften pain to ease, 
 And make despair and madness please; 
 Our joys below it can improve, 
 And antidote the bliss above.' 
 
 "In the language of Pope, Mrs. Kendrick, I am 
 commissioned to remind you that the musical mem- 
 bers of your party are impatiently awaiting the ful- 
 filment of your promise," and he offered her his arm.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 83 
 
 Judge Johnson watched them pass into the musio 
 'room, and turned again to the discussion of poetical 
 gems. "When Lord McCauley was first critic of 
 England, he pronounced a verse of Mrs. Barbould's 
 the most perfect specimen of a single verse ever 
 written, and it was said that he would rather have 
 been the author of it than to have written Homer's 
 'Iliad.' " 
 
 "Can you repeat it?" asked Richard Kendrick; 
 "or shall I look it up in Bryant's collection?" 
 
 The Judge quoted: 
 
 " 'Life, we have been long together 
 
 Through pleasant and through stormy weather. 
 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear, 
 Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear, 
 Then steal away, give little warning, 
 
 Choose thine own time, 
 Say not good-night, but in some brighter clime 
 
 Bid me good-morning.' 
 
 "Have you anything from Shakespeare that will 
 equal that, Mrs. Elliot?" 
 
 "Our club has done very thorough work in 
 Shakespeare this year," replied the minister's wife. 
 "Still, I dare not venture among his perfect gems 
 to say which are diamonds and which are sapphires. 
 His work is like nature herself, delving into the 
 deepest mines and ocean caves for sparkling gems, 
 and spreading them out as stars in the midnight 
 sky, bidding us dare to say which is the brightest." 
 
 "True," said her husband. "In Shakespeare, we 
 might glean from morn till night, like one roaming 
 over vast prairie lands in summer time, when he 
 views the outstretching acres of marigold and blue 
 and crimson flowers tinging the atmosphere and sky 
 with their gorgeous hues, and stopping at each step 
 to find a rare and lovely blossom of delicate coloring
 
 84 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 and shape, in turn to throw it aside to gather yet 
 more beauties that plead for recognition." 
 
 "I like to wander in the workshop of Pope," said 
 Judge Johnson, "and see him rasp and file his trench- 
 ant measures into rhythmic beauty; and, when amid 
 so much or so many vulgar platitudes, we find a real 
 gem, we are constrained to read and read again. I 
 estimate the song, 'A Dying Christian to His Soul,' 
 above 'The Universal Prayer,' ' 
 
 "It's more orthodox," said Mr. Elliot, "and a 
 favorite of mine." 
 
 "Xjive it, please," requested the host. 
 
 " 'Vital spark of heavenly flame 
 Quit, oh! quit this mortal frame, 
 Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying, 
 Oh the pain, the bliss of dying. 
 Cease fond nature, cease thy strife, 
 Let me languish into life. 
 
 " 'Hark ! they whisper, angels say 
 Sister Spirit come away; 
 What is this absorbs me quite 
 Steals my senses, shuts my sight, 
 Drowns my spirit, draws my breath, 
 Tell me, my soul, can this be death? 
 
 'The world recedes, it disappears; 
 Heaven opens on my sight, my ears 
 With sounds seraphic ring. 
 Lend, lend your wings. I mount, I fly, 
 Oh grave, where is thy victory, 
 Oh, death, where is thy sting.' ' 
 
 "It is indeed in the realms of the religious that 
 the poets have been at their best," asserted Judge 
 Johnson. "We shut our eyes to the blemished life 
 of Lord Byron, and follow him in some of his grand-
 
 GRANDMOTHER 85 
 
 est flights, as in the fourth canto of 'Childe Harold,' 
 where the numbers seem to flow from some godlike 
 hero of a mythological age. Yet, when his soul was 
 chastened to sing some echoes of divine truth, as in 
 the 'Destruction of Sennacherib,' we catch glimpses 
 of the divine afflatus that make us wish the wander- 
 ings of Don Juan had been the record of a Christian 
 pilgrimage; so, too, with Thomas Moore. The pur- 
 est draught of the Castalian font never inspired in 
 him truer poetic fire than was breathed out under 
 the influence of religious thought, as in his soul- 
 solacing hymns." 
 
 "Montgomery, Coleridge, and Campbell have 
 gems of religious thought, too, that will shine while 
 Christian fervor animates human hearts," said the 
 Rev. Mr. Elliot. 
 
 "Coming down to our own century," continued 
 Mr. Kendrick, "we have mines in our native land 
 where gems of the purest water have been found." 
 
 " 'Sermons in books and stones in running 
 brooks,' " read Edgar Mills, coming from behind 
 the window drapery. 
 
 "Quote correctly, young man," said Judge John- 
 son. 
 
 "I have it from the Digest," laughed Edgar. 
 "Things pungent. Miss Inez may give it 'As You 
 Like It.' She's a member of the Shakespeare Club." 
 
 "Don't let him place any approbrium upon our 
 club," encouraged Mrs. Elliot, smiling at Inez. "He 
 should have crucified his quotation a little more by 
 adding, 'tongues to tease.' ' 
 
 " 'Finds tongues in trees, books in running brooks, 
 Sermons in stones and good in everything,' ' 
 
 repeated Inez Ellis. 
 
 "As I was saying," began Richard Kendrick, we 
 find diamonds in Longfellow, pearls in Bryant, ru-
 
 86 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 bies in Whittier; while Holmes, Lowell, and Poe 
 bring up the collection in the casket till we have 
 the whole catalogue of precious stones. We have 
 hosts of American poets who have written verses 
 that should have a place in the galaxy of song, and 
 some future Bryant may yet more wisely choose of 
 the purest and best." 
 
 "In the earlier days," added Judge Johnson, 
 "when Holmes was yet young and Longfellow taught 
 the language at Cambridge, Fitz-Green Halleck, 
 Rodman Drake, Alice and Phoebe Gary, George D. 
 Prentice, and other young poets that followed in 
 their train and adorned the pages of the American 
 newspapers, wrote many a poem that will be as im- 
 mortal as the language. Prentice's lines at Cave 
 Hill cemetery over the grave of his mother are as 
 beautiful and have touches as truly poetic as any 
 line of Gray's 'Elegy.' The tribute of Halleck to 
 the memory of Drake is as tender as Byron's 'Fare- 
 well to Moore.' ' 
 
 "Then, too,' " commented the minister, "there 
 have appeared in our magazine literature many gems 
 without a name, and yet they will live and be cher- 
 ished by the lovers of true poetry. Let me give you 
 a specimen, and, if you have ever had a taste of the 
 font of Castalia, you will recognize the poetic soul 
 finding the precious gem, but lacking the lapidary's 
 art to dress and shapen, so its brilliance may appear: 
 
 " 'Birds are singing round my window, 
 Songs the sweetest ever heard 
 [And I hang my cage there daily, 
 But I never catch a bird. 
 
 w 'Thus my brain with thoughts is peopled 
 
 And they sing there all day long, 
 But they will not fold their pinions 
 In the little cage of song.'
 
 GRANDMOTHER 87, 
 
 "Isn't that a little pearl?" 
 
 "That's my experience exactly," said Edgar Mills. 
 "The thoughts are here, flying in every direction, 
 never forming into tangible shape or, perhaps I had 
 better say, into acceptable poems, for I did write a 
 poem once, and I was so sure that it was the inspira- 
 tion of the muse, Erato, that I had it returned by 
 twenty-seven magazines before I was convinced to 
 the contrary." 
 
 "No doubt Erato inspired the theme, but Poly- 
 hymnia withheld her aid," laughed the minister. 
 "Music is as essential as sentiment." 
 
 "Sacred words in a setting of lofty music is one 
 of the strongest influences for good in the world," 
 said Mrs. Harding, who had come into the library 
 and stood with her hand on her brother's shoulder. 
 "It brings the soul into communion with things most 
 pure and holy. But the poet who comprehends the 
 child nature and has a clear conception of the mys- 
 teries of a mother's heart, can touch a chord in the 
 soul that vibrates with the keenest enjoyment, that 
 peculiar pleasure that mingles the smile with the 
 tear. In our last magazine is a gem of this kind. 
 You read it, Brother." She opened to the page, 
 saying: "It touches me too tenderly, for I have just 
 started our little boys to school." 
 
 THE FAREWELL TO THE FAIRIES. 
 
 They came in the dusk and the darkness, 
 To the bed of the boy who had grown 
 
 From a wee, dimpled, golden-haired baby 
 To a lad who six summers had known. 
 
 They hovered above the fair sleeper, 
 Then into his dream drifted down, 
 
 And showed him the heart he was breaking, 
 Hearts of Fairies of childhood renown.
 
 8 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 And first came the Prince and the Beauty, 
 Who slept in the magical Wood, 
 
 And roused the dear head from its slumbers, 
 As only the Fairy Prince could. 
 
 Then all of the fairies and goblins 
 Climbed up on the boy's little bed, 
 
 And kissed their good-byes to their playmates, 
 And all of their fare-ye-wells said. 
 
 The Babes in the Wood stood before him 
 
 And waved him a baby's adieu; 
 He saw them drift off through the forest, 
 
 Where robins then hid them from view. 
 
 And Jack, who murdered the Giant, 
 
 Would ever in Giant-land be, 
 "I'll cut it again at the bottom 
 
 And pull the stalks up after me." 
 
 And there stood the fair Cinderella 
 And blew him of kisses a score, 
 
 Then called for coach and her footman 
 And sped to the land of No More. 
 
 And dainty Red Riding-Hood stood there, 
 And tearfully bade him farewell, 
 
 Then wandered away through the Woodland, 
 Where the Wolf ate her up, he knew well. 
 
 Then Great Big and Big and the Wee Bears 
 Came tumbling down to his bed; 
 
 "Who milk from our bowls has been drinking, 
 We care now no more," the Bears said. 
 
 At last there was none save the sandman; 
 
 Just then did the fair head embark 
 Again on the ocean of slumber, 
 
 So the Sandman slipped off through the dark.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 89 
 
 The dreamer awoke in the morning. 
 
 Hugged tight his new slate and his rule, 
 
 Nor saw the tear start as his mother 
 Sent him off on his first day of school. 
 
 The wee, dimpled, golden-haired baby, 
 Who once all the Fairies had known, 
 
 Had told her farewell like the Fairies, 
 To boyhood from babyhood grown. 
 
 Richard Kendrick closed the magazine and looked 
 up at his sister. The poem had awakened responsive 
 chords, tuned to different keys; a minor strain of dis- 
 appointment; a major song of gratitude, childless 
 and children. An embarrassing silence was saved 
 by a movement toward the music-room, and Edgar 
 Mills and Inez Ellis escaped from their alcove. 
 
 "Let's go into the drawing-room, away from so 
 many people," begged Inez. "I'd rather look at 
 pictures than quote poetry, because I can't remember 
 correctly." 
 
 "Come look at this painting of Frith's and tell me 
 who it's like," said Edgar, stopping before a copy 
 of "The Rejected Poet." 
 
 Inez examined the painting without comment. 
 
 "Don't you remember the poet, that Dr. Harding 
 quoted a while ago?" asked Edgar. 
 
 "Yes; he quoted from Pope. Is the poet in this 
 picture supposed to be Pope?" she asked. "Then, 
 who is the lady?" 
 
 "It is Lady Mary Martley Montague," replied 
 Edgar; "but it's not so much the prototype, as the 
 counterpart, that interests me." 
 
 "That little Cupid and Psyche in the background 
 constitute the prettiest part of the picture. I don't 
 like the lady. She is beautiful; but she is mercilessly 
 enjoying the poet's humiliation," said Inez. 
 
 "That's just the crux of the matter. Come, let
 
 90 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 us find them in the music-room." Edgar led the 
 way through groups standing or sitting in different 
 parts of the rooms, or promenading through the 
 hall. 
 
 "Listen! listen!" whispered Inez. "She is playing 
 'The Spinning Song' from the 'Flying Dutchman.' 
 O such execution! It thrills me through and 
 through." 
 
 "Now, were I to say that, you would think it was 
 the player and not the playing that pleased me," 
 teased Edgar. 
 
 "No, I wouldn't," replied Inez, trying to force 
 back a tear. "I know that it is Mrs. Kendrick's per- 
 sonality that makes her music so exquisite." 
 
 "Yes, the atmosphere, the aura in the sound- 
 waves, expressing the harmony and beauty of her 
 character; it is that which exerts so powerful an in- 
 fluence," said Judge Johnson, softly. 
 
 Mrs. Kendrick finished her selection and clasped 
 her dainty fingers in the silk folds of her skirt and 
 remained in an attitude of absorption. The mo- 
 ment was one of exultation, an experience long to 
 be remembered. Her guests among whom were 
 senators, judges, doctors, lawyers, and ministers 
 had forgotten their books, politics, and religion, fas- 
 cinated with the wonderful technique of Wagnerian 
 music. The silence was insistent, and she slipped her 
 fingers back to the keyboard, and, for a moment, 
 arpeggioed through soft minor chords and took up 
 Chopin's "Revolutionary Etude." The wildest emo- 
 tion of which the musical nature is capable was 
 stirred by the dynamic shading of those deep, rumb- 
 ling, rolling, full-toned legato runs, with here and 
 there an accentuated gymnastic that surged up and 
 down, threatening, daring, compelling, like the Po- 
 land nation fermenting an upheaval that would over- 
 throw the oppression of the tyrant. 
 
 With only a pause between and a few modulating
 
 GRANDMOTHER 91 
 
 chords, the hostess began "F Nocturne." She was 
 gratified by hearing a sigh of relief and relaxed ten- 
 sion, but felt that a sadder, more tender emotion 
 would vibrate in the hearts of those who could grasp 
 the depth of melancholy and longing for the love and 
 sympathy of the friend, which filled the soul of 
 Chopin when he wrote this nocturne. A sensation 
 of unalloyed happiness thrilled her as she rose from 
 the piano, a lofty pride and loving appreciation. 
 
 The hour was late, and hasty "good-nights" and 
 "perfectly lovely time," followed. 
 
 Walking home, Inez Ellis asked of her compan- 
 ion : "What did you mean by the counterpart to 
 'The Rejected Poet' picture? I forgot all about it 
 when we heard the music." 
 
 "Forget it still," said Edgar Mills. "I was only 
 joking." 
 
 "Then go on with your joke; or am I like the 
 English, too slow to comprehend?" she replied. 
 
 "You knew the brother-in-law once tried to marry 
 the sister, didn't you?" asked Edgar. 
 
 "Do you mean that Doctor Harding was in love 
 with Mrs. Kendrick?" 
 
 "To put it plainly, yes with Miss Mabel Mur- 
 ratt, now Mrs. Kendrick." 
 
 "O but she's nothing like the lady in the picture. 
 She wouldn't laugh at his disappointment," averred 
 Inez. 
 
 "Women do strange things. They were quoting 
 poetry to each other before the guests arrived." 
 
 "It was harmless, if they were. I don't like you 
 to talk that way. Those people are all perfectly 
 lovely," pouted Inez. 
 
 "I didn't mean any harm. You know that I'm 
 in love with our hostess myself," the boy replied. 
 
 Inez let go of his arm and walked apart. 
 
 "None of this, little girl," said Edgar. "You're 
 the sweetest and prettiest and darlingest girlie in
 
 '92 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 the world, and the hardest to get along with. You 
 ask questions and pout if I answer." 
 
 "O look at the moon coming from that cloud. 
 Isn't it bright?" cried the girl. 
 
 "Yes, stand still a minute." The boy drew Inez's 
 chiffon scarf close around her neck, and held her 
 face up toward the moon, saying, "I would rather 
 look at you with it 'luminating your face and eyes 
 than " 
 
 "O hush, Edgar. Tell me what you see in the 
 moon; not my face," she pulled away, laughing. 
 
 "Green cheese, of course," said he, demurely. 
 "I hope I see something sweeter than that in your 
 face." 
 
 "No, sir, not cheese. Your grandmother." 
 
 "Ah! ah! girlie. Don't say you never used slang. 
 I'll report you to the Shakespeare Club," teased 
 the boy. 
 
 "Shakespeare used slang, and I don't. Grand- 
 mother isn't slang," she averred. "Now listen to 
 what Longfellow said about the moon in 'Hiawatha' : 
 
 " 'Once a warrior very angry 
 
 Seized his grandmother and he threw her, 
 Up into the sky he threw her 
 Right against the moon he threw her, 
 'Tis her image that you see there.' 
 
 "Is there any slang in that?" 
 
 The incorrigible boy replied: "Your grand- 
 mother is slang. Longfellow isn't. I thought you 
 couldn't repeat poetry." 
 
 "I can't, much. I wish you would recite the poem 
 you sent to the magazine," she asked. 
 
 "I'll say it to you if you will promise to believe 
 it," he stated. 
 
 "I'll try; but I must hear it first," she said. 
 
 "We're too near home. It's long. May I come
 
 GRANDMOTHER 93 
 
 round to-morrow evening and repeat it? Thank 
 you, expect me." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Kendrick and Mrs. Harding stood 
 on the broad veranda and watched Judge Johnson, 
 the last of the departing guests, as he went down 
 the tile walk, and, lifting his hat, disappear past 
 the lion couchant on the marble pillow. 
 
 "Come, Richard, let's go over and look at the 
 boys. It was so dear of them to send their mamma 
 with kisses for me to-night," asked Mabel Kendrick, 
 gathering up her skirts. 
 
 "I'm very tired, dear, and have some important 
 letters to write before I can go to bed," replied 
 her husband. "The boys are asleep." 
 
 "They're such beauties asleep; little Richard es- 
 pecially. Come, please, just over and back imme- 
 diately," she pleaded. 
 
 "Come, Brother, I'll not let you take time to 
 sit down," urged Mrs. Harding, yet feeling a deep 
 sympathy for her brother, knowing that he would 
 be willing to give all his wealth, could he have one 
 boy of his own. 
 
 Dr. Harding was sauntering back and forth on 
 the lawn, with a lowering brow and clenched hands. 
 He was harking back to the time when he believed 
 he could have married this beautiful woman, instead 
 of the homely mother of his children. He had been 
 mistaken in his impression that Luella Kendrick's 
 was the largest individual fortune in the city; and, 
 when her brother married the girl that he really 
 loved, it was hard for him to separate her from the 
 object of his hatred. The knowledge that Mabel 
 loved his children, stirred his heart to its blackest 
 depths. Then, too, the fact that they were happy 
 and he a disappointed man, awakened the most 
 wicked impulses of his tyrannical nature. His early 
 and absorbing ambition had been to be the social 
 leader of this city's "four hundred"; and he had let
 
 94 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 avarice turn him in the wrong track. With his plain, 
 uncomely wife, he could scarcely hold secondary 
 place. He knew that she was good; he had daily 
 manifestations of her patience; but he would rather 
 have had her brilliant and devilish, than good and 
 tiresome. He had no pride in his boys because they 
 were goody-goody like their mother. Could he have 
 known the disappointment and sadness in Richard 
 Kendrick's heart, his bitterness would have had some 
 amelioration. 
 
 "Aren't they little beauties," gushed Mabel, kiss- 
 ing the boys gently, as they lay sleeping in their soft, 
 white bed. 
 
 "Don't you wish little Richard was yours?" asked 
 Richard Kendrick, looking at his wife with tender 
 affection. 
 
 "No, indeed. I could not love them then. They 
 would worry me to death. You're all the boy I 
 want." She took his face in her hands and kissed 
 him rapturously. 
 
 Luella Harding stooped over her boys and a tear 
 fell as she kissed their flushed cheeks. It had been 
 a long time since she dared offer an impulsive caress 
 to her husband; though she never complained or 
 tried to understand why he was so cold and unre- 
 sponsive. She simply prayed to be worthy of him 
 and her boys. 
 
 "Good-night, Doctor," said Richard, passing 
 Harding in the hall, as they came from the nursery. 
 "I envy you your two fine boys." Luella followed 
 her brother to the lawn. 
 
 "They are such lovable little tots," said Mabel, 
 tenderly. 
 
 "They are not so very little. Dick may be small 
 for an eight-year-old; but Tom will be a large man," 
 replied Dr. Harding, holding Mabel's hand in a 
 strong clasp.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 95 
 
 "Eight years old! O yes; I remember now. He 
 was born the year we were married," began Mabel. 
 
 "And we could not attend the wedding." The 
 Doctor looked deep into her lustrous eyes, hoping 
 for an expression that he could not find. 
 
 "When you were married, we all went to the Cen- 
 tennial at Philadelphia. That was six months after 
 dear mamma's illness," said Mabel, softly. 
 
 "And the Judge told me you would be left money- 
 less," sneered the Doctor. 
 
 "You forget that we 'buried the hatchet' when we 
 decided to build our new homes side by side. Why 
 can't you be a good brother instead of always dig- 
 ging up old scores and pretending to be disap- 
 pointed and miserable," she said, reprovingly. 
 
 "Come, Mabel, I am keeping Luella out here in 
 the dew," called Richard from the lawn. 
 
 "Good-night," and Mabel offered her hand to the 
 Doctor again. 
 
 "All right, Sister, I'll try to keep the hatchet out 
 of sight. Good-night." He impulsively caught her 
 to him and kissed her cheek. 
 
 Mabel Kendrick ran out on the lawn, threw one 
 arm around Luella and the other around her hus- 
 band, and, drawing them together, said: "Kiss your 
 brother, Luella, and come over in the morning and 
 help me decide about my guests for the theatre- 
 party." 
 
 Richard pressed his lips to his sister's forehead 
 tenderly, and, gathering his wife's skirts, carefully 
 lifted her to his breast and carried her over the 
 dewy grass.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE BERNADOTTE BALL. 
 
 The last winter had been a full, and to most, a 
 happy one; but it was meagre in comparison with 
 the extravagant social functions planned for the 
 coming season. Mrs. Kendrick had been the so- 
 ciety leader in arranging for three separate courses 
 of amusement and entertainment. Her personal at- 
 tractions and great wealth, and the political influence 
 of her husband, who had risen to the honorable po- 
 sition of City Mayor, gave her almost unlimited 
 power. The manager of the Metropolitan Theatre 
 was to provide five or six weeks of grand opera, in 
 which Neilson, Lucca, Patti, and other stars were 
 to sing, also a series of musicales, where the vir- 
 tuosos, Paderewski, Rubinstein, Ole Bull, and Von 
 Bulow were to play. Furthermore, there was a lec- 
 ture course, for which Dr. Robinson, Stanton, G .W. 
 Bain, Henry Watterson, and Oliver Wendell Holmes 
 were engaged. The crowning event of the season, 
 however, was to be a grand ball in honor of the 
 Right Honorable Knight of the Royal North Star 
 of Sweden, Bernadotte, who was to visit this coun- 
 try. The women were in a fever of delightful an- 
 ticipation over this affair. The elegance of the 
 dresses ordered from Paris had filled Worth with 
 enthusiastic pride. Those who did not receive an 
 invitation to this party, knew that they were doomed 
 to social oblivion henceforth. 
 
 Little circles were formed, quietly, to read up
 
 GRANDMOTHER 97, 
 
 on Scandinavian history, that they might be con- 
 versant with the Bernadotte dynasty in that romantic 
 land. Grieg's music was studied by most of the musi- 
 cians in the city. Corelli's novels and Bjornson's 
 stories were read and discussed. 
 
 "The plans for the building are in the hands of 
 the architect, Mrs. Kendrick, and we have about 
 secured the necessary funds," said Judge Johnson. 
 
 The carriage containing the two friends and Mrs. 
 Harding was returning from the city park near which 
 the building was to be erected for the Bernadotte 
 Ball. 
 
 "Do you think we shall have sufficient money to 
 carry out all my designs for decorations? I want 
 the Nixy's chord illustrated above the orchestra. 
 The mystery of that wonderful violinist, as Bjorn- 
 son portrays him, will be an inspiration to our musi- 
 cians. On pedestals in the reception room, there 
 must be statues of Thor, Woden, and Frigga, and, 
 on the rostrum, I want Oscar II with his Bible in his 
 hand, emblematic of the Christian king," planned 
 Mabel Kendrick. 
 
 "A Bible in a ball-room," laughed Luella Hard- 
 ing. 
 
 "You don't suppose any of us would dance if we 
 thought it was wrong, do you, Luella?" Mabel 
 replied. "Still, I'm more concerned about getting a 
 good likeness of the king, than I am about the 
 Bible." 
 
 "If the Right Honorable Knight of the North 
 Star of Sweden does not recognize his Christian 
 monarch, he will not appreciate your statues," said 
 Luella, still smiling. 
 
 "You are not enthusiastic, Mrs. Harding," said 
 the Judge. "The city is indebted to your sister-in- 
 law for the honor of this royal visit. I sincerely 
 hope nothing will occur to mar her pleasure in it." 
 
 "I never knew Luella to be enthusiastic about
 
 98 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 anything but her children," said Mabel, good- 
 naturedly. 
 
 They stopped in front of their home, and the 
 boys came running and begging for a ride. 
 
 "Aunt Mabel, take us in, won't you please, and 
 let me sit with the driver. Please take us, Aunt 
 Mabel," begged Richard, the older. 
 
 "You'll not throw the driver out and take the 
 reins yourself?" questioned Mabel, smiling at the 
 boys. 
 
 "Not if you'll let me drive you all alone when 
 I'm strong enough to hold the team," the boy re- 
 plied, seriously. 
 
 "Of course I shall, my little lover. Tommy, get 
 in with Judge Johnson. We'll take him to his hotel," 
 said Mrs. Kendrick. 
 
 "Don't ask for any longer ride this time," the 
 mother urged. 
 
 "Must we go by the office and get papa?" ques- 
 tioned Tommy, reluctantly. 
 
 "Perhaps we had better," his mother replied. 
 
 "My, but these are bully horses ! I wish you lived 
 farther away," said Tommy as the rig stopped at 
 the Judge's hotel. 
 
 "You do?" asked Judge Johnson, assuming an 
 injured air. 
 
 "I mean," stammered the little fellow, "I wish 
 we could have a longer ride before we reached your 
 place." 
 
 "Thank you, sir. Command me, ladies, whenever 
 I can be of service," said the Judge, as he left the 
 carriage. 
 
 "Thank you; au revoir," and Mabel waved a 
 farewell. 
 
 "Why are you so sober, dear?" asked Mabel, 
 turning to Luella, after she had directed the driver 
 to call at the Doctor's office. "You're not feeling 
 well, I know; but you will be all right and well
 
 GRANDMOTHER 99 
 
 again before the ball. Besides, you must not worry. 
 It's bad for you." 
 
 Luella forced back the tears and replied: "I 
 don't care very much for the ball except on the Doc- 
 tor's account. He is so vexed with me." 
 
 "Just as though you were to blame." 
 
 "No, no," interrupted Luella, "I don't think he 
 blames me ; but he would like to have me dress more, 
 entertain, and go out with him." 
 
 "But he knows you have always been a great home 
 body," said Mabel. "Richard says he wishes some 
 scientist would invent a contrivance in which he could 
 place his wife and sister, and, by some kind of crux, 
 make a composite whole, which, divided, would so 
 separate the component parts as to make a wife less 
 absorbed in the grand things of living and a sister 
 less in love with her own domesticity." 
 
 "And what does Thomas think?" asked Luella. 
 
 "O the Doctor thinks you are too good, and I am 
 too bad," laughed Mabel. 
 
 The carriage stopped in front of the Doctor's 
 office. "Go up and get your papa, boys. We shall 
 wait here," said Mrs. Harding. 
 
 "You go, Dick; I don't want to," said Tommy. 
 
 "No, you go, Tom, I have to watch the horses," 
 Richard objected. 
 
 "Both of you go," gently commanded the mother. 
 
 "They piled out of the carriage and started on a 
 race down the street, crying: "O yonder's Uncle 
 Richard." 
 
 Mabel smiled into Luella's sad face, saying: 
 "Children, like dogs, recognize a friend by instinct." 
 
 While they were waiting for the return of the chil- 
 dren, a messenger came down from the office to say 
 that Dr. Harding has seen them waiting; but he 
 would not be able to go home until later. He was 
 busy in some important experiments. When the 
 boys returned, they each had a bag of confections
 
 ioo GRANDMOTHER 
 
 and a new toy. Tommy's was a solid rubber ball 
 with which Richard and his nephews teased the 
 women as they drove home, by tossing the ball up 
 at an angle that would enable them to catch it de- 
 scending when they drove under it. The horses 
 were stopped half a dozen times between the office 
 and the avenue, and Richard took his turn in get- 
 ting out after the ball. 
 
 "There is a party going up the river in the launch 
 to-morrow night and have supper on the beach," said 
 Dr. Harding to his wife, a few weeks later. "I 
 want you to go. Leave the boys with their nurse." 
 
 "Thomas, I'd rather you would take the boys 
 and leave me at home; I'm not in a condition to 
 go," replied Luella. 
 
 "There will be no young people but that rattle- 
 brained Edgar Mills and Inez Ellis and a couple of 
 their friends. Besides, I can't be annoyed with Dick 
 and Tommy. But, of course, you have more con- 
 sideration for your own comfort than for my pleas- 
 ure." 
 
 His wife never replied to a taunt, but answered 
 gently: "If it is cool, and I can wear my loose silk 
 coat, I will go." 
 
 Mrs. Harding waited until her husband had gone 
 to his office. Then, knowing that Mabel could man- 
 age to have the boys included in the picnic party, she 
 ran over to her brother's home. She found her 
 sister-in-law reclining in a Morris-chair, a silk wrap- 
 per falling loosely about her lace-encased ankles, a 
 mass of rich Duchess lace caressing her soft white 
 throat, and a chiffon scarf, which fell across her 
 breast, rising and falling with the throbs of deep 
 emotion. There was sorrow and rebellion in the 
 expression of her beautiful face. She was crushing 
 the petals of an American-beauty rose, while tears 
 flooded her large eyes.
 
 101 
 
 "Why, Mabel!" said Luella. "What can be the 
 matter? You in trouble! I never found you so be- 
 fore." 
 
 Mabel Kendrick could not control her voice suf- 
 ficiently to trust herself to speak. As she looked at 
 Luella, standing before her, in unshapely condition, 
 her beauty-loving, esthetic nature revolted at the re- 
 membrance of the punishment that God pronounced 
 on Eve for her sin of coveting greater knowledge, 
 when He said: "In sorrow shalt thou " 
 
 "I am continually coming to you with my troubles, 
 Sister ; let me share your burden once," Luella urged, 
 drawing up a rocker. " I know it can only be some 
 little vexation. Has any one interfered with your 
 plans for the royal ball?" There was no reply. 
 "Have the children made any more trouble? Dick 
 is very unhappy because he broke your Grecian 
 vase." 
 
 "It was not Dick's fault more than mine. My 
 trouble is your trouble," said Mabel, uncertainly. 
 
 "You dear, good girl; I should have known you 
 were thinking of me. Did Thomas tell you that 
 he wished me to go with the launch party to-morrow? 
 Could there be anything more unpleasant for me?" 
 
 Mabel had been on the point of confiding in her 
 sister-in-law, but the moment had passed. "You 
 are not going, are you?" she asked. 
 
 "I presume I shall have to go; and I wish I could 
 take the boys along. Can't you intercede for them?" 
 
 "I'll send a special invitation to them to go as my 
 escort; for Richard has gone to Chicago on business 
 and will not be at home. I should not go, sister, if 
 I were in your place, unless I wanted to," Mabel 
 said positively. 
 
 "If you had Thomas for a husbnad, I think you 
 would," replied Luella, trying to smile. 
 
 "I don't think so. You began wrong. You have 
 given up to him all your life; and, of course, just
 
 102 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 now, you are not strong enough to resist his will," 
 insisted Mabel. 
 
 "Did you ever know any one to hold out against 
 him when he determines on a thing? I never have. 
 Where the boys get their lovely disposition is a mys- 
 tery to me." Mrs. Harding's eyes beamed fondly 
 as she watched her offsprings bounding over the 
 lawn, returning from school. 
 
 "They are like their Uncle Richard. He has the 
 dearest disposition. This will be a lonely night with- 
 out him." Again Mabel choked down a sob and 
 tears overflowed. 
 
 "I must hasten home or the boys will be in after 
 me," and Luella rose to go. 
 
 "Send the Doctor over when he comes home, and 
 I shall ask him to let the boys go with me to-mor- 
 row," Mabel suggested. 
 
 "I'll ask him to come. You know I appreciate 
 what you do for me, dear." 
 
 Left alone, Mabel buried her face in her hands, 
 and tear after tear trickled through her fingers. The 
 maid came and announced supper and was told to 
 bring some toast and tea; she would not go out to 
 the dining-room as Mr. Kendrick was absent. When 
 the maid reported that her mistress was so lonely 
 that she was crying her eyes red, the cook would not 
 believe her. When the cook was convinced with 
 her own eyes, the chore-boy wanted some advice 
 about the carriage house; so he, too, could see the 
 phenomenon. Then the gardener, hearing the re- 
 port, gathered a bunch of roses, which he carried to 
 his mistress. She took the flowers, and, smiling, 
 thanked the kind old man; still, her eyes were full 
 of grief and anger. 
 
 While Dr. Harding was finishing his evening meal, 
 his wife said to him: "I was talking with 
 Mabel " 
 
 "Did she tell you not to go to-morrow?" he in-
 
 GRANDMOTHER 103 
 
 terrupted. "How often must I say it is against my 
 wishes that you discuss with her our family affairs." 
 
 "I've said that I would go and have no thought 
 of changing my mind, if it keeps as cool as it is to- 
 night. Mabel was saying that she doesn't want to 
 go alone. Richard is in Chicago and " 
 
 "If Mabel stays at home, no one shall go," 
 abruptly interposed the Doctor. 
 
 "O, Mabel intends going, I think. Can't you go 
 over and see her before you return to the office?" 
 She knew he was pleased for the opportunity to 
 talk with Mabel, and she was grateful for every oc- 
 casion that brought him under her influence; it made 
 him more patient with the boys and less severe with 
 her. Still, she was unable to comprehend his atti- 
 tude toward her brother's wife. He seemed pos- 
 sessed of a composite passion as strong in hate as in 
 love. Luella loved and trusted her sister-in-law; but 
 all affection for the father of her children was lost 
 in the dread emotion of fear. 
 
 The boys overheard the project of the launch trip, 
 and, as soon as their father was out of sight, they 
 began: "Mamma, can't we go? Please get us to 
 go." 
 
 "If Aunt Mabel asked you to go as her escorts, 
 will you be good and not annoy anybody?" 
 
 "Yes, Mamma, we will. I guess we will; O 
 won't it be jolly! We'll keep far away from Papa," 
 cried Dick. 
 
 "But we're going with Aunt Mabel, and Papa 
 he'll be in our way," worried Tommy. 
 
 "Go do some extra practising now, so you will be 
 prepared for your music lesson day after to-morrow. 
 Don't worry over the picnic until you are sure of 
 going," said Mrs. Harding. 
 
 Mabel Kendrick had seen the Doctor come home, 
 and, while he was at dinner, she went to her room, 
 put aside her wrapper, bathed her face, rearranged
 
 io 4 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 her hair, and, in a becoming afternoon gown of gray 
 silk grenadine, with accessories of pale pink, she 
 sought the library, her husband's favorite haunt. 
 Here Richard spent most of his unbusied hours, read- 
 ing and studying his cherished poets. Here his wife 
 came when he was absent; for she could feel his 
 presence among his books. The atmosphere was 
 pregnant with his personality. She was aroused 
 from an effort to pen some rhymes by the entrance 
 of her brother-in-law. She leaned against the cush- 
 ion of a large chair, waiting. 
 
 Dr. Harding came in a side entrance, through the 
 dining-room, across the parlor, hoping he would 
 find her in the drawing-room. He did not like the 
 library; but the other rooms were in consonance with 
 Mabel. He glanced at the artistic decorations, at 
 the delicate taste in bric-a-brac, a statue here, a pic- 
 ture there, the voluptuousness of the rich carpets. 
 Her handkerchief lay on the floor. He picked it up 
 and experienced that inevitable dualism that pos- 
 sessed his nature when touched by the electric aura 
 of this beautiful woman. He could not have told 
 which feeling was stronger; admiration or envy of 
 the casket; love or hate for the jewel it held. His 
 soul was on fire; but years of effort had given him 
 the mastery of himself. He retraced his steps to 
 the library. 
 
 "Writing poetry?" he questioned. 
 
 "Trying to," she smiled up at him. 
 
 "Let me see what you were thinking of," and he 
 reached for the paper on which she had been scrib- 
 bling. 
 
 She crumpled it in her hand, saying: "No, you'd 
 think it very silly; but it's very true with me." 
 
 "Don't destroy it, please," he pleaded. 
 
 "Come sit down, I want to talk with you. Must 
 you hurry?" and she drew a chair forward for him. 
 
 "Never hurry when your wishes are concerned,"
 
 GRANDMOTHER 105 
 
 He looked into her eyes, and a puzzled expression 
 slowly crept into his face. 
 
 Mabel dropped her lashes and a flush flashed over 
 her countenance. Forcing a bright smile, she said: 
 "I have two favors to ask of you; but I must not 
 spring them too suddenly, lest I be disappointed. 
 First, let us talk about the Knight's ball." 
 
 "Never mind the ball. What can I do for you?" 
 impatiently demanded the Doctor. 
 
 "Perhaps it is concerning the ball that I am most 
 interested; in fact, it is," she asserted sweetly. 
 
 "You do not need me," objected the Doctor, "with 
 Judge Johnson, Edgar Mills, your committee of ten 
 men and a dozen women. Isn't that sufficient force? 
 Besides, the Mayor." 
 
 "O Richard is so occupied with city reform I can't 
 bother him," said Mabel. "But Judge Johnson says 
 the arrangements will be consummated and the pro- 
 gram sure of success." 
 
 "Then what do you wish me to do? Take the 
 Mayor's place on the reception committee?" asked 
 the Doctor, ironically. 
 
 "Well, no; but suppose I should be disabled and 
 could not preside with Richard, or occupy my posi- 
 tion as chairman of the Woman's Committee, who 
 could take my place?" she asked. 
 
 "The only alternative that I would advise would 
 be to telegraph to the Right Honorable Knight of 
 the North Star of Sweden to remain in the land of 
 the midnight sun," laughed the Doctor. 
 
 "He may be on his way to America now. And 
 it's no laughing matter with me. I have never 
 planned anything since I have been married that I 
 look forward to with such pure pleasure. I almost 
 feel like I would rather die than give it up for any 
 other purpose," she sighed deeply. 
 
 Dr. Harding had detected some little changes in 
 the soft beauty of her fair skin, and was beginning
 
 106 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 to comprehend her vexation, but wished to force her 
 to be explicit in expressing her wish. His sensuous 
 nature enjoyed a conversation bordering on so deli- 
 cate a theme. 
 
 "I'm waiting," he said. 
 
 "Waiting! For what?" She had forgotten. 
 
 "For your two requests," he .replied. 
 
 "O, one is, I want Richard and Tommy to ac- 
 company me on the launch ride to-morrow; for I 
 can't go without them, as Richard is in Chicago," 
 she stated. 
 
 "I had intended taking them with me, as their 
 mother wants to stay at home; but you can have the 
 boys, and I shall look after Mrs. Elliot, since the 
 Reverend can't go. Will that suit you?" he asked. 
 
 "Delighted ! Thank you very much. The boys 
 and I shall have a gay time," she replied. 
 
 These trips up the river with supper on the beach 
 had been among the most delightful times of the 
 summer. It was invigorating to get away from the 
 proper conditions and staid conventionalities of the 
 city and breathe the country air, paddle in the water, 
 and play like rustic children. This was the middle 
 of the excursion season. 
 
 The Doctor sat nervously tic-tacking on the table. 
 Mabel, leaning against her cushions, watched the 
 window curtains fold in and out as the west wind 
 played with them. She was thinking seriously, try- 
 ing to see a way through which she could make him 
 understand what she wanted and induce him to ac- 
 complish her desire. 
 
 Still, he waited, and, his better nature dominant, 
 he was content simply to be near her. In sotto voice 
 he asked gently: "Are you asleep, Mabel?" 
 
 She turned toward him with a ravishing smile, 
 and, like a little child, said: "I don't know how to 
 tell you what I want to,"
 
 GRANDMOTHER 107 
 
 "Would it help you were I to tell you that I know 
 what the trouble is?" With a compelling smile he 
 leaned toward her and held her eyes; her cheeks 
 crimsoned. "But I do not know what you wish me 
 to do." 
 
 "Tell me what to do that will prevent a personal 
 condition that would keep me from presiding at the 
 Grand Ball during the holidays," she pleaded. 
 
 For a moment he felt very tender toward her. 
 His pulse quickened, his nerves tingled. "Isn't it 
 too soon to worry?" he whispered. 
 
 "What we do, must be done at once; for Richard 
 must never know. He suspects nothing, yet." Her 
 eyes were humid as she looked appealingly up at the 
 Doctor, who had risen abruptly. 
 
 Reference to Richard was unfortunate. The libid- 
 inous pleasure in the conversation was destroyed by 
 the influence of his name. The dualistic nature re- 
 volved, leaving hate uppermost. He walked rapidly 
 across the room, saying to himself: "You and Rich- 
 ard, you two to preside in all the pomp and glory of 
 the occasion to entertain Bernadotte, that the fame 
 of your beauty and honor may be sent across the 
 ocean, while I take a modest seat and Luella uncom- 
 plainingly goes through what you are trying to avoid. 
 Am I to be a dupe and a fool and violate my medical 
 integrity and shield Richard from even the annoy- 
 ance of the knowledge of your scheme " 
 
 "What are you thinking? Doctor, your counte- 
 nance has so completely changed. Have I said any- 
 thing to offend you? Indeed, I am most grateful to 
 you; for you have always been kind to Richard and 
 me." She took his hand and gently pulled him to- 
 ward the chair near her. 
 
 "I was thinking of Luella. She, too, will be dis- 
 appointed in the winter's festivities." He tried to 
 look kind.
 
 io8 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "No, indeed!" replied Mabel, relieved. "Luella 
 says she will be perfectly happy if only you are 
 pleased." 
 
 "Pleased, yes, if I were more domestic in my 
 taste. Luella cares nothing for the aesthetics of the 
 fashionable world. Social aggrandizement doesn't 
 appeal to her as it does to you. It must have been 
 the opposite characteristics in your natures that made 
 you fast friends when you were school girls," mused 
 the doctor. 
 
 "We have always been good friends; she was a 
 better student than I was in college," acknowledged 
 Mabel Kendrick, "and has more brains than I have 
 now. You don't half appreciate her." 
 
 "She is intellectual," agreed the doctor, "but what 
 pleasure can she find in hiding her light under a 
 bushel?" 
 
 "Haven't you learned yet, brother, that there is 
 more real pleasure in the enjoyment of one's self, in 
 the knowledge of one's own ability to grasp and to 
 know and to feel, than can be found in the make- 
 believe of the world around you?" asked Mabel 
 Kendrick. 
 
 "That is an unique question from you, sister, 
 whose life is floating always on the topmost wave of 
 popularity, and who, even now, plan for one more 
 grand display of personal charms?" replied Dr. 
 Harding. 
 
 An expression of fear and apprehension passed 
 over her countenance leaving it very sad, as she 
 replied: "I have a presentiment that this may be 
 my last. So help me to make it the greatest of all 
 my successes, won't you, please?" Her eyes were 
 humid as she looked into the searching gaze of the 
 doctor. 
 
 "Then what shall be my pay?" he asked. 
 
 "The same that you have always received for your 
 excellent care of our health the love and gratitude
 
 GRANDMOTHER 109 
 
 of a sister." She rose and moved away from him. 
 The paper on which she had been scribbling fell to 
 the floor. 
 
 The doctor picked up the paper and looked at 
 Mabel questioningly. 
 
 She endeavored to take it from his hand, saying, 
 "I was lonely and amused myself with rhyming. 
 Please don't read it." 
 
 "That is just what I intend doing," he said, hold- 
 ing her at arm's length and gazing into her eyes. 
 
 There was something repugnant in his expression 
 and she drew away from him, saying, "If it will 
 amuse you to read my simple rhyme, I don't care." 
 
 "I'm interested to know what occupies your 
 thoughts, when you are all alone." 
 
 She stood smiling as he turned to the window and 
 read: 
 
 HOW I LOVE MY HUSBAND. 
 
 I love him with my speaking eyes 
 And with my lips, I love him 
 
 With love that only underlies 
 My love to heaven above him. 
 
 I love him in the rosy dawn, 
 
 And as the daylight brightens; 
 I love him more when day is gone, 
 
 And stars the night would lighten. 
 
 I love him morning, noon, and night, 
 When evening shades grow longer, 
 
 And stars appear; they only show 
 How much my love is stronger. 
 
 When sun and moon and stars shall wane, 
 
 My love no power shall sever, 
 I love in life, in death the same, 
 
 Forever and forever.
 
 no GRANDMOTHER 
 
 He read to the end bewildered; he had hoped for 
 something different; and, with each line, he formed 
 a deeper resolve to be revenged on this couple, who 
 had robbed him of love and filled his soul with hate. 
 He saw within his power visions too dark to paint 
 in words. The Grand Ball should be his opportun- 
 ity, a disappointment for her with no ameliorating 
 compensation. 
 
 "Well, didn't I say that you would think it fool- 
 ish?" she smilingly asked. 
 
 "It's a pretty fair bit of rhyming," he politely re- 
 sponded. "You should make a new copy, then paste 
 it in his Bible or dictionary." 
 
 "You're 'very kind. Richard shall never see it, 
 and if he should he would not make fun of it, as 
 you are doing," she laughed. 
 
 "You misjudge me, Mabel. Your wifely senti- 
 ments are very neatly expressed. But you have 
 something more difficult to accomplish than writing 
 poetry, and I am not yet certain as to how I should 
 advise you. Get out in the open air as much as you 
 can. Take a long walk occasionally," he hesitated, 
 she waited. "Vigorous exercise" he came close to 
 her, and for the first time during their intercourse, 
 she experienced a strong sensation of loathing and 
 disgust; but she replied, calmly: 
 
 "That will not be difficult, for I like to walk. Is 
 there nothing else ?" 
 
 "Be patient till I see you again." He turned 
 toward the music room as he heard the scuffling of 
 his sons, who had come in, impatient to learn the re- 
 sult of the picnic scheme. A new feeling had taken 
 possession of Mabel, and she wished the interview 
 ended. 
 
 "Confound those boys," said the doctor, as he 
 abruptly left the house. 
 
 Mabel cordially welcomed her nephews.
 
 GRANDMOTHER in 
 
 "Can we go, Aunt Mabel, can we go?" they chor- 
 used. 
 
 "Yes," she replied, kissing them heartily. 
 
 "We're awfully glad, Aunt Mabel, and we'll do 
 everything you want us to," said Dick. 
 
 "Then let me lie on this couch and rest, and you 
 boys play for me. Don't talk. Play your duets until 
 you are tired, and then slip away, for I may be 
 asleep, and we'll have a jolly good time to-morrow." 
 
 "You're right, we will." They sang as they took 
 their seat at the piano. 
 
 A merry crowd gathered at the landing the next 
 evening, to take a launch ride up the river. They 
 had buckets of ice-water, milk and cream, coffee and 
 a coffee-kettle, and baskets of provisions in abun- 
 dance; fishing-tackle, a canvas tent, and bathing suits 
 galore. 
 
 Dr. Harding had said at the breakfast-table: "I'll 
 take the boys and leave you at home, Luella, if you 
 don't want to go." 
 
 "Thank you; I would rather remain at home," 
 she replied. 
 
 Several miles above the city, where the banks are 
 high on both sides of the river and the hills rise like 
 little mountains in the distance, they stopped the 
 machinery of the launch and floated quietly on the 
 water, to enjoy the echo and see who could get the 
 clearest response. 
 
 "Coo-coo," called Mrs. Kendrick. "Coo-coo," 
 came back from the bank; and again, "Coo-coo" 
 from the hill beyond. 
 
 "Who are you?" called Dick. "Oo are you?" 
 came back the double echo, first from the nearer side 
 of the river, then from the farther. 
 
 "Are you well?" called Edgar Mills. "Are you 
 'ell?" came the echo as clear as the voice that gave 
 the first call.
 
 ria GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "When we have it clearly illustrated that the 
 words we utter go from us until they meet with an 
 obstruction that sends them back, how careful ought 
 we to be with our words, which are constantly going 
 to heaven with no hills to turn them back," suggested 
 Mrs. Elliot, the minister's wife. , TV i j 
 
 "It's all right if we use good words, 
 
 cl 3. red 
 
 "I'm glad there are no mountains in the skies to 
 repeat my words," Edgar Mills added. 
 
 ''You couldn't flirt with two pretty girls at once 
 then," intimated Mrs. Kendrick, smiling. 
 
 "There are mountains of clouds,' Tommy ob- 
 served. ., . , T 
 "Clouds may thunder, but not echo, said Inez. 
 In an hour they had landed on the beach, and 
 all entered heartily into putting up the tent, making 
 a bonfire, preparing to bathe, and selecting a spot 
 for the supper to be spread. After the duties were 
 performed, each did precisely as he pleased: went 
 swimming, sat on the shore and nchotted stones, 
 climbed the banks, walked to the top of a promon- 
 tory, hunted wish-stones, read a magazine, or 
 stretched himself on a log and slept. Mabel Ken- 
 drick with Dick and Tom, did everything that the 
 others did, excepting the resting; and, when they 
 started home, she was so tired she could scarcely 
 move Her cheeks were red and her eyes bright, 
 and she knew she had given the boys the j oiliest day 
 of the year, and hoped she had accomplished some- 
 thing for herself. . 
 
 Dr Harding gave her his hand to assist her into 
 the boat and said softly: "You have almost over- 
 done yourself in exercising to-day." 
 
 "You and Dick and Tommy are the youngest in 
 the crowd," laughed Mrs. Elliot. _ _ 
 
 " 'The moon like a rick on fire is rising over the 
 dale,' " Inez Ellis quoted.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 113 
 
 "And splash, splash, splash in the waves behind 
 us, sparkle her rays in our trail," parodied Edgar 
 Mills. 
 
 "Was there ever anything more glorious than 
 moonlight on the Ohio!" gushed Inez's friend. 
 
 "Yes; moonlight on Mrs. Kendrick's face," teased 
 Edgar. 
 
 Edgar Mills was a young man of eighteen, an 
 only son in a family of wealth and influence. His 
 three sisters, much older than himself, were mar- 
 ried; one lived in the East, the other two west of 
 the Rockies. He had been reared in an atmosphere 
 of kindness, petted though not spoiled. He was 
 one of the indispensables, always to be depended on, 
 ever ready to take a hand or fill a set, complete a 
 circle, or escort a friend, and one that could be 
 trusted. He sustained intimate relations with mar- 
 ried women without annoyance to husbands; he was 
 devoted to the girls without encouraging matrimonial 
 hopes among their mothers. He was affectionate, 
 generous, handsome, with a fair quota of brains, but 
 never taken seriously, though considered capable and 
 influential; and he loved his mother and Inez Ellis. 
 
 A few days after the picnic Edgar Mills was driv- 
 ing his pony cart in from the country, when he was 
 surprised by the appearance of a pedestrian on the 
 dusty road. He stopped his pony with the greeting: 
 "Is it possible! Mrs. Kendrick! Is it really you 
 walking out here?" 
 
 "It is I, Mr. Ellis. The trees and the skies got 
 into my veins the day of the picnic, and I'm wild for 
 the country. I'm going to walk to Cedar Grove and 
 sit on the grass and rest, and walk back again," she 
 replied. 
 
 "I don't believe you can endure such a long walk. 
 Let me drive you out there, please?" 
 
 "No, thank you. Company would spoil my mood.
 
 ii 4 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 I want to be alone with nature and listen to the birds 
 and the bees," -she insisted. 
 
 "And hunt snakes and lizards. Why don't you go 
 to the city parks? There are flowers and trees and 
 birds and no harmful animals," he argued. 
 
 "But there are people there, and I'd be sure to 
 see some one with whom I'd have to talk. The 
 walk, principally, and to be alone, is what I wish 
 to-day." She smiled with something more than 
 seriousness in her face. 
 
 "Then you want me to leave you, of course. 
 Good-bye. Hadn't I better come back in two hours 
 and meet you?" he asked uncertainly. 
 
 "No, thank you, good-bye," and she started up 
 
 the road. 
 
 "That's a mystery," said Edgar Mills to himself, 
 as he let his pony jog along. "By the time she gets 
 back she will have walked over six miles this warm 
 morning. Well, I can't fathom it ! and that dolor- 
 ous expression that her forced smile did not conceal 
 I saw it once on the beach." 
 
 He chucked up his pony, thinking of the woman 
 that he had passed, recalling her image when she 
 stood apart from the crowd after the lunch on the 
 beach, looking into space, her skirts soiled from 
 climbing the bank, her delicate fingers bruised from 
 holding to rocks and limbs in the ascent, her hair 
 disarranged by the wind, her cheeks aflame from ex- 
 ercise, and her eyes moist with some conflict within. 
 Now, again, she was acting in the extreme. Could 
 it be that some grievous vexation had come to mar 
 her beautiful, peaceful home, and she was trying to 
 run away from it? 
 
 Later he strolled down the avenue and saluted 
 Dr. Harding as he came from his dwelling to get 
 into his buggy. 
 
 "Which way, Doctor?" 
 
 "South. Anything I can do for you?"
 
 GRANDMOTHER 115 
 
 "Are you going as far as Jones's, the man who 
 has pneumonia?" Edgar inquired. 
 
 "I am," said the Doctor. 
 
 "His son-in-law promised to do some work for 
 mother. Would you spare time to ask if he can 
 come this week? I started to see him and forgot 
 about it," said Edgar. 
 
 "You're not usually forgetful," replied the Doc- 
 tor. "It will be no trouble to see him for you, if 
 he's there." 
 
 "He just moved there last week. He did live out 
 east, where I went this morning, and found he had 
 moved. By the way, I met Mrs. Kendrick walking 
 out to Cedar Grove." 
 
 "Walking to Cedar Grove!" ejaculated the Doc- 
 tor, for a moment surprised. 
 
 Edgar Mills went on down the avenue, concluding 
 that Dr. Harding knew no more than he knew. He 
 would have formed a different opinion could he have 
 heard the Doctor's soliloquy as he drove away. 
 "The devil and damnation she will beat me yet 
 and she has taken a double dose, too. Well, if she 
 is proof against that performance, I'm safe. Damn 
 it! I'll not let her walk back." 
 
 He whipped his horse, skirted the town, and strik- 
 ing the east road, took up the speed he travelled when 
 some worthy patient was dying. When he reached 
 the park, there was no one in sight, and his anger 
 rose against Edgar Mills. He alighted to examine 
 the tracks. His horse, trained to do his master's 
 bidding, did not require hitching. Inside the gate the 
 Doctor saw some rose-petals, and, a short distance 
 beyond, he seemed to distinguish, through the under- 
 brush, two figures, standing and apparently talking. 
 At once, he was possessed with a wild, inordinate 
 jealousy; and, turning down a lane, he came to a 
 ravine that formed a creek during rainy seasons. 
 He kept along under the bank, intending to come up
 
 ii6 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 on the couple unawares. Should they be the people 
 
 he suspected, well . Otherwise, he could be 
 
 hunting geological specimens. With several small 
 stones in his hands, he rose suddenly and saw Mabel, 
 alone, lying on the grass. His pulse was throbbing, 
 and his heart bounding, and, even through green 
 eyes, he noticed how perfectly beautiful she was, and 
 how extremely sad. The moment she saw him, every 
 impulse left her but that of anger. She sprang to 
 her feet and faced him, trembling with passion. 
 "Did you follow me?" she demanded. 
 "Who was here talking to you?" he demanded 
 in turn. 
 
 "What right have you to know?" she sneered. 
 "What brought you here?" 
 
 "My horse." He realized that he had nothing 
 to gain by expostulations, and, in a more conciliatory 
 tone, he continued: "Edgar Mills saw me starting 
 to the country and told me you were here, and I 
 have come to ask you to ride back with me." 
 
 "You told me to take long walks, and, knowing 
 that, you should not have interfered," she spoke 
 with less anger. 
 
 "But you are overdoing. Do you want to kill 
 yourself?" he asked tenderly. 
 
 "No," she said uncertainly. "Though I'd rather 
 die than than not be able to preside at the recep- 
 tion." 
 
 "That's better. Be careful of your sentences. 
 Come, let us go home," he urged. 
 
 "Ride with you ! No, indeed. What would Ed- 
 gar Mills think of me, refusing to ride with him 
 and then meeting you out here? I resent your com- 
 ing. Ride back with you, no sir!" she cried. 
 
 "It will wear a better face to have met your 
 brother-in-law than some stranger." He watched 
 her closely and with such evident suspicion that, 
 despite her anger toward him, she laughed merrily.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 117 
 
 He thought her mirth was forced to cover her 
 confusion. However, he was so determined that 
 she should ride home and not, by another long 
 walk, hasten a catastrophe that would disarrange 
 his plans that he dropped the subject of the un- 
 known person and begged her to ride home with 
 him. 
 
 "I will not," she spoke positively. 
 
 "Very well, then, come with me to the buggy, 
 please; for I must go." He drew her hand through 
 his arm. 
 
 Neither spoke while they walked around the 
 shrubbery and out near the horse. She let go of 
 his arm and turned toward the road, surprised that 
 she had really convinced him that she would go as 
 she pleased. Before she was aware of his design, 
 he caught her in his arms and lifted her to the seat 
 beside him, and gave the rein to his horse. She 
 was so angry she could neither speak nor see. They 
 covered two miles in a very few minutes. Then, the 
 ridiculousness of the situation, the humor of the 
 Doctor's audacity, took possession of her, and, re- 
 flecting on her own helplessness in case he should 
 not continue his agency until the consummation of 
 her wishes, she gave herself up to the acceptance of 
 the inevitable with a charming grace. 
 
 "If we meet Edgar Mills, I'll tell him that you 
 kidnapped me," she said with her natural naivete 
 of manner. "But where are you going? Why do 
 you turn off here?" 
 
 "I have a call to make south of the city, and it is 
 a full twelve miles across, but we can make it at 
 this speed," he said. 
 
 "Don't kill your horse driving so fast. I'm not 
 going to jump out," she said good-naturedly. 
 
 Dr. Harding made a hurried professional call, 
 delivered Mrs. Mills's message, and they reached 
 home in time for the noon lunch, and congratulated
 
 n8 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 themselves that they did not meet Edgar Mills. 
 All to no purpose, however; for, when the gardener 
 came to do the work for Mrs. Mills, he incidentally 
 spoke of Mrs. Kendrick being with the Doctor when 
 he called, and Edgar thought to himself: "The mys- 
 tery deepens." 
 
 At a social function a few days after Richard Ken- 
 drick's return from Chicago, he met Edgar Mills, 
 and, among other comments, he said: "I hope you 
 did not neglect Mrs. Kendrick while I was away." 
 
 Edgar replied: "She would not let me be good 
 to her. When she walked out to Cedar Grove, I 
 asked her to ride with me, and she turned me down." 
 He watched for the expression of surprise, but was 
 disappointed. 
 
 In truth, Richard did not grasp the fact until 
 later. Walking home with his wife from the party, 
 he asked: "Did I understand Edgar to say that you 
 walked to Cedar Grove, while I was gone?" 
 
 "Yes," she replied uncertainly. "We had the 
 river picnic one evening, and I fell so in love with 
 the trees and the flowers that I wanted to see the 
 woods all alone, so I walked out. Edgar told Dr. 
 Harding that I had gone, and he drove out and 
 made me ride back with him." Notwithstanding 
 her desperate effort to speak naturally, she knew 
 she was betraying her nervous condition of mind. 
 "I was very angry with him for following me; I 
 wanted the walk." 
 
 "He is your physician, dear, and knows what is 
 best for you. Wouldn't it be better to take your 
 maid when you go walking?" he asked gently. 
 
 "I would not like to require her to walk so far," 
 she replied. 
 
 "She is stronger than you are, and can endure 
 much more," he answered. 
 
 "I don't suppose I shall feel in a mood for a
 
 GRANDMOTHER 119 
 
 long walk again. If you had been at home, doubtless 
 I would not have thought of going," she sighed. 
 
 "We shall go together, whenever you feel like 
 walking. My business and pleasure are secondary to 
 your happiness," said her husband, gently stroking 
 the gloved hand that rested on his arm. 
 
 The summer days grew shorter. Preparations 
 for the winter's festivities, and the Bernadotte Ball 
 especially, occupied the thoughts of the pleasure- 
 seekers. Travellers were returning from the lakes 
 and coasts and continental tours. Housewives were 
 busy with fall fruitage; homes were being renovated 
 and house-cleaning expedited. The city was aglow 
 with the American love of home. 
 
 "Dr. Harding," said Mabel Kendrick, as she 
 entered her brother-in-law's private office in the 
 city, "are you alone?" 
 
 "Yes; take this seat, Sister." He placed a chair 
 for her. 
 
 "Why didn't you come over to-day, when I sent 
 for you?" Mabel began at once on the subject of 
 her call. 
 
 "To tell you the truth, Mabel, I have exhausted 
 my resources, and can't do any more for you," he 
 stated positively. 
 
 "You can if you will," she insisted. 
 
 "Besides I will do nothing more without Rich- 
 ard's consent," he argued. 
 
 "And you know perfectly well that Richard would 
 never give his consent." She hid her face in her 
 arms on the table and sobbed convulsively. 
 
 The Doctor watched her with a demoniacal grin 
 on his dark countenance. His evil nature was in 
 control to-day, in fiendish enjoyment of his fair sister- 
 in-law's humiliation. 
 
 "Tell Richard all about it," he advised. "Such 
 distress as you are experiencing would win his heart 
 to the sacrifice of any principle."
 
 120 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "No; I will not tell him. He looks so worried 
 now. He feels in his soul that something is wrong, 
 and he is so patient and good. No; I shall never 
 tell him anything. If I could get over this and be 
 bright and happy once more, he would forget these 
 four months of gloom. He sees through my artifi- 
 cial smiles, and knows I am hiding something, and 
 it makes him so unhappy. I use to think you were a 
 fine physician and could do better than any one. I 
 don't think so any more," she sobbed. 
 
 "You should credit me with trying, at least," he 
 whispered. 
 
 "Sometimes I feel that you haven't really tried. 
 I know you can be kind, and I believe, too, that you 
 can be mean and wicked," she cried, looking up at 
 him with something of doubt and dread in her coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 "How about your pet theory of happiness?" he 
 began. "If felicity is a state of sanity, wretchedness 
 must be a condition of insanity. Do you think it 
 wise to apply to a madman to change the laws of 
 nature? Could you expect that a demon in hell 
 would aid a mortal to the bliss of heaven? Can a 
 man covet an adorable being and enjoy seeing it 
 possessed by the object of his hate?" 
 
 Hot anger dried her tears. Looking at her broth- 
 er-in-law with dilating pupils, she rose and hastily 
 left the room. As the outer door closed, the Doctor 
 jeered: 
 
 "Come back, Mabel, and I'll give you some more 
 bread pills," and laughed a long, low gurgle of sa- 
 tanic mirth. "Happy! Yes; happy as I am! Both 
 of them happy! All of us in the seventh heaven of 
 happiness!" Again he indulged in a joyless laugh.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MATERNITY. 
 
 An essence of cleanliness permeated the Kendrick 
 home. The window-draperies hung in faultless pur- 
 ity before the newly polished glass. Microscopic in- 
 spection could scarcely find a bacterium in the re- 
 freshed rugs. The aired and dusted books belied 
 the poet's insinuation, "through the leaves ye magots 
 make your windings, but for the owner's sake, oh, 
 spare the binding." The fragrance of the last bloom- 
 ing Marechal Niel rose scented the atmosphere. 
 The lingering kiss of the setting sun suffused the 
 portraits on the wall with a golden glow, and friends, 
 pleading for speech, looked down on the master 
 of the house, who sat by his study-table absorbed 
 in perplexing thought. He held an open book, in- 
 different to its contents. Within a few feet of him, 
 reclining on the cushions of his library window, was 
 the beautiful woman, the better half of his own be- 
 ing, one who was the all-controlling passion of his 
 life; and, yet, some queer, indefinable skeleton had 
 been intruding between them for the past season. 
 To an uninterested observer, his wife appeared un- 
 changed; to him, she was intrinsically different. She 
 sang, played, chatted and laughed as usual; but an 
 almost imperceptible dissonance accompanied her 
 voice. Her natural, frank sincerity had lost its art- 
 lessness. If the thing were more tangible, he might 
 form some conclusion. Deeply engrossed in medita- 
 tion, he was startled by the call: 
 
 "Richard, come here, please." 
 121
 
 122 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 His heart gave a bound, his fingers tightened over 
 his book, though he did not move. Some element 
 in the quality of the voice thrilled him with a plea- 
 sure he had not known for months; it was the old 
 true ring. The nightmare had fallen from their lives 
 and his beloved was herself again. 
 
 "Come, Richard," Mabel repeated. 
 
 He wavered with a fear that he might break the 
 spell and again find reserve and uncertainty. 
 
 "Richard, are you asleep? I've just had the most 
 curious experience." 
 
 Dressed in a soft, cool wrapper, she was reclin- 
 ing among the cushions of the window-seat, where 
 she enjoyed an afternoon siesta, though it was only 
 recently that she had forsaken her boudoir to en- 
 sconce herself behind the curtains near her husband. 
 He parted the drapery and pulled up a chair, watch- 
 ing the peculiar expression that played over her face : 
 the brilliance of her liquid eyes, the hectic flush on 
 her cheeks, and the extreme pallor around her smil- 
 ing lips. Her luxuriant hair was thrown loosely over 
 the pillow, and her hands clasped lightly across her 
 breast. 
 
 "Are you ill, dear?" he asked gently. 
 
 A lump in her throat choked her voice, and she 
 looked at her husband with a radiant, tearful smile. 
 
 "Can't I do something for you?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "There's Dick in the yard. I'll tell him to send 
 his father in," said Richard, solicitously. 
 
 Disgust, sorrow, and anger mingled in the expres- 
 sion of her countenance as she covered her face with 
 her hands and said, "No, no." 
 
 Perplexed and annoyed, Richard waited, absently 
 smoothing the hair from her temple. She caught his 
 hand and kissed it impulsively, then pressed it to her 
 heart.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 123 
 
 "Are you sick, darling? What is the matter 
 with you?" 
 
 "I'm intensely alive and well," said Mabel, blush- 
 ing. "Can't you guess, dear?" 
 
 Her mood, her expression, thrilled him with an 
 emotion that responded to her call. "Dearest, dare 
 I hope?" he replied hesitatingly. 
 
 "O Richard, don't you know? You must know. 
 Her wide open eyes held him appealingly. 
 
 "Mabel, darling, can it be true, and you are 
 happy?" He caught her in his arms in an ecstasy of 
 delight. His joy was so great that it was several 
 minutes before he discovered that she was weeping. 
 "Dearest, what, crying! I thought you were glad." 
 
 "I am now; but I have been so wicked. I was 
 rebellious and ugly. Now, I'm so awfully sorry that 
 I walked and walked and tried to tried to pre- 
 vent the full fruition of the consummation of our 
 love," she sobbed. 
 
 "Never mind, dear. You could not help the way 
 you felt. You were not yourself, and kept your 
 trouble from the only one who could have comforted 
 you. But it's all right now 'Just you and me' 
 again." He arranged her hair over his shoulder and 
 held her as a child. 
 
 " 'Just you and me?' " she questioned through her 
 tears. 
 
 He kissed her affectionately; and, leaning on his 
 shoulder, she told him of all her joys and griefs, 
 not yet able to understand how, under the Divine 
 economy, that quickening engenders love. He 
 soothed, counselled, and cheered her, until she was 
 able to dress for dinner and appear before the ser- 
 vants as beautiful and bright as ever. 
 
 In the early part of October, Dr. Harding came 
 from his room with a grip in his hand and said to
 
 i2 4 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 his wife: "I shall be absent all day, and, perhaps, 
 again to-morrow. I should have gone yesterday, 
 but waited to see how Dick's throat would be this 
 morning. If you don't let him get any more cold, 
 he can start to school Monday. If you need a phy- 
 sician while I'm gone, send for Dr. Raymond." 
 
 "I don't think we'll need him. I am well, and 
 Dick's better, and Mabel is so good to us. She's 
 constantly bringing me some little delicacy, and seems 
 so perfectly happy herself," said Luella. 
 
 "It's all sham. She's a consummate actor. Do 
 you suppose a woman who loves pomp and show and 
 is vain of her beauty and ability, will willingly give 
 up the honors she has anticipated this winter? No. 
 You don't know her as I do." His steel-cut ma- 
 lignant voice made his wife cringe. 
 
 "She has persuaded Mrs. Elliot to accept her 
 place on the committee," averred Luella. 
 
 "Mrs. Elliot! She's a good one," ironically 
 sneered the Doctor. 
 
 "Mrs. Elliot is recognized as the most capable 
 woman the church has known since the time that 
 Mrs. Falconer lived here," meekly replied Mrs. 
 Harding. 
 
 "Why couldn't Mabel put you in her place? To 
 have stood with your brother, would have been most 
 appropriate. Or won't the Mayor preside without 
 his wife?" 
 
 "Richard tried to get off; but the City Council 
 wouldn't listen to it " she hesitated. 
 
 "Well, finish," urged the Doctor. 
 
 "Mabel did come to me," added Luella. 
 
 "And you refused to fill her place?" 
 
 "Of course I did. I'm not handsome enough for 
 such a prominent position, and probably will not be 
 strong; besides, Mabel says, 'A mother's first duty 
 is to take care of herself, for the sake of her chil- 
 dren.' ' She watched her husband timidly. His
 
 GRANDMOTHER 125 
 
 dark countenance took on an expression of incre- 
 dulity, and, shrugging his shoulders, left the house. 
 
 He did not leave the city, though there appeared 
 on his office door a placard saying: "Out of town." 
 Instead, he was in his private office, engaged in ex- 
 periments that had been interdicted by the Society 
 for Cruelty to Animals. Disappointed in love and 
 social aggrandizement, Dr. Harding had become in- 
 fatuated with the power and perplexities of his pro- 
 fession. The city hospitals had been invaded and 
 questionable work inhibited; so the Doctor retired 
 to his own secret region, where, if necessary, a post- 
 mortem examination could be satisfactorily accom- 
 plished, without fear of discovery. Here he pur- 
 sued his physiological investigations and practised 
 vivisection on rats, cats, birds, and monkeys, and 
 held autopsies over higher species. 
 
 His assistant was a man of questionable habits. 
 By profession, he was sexton of the Catholic ceme- 
 tery that occupied a beautiful site just outside the 
 city limits, at the base of a hill on which a portion 
 of the town had been built, which was destroyed 
 during the Civil War by conflagration. His father 
 had been a respected grave-digger, whose wife had 
 Gypsy blood in her veins, of Spanish and Hungarian 
 origin. She was a Catholic and still a pretty woman 
 when she was left a widow with one child, this son, 
 who continued his father's work. It was in devotion 
 to his mother that he resorted to ways of which she 
 was ignorant to secure for her more of the comforts 
 of life and a few of the luxuries. Dressed as a re- 
 puted citizen, he frequented the aviary and pur- 
 chased birds. Animals that he could not buy, he 
 purloined, and trapped the squirrels in forbidden 
 parks. Then, disguised as a beggar, he meandered 
 through the dark, uninhabited alleys, apparently 
 picking up rags, old tin, and waste iron, and, with 
 the large basket he carried, suddenly disappearing
 
 126 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 through on obscure door in the back of Dr. Hard- 
 ing's building. 
 
 The young sexton realized too late that he was 
 putting himself more and more in the power of a 
 hard taskmaster; but he did not regret it while his 
 mother enjoyed the perquisites of his sacrifice, though 
 he lived in dread of discovery; for the unscrupulous 
 Doctor sought him in his home if he failed to appear 
 at his office at the hour designated. 
 
 The winter advanced. Mrs. Kendrick and Mrs. 
 Harding declined invitations to dinners and parties, 
 but frequented the opera and club lectures. They 
 sought the art galleries and visited the greenhouses 
 and studied the esthetic in every opportunity. Mabel, 
 always an enthusiast, had become a hearty convert 
 to the doctrine of prenatal influence, and believed 
 the coming generation would be beautiful and good 
 if the present generation so willed it. For several 
 months the sisters-in-law were almost inseparable, 
 and, with each new day, Mabel grew more charm- 
 ingly happy. 
 
 When Dick and Tommy came home from school 
 one evening and found they had a little sister, they 
 were wild with delight. In fact, the two families be- 
 came so wholly occupied with their domestic felicity 
 that they lost their interest in the events of the city, 
 which had been so all absorbing during the summer. 
 The boys were generally late to school; for they 
 would hang around the baby, some times keeping 
 still for fully a minute to watch her open her big, 
 black eyes. They declared she knew "tother from 
 which" before she was seven weeks old. They were 
 very earnest in expressing their gratitude to the 
 nurse; for they credited her with the gift of their sis- 
 ter. 
 
 Miss Lewis, the new nurse, was a girl not more 
 than sixteen years old, with a timid, tractable dispo- 
 sition. She had recently received her certificate of
 
 GRANDMOTHER 127 
 
 competency from the hospital and was anxious to 
 make a success in the calling she had chosen. So 
 far her experience had been so limited that she 
 trusted every one, and implicit obedience to the in- 
 structions of the physician had formed a part of 
 her education. 
 
 The advent of his daughter might have had a 
 stronger influence in softening the nature of Dr. 
 Harding had she come at any other time. Chagrin 
 and disappointment, in his vengeful desire to see 
 Richard Kendrick's wife humiliated and miserable, 
 seemed keener because he had not done anything 
 materially wrong himself. He had not been greatly 
 surprised at the turn things had taken; for experi- 
 ence had shown him that maternal love often saved 
 a soul from a watery grave, and, unquestionably, 
 nature's laws would work more powerfully in sur- 
 roundings of peace and purity; but, in this instance, 
 he had reckoned on an exception. He had been con- 
 fident that love of eclat and admiration would over- 
 balance other considerations. Now, he interpreted 
 his false calculations as a personal grievance. So 
 it is that the wicked heart becomes more evil with 
 its own imaginings, until the most heinous evil be- 
 comes a pleasure. In a desire to contribute to the 
 happiness of others, by reflex influence the heart is 
 made purer and holier; so, too, in the wish to ac- 
 complish harm and injury, there is turned back on 
 the soul a putrefying agency that corrodes and de- 
 stroys the good emotions, converting them into sa- 
 tanic impulses. Dr. Harding had nothing clear in 
 his mind as to what he intended doing. There was 
 a dark providence in which he trusted, and he re- 
 solved, by all the devils in hell, that he would not 
 be tantalized by seeing the proud Mayor's child a 
 pleasure to the haughty beauty who had laughed in 
 his face in joyous satisfaction, at an evil that had 
 been overruled for good.
 
 128 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 The first heavy snow of winter had buried all the 
 dank leaves and dead flowers. The blackened earth 
 was brilliant in her dress of white. The merry 
 sleigh-bells were ringing, and the gay people of the 
 prosperous city were gathering in the gorgeously 
 lighted building erected for the great Bernadotte 
 Ball. The renowned foreigner, in a private car, had 
 reached the city, had been met by a special com- 
 mittee, and conducted to a suite of rooms in the 
 Grand Hotel, where he and his retinue could rest 
 an hour and prepare for the function given in their 
 honor. 
 
 Richard Kendrick had been assured by the doctor 
 that accouchement was not expected for a week, and, 
 as a matter of extreme precaution, he had insisted 
 on having Miss Lewis recalled from the hospital, 
 where she had gone, after staying six weeks with 
 Mrs. Harding. As Mayor of the City, it was of 
 paramount importance that he should preside at the 
 reception of their distinguished visitor. Assisted by 
 Judge Johnson, the Rev. Mr. Elliot, Mrs. Elliot 
 and others, they extended the American welcome to 
 the Right Honorable Knight of the North Star of 
 Sweden, Bernadotte, and his staff, and, for hours, 
 introduced the brilliant throng. The strain was so 
 intense that Richard Kendrick lost the power to re- 
 member correctly the familiar names with which he 
 associated daily. There were moments when his 
 heart seemed ready to burst; a mighty drawing was 
 urging him to sacrifice every temporal interest and 
 speed away to his home and his wife. Again and 
 again, he tried to reassure himself by confidence 
 in his brother-in-law and his own loyalty to duty. 
 In the great banquet hall, where others were feast- 
 ing, the viands stuck in his parched throat. At 
 last, about five o'clock, when the dance was again 
 in full swing, and Bernadotte, from some indisposi- 
 tion, begged to retire, Judge Johnson and Richard
 
 GRANDMOTHER 129 
 
 Kendrick, leaving others in charge, slipped away 
 from the crowd. 
 
 They drove rapidly into the city, and sped up the 
 avenue. Seeing lights in the bed-chamber, the Judge 
 asked timidly: "May I stop with you and learn if 
 all is well?" 
 
 "Certainly, Judge; come in. I have been in an 
 agony of suspense all evening. But Dr. Harding 
 assured me that there was no need of worrying." 
 
 He hurried into the house, turned on the gas in 
 the parlor and rushed upstairs. The Doctor met 
 him in the upper hall. 
 
 "How is Mabel?" he cried. 
 
 The Judge caught a glimpse of the Doctor's face 
 from where he stood in the parlor door, and, from 
 its strange pallor, concluded that Mrs. Kendrick was 
 dead. Unbidden, he mounted the stairs, three steps 
 at a jump, and was reassured when he heard the 
 reply: "Mabel is doing well." 
 
 "And the child?" Richard gasped. A nervous 
 presentiment choked his utterance. 
 
 "Born at 1 1 :io. Mabel was very much exhausted 
 and fell asleep soon afterward," stated the Doctor. 
 His peculiar intonation sent a chill through his lis- 
 teners. 
 
 They slipped softly into a little room joining Ma- 
 bel's suite, which had been furnished for the nurse. 
 
 "How is this?" asked the nervous husband, star- 
 ing at an old woman, who sat beside a bed on which 
 a little bundle wrapped in lace and flannel lay. 
 "You're not Miss Lewis. Where is the nurse I left 
 here?" 
 
 The new nurse, a hard old woman, with envy writ- 
 ten in every line of her wrinkled face, mumbled: 
 "The Lewis girl went to sleep and rolled over on 
 the babe and smothered it. She was sent about 
 her business, and ought to be dismissed from the 
 hospital."
 
 1 3 o GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "Smothered the child! My God!" gasped Rich- 
 ard. 
 
 "Quiet, boy, be quiet. Remember your poor 
 wife," said Judge Johnson 
 
 "A boy," croaked the old nurse. 'She don t know 
 
 it yet." 
 
 The father stood by the bed, staring at the bundle 
 of lovely clothes and the wee head that was to have 
 been the crowning joy of their wedded life, a father s 
 pride and ambition, a mother's comfort and joy. 
 Great sobs welled up in his breast, which he sup- 
 pressed for her sake. The deepest, keenest, most 
 excruciating pain was in the knowledge of her terri- 
 ble sorrow. Would she be able to bear it! He 
 turned to go into her room when the Doctor said: 
 
 "Do not disturb her. Let her sleep till daylight, 
 and she will be stronger. Keep it from her as long 
 as possible." 
 
 "He's dead," fretted the old nurse. You don t 
 need to examine it." 
 
 Judge Johnson was lifting the little head tenderly 
 and turning the face to the light, so he could see it 
 
 distinctly. . 
 
 Dr. Harding grew nervous, and spoke in a hard, 
 dry tone : "I had not intended calling attention, es- 
 pecially, to the child. However, you may as well 
 know Perhaps you will be more readily reconciled 
 to your loss, Richard. I fear the boy would never 
 have been quite right and would have been a greater 
 grief to you grown up than to have lost him in 
 
 infancy." , . 
 
 Richard did not reply, but sought a seat near his 
 wife's bed, and hid his face on her soft, white hand. 
 The Judge went to his hotel. Dr. Harding, too, 
 went home, woke his wife, acquainted her with the 
 circumstances, and advised her to go over and re- 
 main with Mabel until she could make known her 
 disappointment. Luella hurried to her brothers
 
 GRANDMOTHER 131 
 
 side. The agony of his strong face pierced her 
 heart. She put her arms around him and held his 
 head against her breast, and he wept like a child. 
 Mabel was in a deep sleep and did not awaken until 
 the sun was high on this cold winter morning. 
 
 Smiling, refreshed, and bright, she said: Rich- 
 ard, dear, is our little darling all right? How he 
 did yell last night. The Doctor said I was too weak 
 to see him. I must have been asleep. Bring him to 
 me now. What is the matter with you two ? Is any- 
 thing wrong? Can't I see the baby?" 
 
 The old nurse appeared at the door. 
 
 "Who is that?" asked Mabel. "Where's Miss 
 Lewis?" 
 
 "She had to leave, and Thomas got a nurse who is 
 stronger and more experienced, dear," said Luella. 
 
 "I'm sorry he made the change. He said last 
 night that Miss Lewis was sick and made her take 
 a powder. Richard, what are you staring out of 
 the window for? Come here and ask the nurse to 
 bring the child. Is he asleep?" she pleaded. 
 
 "He's asleep, dear," said Luella. "Here's the 
 maid with your breakfast. Let me hold the tray. 
 You may go," to the maid. "Your sleep has re- 
 freshed you, and, when you have eaten, you will 
 be stronger." 
 
 "I'm not very hungry, and I don't think I needed 
 anything to make me sleep; but the Doctor thought 
 I did. Come, Richard, butter my toast for me, 
 please. Have you had your breakfast? No! Of 
 course, you ate at the banquet. Was it a grand af- 
 fair? Was Mrs. Elliot a success? Did they miss 
 me? Why don't you tell me all about everything? I 
 can't eat and talk too. There, now; send the tray 
 away and bring me my baby, please." 
 
 She looked so eagerly happy that Richard rushed 
 out of the room, and then she knew that sorrow of 
 some kind was in store for her. She could not de-
 
 132 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 fine the nature of it; but, as in all great crises in life, 
 when an intuition of evil awakens the latent strength, 
 she prepared herself for the inevitable. 
 
 When her husband and sister returned to her 
 room, she asked: "What has happened? Luella, 
 tell me, please." 
 
 "The child lived only an hour, dear," said Luella, 
 softly. 
 
 "Dead, dead! Do you mean that that strong 
 new voice is hushed so soon? I can not believe it," 
 she cried. "Bring me my boy!" 
 
 "Darling, she is telling you the truth," sobbed 
 Richard, not able to control himself even for his 
 wife's sake. 
 
 "Thomas said it would be better for you not to 
 see him," pleaded Luella. 
 
 "He said so last night. I'm sorry I listened to 
 him then." She looked at Luella with glassy eyes; 
 then, to her husband, she spoke softly: "Don't cry, 
 dearest; I am only grieved for you and your dis- 
 appointment. For me, it is but just. God has pun- 
 ished me for my sin, though I have been so deeply 
 sorry. Bring the boy. I must see him." 
 
 Richard brought the child and laid him in her 
 arms. She did not look at him closely, nor did she 
 shed a tear. She pressed her lips to the little fore- 
 head, then said to Luella : 
 
 "Sister, you are a dear, good woman, and I love 
 you and your children, which makes it very painful 
 for me to ask you to carry this message to Dr. Hard- 
 ing. Tell him that I request him never to come near 
 nor to speak to me again." 
 
 "Don't, dear," interceded her husband. "The 
 Doctor was not to blame. I'm sure he feels deeply 
 distressed; I never saw him more concerned or ex- 
 ercised." 
 
 "Will you, Luella?" asked Mabel. 
 
 "Certainly, dear. With trouble so great as yours,
 
 GRANDMOTHER 133 
 
 we can not hold you responsible for what you do 
 now," said Luella, sadly. 
 
 "I thank you, Sister. And, Richard, if you think 
 I need a physician's care, call Dr. Thomson, please, 
 mamma's old doctor," she asked. 
 
 The Masonic cemetery was a little beyond the 
 Catholic grounds, and here a carriage, containing 
 the Rev. Mr. Elliot and his wife, Richard Kendrick 
 and his sister, with a little white casket on their laps, 
 quietly entered, and the highest hopes and truest 
 ambitions of a noble father were buried with the 
 body of a child. 
 
 Mabel Kendrick lingered convalescent for nearly 
 three months. After the weather grew warmer and 
 she was permitted to go out driving, she still re- 
 mained in a state of apathy, taking no interest in 
 anything. The Harding boys were very unhappy 
 over their Aunt Mabel's estrangement, and often 
 begged to carry their little sister over to see her; 
 but they were restrained from day to day by the in- 
 junction that she was not well yet, nor the baby large 
 enough to go visiting. 
 
 Eleanor Harding was a black-eyed beauty, quick, 
 smart, and mischievous. She began to rule the 
 household when she was a year old. The boys 
 petted and teased her in turn. They said she always 
 could talk, and she walked at fourteen months. Fin- 
 ally, the boys became so enthusiastic over her, they 
 disobeyed, and slipped over to tell Aunt Mabel the 
 wonderful words Eleanor could say and the cute 
 tricks she could do. After reporting that they were 
 cordially received, they were allowed to go over oc- 
 casionally. However, Mabel manifested little in- 
 terest in her niece, until, one day, as she reclined 
 on a couch in the music-room, she looked across the 
 lawn and saw that Eleanor had taken her father's 
 purse from his hand and had thrown it away; and 
 he was trying to make her bring it back to him.
 
 I 3 4 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "She's a little vixen, isn't she?" said Richard, fol- 
 lowing his wife's gaze and rejoicing to see a smile 
 on her face. 
 
 "He will never break her will," assented Mabel. 
 
 They watched the contest from behind the win- 
 dow-curtains. The Doctor seemed to coax, com- 
 mand, and to threaten. He carried her to the purse, 
 held her hand on it, and stepped back, and held out 
 his own to receive it. Eleanor looked up at him a 
 moment, then, laughing defiantly, ran from him. 
 She cried terrifically when he caught her. He of- 
 fered her his watch, and she struck it away. At 
 last, he lost his temper completely and raised his 
 hand to strike the child. 
 
 Somebody else was watching, too; and, with 
 feigned innocence, Luella caught up the babe, say- 
 ing: "Come, girlie, time for your lunch," and dis- 
 appeared as quickly as she had come on the scene. 
 
 When Eleanor was three years old, she decided 
 she must go into Aunt Mabel's whenever she heard 
 the piano. She would go shyly in, climb in a chair, 
 smooth down her dress and demurely cross her 
 hands, and sit and listen as long as her aunt con- 
 tinued to play. Then, she would walk out without 
 a word. When her brothers questioned her about 
 where she had been, she made a mouth at them. If 
 thy followed her, she did not stay, but went home 
 and waited until they came out; then, she would go 
 back and climb in her chair, fix her dress, fold her 
 hands, and listen. 
 
 Her father was very proud of her beauty and 
 excused her wilfulness by saying: "She is just like 
 her daddy." 
 
 He had her picture taken often, and the one he 
 most admired was made when she was five years 
 old. She was in one of her stubborn moods and 
 could not be coaxed, hired, or whipped into posing 
 as her parents wished. At last, the photographer
 
 GRANDMOTHER 135 
 
 suggested to let her take her own attitude. She 
 climbed into the seat, one foot hanging down in 
 front, the other thrown over a high arm of the 
 chair, her right hand holding the knob on the top; 
 and, with her head thrown back, curls afloat, eyes 
 dancing and lips laughing, she made a picture that 
 would be a delight to any artist.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FORGIVENESS. 
 
 "Richard, there comes Mrs. Elliot and Mrs. Jen- 
 nings, which means an hour of excruciating annoy- 
 ance to me," nervously exclaimed Mrs. Kendrick. 
 
 "It grieves me beyond measure, Mabel, darling," 
 replied her husband, "that you can not throw off 
 this lethargy and enjoy life as you used to. Those 
 ladies are coming to call in pure kindness." 
 
 "O dear, I know they are, and they are both ex- 
 cellent women. But where can there be found any- 
 thing more trying to the patience of one who has 
 brains above the level of her serving-maid than a 
 woman like Mrs. Jennings?" fretted Mabel. 
 
 "She is a good woman, whose husband is a 
 worthy elder in our church," asseverated Mayor 
 Kendrick. 
 
 "I know she is; but you have never been forced 
 to listen to her talk. She will consume a full hour, 
 tediously recounting all her domestic incidentals. It 
 is not the only subject under consideration the 
 seamstress, the house-maid, the kitchen, and personal 
 ailments but each item of every theme is length- 
 ened into infinity. It is a mystery how one can use 
 so many words about so little. Come to a period? 
 She doesn't know how. If she should stop, it's like 
 the striking of a clock, with no change of inflection. 
 You can't change the subject; for she is so highly 
 entertained with her own ability to keep talking that 
 she won't see that you are bored," continued Mabel. 
 
 136
 
 GRANDMOTHER 137 
 
 "Can't you let Mrs. Elliot do the talking?" asked 
 Richard. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Elliot can manage Mrs. Jennings 
 better than I can; for she will begin talking at the 
 same time; and I'm sure that is less discourteous 
 than to monopolize with uninteresting gossip. But 
 Mrs. Elliot has a hobby. Though six years have 
 passed since the Bernadotte Ball, she has to make 
 some reference to the part she played in every con- 
 versation of any length," sighed Mabel. "I seem 
 doomed never to be allowed to forget that time." 
 
 "Don't you make a mistake in trying to forget it?" 
 asked Richard, kindly. "Wouldn't it be more unsel- 
 fish in you to help others to recall the grandeur and 
 pleasure of it? In an effort to make others happy, 
 you would forget your own unhappiness. You know 
 that I am just as proud of you, and as ambitious 
 for you, as I was before that time. Isn't your love 
 for me strong enough to bring back your natural 
 gaiety and make our home a place of enjoyment?" 
 He held her in his arms and kissed her tenderly, and 
 left her to greet the callers in the drawing-room. 
 
 The visit proved less trying than Mabel had an- 
 ticipated. Mrs. Elliot was planning for a special 
 Easter service and had called to urge Mabel to come 
 and once more fill her place in the choir. They laid 
 all their plans before her and discussed the program 
 minutely. A new pipe-organ was to be used this 
 Easter day, and many requests had been sent to 
 have Mrs. Kendrick sing. If she felt that she could 
 not sing, then, would she not write a poem for them? 
 When the women left, she had half-heartedly prom- 
 ised to try to help a little. 
 
 Walking down the avenue, Mrs. Jennings com- 
 mented: "I just couldn't help but feel sorry for 
 Mrs. Kendrick, she was so absent-minded and des- 
 pondent. Why, when I told her how bad my niece 
 felt, when her chambermaid let that groceryman's
 
 i 3 8 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 little boy run in front of the baby-cab, and bounce 
 the child out into the gutter, and get his lace skirt 
 so black from the coal soot that it took her wash- 
 woman's sister three trials at it before it ever looked 
 white again, I don't think she heard a word that I 
 said." 
 
 "She is a changed woman," said Mrs. Elliot. 
 "She has never recovered from the shock caused by 
 the death of her baby. Instead of taking a pride 
 and pleasure in the Mayor's prominence and success, 
 she is grieved because he has no son to share his 
 honors. Then, I'm sure it was a great disappoint- 
 ment to her to miss the Bernadotte Ball. You will 
 notice that I never refer to it in her presence. You 
 remember I filled her place on the committee." 
 
 "That's true. I believe you didn't speak of it 
 to-day," naively assented Mrs. Jennings. "I never 
 will forget the amount of provision that those serv- 
 ants carried off after that banquet. One girl had 
 her cousin and two chums there, and they had each 
 a basket or two, and into them they put turkey, ham, 
 chicken, celery, pie, cranberries, pickles, rolls, scores 
 of rolls, and cake you couldn't count the different 
 kinds of cake that they picked up and cookies and 
 doughnuts. I know as many as a dozen crullers and 
 salad, all kinds of salad; they couldn't eat it in a 
 week and tongue. Yes; I saw a girl put a whole 
 tongue in one basket; they could have run a board- 
 ing house for a month. And then, sugar and even 
 bottles of cream. Well, there really was no use in 
 letting it go to waste; and tarts and candies; they 
 just filled up all the cracks with nuts and confections : 
 but I don't think any silver was lost or china broken. 
 Of course, they had been told to carry away the pro- 
 vision after the banquet was over. My niece, who 
 was sick at the time, had charged me to take particu- 
 lar note of the elegant dresses, so that I could de- 
 scribe them to her; but my! that was a thing im-
 
 GRANDMOTHER 139 
 
 possible; for, really, sometimes, when I looked over 
 that ball-room, it seemed the absence of dresses, ex- 
 cept the great yards of goods that laid on the floor 
 and kept the dust off the men's shoes. But it was a 
 grand occasion; the city will not have anything so 
 fine very soon again. Now, if Mrs. Kendrick had 
 been there, you would have missed a great honor. I 
 remember that I was surprised when I heard that 
 she had resigned in your favor. I was at the dress- 
 maker's and I said to her that I knew you would 
 do the part well, but no one could be so handsome as 
 Mrs. Kendrick. Yes; those girls actually took a jar 
 of ice-cream away with them, and a whole lot of 
 lemonade. Now, you know lemonade " 
 
 They had reached the corner where their paths 
 separated, and Mrs. Elliot cut her friend short by 
 a "Good-bye; you'll be at the church to help to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 Mabel Kendrick went up to her lonely room, the 
 beautiful boudoir, which had been a place of pure 
 delight to her for eight years, until one night of ca- 
 lamity had changed the face of all the world. The 
 room had now become a seclusion for grief. Here, 
 in her heart, she would recall her sin and her pun- 
 ishment; and, here, she hoped penitence had secured 
 divine forgiveness. She felt that her life was a re- 
 proach to her husband; and she was haunted by the 
 verse: "Her children rise up and call her blessed, 
 her husband also and he praiseth her." This hap- 
 pened to be her birthday verse in the thirty-first chap- 
 ter of Proverbs. It was now a mockery to her. The 
 nephews, almost young men, bright, promising boys, 
 were ever a source of pain to her, because her hus- 
 band had no son to follow in his worthy footsteps. 
 The things she had once taken exquisite delight in, 
 were now void of interest. The picture of Hoff- 
 man's "Christ" no longer appealed to her; the coun- 
 tenance had changed from a benevolent expression
 
 HO GRANDMOTHER 
 
 to that of disapprobation. The music of Wagner's 
 ''Lohengrin" was as discordant as the Japanese kota 
 and samisen, tuned a fifth apart and playing the same 
 air. Where once she enjoyed the bloom and beauty 
 of the rose, she saw only blemished petals and dis- 
 figured leaves. She no longer sat on the porch in 
 a dreamy mood, listening to the song of the birds, 
 but fretted over the noise of the tree-frogs and the 
 chattering of katydids. The admiring look and com- 
 plimentary speech of friends, which were wont to 
 bring the blush to her cheek and the sparkle to her 
 eye, had become a source of extreme disgust to her. 
 She banished lighter literature and forced herself to 
 read the political and city news, that she might be 
 able to converse intelligently with her husband, along 
 lines that were of interest to him. She desired, if 
 it were possible, to make herself in some measure 
 a compensation to him. 
 
 "Did you agree to help in the Easter service?" 
 Richard asked his wife in the evening. 
 
 "I kind o' promised to write an Easter poem," 
 said Mabel. 
 
 "Mr. Elliot was talking to me about it as I came 
 home. They are all hoping that you will sing," said 
 Richard. 
 
 "You know, dear, that I feel very deeply about 
 some things. And one is, a person who cherishes 
 an unforgiving spirit in her heart has no right to take 
 an important part in a sacred service," averred 
 Mabel. 
 
 "To what do you refer, dear?" asked Richard, 
 uncertainly. 
 
 "For six years, Richard, I have not spoken to you 
 of Dr. Harding, because he is your sister's husband. 
 You must pardon me this once for saying that I be- 
 lieve he is responsible for the death of my babe, and 
 I cannot forgive him," she spoke slowly and sadly,
 
 GRANDMOTHER 141 
 
 "though his cruel design may have had its incipiency 
 in my own evil desire." 
 
 "I suspected where you placed the responsibility 
 of our loss, and I have been waiting a long time for 
 you to open your heart to me. Come here, little 
 girl, and let us reason together." He 'took her in 
 his arms. "You know that you are dearer to me 
 than all the world, don't you?" She assented and 
 he continued: "Don't you know that there would 
 be no joy in heaven for me if I got there and you 
 did not?" 
 
 Mabel smiled sadly, not comprehending the pur- 
 port of his words. 
 
 "Our little boy has been admitted," he continued. 
 "We are sure the Gate of Pearl opened and let the 
 little fellow in. But we can't pass so easily, not un- 
 less our sins are forgiven; can we?" 
 
 "I know St. Peter will welcome you, and, surely, 
 I have been punished sufficiently to be permitted to 
 follow you," she pleaded. 
 
 "Our sorrows and afflictions here are not pass- 
 ports to heaven. They purify us, 'as by fire,' and 
 refine us into more beautiful characters," insisted 
 Richard. "But faith in the atonement and obedience 
 to the Father are necessary for you and me to secure 
 a room in the everlasting mansion, where our little 
 one is waiting for us." 
 
 "Well, then, isn't it all right for us?" 
 
 ' 'If ye forgive not men their trespasses neither 
 will your heavenly Father forgive you.' Don't you 
 see, dear, that, while you are trying to make me 
 happy through our few short years on earth, you 
 are harboring a little thing in your heart that may 
 make me sad throughout eternity?" said Richard, 
 tenderly. 
 
 "And do you really think, Richard, that I cannot 
 be admitted into heaven without forgiving Dr. Hard- 
 ing ?'*
 
 142 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "Can we enter heaven unforgiven? Are we not 
 plainly told that 'as we forgive we shall be forgiven?' 
 The merits or demerits of the person forgiven are 
 not to be considered." 
 
 "Those are hard conditions," said Mabel. 
 
 "Not at all. 'Vengeance is mine. / will recom- 
 pense, saith the Lord.' He claims the right to pun- 
 ish; and 'it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands 
 of the Lord.' Furthermore, it is a great blessing to 
 be able to forgive. You would be happier, my dear, 
 if you could put this ugly feeling out of your heart; 
 then, you would soon be your old self again." 
 
 "But I do not wish to be as I once was," she re- 
 plied. 
 
 "Not for my sake? This is a grand old world; 
 marvellous in its power, wonderful in its grandeur, 
 gorgeous in its beauty; and all that I need for a full 
 enjoyment of it is you by my side, brilliant, beauti- 
 ful, and good." He pressed her to his breast. 
 
 "You hesitate over the good?" 
 
 "Near-good now, wholly good when Thomas is 
 forgiven. It is not for him that I care, only for 
 you, dear. I often feel that he is a bad man; but I 
 must not judge." 
 
 "He is going to have trials and tribulations 
 in bringing up his little girl, I am sure," laughed 
 Mabel. "Do you know the little mischief got angry 
 with her father last night and ran away, and they 
 hunted for her all night? They questioned my 
 girls; but they had not seen her. Luella called the 
 police force out and was nearly frantic." 
 
 "Yes; I learned about it at the city hall. Hadn't 
 they found her when I came home?" asked Rich- 
 ard. 
 
 "No; because she was over here all the time. She 
 slipped in through the cellar window, where that 
 broken bar is above the coal-pit, came round and 
 got up-stairs without being seen, and went to bed in
 
 GRANDMOTHER 143 
 
 the guest-chamber. I wish you had seen the coal 
 dust on the sheets. I didn't know she was here until 
 after breakfast. You had just gone, when she came 
 down and coolly asked me to fasten her clothes. 
 She ate her breakfast very deliberately, and said: 
 'Papa said I shouldn't have any breakfast, and I will 
 not live with him. I'm going to live with my Aunt 
 Mabel.' And I said: 'But, Eleanor, you don't want 
 to leave Mamma?' She studied over the matter and 
 replied: 'I like Dick and Tom; but whatever made 
 Mamma raise such a husband?' The maid slipped 
 over after Luella, and she came in while the child 
 was eating." Mabel laughed cheerfully, adding: 
 "She'll give her father a few heartaches." 
 
 "I don't want to be hard on you, dear; but remem- 
 ber that old verse of Scripture: 'Rejoice not when 
 thine enemy falleth and let not thine heart be glad 
 when he stumbleth: Lest the Lord see it, and it dis- 
 please Him, and He turn away His wrath from 
 him,' " quoted Richard. 
 
 "Now I see why you wouldn't let me rejoice last 
 year, when your opponent was discovered buying up 
 votes," laughed Mabel. 
 
 "Yes; I was really afraid that my pleasure in his 
 downfall would lose me the victory. Well, I must 
 go to the office. This talk has done us both good. 
 I see it in your face and feel it in the aura that 
 surrounds you. I shall expecj: to read your Easter 
 poem when I come home." 
 
 It was several days later that Mabel gave her 
 verses to her husband to read and criticise. 
 
 EASTER MORN. 
 
 On Judah's hills, a dark'ning pall 
 
 Was settling fast with thick'ning gloom. 
 
 The Lion of the tribe was dead, 
 The Man of Nazareth in his tomb.
 
 144 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 His chosen foll'wers murmur and complain 
 
 "We thought 'twas He who Israel should reclaim." 
 
 Deep malice was triumphant now, 
 
 And hope seemed dead and heaven afar; 
 For gloomy darkness still prevailed 
 
 Where once the light of Bethlehem's Star, 
 Light'ning the weary pilgrim on his way, 
 Beamed with the promise of eternal day. 
 
 Dispersed abroad, the chosen few 
 
 Whisper'd of doubt and hope and fear 
 Waited, wondering what to do. 
 
 The seal'd and guarded tomb, so drear, 
 Held the slain body of their loving Lord. 
 What joy could that last Sabbath day afford? 
 
 One woman, who could not forget, 
 
 Nor let love's labor end in death, 
 Whose earnest heart was glowing yet; 
 And would be with its final breath, 
 Came with the dawn in haste to find His tomb, 
 And with sweet spices mitigate its gloom. 
 
 What joy! the stone is rolled away; 
 
 An angel form now guards the pris'n. 
 Behold the dark place where he lay 
 
 "He is not here ! Your Lord is ris'n. 
 Go tell his sad disciples what you^see, 
 He goes before you into Galilee." 
 
 Now, o'er the earth, this message tell 
 
 On Eastern morn. Salvation's story! 
 The Lord has conquered death and hell, 
 And reigns for aye in realms of glory. 
 His cruel death and resurrection prove 
 The power of His all-saving, precious love.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 145 
 
 Now to the risen Lord, we bring 
 
 The trophies of our loving praise. 
 With trembling joy, we read His word; 
 
 In prayer and song our voices raise. 
 In faith and penitence and love, we sing 
 These are the Easter offerings that we bring. 
 
 We bring to Thee our grief and joy, 
 And all our waywardness and sin: 
 And while Thy praise our tongues employ, 
 
 Pray Thee, to make us pure within. 
 Those who have wrong' d us, freely we forgive, 
 That in Thy love we may forever live. 
 
 O may this Easter morn of joy 
 
 Its lesson in our hearts impress. 
 The resurrection theme employ 
 
 Our future life and heavenly dress. 
 May we Thy gracious peace, O Saviour, prize, 
 And meet Thee, when thou cometh in the skies. 
 
 When Richard ,Kendrick sat down in his library 
 chair, his wife ensconced herself on the window-seat 
 to watch him read her verses. He perused the sad 
 story of the tomb, and the bright verses of the glori- 
 ous resurrection; and his heart was filled with joy 
 in the lines that pledged a new consecration to duty, 
 a forgiveness of all wrongs, and a hope of eternal 
 blessedness. 
 
 When he folded the paper, she smilingly said: "It 
 is all right now." 
 
 "Yes, indeed," he replied; "and we shall have 
 a truer and a sweeter life than we have ever had 
 before. And poor, dear Luella, she will have a lit- 
 tle more joy than she has had for some time." 
 
 " 'Talk of an angel and her wings will flutter,' ' 
 laughed Mabel, seeing her sister-in-law in the yard.
 
 i 4 6 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "Come in, Luella," called Richard. "I have not 
 seen you for a week." 
 
 "Because you have not been over," said Luella, 
 coming up to the veranda and looking through the 
 open window. "Thomas objects to my being here," 
 and she looked anxiously down the avenue. 
 
 "Suppose we tread on his objections, and visit as 
 we please, allowing him the same privilege; what do 
 you say, Sister?" asked Richard. 
 
 There was a new quality in her brother's voice, 
 and Luella divined some pleasant change in their 
 relationship. She looked at Mabel questioning}^ 
 
 "Richard wants me to go with him to dine with 
 the Elliots to-night." She winked at her husband. 
 
 "But the Elliots are to be with me, to-night. 
 You don't mean " began Luella. 
 
 "Well," grunted Richard. 
 
 "Will you come to my house?" she asked in deep 
 concern. 
 
 "Shall we go, Mabel?" tenderly questioned Kicn- 
 
 ard. 
 
 "Just as you say, Richard, and Luella doesn't ob- 
 ject," Mabel replied. 
 
 "It would be a very great pleasure to the children 
 and to me to have you come. I don't know how 
 Thomas will feel," said Luella, sincerely. 
 
 "If it would make conditions more unpleasant for 
 you, Sister, we shall not come. But we are willing to 
 experiment, if you are. Mabel made the first breach ; 
 it is but just for her to try to heal it." 
 
 "I want you to come," Luella said deliberately. 
 "We are to spend our lives in the same yard, and 
 amicable relations are to be desired if it is possible 
 to attain them. We'll try." 
 
 Later, when the projected visit was made knowa 
 to Dr. Harding, he stormed and left the house with- 
 out eating his lunch. A man can deceive almost any
 
 GRANDMOTHER 147 
 
 one easier than he can dupe his wife, and Luella 
 covertly smiled at her husband's affectation of an- 
 ger. However, she was surprised and relieved, when 
 a messenger brought word in the afternoon that the 
 Doctor had received a call to the country and re- 
 quested Mr. Elliot to excuse his absence. 
 
 It was a delightful dinner-hour. The children were 
 frantic with joy; and Mrs. Elliot was enthusiasti- 
 cally in love with every one; for Mabel was encour- 
 aging her to talk about the Bernadotte Ball. Par- 
 tially aware of the coolness that had existed between 
 the families, the minister was gratified to find him- 
 self in an atmosphere of hearty congeniality, and 
 listened with pride to his wife as she described the 
 gown she had worn and repeated the comments that 
 were made by the Right Honorable Knight of the 
 North Star of Sweden, dwelling merrily on the man- 
 ners of the foreigners and giving minutia of court 
 dress. The Mayor's heart thrilled with pleasure 
 at this evidence of his wife's complete revivification. 
 
 One afternoon in the early fall, Mabel Kendrick 
 was walking up the avenue when she heard her niece 
 screaming and begging for protection. 
 
 "O, Aunt Mabel, save me ! Save me ! Papa says 
 he'll kill me." 
 
 Dr. Harding, with a switch in his hand, was fol- 
 lowing closely. Mabel hastened her steps, caught 
 the child in her arms, and entered her own gate. 
 
 "Put that girl down!" commanded the father, 
 speaking to his sister-in-law for the first time since 
 his enforced silence. 
 
 Mabel did not pause, but whispered to the child, 
 "What have you done, Eleanor, to make your father 
 so angry?" 
 
 "He told me not to go into his desk, and I did. 
 I found a picture of papa and you, and cut papa's
 
 i 4 8 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 face oft", 'cause I just wanted you. He caught me 
 and shook me hard, and I turned the ink over all 
 his papers." 
 
 When the angry man saw that his sister-in-law 
 was taking his child home with her, he sprang for- 
 ward, saying: "How dare you? Let go that girl!" 
 
 Eleanor clung to her, crying: "Don't give me 
 up. Please don't, Aunt Mabel. He'll kill me." She 
 hid her face on her aunt's shoulder, trembling vio- 
 lently. 
 
 "You are too angry to punish her now, Dr. Hard- 
 ing, and she is so frightened she would not be bene- 
 fited," Mabel spoke calmly. 
 
 As the Doctor took hold of the child, she squalled 
 so loud he could not hear his own voice. When 
 he let go of her, she sobbed, and tightened her arms 
 around her aunt's neck. 
 
 "Come, sit down, Doctor, and let us reason to- 
 gether, until you are both more calm," Mabel sug- 
 gested. 
 
 He ignored her invitation, angry that she was en- 
 joying the situation great, strong man powerless 
 beside a pretty, wilful child. Every time he opened 
 his lips or moved toward her, her crying began, and 
 ceased only when Mrs. Kendrick spoke. She was 
 curious to hear what her aunt would do, determined 
 to hear nothing from her father. The critical scene 
 was closed by an unexpected interruption. 
 
 Dick came running with the news : "Papa ! Edgar 
 Mill's horse ran away, threw him out and knocked 
 his head against a lamp-post. They want you quick. 
 He's unconscious." 
 
 "Where is he?" asked the Doctor. 
 
 "They carried him up to Judge Johnson's room. 
 It was right in front of the hotel. They don't want 
 his mother to know till you come and see if he's 
 alive," stated the boy, excitedly. 
 
 Eleanor _ listened interestedly ;_but,. when Dr.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 149 
 
 Harding turned for a parting look of disapproba- 
 tion, she grabbed Mabel around the shoulders, and 
 set up her powerful screams till her father had dis- 
 appeared. Then, she threw back her curls and 
 looked into her aunt's face with a triumphant smile. 
 
 "What must we do with you, Eleanor?" asked 
 Mabel, assuming an expression of grave seriousness. 
 
 "I don't know," naively replied the child. 
 
 Mrs. Harding had been watching from her par- 
 lor window, and, when her husband left, she came 
 in and persuaded Eleanor to come home. 
 
 "Aren't you afraid that mamma will punish you 
 for being naughty?" asked Mabel. 
 
 The child smiled a mischievous response, and, 
 throwing her arms around her mother's neck, kissed 
 her rapturously. 
 
 "I can always persuade her to do as I wish," said 
 Mrs. Harding, tearfully.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ELEANOR. 
 
 During the next ten years, Eleanor Harding grew 
 more beautiful, more attractive, more intelligent, 
 and more wilful. Her father learned that the wisest 
 way to deal with her was to avoid collisions. When 
 she made trouble in the school, he required the 
 teacher to solve the problem, with the understanding 
 that no humiliation was to accompany Eleanor's pun- 
 ishment. She was regnant in the primary rooms; 
 the children followed and obeyed as much from love 
 as fear; and, as she advanced into the higher grades, 
 her influence increased. A boy who incurred her 
 displeasure was so completely ostracized that he left 
 the school. She was loved and feared by the boys, 
 admired and hated by the girls. She dominated all, 
 in an easy, quiet, masterful fashion, and seldom in- 
 dulged in violent freaks of anger; such tactics had 
 been necessary only in her contests with her father. 
 With the withering scorn of her wonderful eyes, 
 she could overthrow an adversary, or silence a grum- 
 bler by a look of supreme contempt, and again 
 awaken the merriest mirth in the play of her eye- 
 brows. She had no regard for things religious, and 
 amused her friends by caricaturing the ministers or 
 mimicking the deacons. The resignation of a teacher 
 was sure to follow her dislike; for she was able to 
 make the most cultured appear as a burlesque by her 
 art in apish reproductions. 
 
 When she was sixteen, she was seen with her 
 father on most occasions of social interest; and, 
 
 150
 
 GRANDMOTHER 151 
 
 where she appeared, there gathered the set that 
 boasted of brains and culture; the dolts and dullards 
 avoided her vicinity. Often, the conceit was taken 
 out of a coxcomb whose assurance brought him to 
 experience the sharp edge of her wit. Her father 
 indulged in the gratifying reflection that his daugh- 
 ter would soon eclipse the social preeminence of 
 which his sister-in-law had once boasted. He was 
 satisfied, also, with her attitude toward a host of 
 beaux. She seemed to care for none. 
 
 Edgar Mills remained an invalid for a long time 
 as a result of the injury he had received from the 
 runaway; and, in his attendance on him, the Doctor 
 often took his little girl with him. Through this as- 
 sociation, there developed a strong friendship be- 
 tween the young man and the child, which ripened 
 into a sort of guardianship attachment as Eleanor 
 grew older. When she began to prefer his com- 
 pany to the more eligible boys of fewer years, her 
 father considered it wise to interfere; and he met 
 with the usual result. The more strenuously he op- 
 posed, the more frequently he found them together. 
 Notwithstanding the fact that Edgar was twenty 
 years older than the crowd, he managed to have 
 himself invited to the parties of the younger set. 
 Inez Ellis was often included in the invitation; but 
 she was not present when, evening after evening for 
 two years, Edgar happened to walk from school 
 with Eleanor. 
 
 Dr. Harding's sons were attending college, Dick 
 intending to take a medical course and Tom a lit- 
 erary course; the older to follow his father's profes- 
 sion, the younger to prepare for journalistic work 
 and travel on the Continent. Barring sickness or 
 outside interference, in two years, Eleanor would 
 graduate from the city high school, when she, too, 
 was to receive the polish of boarding-school life. 
 A bond of sympathy and mutual love and trust ex-
 
 152 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 isted between the mother and daughter; and Mabel 
 Kendrick shared their confidence, the knowledge of 
 which restrained the Doctor from going to his wife 
 with vexations, until he was convinced that his own 
 efforts to control affairs were useless. Exasperated 
 over Edgar Mill's presumption, he swallowed his 
 humiliation and requested his wife to speak to Elea- 
 nor, acknowledging that her influence might con- 
 strain the headstrong girl in the hour of temptation. 
 Mrs. Harding waited for a favorable opportunity 
 and then approached her daughter by asking: "Do 
 you enjoy Edgar Mills's company, Eleanor, that 
 you let him walk home with you so often?" 
 
 "Of course I do, mamma. He is delightful to 
 talk with. He knows so much and is so droll and 
 humorous," Eleanor replied. 
 
 "Is it fair to Inez for you to monopolize her 
 lover?" asked Mrs. Harding. 
 
 "I'll tell you, if you will not tell," said Eleanor, 
 smiling. 
 
 "I'll not tell," her mother promised. 
 "Not tell papa?" 
 
 "Not until you give me permission." 
 "Papa would not believe me. He couldn't under- 
 stand it, if he did. He has no romance in his make- 
 up; and he has no respect for other people's confi- 
 dence. So I can't confide in you unless you are sure 
 he will not make you tell him," she stated annoyedly. 
 "Have I ever broken my promise to you, dear?" 
 asked her mother. 
 
 "No, mamma ; I'm not annoyed at you, only vexed 
 at the way papa worries the life out of you. He will 
 ask you what it is between Edgar and me, and, when 
 you don't tell, then you catch Hail Columbia. If you 
 could learn to lie a little, you could make life easier 
 for yourself. Don't look so distressed, marnma.^ 
 don't mean all I say. I could not love you so, if I 
 did not know how perfectly true you are. But this
 
 GRANDMOTHER 153 
 
 affair with Edgar really does not amount to a row 
 of pins, and I think I'd better not tell you." 
 
 "Tell me this much," asked Mrs. Harding; "do 
 you care for Edgar Mills?" 
 
 "Care for him! O mamma," Eleanor laughed 
 a cooing little giggle. 
 
 "He's a fine man, and well circumstanced, and 
 Inez is a dear, good girl; and I would not like for 
 you to interfere with them, unless your own feelings 
 are enlisted," said Mrs. Harding. 
 
 "They are enlisted to the extent of doing every- 
 thing in my power to win him away from Inez." 
 Again Eleanor indulged in a queer laugh. 
 
 Her mother looked at her wonderingly. 
 
 "Can't you trust me, mamma?" 
 
 "Certainly, I trust you. But there are other men 
 that I would prefer to have you marry." 
 
 "Marry! Mamma! I would not marry the Prince 
 of Wales," laughed the girl. 
 
 "Then what do you intend to do with Edgar?" 
 
 "Teach him a lesson, do Inez a favor, and shield 
 myself from the nuisance of the infatuated kids." 
 Eleanor laughed merrily. "I will tell you one secret, 
 mamma. Papa is going to be bamboozled into tak- 
 ing me on a trip to Europe this summer, to get me 
 away from Edgar. That will be glorious fun. I'll 
 be nice to him abroad, and bring back a copy of a Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds for you, and some pictures of Land- 
 seer for Aunt Mabel." 
 
 The girl was not disappointed in her prophecy. 
 She spent an interesting four months touring Lon- 
 don, Paris, Italy, and Germany, with her father; 
 and Dr. Harding had a short period of unalloyed 
 pleasure. The hotels at which they stopped became 
 the centre of interest, and the beauty of the American 
 heiress attracted the titled Europeans, with whom 
 very agreeable courtesies were exchanged. 
 
 When the Louiston school opened in September,
 
 i 5 4 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 Eleanor, in consideration of her father's feelings and 
 his generosity during their trip abroad, put Edgar 
 Mills on probation for four months, promising him 
 the usual walk home after that time. In the mean- 
 time, she flirted with every boy that had brains and 
 wit to interest her. At the dance, at the rink, boating 
 on the river, on the streets to and from school, wher- 
 ever the amusement was gayest, boys accompanied 
 her. Her lessons were easily learned and books 
 thrown aside. Her father, exasperated beyond en- 
 durance by his wife's persistent excuses for her, de- 
 clared that he would send her to a convent. The 
 mother insisted that the girl was simply light-hearted 
 and happy, and not interested in boys further than 
 the triumph of holding them in subjection to her 
 charms. 
 
 When, unexpectedly, she cut the whole crowd of 
 admirers and renewed her sedate walks with Edgar 
 Mills, her father stormed and her mother pondered 
 the situation seriously. 
 
 Eleanor loved her mother very tenderly, and 
 could not endure to see the lines of worry increase 
 in her dear face on her account; so she took her 
 Aunt Mabel into her confidence, and asked her to 
 reassure her mother. Mabel watched the develop- 
 ments of the little romance with interest, and Dr. 
 Harding's anxiety with pleasure. 
 
 The brothers came home for their summer vaca- 
 tion and they, with Eleanor and Aunt Mabel, spent 
 a part of the time on Lake Geneva. In the fall, the 
 boys entered on their last year of study, and Eleanor 
 returned to her intimacy with Edgar Mills. 
 
 "It is the hardest thing I have ever tried to do, 
 Aunt Mabel," said Eleanor, laughing. She had met 
 her aunt down town, and they were coming home to- 
 gether. "It has been nearly three years, and I'm 
 almost ready to give up. I don't like to fail, and
 
 GRANDMOTHER 155 
 
 yet, paradoxical as it sounds, I hope I'll not be suc- 
 cessful." 
 
 "What an odd girl Miss Inez is to persist in such 
 a notion," Mrs. Kendrick replied. 
 
 "It seems quite sensible to me, Aunt Mabel; for 
 men are so very fickle, one can't tell who is to be 
 trusted," averred Eleanor. 
 
 "You have had abundance of experience, I sur- 
 mise," said her aunt, smiling. 
 
 "Not much of a judge," laughed Eleanor. "The 
 boys I have known, excepting Edgar Mills, seem so 
 syncophantish and dull. I can enjoy a young man 
 real well until he takes a notion that he's in love 
 with me; then he's disgusting." 
 
 "And Edgar Mills isn't?" Mrs. Kendrick asked. 
 
 "No; for Edgar is genuine; and he keeps me in- 
 terested because he is not perfectly sure of himself. 
 At least, that is the way he strikes me," she pon- 
 dered. 
 
 "Mr. Mills surely is old enough to know his own 
 heart," laughed Mrs. Kendrick. 
 
 "O, Aunt Mabel, you know a kid of twelve years 
 is surer of himself than a man of thirty-five," said 
 Eleanor, merrily. 
 
 "Girls are different, are they?" and Mrs. Ken- 
 drick smiled in sympathy. "I think, if a woman 
 truly loves a man, she will naturally trust him." 
 
 "I do, too," assented Eleanor; "naturally trusts 
 and intuitively doubts." 
 
 "Woman's intuition stands in the way of a man's 
 success, no doubt, some times," said Mrs. Kendrick. 
 
 "Well, I have just got to bring this Edgar Mills 
 business to a climax soon. I can't give it much more 
 time. I have promised the boys that I will graduate 
 with the honors of my class. And I must work this 
 year," stated Eleanor. 
 
 "I'm sure we shall all be proud of you. Come 
 in and tell me the sequel after the climax."
 
 156 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 They parted at the gate. Mabel Kendrick went 
 slowly up the walk, smiling at her niece's confidence 
 in herself and her assurance of personal ability, re- 
 membering her own past experience. There was a 
 time when she felt capable of controlling her little 
 world by the law of love and power of the will; be- 
 lieving that embryonic felicity was inherent in the 
 individual, subject to his own quickening power, cap- 
 able of development under all circumstances. But 
 the past few years had convinced her that each in 
 his own environment must be a law unto himself, 
 and happiness depends on the periscopic estimate of 
 social and moral ethics. 
 
 "Mamma," called Eleanor from the parlor, "the 
 carriage is to be here in twenty minutes. Please call 
 Aunt Mabel and tell her to hurry, if she wishes to 
 see me before I start to the dance. She asked me 
 to let her know when I was dressed." 
 
 In a few minutes her mother and aunt came in, 
 and the girl, radiant in happiness, stood before them. 
 In her white dress and slippers and the white rose 
 in her waving black hair, her throat like the Countess 
 Potocka, her waist like a Paquin fashion-plate, her 
 soft, white arms, dimpled elbows, and tapering fin- 
 gers, the whole vibrating with the joy of living, she 
 was a picture of purity. She held her skirts up fan- 
 tastically, dancing gracefully around the room, and 
 smiling back at her admirers. 
 
 "Edgar Mills will lose his head to-night," said 
 Aunt Mabel. 
 
 "O, that is ended, Aunt Mabel. I was coming to 
 tell you to-day, but was too busy. I had to have 
 my dress taken back to the dressmaker's. It was 
 too tight across the bust; and she put this bit of lace 
 in here; but it makes it prettier, don't you think?" 
 she asked.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 157 
 
 "The dress is lovely in every way. And what 
 did you do with Edgar?' asked her mother. 
 
 "Do you know how long he has been going with 
 Inez Ellis?" Eleanor asked in reply. 
 
 " 'Going with.' When I was a girl, we would ask 
 how long a couple had been sweethearts,' " laughed 
 Aunt Mabel. 
 
 "They have been 'keeping company' off and on, 
 for seventeen years," said Mrs. Harding. 
 
 "Before I was born, how funny!" laughed Elea- 
 nor, dancing again and watching her feet in the che- 
 val glass. 
 
 "Tell us about Mr. Mills?" asked Mrs. Kendrick. 
 
 "He asked to take me to the dance to-night, and 
 I told him I had promised to go with my father. 
 Of course, he did not believe me. I didn't expect 
 him to. But I had seen Inez and told her the situa- 
 tion had become stale and made her agree to go with 
 him if I didn't. I told Aunt Mabel, mamma ; but 
 I didn't tell you that Well, anyway Inez You 
 know, Inez's parents separated about four years 
 ago, and her mother died, broken-hearted; and she 
 had filled Inez full of the notion that if she really 
 loved a man she must not marry him until she was 
 thoroughly convinced that he would be faithful to 
 her. The more Inez loved Edgar, the more she 
 feared to marry him, lest his affections stray to some 
 other girl when it was too late; so she begged me 
 to 'cut her out' if I could," she laughed merrily. 
 
 "You were sure you could," said her aunt. 
 
 "Inez ought to be satisfied. It took me so long; 
 and then I wasn't very successful. I spent one year 
 just praising and talking about Inez, until he ac- 
 knowledged it was more pleasure to hear me talk 
 about her than to hear her talk. The next year, he 
 began to insist on my talking about myself. No; 
 that was the year after I had been abroad. I think
 
 158 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 I do tell about European places and people inter- 
 estingly. It is so easy for me to embellish; and, if 
 I forget how things looked or what people said, I 
 make it more entertaining from my own brain. Papa 
 says I get that from you, Aunt Mabel. Humbug- 
 ging, he means." She stopped to view herself in the 
 glass. 
 
 "Go on, Eleanor. Tell it all," said her mother. 
 
 "O yes, I'd forgotten. Well, last night \ve walked 
 and walked. Mr. Mills was sober and I cooed and 
 prattled; and I was looking as sweet as sweet. I 
 had on that new lawn that has the openwork on the 
 front, with the peek-a-boo waist; and in my corset- 
 cover was pink satin ribbon. When I sighed, the 
 glimpse of my neck that peeked through the em- 
 broidery was real bewitching. You needn't smile, 
 I know it was. Pretty soon he took hold of my arm 
 abruptly and said: 'Miss Eleanor, I want you to 
 marry me. And you must answer me now.' Sure, 
 but I was taken by surprise ! I had planned a dozen 
 different things to say at this important moment. 
 I had intended being awfully serious and sympa- 
 thetic; but, it struck me the wrong way, and I just 
 laughed and laughed. Then, when he didn't fly all 
 to pieces and get mad, I laughed the more. 
 
 "At last, I said: 'What do you want to marry 
 me for?' And he replied: 'Because I am tired of 
 waiting for Inez. Poor little girl, she will feel pretty 
 blue; but she has kept me miserable a long time; and 
 I know that you and I can enjoy each other. I am 
 very fond of you. What do you say?' ' 
 
 " 'But I want the man that I marry to love me,' I 
 answered. 'No, you don't. You get disgusted with 
 a fellow as soon as he manifests anything of a grand 
 passion. We would be happy together. You really 
 are adorable. You make a man think and act and 
 live,' he said. 
 
 "'Mr. Mills, I'm obliged to you; but I advise
 
 GRANDMOTHER 159 
 
 you to return to Inez. Don't tell her any of this 
 foolishness ; but remember this : I am capable of lov- 
 ing as well as you are; and, when the man comes 
 along who is handsome and independent, good- 
 natured and jolly, with a strong magnetic power that 
 can subdue my will to his own, I will marry him.' 
 How I could love such a man ! It makes me tremble 
 to feel how hard I could love him." She clasped her 
 hands across her breast in an imaginary embrace of 
 her ideal hero. 
 
 "There is your carriage, dear. Don't dance too 
 long. Your father is waiting. Good-bye." They 
 threw her light opera-coat around her and watched 
 her drive off. 
 
 She managed to get a few private words with Inez 
 Ellis in the early part of the evening, and assured 
 her that she had tried in every way to entice her 
 lover and win his love and had failed; and she 
 averred that if she could not succeed, Inez need 
 never fear the machinations of others in the future. 
 
 Later, while she was dancing with Edgar Mills, 
 he whispered: "You will be bridesmaid for Inez, 
 won't you?" 
 
 She replied with hearty pleasure: "Indeed, I 
 shall be proud of the privilege." 
 
 The remainder of the school-year was spent in 
 genuine studious application, and Eleanor Harding 
 merited the honors conferred on her as valedictorian 
 of her class. Her popularity was evidenced in the 
 profusion of flowers and pretty gifts that the ushers 
 piled on her table in front of the stage, after she 
 had delivered her oration, the evening of the school 
 commencement. 
 
 "You are the bulliest girl I ever looked at," said 
 Dick, holding her at arm's length, as the crowd filed 
 past, congratulating the line of graduates. "I wish 
 we could have had you at college with us."
 
 160 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "I'm proud of you, Sister," said Tommy. "I 
 must have a picture of you, just as you are to-night, 
 to head my first sensational story." 
 
 The Harding boys had finished their college 
 course; and, after a few weeks' vacation, Dick was 
 to go into an office with an old physician, who an- 
 ticipated retiring from active labor in a short time. 
 The location was in a town of a few thousand in- 
 habitants sixty miles from Louiston. Tommy was 
 to start in on a Chicago paper for a year's experi- 
 ence, preparatory to being sent abroad. Mrs. Ken- 
 drick and her niece were to revisit Lake Geneva, 
 during summer, and take Mrs. Harding with them 
 for a month, at least.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A DISCOVERY. 
 
 "How long have you been running on the river?" 
 Uncle Henry asked an old negro man. 
 
 "Nigh onter forty-five year," replied the old 
 negro. 
 
 u Yo' see, I run on de Mis'sippi boat, an' on de 
 lo'er Ohio, an' on de upp'r river boat. Onest I wuz 
 secon' mate on de Gen'l Lytle. I wuz on de 'Merica 
 de time her klided wid de Unit'd States, an' set de 
 river er fire wid oil. Yassar, et wuz er myrac'lous 
 'scape fur me. I kin nebber fo'git dat night." 
 
 The two men were sitting on bales of hay, watch- 
 ing the steamer deck-hands. Between landings, the 
 negroes were playing craps, or scrambling for pen- 
 nies that some man on the upper deck threw down 
 among them for the amusement of the passengers. 
 
 "You remember 'bout everything that happened 
 after the war, I reckon?" queried Uncle Henry. 
 
 "I 'low my mem'ry ain't like et uze ter wuz; but 
 I mind er lot er things. We had er coff'n shipped 
 down ter Vicksburg. Yassah, lab'l'd squar' cor'- 
 ner's 'quest died fer heart er fail'n. An' good 
 Lawd-er-mussy ! I beared sed dat de box wuz chuck 
 full er guns an' 'munition. Et wuz no dead en, jes' 
 ter hep de rebs shoot de Yanks. Nuder trip we tuck 
 er bar'l er apples ter Nashville, an' sho's yo' born, 
 de youn' man ez wuz gwine 'long, he sed ter me; 
 sez he, 'der er five hundred doll' in dat bar'l. Yas- 
 sah, et wuz Nordern gold." 
 
 161
 
 1 62 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "But why did he tell you?" asked Uncle Henry, 
 skeptically. 
 
 "Et wuz doan gone up de grade outen de reach 
 er my ole fist," laughed old Ezekiel. 
 
 The moon was flickering over the water. The 
 deck-hands, tired of gambling, were stretched at full 
 length over the floor, singing the old plantation 
 melodies. 
 
 "I had some powerful strange experiences after 
 the war," encouraged Uncle Henry; "but you beat 
 me. I've been on these boats 'bout four years an' 
 you're the first man I've found who knows anything. 
 These younger niggers ain't got sense 'nough to re- 
 member." 
 
 "Yassah ! yassah, I tak' er heap er pride er rem- 
 enicen'," said Ezekiel, scratching his head, flattered 
 with Henry's encomium, unsuspicious of a deeper 
 motive. "Cose yo' ben liben wid white folks. Yo' ben 
 edjecated, an' I jes' er boss'n niggers. Jes' er same, 
 I'se 'spectable. Neber see me down on de flo' 
 snoozin'. Now, dis er night 'minds me er queer 
 'sperience. De moon flick'r'd ober de water skeery 
 like. Yo' could jest see ghosts comin' up an' down 
 outen de river; an' I know'd sumfen ed happ'n dat 
 night. An' sho' nuff, we land 'long de Indyany shor', 
 an' four tall men come er 'toten er long box down 
 from de weeds. De kreeps run down my back. 
 Lawd-er-mussy, sho's yo' born dem bushes wuz full 
 er sperets." The old negro shuddered. " 'Heah, 
 yo' nigger, git hole dis er box er bacon,' yelled de big 
 fat mate. Nigger kin smell hog bacon er mile er 
 mo', an' I know'd er wuz no hog bacon in dat crate. 
 I seed er youn' lad er look'n arter dat er freight, an' 
 sez zi: "I'se yo' man.' Sez ze: 'Eber see dat?' 
 'Nosah,' sez zi. An' he shut his fist ober er five 
 dolla' gold piece. 'Dat fur you,' sez ze. 'Thank 
 ye, sah,' sez zi. An' he tech'd his hat an' walked
 
 GRANDMOTHER 163 
 
 up dem stairs. Dat swing er his'n 'ristocrat 
 South'rn I'se seed 'm. Can't make 'm North. By 
 em by, ez I wuz gwine to sto' de freight 'way, I 
 kivered dat box clean all up." 
 
 "Didn't you leave room for it to get the air?" 
 interrupted Henry, excitedly. 
 
 "Lawd-er-mussy, bacon doan' want no air." 
 
 "But you said it wasn't bacon," objected Henry, 
 impatiently. 
 
 "Gimme time, Uncle Henry; I doan fo'got. 
 Lemme see, 'fore mawnen', I beared er noise. Sho's 
 yo' born, sumfen mov' roun' dat er box; my hyar 
 straighten' outen de kinks, an' riz up ter see er 
 ghost, an' de lad, he whisp'r'd, 'All safe?' 'Jes 
 so,' sez zi. An' he wuz gone again." 
 
 "Where did you put the box off?" asked Henry, 
 again interrupting the old negro in his story. 
 
 "Five miles 'bove de city. Yassah, in ole Kain- 
 tuck," Ezekiel replied. 
 
 "Are you sure? You said you had most forgot." 
 
 "Sho's yo' born. Doan I see er toted shor', an' 
 de lad sitten' on er fur haf 'n 'our. An' when we 
 wuz puffin' 'way down stream, I heard 'em whistle, 
 an' er wagon an' four men come outen de bushes an' 
 hawl de box 'way," explained the old negro. 
 
 With a sigh of disappointment, Henry asked indif- 
 ferently: "Did you get the five dollars?" 
 
 But Uncle Ezekiel did not hear the question. He 
 was enjoying a hearty laugh all to himself. 
 
 "What's the matter with you?" asked Henry. 
 
 "He-he-hee!" chuckled the old negro. " I mind 
 dat ole fat mate. He jes' cuss ter beat any mate I 
 eber seed when dat box wuz order'd ter go er shor'. 
 Lawd-er-mussy, whar wuz er? De fat mate, he cuss 
 dat black nigger, he, he, he. N'awful mean nigger!" 
 Again Ezekiel laughed, recalling how he escaped 
 while another got the basting.
 
 'i 64 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "What was in the box?" asked Henry, annoyed. 
 
 Again and again Henry thought he was on the 
 track of the information he was seeking, to be as 
 often disappointed. One yarn after another he had 
 led this old man to tell, watching every point for 
 the clue he was hunting. "Did you get the five dol- 
 lars?" 
 
 "Sho's yo' born. When dat fat mate wuz er cuss'n 
 kaze de box wuz kiver'd up, de lad er sed ter me: 
 'See you 'gin, 'bout er week,' an 1 I felt sumfin cold 
 right dar," and Ezekiel slapped his fingers over his 
 palm and rubbed it, in memory of the gold piece. 
 
 "Did you see him again?" asked Henry. 
 
 "Yassah, yassah. An' er tole me dat he had de 
 body er his onkle in dat er box. He wuz er Con- 
 federate officer. 'Scaped fro' Ohio prison, an' er 
 died 'fore er crost de river. An' he tuck er body 
 home." 
 
 "Did you ever see any boxes of gold or crates of 
 china or cases of candlesticks sent back South after 
 the war?" asked Uncle Henry. "Some folks buried 
 their treasures. In our part they shipped them away 
 to friends up North. Some fellows just threw money 
 away. My old Misses was fixing a tombstone in 
 the graveyard and found gold pieces scattered all 
 'round. Must have been some party close pressed, 
 or skedaddling." 
 
 "Neber had no sich luck," replied the old steam- 
 boat man. "I do mind er seein' one queer box, an' 
 I reckon er wuz full er gold. Neber seeded er findin' 
 outen 'bout dat box." 
 
 "Where did it come from?" questioned Henry. 
 
 Another landing and its incumbent duties separ- 
 ated the men, and several days intervened before 
 Henry found Ezekiel alone. 
 
 "Wake up ! Uncle; I can't let you sleep a night like 
 this. Here, talk to me," said Uncle Henry, shaking 
 the old negro off a pile of sacks of wheat.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 165 
 
 Ezekiel arose to a sitting posture with his chin 
 in his hands and his elbows on his knees. 
 
 "You ain't told me 'bout that last box," said Uncle 
 Henry. 
 
 "What fur yo' allers axen 'bout boxes?" yawned 
 the negro. "Neber yo' heared 'bout dat gal I hid 
 in 'mongst de freight? Sho'? Dat gal, O Lawd-er- 
 mussy, dat gal wuz Kaintuckian true blue. Eyes, 
 bright er dat star 'bove yo' head; cheeks redder'n 
 dis bandanna er mine, whar ez clean; feet Lawd- 
 er-mussy, I kin see dat er foot now. Her dad own'd 
 me 'fore de war. He wuz up country buyin' cattle; 
 an' while he wuz gone dat little gal run er way wid 
 er luber. Den 'n ole skezicks telegram ter 'm ter 
 ketch er on de boat. I seed de ole man come ridin' 
 down ter de bank, wavin' his torch ter hail de boat. 
 De youn' man er run up on top an' begg'd de Capt'n 
 not ter land de boat. Pilot heared 'em say: 'Ten 
 dollars an' you doan let dat man git on.' 'Too late,' 
 boat wuz swingin' round. De little gal seed 'm an', 
 clean down in er hull, she run arter me. 
 
 " 'O, Unk Zekiel, hide me from Dad,' er cried. 
 An' I jes' tuck her up in my arms like I doan when 
 er wuz er baby an' toted er down behin' er pack er 
 boxes an' kivered her wid er buffalo robe. Ole dad 
 er stormed an' hunted an' watched de state-room 
 whar de clerk sed she wuz sleepin'. He, he, he, Dad 
 er hired er cabin-boy ter watch de outside door. But 
 Lawd-er-mussy, kain't do nuttin' when youn' folks 
 ez lubbin' each udder. I 'lowed de little gal wuz 
 skeered an' lonesome : an' I mozied back an' front, 
 an' sung er song. When er heared me, er laughed, 
 soft like. 
 
 "De ole dad's aboard, frownin' awful hard 
 
 Lay low, Sissy; lay low, Sissy. 
 Trust in de Lawd; ole Zekiel he's on guard 
 
 Lay low, Sissy; lay low, Sissy.
 
 1 66 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "When dat er boat whistled fur Aberdeen Fse 
 powerful glad. De youn' man he hurry up de bank, 
 an' I follow wid de buffalo robe ober my arm, an' de 
 little gal hid inside er. Squire Sheldon wuz ready, 
 an' sho' married 'em. Lawd-er-mussy, dey went back. 
 ter de boat, an' de ole dad wuz soun' asleep in his 
 chair. De little gal touched his nose an sed: 
 'Daddy, sleepin' when yo' gal ez married!' Lawd- 
 er-mussy, er jumped an' I sed: 'Sho', Massah, I'se 
 de witness.' ' 
 
 Again the landing separated the companions, and 
 weeks passed before their private conversation was 
 renewed. Henry had served a term as porter on 
 all the different boats that travelled the river past 
 the Farnam homestead; and, so far, he had failed in 
 securing light on the secret mission with which he 
 was intrusted. He had been unable to find a man, 
 among deckhands or officers, who had been in any 
 way associated with the mysterious transactions of 
 which he was privy. The information he desired to 
 obtain might so affect the honor of innocent per- 
 sons that the faithful servant was using every pre- 
 caution to avoid exciting the curiosity of those he 
 tried to catechize. Having found that the old negro, 
 Ezekiel, had been running on the river for a period 
 overlapping the time of his personal experience, he 
 wisely concluded that some clue to the mystery was 
 stowed away in his brain; and he must, by patiently 
 listening to his tales of steamboating, finally draw 
 on the perplexing problem without arousing suspi- 
 cion. 
 
 Ezekiel prided himself on being able to compre- 
 hend the mysterious, and, characteristically, forget- 
 ting what he could not explain. Consequently 
 Henry had to call him back to the starting point 
 again and again. 
 
 "You didn't tell me 'bout that box of gold?" 
 questioned Henry, when they were alone.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 167 
 
 "I doan fo'got all 'bout er," said Ezekiel. 
 
 "O no, you haven't," encouraged Henry. 
 
 " 'Pears ter me like yo' ought ter 'member dat 
 box," mused Ezekiel. 
 
 "What was it like?" 
 
 "Like er ole iron box, 'cept der~wuz holes all 
 roun' de top, big 'nuff ter poke er silber dolla' in. I 
 been tryin' ter 'member whar I seed yo'. Ain't yo' 
 one er de men who help load er on de wagon?" and 
 Ezekiel looked closely at his companion. 
 
 "Where was it?" questioned Henry, evasively. 
 
 "Down to Marse Fillmore's landin'. De label 
 said er wuz fur de parson. He married Miss Laura 
 Fillmore," mused Ezekiel. 
 
 "But the minister was not living," said Henry. 
 
 "I know'd ez yo' waz dar," grinned Ezekiel. "De 
 preacher's name wuz Falconer. I 'low dey doan 
 'spect dat iron box; 'case dey wuz down ter de landin' 
 ter git 'Miss' Laura's furniture. She come down ter 
 live wid her gal, arter de parson died," continued 
 Ezekiel. 
 
 "How did you know all this?" Henry asked, curi- 
 ously. 
 
 "Sho', my old 'oman b'long ter ole man Fillmore. 
 She cook Miss Laura er weddin' dinner. She wuz 
 on de boat an' seed er. I neber been in dat part er 
 ole Kaintuck. Wer had so many picconninnies, never 
 hed no chanct ter go." 
 
 Again Henry turned the old negro back to the 
 subject of his search. "Where did the iron box 
 come from?" 
 
 "Lawd-er-mussy, how kin I tell? I doan know. 
 But I lay, I er neber fo'git de face er dat man. We 
 wuz jes' 'bout ter shuve outen de wharf er city er 
 Louiston. De bell had rung fur passengers ter git 
 on an' off; an' I seed erman on er rickerty ole wagon, 
 scurryin' down grade, wavin' his hat ter de boat.
 
 1 68 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 He jes' look'd like er wild ghost." Ezekiel was 
 growing sleepy. 
 
 "What kind of a wagon?" asked Henry. 
 
 "Huxter wagon wid er top broke off," the tired 
 old man replied. 
 
 "Did you hear anything that the man said?" 
 asked Henry, excitedly. 
 
 "Can't say ez I do. No time. Boat pullin' out. 
 I seed 'em pay de freight an' point ter de 'dress. 
 Den I help tote er 'board. Heavy! Wheel" 
 
 "How old was the man ? What did he look like ?" 
 
 "I reckon, now, sumers 'bout thirty. He doan 
 look like nuttin' ter me. Jes' skeered ter death 
 'fear'd er miss de boat. I do mind now," chuckled 
 the old negro, rousing from his stupor, as the boat 
 whistled for some landing, "dat man had one ear 
 cut off, an' I low'd er wuz er great gran'son er dat 
 man de Apostle Peter whacked wid his sword fur 
 b'trayin' de Lawd." 
 
 Henry drew a deep, long sigh. Then, said to 
 himself: "D. V., D. V. ! A man minus one ear in 
 a large city like a needle in a haystack. The Lord 
 willing, I'll find him." 
 
 He remained on the boat until the end of the 
 month and a new porter was secured to fill his place; 
 but he gathered nothing more from Ezekiel that 
 could aid him in his search.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 BOARDING SCHOOL. 
 
 The sun was slipping from the zenith, and the 
 leaves trembled and blushed under the caresses of 
 the first fall winds. The squirrels were busy _seek- 
 ing their homes, that abundant store might be laid in 
 for the coming winter. The birds were following 
 the sun to the south, and the flowers were scattering 
 their pollen to mate with kindred pistils before they 
 lay buried beneath the falling leaves. While the 
 summer was preparing to retire for a season of re- 
 pose and recuperation, young humanity was quicken- 
 ing into activity and acute energy. In the city of 
 Danboro, the college halls were crowded by bustling 
 servants, disposing of boxes and trunks; young 
 women were flitting in every direction, nervously get- 
 ting their belongings together, merrily greeting each 
 other, or tearfully saying good-bye to parents or 
 guardians. The campus was overrun by students 
 greeting old comrades and discussing the ball teams 
 for the ensuing year. The gymnasium rang with 
 the laughter of the girls, and, under deft fingers, the 
 pianos vibrated a welcome to the music pupils. The 
 dignified officials looked with gratification at the ex- 
 uberance of joyous student life, and, behind a mask 
 of seventy, smiled in remembrance of the time when 
 they, too, could run and laugh and play. 
 
 For the first few days, unrestricted intercourse 
 was permitted between the college and seminary stu- 
 dents, to enable brothers and sisters to separate 
 
 169
 
 170 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 their possessions and become adjusted to their own 
 spheres. Russell and Ralph Farnam had returned, 
 bringing their sister, Varena, with them. The 
 brothers were in the junior class; and, as the course 
 of study for the young women was limited, com- 
 pared to the curriculum required by the college, 
 their sister expected to be graduated from the semi- 
 nary in two years, and together bring their school life 
 to a close. Ralph, whose intercourse with the young 
 ladies for the past four years had been restrained 
 by conventionalities, was anticipating the full enjoy- 
 ment of his popularity, through the close proximity 
 the presence of his sister would secure for him. He 
 was counting, too, on a pleasure in bringing his 
 brother under the influence of that galaxy of lovely 
 girls. Duty would require them to call to see their 
 sister on the regular reception evenings; and, if there 
 could not be found some fair maid to win him from 
 the serious absorption of his studies, he must be 
 given up as a piece of adamant, impervious to femi- 
 nine charms. 
 
 Now, while Ralph was here, there and everywhere, 
 meeting the old friends, greeting the new students, 
 inquiring for sisters and cousins, Russell was in the 
 dormitory, unpacking their trunk and arranging their 
 room, preparatory to serious study. 
 
 "What's the matter with your brother?" asked 
 one of the boys of Ralph. 
 
 "Nothing, only more quiet and serious," replied 
 Ralph. "Why?" 
 
 "He looks like he'd been sick," replied an awk- 
 ward, overgrown boy, who had visited the school in 
 the spring and returned to enter the preparatory. 
 "I'd take him to be older than you are; but Sister 
 says you're twins. Are you?" 
 
 "Yes," was Ralph's laconic reply. 
 
 "They say you looked older when you first came 
 to school," continued Horace Runyan. "Everybody
 
 GRANDMOTHER 171 
 
 thinks I'm a good deal older than the record in the 
 family Bible indicates." 
 
 "Your sister did not come, did she?" asked Ralph. 
 
 "Yes. She's going to take French and painting 
 this year. Mother sent her back to look after me till 
 I get acquainted. And Sarah told me to make a 
 friend of you," said Horace, with an embarrassed 
 smile. 
 
 "Did she mean it?" asked Ralph, in surprise. 
 "She knows I'm a shiftless, don't-care sort of a fel- 
 low, learning my lessons in order to pass my exams, 
 and there it ends. I'm friendly with everybody 
 because they are all clever to me. But if Miss 
 Sarah thinks I can do you any favors, I'll be glad 
 to try. She's been a mighty good friend to me, dear 
 old girl." 
 
 "You call 'm all dear, don't you?" asked Horace, 
 grinning. 
 
 "Girls? Sure! I'm in love with about twenty. 
 They're like sunshine in winter, snowflakes in sum- 
 mer, making existence worth while by exhilarating 
 surprises. Tell your sister that a glorious new girl 
 came on the train this morning; that reminds me of 
 her promise " 
 
 "There goes Sister, now," interrupted Horace. 
 "We can overtake her before she gets to the corner." 
 The boys quickened their steps and came up on either 
 side of Sarah Runyan. 
 
 "Oh! You startled me, Horace. But you're a 
 good boy, obeying instructions promptly. Where 
 did he find you, Ralph? I'm glad to see you," Sarah 
 said. 
 
 "Where do you suppose he found me? Staring up 
 at the Sem. windows, hoping for a glimpse of a 
 pretty face?" answered Ralph, laughing. 
 
 "What did you promise me last year?" Sarah 
 asked. 
 
 "To let the girls alone this year, provided you'd
 
 172 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 get Russell in love with one," stated Ralph, 
 promptly. 
 
 "Yes. Well, you must give me time to get ac- 
 quainted with the new girls and find one that has 
 the qualifications necessary to enlist his interest. It 
 will be quite a bit of fun; for Russell is a problem," 
 said Sarah, smiling. 
 
 "Have you seen Russ, yet?" asked Ralph. 
 
 "No; I've been busy getting located. Being such 
 an old girl, and having to teach some classes, too, 
 they wanted me to take charge of one floor. I 
 wouldn't assume the responsibility; so I'm not fully 
 settled yet. There's a very handsome young girl in 
 my room. I've not seen her; but, in all probability, 
 I'll be domiciled with her," explained Sarah. "Where 
 is your brother now?" 
 
 "Doing my work, as usual. I'll find my books all 
 laid out in order and my traps all put away. Keeps 
 me from missing grandmother," said Ralph. "But 
 blamed if I know what's got the matter with Russ 
 this summer. Acts like a fellow whose divinity had 
 refused to shine for him alone." 
 
 "But he has no divinity," laughed Sarah. 
 
 "Never had. There's the problem. Solve it," 
 urged Ralph. 
 
 "Give me time," demanded the young woman. 
 
 Horace had fallen behind with a student in his 
 own class and missed this enigmatical conversation. 
 
 Varena Farnam was a specimen of the perfectly 
 happy school-girl. Her goal had been reached 
 going off to college. She had a trunk full of pretty 
 clothes, and every article was in perfect condition. 
 Now she was revelling in the delight of unpacking in 
 a pretty little room, with windows that looked to- 
 ward the dormitory in which her brothers dwelt; of 
 unwrapping dainty little articles and consulting a 
 modest room mate about the prettiest place to hang 
 them, of arranging bric-a-brac and dressing the
 
 GRANDMOTHER 173 
 
 toilet-stand, of adjusting the study-table and beauti- 
 fying the dresser. Her room was in a quiet part of 
 the building with easy access to the music floor. One 
 window opened on a balcony that overlooked the 
 park. In the distance, a stream came gushing down 
 from the hills and wound its way among clumps of 
 trees that dotted its banks, back of the college build- 
 ings. Russell had, by special request, secured this 
 location for his sister, that she might enjoy the view 
 of the river and be able to exchange handkerchief 
 greetings with him. It had been his habit, spring 
 and fall, to take his books and study under a large 
 hickory-nut tree that stood alone near a small group 
 of saplings. 
 
 Varena, shaking the wrinkles from her dresses as 
 she took them from a packing-box, held them up 
 for her roommate's admiration. 
 
 "They told me I was to have a nice country girl 
 to room with this year. You don't dress and act 
 like a country girl," commented Mary Baker, seri- 
 ously. 
 
 "Where are you from?" asked Varena, naively. 
 
 "From Milwaukee, Wisconsin. You're a Ken- 
 tuckian, aren't you?" 
 
 "Don't I look like one?" 
 
 "Yes; but you don't talk as most of the Southern 
 girls do," replied Mary, honestly. 
 
 "You mean like the darkies talk?" asked Varena, 
 laughing merrily. 
 
 Mary remained silent under what she interpreted 
 as ridicule. 
 
 "I'm not laughing at you. I'm thinking how 
 pleased Grandmother will be to know that her train- 
 ing is recognized. Don't you know that the country 
 people are among the true aristocracy of Kentucky? 
 The same farm has been held under one family name 
 for generations. Finden, that's our place, goes back 
 to the first settlers; the land was deeded to them by
 
 174 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 the government," explained Varena, turning to face 
 her roommate, pride of birth speaking in every curve 
 of her youthful aplomb. 
 
 "I didn't mean to offend you," replied Mary. 
 We'll get along together, though I'm a bit dis- 
 appointed." 
 
 "I'm not offended, and it isn't kind to talk that 
 way at the beginning. We have to like each other if 
 we want to study together with any pleasure. I'm 
 sure I've been thinking you were very nice," stated 
 Varena. 
 
 "O you're nice enough. I like you immensely," 
 Mary hastened to say. "It wasn't that. It was a 
 fear that you wouldn't be studious, while I just have 
 to study. I borrowed the money to educate myself 
 for a teacher, and I've no time to waste on pretty 
 clothes." 
 
 "Will my clothes annoy you?" asked Varena. 
 
 "They distract my attention a little, but I think I 
 can get used to them," Mary replied soberly. 
 
 "Of course, you think I will waste my time. Don't 
 you?" said Varena, laughingly. 
 
 "Your dresses are lovely, and you are really very 
 pretty yourself; besides, you have a little telltale air 
 
 about you, that I . Well, I hope you will like 
 
 to study." Mary spoke with such droll earnestness 
 that Varena turned to the task of completing her un- 
 packing. 
 
 From the bottom of the box, she held up a large 
 picture of her grandmother and cried impulsively: 
 "There's the dearest, sweetest, best, and prettiest 
 creature that ever lived." She kissed it affectionately 
 and hung it where she would see it when she first 
 opened her eyes each morning. 
 
 "Now, Mary Baker, please tell me what there 
 is about me that tells tales, and I'll forgive you for 
 being disappointed in me," Varena urged. 
 
 "I think I am going to be agreeably disappointed,
 
 GRANDMOTHER 175 
 
 because you will study for love of your grand- 
 mother," said Mary, still serious. "You love her," 
 looking up at the picture, "and you love to be loved." 
 
 "Of course," responded Varena. "Did you ever 
 know any one who didn't enjoy being loved?" 
 
 "There are many who care more for glory, wealth, 
 and ambition, than affection of any kind," said Mary 
 morosely. 
 
 "We'll not class such vain, selfish people among 
 our friends," Varena declared, tumbling from a chair 
 on which she had been standing to hang a copy of 
 Murillo's "Madonna of Love." "But you have not 
 yet interpreted my telltale physiognomy." 
 
 "It's not your pretty face, nor your soft voice, 
 nor your graceful figure, but something in the whole 
 combination that shows you've been a favorite with 
 girls and boys, young and old, and you still expect 
 to be the favorite," Mary answered in all serious- 
 ness. 
 
 "And why not?" Varena laughed heartily. 
 
 "You'll have a larger world to conquer and more 
 applicants for the honor. In our little community 
 at home, I was considered quite a clever girl. I was 
 respected for my ambitions and learning; and, really, 
 the folks looked up to me in my plain clothes," Mary 
 almost smiled. 
 
 "And haven't they the same regard, since you 
 have added two years of boarding-school experience 
 to your knowledge?" questioned Varena. 
 
 "The difference is in me," Mary replied. "Two 
 years ago I thought I was quite a bright girl; but 
 I'm beginning to realize how little I know, and I 
 find so many way in advance of me." 
 
 "And I'll venture to assert that you have more 
 learning stored away in that modest head of yours 
 than half those who make a display of their wisdom. 
 I think we are fortunate in being placed together. 
 I need you, and vice versa. Come out on the bal-
 
 176 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 cony for a breath of fresh air; then we must get 
 ready for dinner." 
 
 They stepped through the window, and Varena's 
 eyes swept the vista, until she distinguished the large 
 hickory tree her brother had described to her. There 
 sat Russell with his books. A radiance of exquisite 
 pleasure played over her face. She drew a deep 
 breath of the fresh breeze and waved and waved. 
 
 "Is that your sweetheart?" asked Mary in sur- 
 prise, watching the exchange of signals. 
 
 "Sweetheart!" laughed Varena. "I love him a 
 thousand times better than any girl ever loved a 
 sweetheart. That's my brother; the dearest boy 
 that ever lived." 
 
 "Wait until he finds a sweetheart; then you won't 
 think he is such a good brother. I loved my brother 
 and trusted him, too, and he married and used up 
 my little earnings and has not found it convenient to 
 repay me." Mary indulged in a quaint little laugh. 
 
 "If any girl should come between me and my 
 
 brother Well, I wouldn't kill her, because I 
 
 don't want to spend eternity in Hades; but I don't 
 know. He has promised not to fall in love till I 
 meet my fate; so I guess I'll not worry." She waved 
 a good-bye and followed Mary into their room. 
 
 "Is that the dinner bell ? You lead the way, Mary, 
 and tell me what to do. You know I'm green in 
 boarding-school. Let me fix your hair a little. I'll 
 have to put this other comb of mine in. Hold still. 
 That looks very pretty. Did you know your collar 
 was soiled? Take this of mine. Hurry, let me fix it. 
 It is soft and fleecy about your throat see; that is 
 becoming to you. You mustn't wear those stiff col- 
 lars any more. Just let me tone you up a little, and 
 you'll be a beauty." 
 
 "That's the first compliment I've had in Danboro. 
 I'm ashamed of saying I was disappointed." 
 
 Mary looked so sorry Varena kissed her, saying:
 
 GRANDMOTHER 177 
 
 "You were afraid I would not study, that was all. 
 I'm not sorry you spoke truthfully; for I have 
 learned to know you. Honesty is a cardinal virtue. 
 Lead the way, please," said Varena. 
 
 In the hall they met Sarah Runyan, who greeted 
 them cordially: "Hello, Mary; you are back again. 
 How well you are looking! And this is your new 
 roommate, Miss Farnam. I know your brothers 
 quite well, and hope we shall be good friends. 
 
 "Thank you. I have heard Ralph speak of you 
 often," Varena answered. 
 
 "I've been a kind of an older sister to the boys, 
 Ralph especially. He will not need me now, with 
 you here," said Sarah. 
 
 "You have a brother coming this year, Ralph 
 said," Varena replied. 
 
 "Yes; Horace is here. Perhaps we can swop 
 sisterly courtesies. I would appreciate having you 
 help him a little. He's a big, bashful, overgrown 
 boy; and friends like you and Mary Baker can steer 
 him through the hard places," said Sarah. 
 
 "I'm sure he is the very friend that I shall need 
 myself," spoke Varena sincerely. 
 
 "Thank you. Are you going to room together?" 
 She turned to Mary Baker with her question. 
 
 "Of course! Why not?" Mary answered. 
 
 "I thought you might have had an experience sim- 
 ilar to mine, and agreed to disagree," and Sarah 
 smiled. 
 
 "You?" questioned Mary, in surprise. "Sarah 
 graduated two years ago, the first year that I was 
 here," she explained to Varena. 
 
 "Then last year I took a few extra branches, so 
 that I could be with my cousin, a pretty gay little 
 girl; and this year I'm here to get Horace started in 
 the right course. I will teach one or two classes in 
 French. Needn't hurry, that was the first bell," 
 added Sarah.
 
 178 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "And where are you located this year?" Mary 
 asked. 
 
 "The faculty requested me to take a room in the 
 south wing and superintend the third floor, and I 
 declined. Then they said I could share my old room; 
 but they had already put one of the new girls in 
 there. They were sure I would enjoy being with 
 her; for she was very beautiful and bright, and had 
 come highly recommended. She proved to be too 
 magnificent for me," said Sarah, laughing good- 
 naturedly. 
 
 "What was the trouble?" asked Mary, with a 
 guilty feeling in her own heart. "Perhaps you were 
 hasty in conclusions." 
 
 "I think not. She's a handsome girl, to tell the 
 truth, and rich as a Rothschild. She looks like a 
 Jewess, with her black hair and eyes; and, perhaps, 
 I angered her with my first question, for I asked if 
 her parents were Jews. She flashed her eyes on me, 
 and they sparkled for a moment; but she quietly re- 
 plied, 'No.' Then, when we began unpacking she 
 asked: 'How shall we divide the space?' 'What 
 space?' I questioned, and she said: 'In the dresser; 
 which drawer would you prefer, the upper or lower?' 
 I mumbled 'Makes no difference to me.' Then she 
 said: Til take the bottom one of the two large 
 drawers. Which of the two little ones do you want?' 
 I answered, 'I don't care.' So she began putting her 
 little trinkets in the left one. When she went to 
 hang up her dresses she demanded: 'Which end of 
 the closet would you rather have?' Of course I 
 laughed. 'Which you please.' She turned toward 
 me quickly and said: 'When you leave it to me to 
 decide politeness requires me to appropriate the 
 least desirable part,' and I returned: 'I don't see 
 why. If I cared to choose, I would take the part I 
 preferred,' and she answered back: 'Well, I'm a 
 lady,' I felt kind o' annoyed at that remark, but only
 
 GRANDMOTHER 179 
 
 said: 'Last year we had everything in common, and 
 even wore each other's clothes.' She looked at me 
 with those wide-open eyes again, and spoke more 
 mildly: 'You were generous, for your clothes are 
 very handsome; but there is a personality about my 
 things peculiar to myself alone. 1 can't make it 
 common property!' About that time I wanted to 
 sink through the floor," said Sarah, smiling. 
 
 "She seemed to be fair about everything," as- 
 serted Mary. 
 
 "Yes; she was fair and straightforward, and 
 thought she was doing the square thing. But when 
 she came to dividing the wall, and having her Titian 
 and Tintoretto and Carlo Dolci on one side and my 
 little photograph gallery pictures of nearly every 
 boy and girl in college on the other side, it struck 
 me as ridiculous. So I asserted myself, saying: 
 'Look here, Miss Harding, I don't believe we can be 
 very happy together. What do you think?' She 
 cooly replied: 'That depends altogether upon you. 
 I am satisfied. Our room is large, and we have a 
 fine view of the campus from the little balcony under 
 our window.' 
 
 "But I won't contend with any one, and I knew 
 she would have her own way in everything. Besides, 
 there's a congenial little girl in No. 16; so I've asked 
 to go over there. Miss Harding will sit at your 
 table, Miss Farnam, and she's a beauty. Looks like 
 she might be the daughter of an Italian king." Sarah 
 Runyan completed her narrative as the last bell an- 
 nounced dinner. 
 
 "How old is Miss Harding?" inquired Varena. 
 
 "I should think she was a year or two older than 
 you are," replied Sarah. "I think I'll have to intro- 
 duce your brothers to her. Horace says the boys 
 are wild about her already. Ralph, lucky as usual, 
 carried her valise from the train to the hack, and 
 says she's just the girl for Russell. Well, I hope
 
 i8o GRANDMOTHER 
 
 the dinner is good. I'm hungry. Come over to No. 
 1 6 sometimes." 
 
 The young women in the dining-hall were on the 
 qui vive with interest over the entrance of the new 
 potentialities of the junior class. It was recognized 
 at once that the new members would constitute cen- 
 tres around which everything of interest would cir- 
 culate during the year. Which would have the 
 stronger following, could not yet be conjectured. 
 One thing alone was evident as the fixed stars : each 
 in her separate sphere would form a nucleus around 
 which other orbs revolve; but no influence could 
 cause their personalities to blend or join forces. Like 
 Mars and Venus, one was a compelling energy, the 
 other a winning power; equally beautiful, in distin- 
 guishable types; equally brilliant in diversified forms; 
 equally lovable by different characters. 
 
 Without prearrangement, Eleanor Harding and 
 Varena Farnam were seated on opposite sides of the 
 table at the right of the teachers, who occupied the 
 end seats. There were fourteen juniors in the class. 
 Twelve were old girls, who regarded the addition to 
 their number with varying emotions. The generous 
 felt a pride in the new element; the selfish, envious; 
 the phlegmatic, curious. Eleanor and Varena each 
 recognized the strong personality of the other and 
 marked her for a rival. The former simulated an 
 indifference to her competitor; while the latter, care- 
 fully analyzed her opponent in every feature, article 
 of dress, coil of hair, poise of head, and contour as 
 a whole, with the result that she was satisfied with 
 herself and glad that she possessed the fair complex- 
 ion and golden hair of her grandmother. 
 
 Two days intervened before the momentous first 
 Sunday. This was the crucial event in the beginning 
 of the year, this first church service. The minister's 
 test, developed as a homiletic sermon or a practical 
 talk, was of minor importance. Even the music, or-
 
 GRANDMOTHER 181 
 
 dinarily an enjoyable part of the service, was ignored 
 in the interest of grading the charms and calibre of 
 the new students. The most perfect toilet that 
 money and taste could afford was to be seen; for 
 the dress worn on this occasion might have a more 
 vital influence on the future than the elaborate party 
 gown hereafter. 
 
 Standing before the mirror in her room, putting 
 the finishing touches to her toilet, Varena saw over 
 her shoulder that Mary Baker was sitting quietly 
 reading, and she asked : 
 
 "Aren't you going to dress for church? You will 
 be late." 
 
 "I am dressed," said Mary, naively. 
 
 "Have you no church dress?" Varena asked in 
 surprise. 
 
 "I have only this one suit. I can't afford another 
 this year. I'm living on borrowed money," and 
 Mary went on reading. 
 
 "Why, that's too bad," pondered Varena. 
 
 Mary misinterpreted her tone, and, feeling that 
 Varena was ashamed of her, reminded her that they 
 need not walk together. "You can walk with one 
 of the other girls, I'll not feel hurt." 
 
 "Mary," said Varena, "if you had a friend who 
 liked you awfully well and asked a favor of you, 
 would you grant it?" 
 
 "Sure, if I could," was the prompt answer. 
 
 "Well, I'm that friend, and I want you to wear 
 my blue silk dress," said Varena, smiling. 
 
 Mary clasped her hands in one moment of ecstasy, 
 then dropped them in her lap, and, laughing quaintly, 
 said: "I can't do that. I'd feel like a fish out of 
 water and would act as awkward ; but I do appreciate 
 your asking me to wear it." 
 
 "Then wear my brown Henrietta-cloth. That will 
 not feel fine, and it's just the color of your eyes. Do, 
 please ; try it on," Varena urged.
 
 1 82 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "What would your brothers think of seeing me in 
 your dress?" asked Mary, hesitating. 
 
 "They would not know it was mine. There are 
 so many suits alike," pleaded Varena. 
 
 Mary was sorely tempted, but still hesitated. 
 "The girls would recognize it when they see you 
 in it." 
 
 "But I shall not be seen in it. If it fits you nicely, 
 it is yours. I don't need it." 
 
 "No! no!" objected Mary. "I can't let you do 
 that." 
 
 "Grandmother would want me to divide with you. 
 She always made us divide with our friends. So if 
 you don't take it, I shall give it to the chambermaid. 
 If you don't hurry, we'll be late." 
 
 Mary let herself be dressed; and, as the suit was 
 adjusted to her slim figure, her face underwent a 
 curious change. The eyes grew brighter, the cheeks 
 took on a deeper tinge of red, the little dimples 
 deepened, and the lips softened. 
 
 "O you are lovely!" gushed Varena. "How 
 about a hat? I don't want to give you my brown 
 one. I need it with my brown silk; but your black 
 one won't do. Where is that little brown turban you 
 wear for common? Here's an extra brown plume 
 I can pin around it that's lovely. Don't push it so 
 far back. Let a little hair show on your forehead. 
 That's it. Hurry, there's the last bell. O, you're 
 a peach; but you haven't any gloves." 
 
 "Yes; I have some lisle thread gloves, and it's 
 fortunate for you that you have a small hand, so 
 you can't make me put on your gloves." She 
 laughed merrily, surprised at her own delight. 
 
 When they reached the hall where the girls were 
 collecting, preparatory to forming in line, she felt 
 very uncomfortable in her consciousness of their sur- 
 prise and comments. But on the street and in the 
 church, she was forced to feel gratified; for she could
 
 GRANDMOTHER 183 
 
 not fail to see that she had made a pleasant impres- 
 sion. Old acquaintances smiled more cordially, and 
 strangers appeared interested. 
 
 It is the perfect dressing that brings out the bril- 
 liance of the diamond; it is the proper setting that 
 enhances the value of the gem. It is the exception 
 when the master mind and noble soul are found in 
 modest rags. The gem may be there, enjoying the 
 comforting knowledge of its own existence, but lost 
 to the world; unless, by chance or purpose, it is dug 
 out and clothed in the polish of advanced civilization. 
 By a subconscious knowledge of human nature, Va- 
 rena Farnam had discovered a peari, and, with a 
 little unselfishness, she had taken it from its clumsy 
 shell and placed it in a frame where its beauty would 
 be appreciated. She was so occupied in watching 
 Mary in her bashfulness, and enjoying the impres- 
 sion that she was making on the students, that she 
 was wholly unconscious of the sensation that her 
 own appearance had produced, and happily ignor- 
 ant of the malevolent glances of another aspirant 
 for popularity. 
 
 Temperament was in evidence. In the flashing 
 eyes and imperial brow of Eleanor Harding, an iras- 
 cible, choleric temperament indicated unexplored 
 regions of adventures and dangers dear to the stu- 
 dent's heart. The ardent, sanguine temperament 
 of Varena Farnam held not such dazzling tempta- 
 tions, but being the sister of two popular boys, 
 made the scales balance evenly; and opinion was di- 
 vided as to which should rank highest. Should the 
 brunette or blonde beauty be the dulcinea for whom 
 the prizes should be won the goal attained? 
 
 As months passed and the humanities were assidu- 
 ously conned, religious duties and social functions 
 enjoyed, the students of both seminary and college 
 slowly awoke to the fact that they were disappointed 
 in the two stars that had promised a season of ex-
 
 1 84 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 cltement. Instead of igneous meteors, they were 
 simply luminous. Their brilliancy caused no con- 
 flagration of rivalry; for each shone in a different 
 sphere. Eleanor cared very little for the girls, and 
 the boys held only a small place in Varena's 
 thoughts. Consequently their attitude toward each 
 other was cordial, and continued so throughout the 
 first year. 
 
 They often went to the parlor together to meet 
 the brothers, when they called on the regular re- 
 ception evenings. Horace Runyan, calling on his 
 sister at the same time, brought the six into very cor- 
 dial acquaintance. Varena was unaware of a 
 scheme between Sarah and Ralph, to bring Russell 
 under the infatuating influence of Eleanor's charms. 
 She had been a little annoyed at their forcing a priv- 
 ate tete-a-tete on them occasionally; but, as Eleanor 
 did not acquiesce with interest, she passed the matter 
 over lightly, and unselfishly lent herself to the task 
 of entertaining and developing Horace. 
 
 The students that remained in Danboro during 
 the spring vacation clubbed together and entertained 
 themselves with a fancy dress party. The parlors and 
 dining-hall of the seminary were fantastically decora- 
 ted, and many designs out of the ordinary were de- 
 Veloped. With some secrecy, the various costumes 
 were conjured; and, on the eventful night there 
 appeared nymphs, oreads, ghosts, gods and god- 
 desses. Well-known characters, from Shakespeare 
 to Uncle Tom, were personated. Sarah Runyan 
 dressed as a Japanese princess and her roommate as 
 blind Nidia with a basket of flowers. Eleanor Hard- 
 ing represented the Queen of Sheba. Her gown was 
 of filmy white, the whole figure draped in a gorgeous 
 robe embroidered in gold; on her head was a crown 
 of pearls, and she carried gifts of perfume and 
 spices. Her rival in picturesque interest was Mary 
 Baker t whom Yarena had made most exquisite as
 
 GRANDMOTHER 185 
 
 Aphrodite. They had transformed a divan into a 
 large sea shell, and, cuddling down in her soft, fluffy 
 gown, under a halo of her own natural modesty, 
 Mary was ravishingly bewitching. In valuation of 
 the adage, "Beauty unadorned, adorned the most," 
 Varena appeared in the quaint, prim costume of Pris- 
 cilla. Through the scheming of Sarah and Ralph, 
 the girls were supplemented by Russell coming as 
 King Solomon, Horace Runyan as John Alden, and 
 Ralph himself as Jupiter. The professor of music, 
 assisting the chaperon of the evening, came as Miles 
 Standish. Ambitious to sustain their parts credit- 
 ably, they had studied the characters, hunted up leg- 
 ends, committed poetry, and prepared special music. 
 
 "Am I all right?" said Horace Runyan, aside to 
 his sister. 
 
 "Of course you are, if you will hide your self- 
 consciousness," she answered. 
 
 "I feel so stiff," said the boy. 
 
 "You don't look it. Forget yourself and go in 
 for a jolly good time. Russell and Eleanor make 
 a royal pair, don't they?" commented Sarah. 
 
 "What made the music-teacher dress as Miles 
 Standish? He'll be wanting to talk to Priscilla," 
 Horace fretted. 
 
 "If Professor doesn't lose his heart to Mary 
 Baker to-night, he never will," said Varena, coming 
 near. "Isn't she lovely?" 
 
 "I hope he will," Sarah replied. "Horace is 
 worrying for fear he'll monopolize you, and John 
 Alden will be neglected." 
 
 "But Priscilla preferred John Alden," said Va- 
 rena, smiling. 
 
 "Come then, Priscilla, and sing him a song, 
 please," urged Horace, blushing. 
 
 "If you wish a thing to be well done, you must 
 do it yourself, John," Varena quoted. 
 
 "I can't sing," replied Horace, embarrassed.
 
 1 86 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "Why don't you reply, 'modest and sweet, the 
 very type of Priscilla,' " laughed Sarah. 
 
 "You know I can't quote poetry, Sister," the 
 bashful boy answered. 
 
 "Never mind, 'Horace. The people are having 
 too good a time to listen to me sing," Varena sug- 
 gested. 
 
 "Just an old folk-song," urged Horace, not know- 
 ing what more to say. 
 
 "You don't know a folk-song from any other," 
 teased his sister. 
 
 "A folk-song is a pretty melody that most any 
 one can sing, with a few common chords that any 
 one can play," returned Horace. 
 
 "Prove it," laughed Sarah. "Give us an illustra- 
 tion." 
 
 The boy turned to the piano, and, striking some 
 strong chords, sang: " 'We won't go home till 
 morning,' " his rich bass voice filling the room reso- 
 nantly. 
 
 "I'm proud of you, boy. That melody was sung 
 before the first crusade to 'the Holy Land. To-day, 
 it's sung in England to the words, 'He's a Jolly Good 
 Fellow,' " said Sarah. 
 
 "We'll practise the American version to-night," 
 laughed Ralph. 
 
 "Classic music," said the Professor, leaving the 
 divan where Aphrodite was ensconced, and, joining 
 the group at the piano, "embraces folk-song and 
 vastly more. That little melody is in Beethoven's 
 'battle of Vittorai.' I am very fond of classic 
 music." 
 
 "We can't rightly appreciate classic music until 
 the faculties of the mind and ear have been trained 
 to grasp the musical idea," observed Russell. 
 
 "We enjoy folk-song with the first sound of grand- 
 mother's voice," said Varena, smiling. 
 
 "But everybody, surely, can enjoy the marvellous
 
 GRANDMOTHER 187 
 
 productions of a virtuoso like Rubenstein?" Sarah 
 Runyan stated. 
 
 "But the degree of enjoyment is measured by pre- 
 vious cultivation and familiarity," insisted Russell. 
 
 "The value of a piece of music is evinced by its 
 permanence." asserted Professor Clayton. 
 
 "Then that old piece 'The Shepherd Boy is valu- 
 able. No one ever tires of hearing it," Varena sug- 
 gested. "Play it, Russell, please." 
 
 "Grieg wrote one 'Shepherd Boy' and MacDowel 
 another," began the music-teacher. 
 
 "But this old one is the sweetest of all, Varena 
 insisted, "and it isn't classic. Is it?" 
 
 "I'm burdened with too much royalty. King bolp- 
 mon never played a musical instrument regaled in 
 this style of dress," Russell announced. 
 
 "Let me hold your robe, please," suggested Elea- 
 nor Harding, coming forward. 
 
 When Russell took the seat before the piano Pro- 
 fessor Clayton turned to seek Mary Baker, and 
 scowled at Ralph, who was bringing the blushes to 
 her cheeks by his pretty compliments. Soon, the 
 peculiar magnetism of the young man's music thrilled 
 the listeners; and, when the last little trill and run 
 was lost in the distance, the joy and tender ecstasy 
 of the shepherd's soul throbbed in their hearts. 
 
 "How can an ignorant fellow like me decide be- 
 tween classic and common music?" Horace asked. 
 "Now, I like that kind of music, and you said it 
 wasn't classic." . ,, 
 
 "Don't confound folk-song with common music, 
 said Eleanor Harding. "Common music includes 
 popular sentimental pieces that are worn out in one 
 season and forgotten the next." 
 
 "Folk-song has existed since 'the morning stars 
 sang together at the dawn of creation,' ' Varena 
 added. 
 
 "Classic music contains many folk-songs, began
 
 i88 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 Professor Clayton. "Bach, in his 'St. Matthew's 
 Passion,' took the love song of Hassler, 'My Spirit 
 Is Distracted,' and enriched it with noble counter- 
 point." 
 
 "Didn't we sing it in church last Sunday?" asked 
 Eleanor. " 'O Sacred Head Now Wounded.' That 
 is Bach, isn't it?" 
 
 The Professor assented, adding: "And Beetho- 
 ven has a folk-song in his 'Seventh Symphony.' An- 
 tonin Dvorak has carried Bohemian music over the 
 world. Liszt has taken the songs of the Gypsies and 
 given them in his 'Rhapsodies' in the highest, most 
 difficult form. Brahms has enriched Hungarian 
 folk-song with exquisite harmony. Mendelssohn in 
 his 'Scotch Symphony,' in the lilting scherzo, has 
 created a Scottish theme that is a joy to every Scotch- 
 man; for it is thoroughly Gaellic in spirit. And Mo- 
 zart in his 'Magic Flute' " He stopped, em- 
 barrassed; for his audience had decreased until only 
 the sea-shell, with its listening occupant, remained. 
 Smiling down on Aphrodite, he added: "Floated 
 away; could the wave start your bark, would you, 
 too, leave me?" 
 
 "Indeed, I was deeply interested in all you were 
 saying," said Mary, blushing. "I was going to ask 
 you if there's any American classic?" 
 
 "The nation is too young yet," answered Pro- 
 fessor Clayton. "Some day, Foster's 'Old Kentucky 
 Home,' and Bullard's 'Stein Song,' and several of 
 Nevin's pieces, dressed by the artist, may become 
 classic." 
 
 "Were you talking about 'Old Kentucky Home,' 
 Professor?" asked Ralph, bringing a crowd back to 
 the parlor. "Call Russell, and let's all sing before 
 supper is ready." 
 
 Russell sat down at the piano and filled the room 
 with a volume of improvised variations; while the
 
 GRANDMOTHER 189 
 
 company, indoors and out, sang the beloved old 
 song with enthusiasm. 
 
 Supper being announced, the little cliques and co- 
 teries that were grouped in different parts of the 
 room separated and formed into couples to march 
 to the dining-hall. As Varena turned to her partner, 
 she suffered with a hurting in her heart and a chok- 
 ing in her throat. She was not envious because Rus- 
 sell, as King Solomon, and Eleanor, as Queen of 
 Sheba, led the procession; but hurt, humiliated, on 
 discovering that she was a marionette in the hands of 
 her friends. It was clear, now, that Ralph assisted 
 by his coadjutor, had planned to give her to Horace 
 as John Alden, and Eleanor to Russell, with the ulti- 
 mate end of a consummated affaire d'amour. It 
 was some time before she could bring herself to be 
 courteous to the two partners assigned to her. 
 
 Ralph carried off Mary Baker to sit at the table 
 near his brother and Eleanor. 
 
 Professor Clayton endeavored to contest the right 
 of John Alden to Priscilla. Placing her chair be- 
 tween them, he playfully quoted: ''Any woman 
 in England might be happy and proud to be called 
 the wife of Miles Standish.' ' 
 
 With an effort at cheerfulness, Varena replied: 
 " 'Surely, a woman's affection is not a thing to be 
 asked for and had for only the asking.' ' 
 
 "When it comes to quoting poetry, I'm not in it," 
 said Horace. "The poetry of living is a good square 
 meal, as this is going to be," and he assiduously 
 served their plates with every article within his 
 reach. 
 
 "If you will visit the boys at Finden, Grand- 
 mother will treat you to the 'poetry of living,' as you 
 call good things to eat," Varena suggested. 
 
 "I vouch for that," Professor Clayton added. 
 
 "When were you there?" asked Horace.
 
 190 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "Last summer, in the interest of the school," an- 
 swered the Professor, indifferently. He was in- 
 tently watching Ralph and Mary Baker. 
 
 Following his gaze, Varena smiled significantly 
 and quoted: " 'When one is truly in love, he not 
 only says it but shows it.' ' 
 
 Professor Clayton dropped his eyes to his plate 
 and blushed crimson. 
 
 Varena continued: 
 
 " 'There are moments in life when the heart is so 
 
 full of emotion, 
 That if by chance it be broken, or into its depths 
 
 like a pebble 
 
 Drops some careless word, it overflows and its secret, 
 Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered 
 
 together.' ' 
 f 
 
 Lifting his empty glass to call the attention of the 
 servant, Horace quoted: "'Water, water every- 
 where, and not a drop to drink.' But that's not 
 from 'Miles Standish,' is it? 'Life is real, life is 
 earnest,' that's Longfellow, anyway. 
 
 The three laughed heartily, and the tension, which 
 had been strained, was relieved, and a sympathetic 
 understanding formed between Varena and her 
 teacher. By mutual consent, Mary Baker became 
 the subject of conversation during the remainder of 
 the meal, until Professor Clayton abruptly asked: 
 
 "Why is it, Miss Varena, that you are so wholly 
 indifferent to the young men? We rarely find a 
 pupil of your age and attraction who is not ambitious 
 and proud of the admiration of the college stu- 
 dents." 
 
 "Indeed, I should feel gratified to know that I 
 was appreciated by the boys. Further than that, I 
 do not care ; for my brother and I are going to travel,
 
 GRANDMOTHER 191 
 
 to study, and see the world together. It is the deep- 
 est desire of my soul. I hope no alien influence will 
 come to mar our future. I have visions of a life 
 full of blessedness and peace. When, where, how? 
 I can not penetrate the maze." 
 
 "Does your brother entertain the same views 
 about your future?" the Professor inquired kindly. 
 
 "I'm sure he feels as I do, though we do not talk 
 about it," said Varena, softly. 
 
 "You are young, my little girl." The Professor 
 looked into her serious eyes. "When the right one 
 storms the citadel, you will forget all about your 
 brother and your travels. It may be better for your 
 peace of mind to force yourself to think that he, too, 
 may have all his plans changed by some dark beauty. 
 You may be mistaken in your mission. You have 
 the charming characteristics of the home-maker, the 
 lovableness of the wife and mother. Listen to the 
 advice of your friend and come down from your 
 celestial air-castles." 
 
 Smiling, but serious, Varena replied with another 
 quotation from "Miles Standish." 
 
 " 'This is not right, is not just, is not true to the 
 best that is in you; 
 
 For I know and esteem you, and feel that your na- 
 ture is noble, 
 
 Lifting mine up to a higher, a more ethereal level. 
 
 Therefore I value your friendship, and feel it per- 
 haps and more keenly 
 
 If you say aught that implies I am only as one 
 among many, 
 
 If you make use of those common and complimentary 
 phrases 
 
 Most men think so fine, in dealing and speaking 
 with women, 
 
 But which women reject as insipid, if not as insult- 
 ing.'
 
 192 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "The last line is too strong, Professor, and only 
 partially applicable to you. Indeed, I appreciate 
 your advice; but you do not understand." 
 
 Seated between Russell and Ralph Farnam, with 
 Mary Baker and Sarah Runyan and her partner vis- 
 a-vis, Eleanor Harding was in the seventh heaven 
 of delight. Her equivocal relations with the broth- 
 ers added zest and poignancy to the situation. Rus- 
 sell was polite and serious; Ralph, attentive and enig- 
 matical; Mary interested, and Sarah enthusiastic; 
 and, altogether, they hung on her words and looks 
 for entertainment and pleasure. The atmosphere 
 was pregnant with fellow feeling; sentiment, con- 
 tagious; propinquity, dangerous. The subjects of 
 conversation were diversified, but always drifted back 
 to music, because that was the theme most pleasing 
 to Russell. 
 
 "That was a pretty thought of Sister's," said 
 Ralph, "that 'music originated when "the star's sang 
 together at the dawn of creation".' ' 
 
 "It was re-echoed through the spheres, and caught 
 by the elements of earth. The birds took it up, and 
 the winds formed aeolian harps among the trees," 
 said Eleanor. 
 
 "The katydids and bumblebees learned the tune 
 and the frogs croaked their bass solos," Ralph 
 added. 
 
 "The brooks caught the magic of the melody as 
 they kissed the pretty pebbles along the bank," con- 
 tinued Eleanor. 
 
 "Music is the offspring of love," Russell retorted. 
 Eleanor blushed, and Ralph pressed her hand under 
 the table. 
 
 "Written music," Russell resumed "originated in 
 the desire to preserve the melody of the hymns that 
 were sung by the early Christians. In the union of 
 the soul with the Christ, the song of thanksgiving 
 was begotten in the heart."
 
 GRANDMOTHER 193 
 
 "But there was an effort made to copy and pre- 
 serve it before the Christian era. Wasn't there?" 
 Sarah asked. 
 
 "Perhaps," assented Russell; "though there's no 
 record made of Deborah and Barak's 'Song of Tri- 
 umph,' or Miriam's 'Rejoicing over the Destruction 
 of Pharaoh and His Host,' or the 'Funeral Dirge 
 Over the Death of Samson,' or the 'Requim for Saul 
 and Jonathan.' Music seems to be co-existent with 
 the Creator." 
 
 "You're familiar with musical history," said 
 Sarah. "But I don't think we're indebted to sacred 
 love for all our good music. The divinity enthroned 
 in the heart of the composer, inspired many a master- 
 piece. If Professor Clayton doesn't produce a new 
 song, after hovering over the goddess of love to- 
 night, he lacks the soul of the artist." 
 
 Mary Baker blushed, and Ralph added: "One 
 has to be both poet and musician to do justice to 
 Aphrodite." 
 
 "The Greeks have a mythological origin for 
 music," said Mary. "The legend tells of the god, 
 Pan, loving a nymph, who fled from his ardent 
 demonstrations; and, being stopped by a stream of 
 water, she prayed to be transformed into the reeds 
 that grow along the bank. Pan, pursuing, caught 
 the reed in his arms, and, breathing on them in his 
 embrace, they gave forth plaintive tones, and music 
 has ever since been associated with Pan's pipes." 
 
 "Hereafter," said Ralph, "when I'm hungry for 
 music, I'll follow the example set by the little god 
 of shepherds. Perhaps he's the boy of your piece, 
 Russ." 
 
 "I've heard the 'wisdom of Solomon' and the 
 mythology of the Greeks; but 'the half has not been 
 told,' " said the Queen of Sheba, smiling; "for the 
 Japanese Princess has yet to account for the queer 
 music in the land of the Mikado."
 
 194 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "They have a legend that makes a deity the author 
 of music," began Sarah. "Amaterasu Ohongami 
 was a beautiful creature, who, one morning, issued 
 from the eye of her father, Izanagi, while he was 
 bathing in the sea. She was the most beautiful be- 
 ing living; but, one day, some young gods twitted 
 her because she had wrapped garlands of seaweed 
 about her lovely body, and she shut herself up in 
 a gloomy cavern. Eight million gods " 
 
 "No; nine million," interrupted Ralph. 
 
 "Eight million," continued Sarah. "Just eight 
 million gods and goddesses implored the beautiful 
 creature to come out. She resisted every appeal un- 
 til Futadama and Udsume " 
 
 "Who?" Ralph interrupted, laughingly. 
 
 "Udsume and Futadama," repeated Sarah, "hit 
 on a novel scheme. One built a huge mirror and 
 placed it before the cave. The other bent to the 
 ground the branches of a tree, and strung thongs 
 of seaweed from limb to trunk. From these, he 
 plucked strange sounds such as had never been heard 
 before. The lovely Amaterasu came in wonderment 
 to the mouth of the cave to hear more clearly the 
 marvellous sounds; but, when she saw her own image 
 in the mirror, she flew into a passion of rage, that 
 any one should be as beautiful as she, and ran out 
 of the cavern. The successful gods rolled huge 
 bowlders to the mouth of the cave and pacified the 
 angry beauty by teaching her to pluck the thongs of 
 the new harp." 
 
 "We have almost finished our supper during your 
 narrative," said Mary Baker. 
 
 "One of you should entertain me now for a few 
 minutes," Sarah replied. 
 
 "An interesting characteristic of the peculiar mu- 
 sic of the Japanese is the manner in which they con- 
 vey to each other the actualities of life," began Rus- 
 sell. "It is not based upon the combination of
 
 GRANDMOTHER 195 
 
 sounds, but upon the relative positions of symbols 
 and signs as they appear in the notation of music. 
 It is an intricate study. Americans are as unable 
 to grasp it as Japanese are loath to learn from us. 
 I have studied the subject, thinking I may some day 
 be in a position to try to teach music to the natives." 
 
 "Don't wait for me," said Sarah. "The others 
 have finished and are getting ready for the games. 
 Here comes Professor Clayton. I'll excuse you, 
 Mary; but I must finish my cream and cake." 
 
 "Priscilla prefers John Alden, and I have come 
 to find a partner for the promenade, Miss Mary," 
 said the Professor, offering his arm to Mary. 
 
 "Excuse me?" she asked of Ralph, and, with 
 quickening pulse, accompanied her friend to the ver- 
 anda, where the music was in full blast. 
 
 "I'm sorry Professor Clayton has put you off on 
 me, Miss Varena; for I'm poor company," said 
 Horace. 
 
 "I asked him to go where his inclinations were 
 drawing," Varena replied, "and if you desire, I'll 
 excuse you." 
 
 "No, no," stammered Horace. "The fact of the 
 business is, I feel so uncomfortable in these prim 
 clothes and slippers that I can't act decent. If Sister 
 had let me wear my baseball suit, or played Buffalo 
 Bill, I would have been in my natural element." 
 
 "You are as interesting as any one," encouraged 
 Varena. "A good listener is more desirable than a 
 tame talker, or even a good conversationalist who 
 monopolizes." 
 
 "Well, I can listen," said Horace, relieved that 
 he was not considered wholly a failure. 
 
 The grounds were lighted with Japanese lanterns, 
 and in cozy corners on the veranda were tables for 
 games. The moon was sufficiently bright to permit 
 of the more active sports of quoits and croquet. 
 Horace and Varena won several games and resigned
 
 196 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 their mallets to others, as Professor Clayton and 
 Mary Baker approached them. 
 
 "What have you done with Venus, Aphrodite?" 
 asked Varena. 
 
 "He has forsaken me for a princess," was the 
 reply. 
 
 "And Venus has stooped to console a poor mor- 
 tal," added Professor Clayton. 
 
 "We haven't seen Solomon and his queen since we 
 came outside," said Horace. "Nor Sister and 
 Ralph; the four are always together." 
 
 "I'd like to find them," said Varena, succinctly. 
 
 "Shall we help you?" the Professor asked. 
 
 "Thank you. We might make the promenade en- 
 tirely around the building, you going one way and 
 we the other," Varena suggested. 
 
 "And trill when they're found," added Mary. 
 
 They separated and followed the walks in and 
 out through the shrubbery and around the grounds, 
 each listening in vain for the other to trill. 
 
 " 'This is the crisis of his fate.' If she does not 
 make an impression to-night, we may as well give it 
 up," said Ralph to Sarah. 
 
 "I've thrown them together under the most favor- 
 able allurements; but there is no affinity. She is 
 not his type," Sarah replied. 
 
 "You're the best coadjutor I could have had. 
 And it beats me," said Ralph. "She's beautiful." 
 
 "Yes," assented Sarah. 
 
 "She's smart," Ralph continued. 
 
 "Yes," agreed Sarah. 
 
 "She's an excellent musician and a sweet singer," 
 added Ralph. 
 
 "His ears are full of wax. She is not the siren 
 whose songs he hears," Sarah announced. 
 
 "Seems to me that she has all the qualifications 
 that a man like Russ would demand," urged Ralph.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 197 
 
 "He disapproves of a coquette," began Sarah. 
 
 "Not the kind she is," Ralph interrupted. "She 
 makes men adore her and keeps them at arm's 
 length. That ought to satisfy Russ. He has a no- 
 tion that if a girl lets one boy kiss her, she will let 
 a dozen. I don't agree with him. Anyway, there 
 is no harm in a friendly kiss when a little mouth is 
 bewitchingly sweet and convenient. Better than 
 strawberries and cream." 
 
 Sarah laughed. She was an old girl, who had 
 been the confidant of several brothers and their 
 chums, and knew human nature in its purity and also 
 in its waywardness. She had known Ralph and Rus- 
 sell for four years, and had helped Ralph in many 
 little ways, rescuing him from several indiscretions. 
 
 "I have made a mistake in my diagnosis if Elea- 
 nor is in love with Russell; because those apparently 
 hard, cold girls, who enjoy making others suffer, 
 have the least control over themselves when under 
 the influence of the grande passion. Has it occurred 
 to you that we might make Russell the victim of an 
 unreciprocated attachment?" Sarah asked. 
 
 "She cares for him. I know she does," Ralph de- 
 clared. "She follows me around to get to talk about 
 him. Why, I've seen her eyes sparkle and her 
 cheeks flush when I was telling some interesting 
 things about our home, our dog, and Grandmother. 
 She slips notes to me, and asks me to meet her so 
 she can talk about Flash and Russell. She thinks 
 Flash is Russell's dog." 
 
 "I think you are mistaken. I believe Mary Baker 
 would please Russell better. Why do you persist 
 that it must be Eleanor?" argued Sarah. 
 
 "You don't know Russ, Miss Sarah. He's deep 
 and slow; besides, I like Eleanor tremendously and 
 want her for a sister-in-law. Then I'd get to kiss 
 her. It would be jolly good fun to tease her till
 
 i 9 8 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 those black eyes flashed fire, and then to kiss her 
 into good humor," Ralph laughed ardently. 
 
 "Why don't you marry her yourself?" demanded 
 Sarah. 
 
 "Me!" He smiled confusedly. "She would 
 marry me about as soon as you would." 
 
 "If I were as young as she is, and you were as de- 
 voted to me as you are to her, I should not find it 
 difficult to consider such a contingency favorably. 
 You are handsomer than your brother; you are as 
 good in your studies, though not so thorough a musi- 
 cian. Still, you are as fine a specimen of the Ken- 
 tucky gentleman." 
 
 Donner und blitzen! but I feel complimented to 
 hear all that from a woman who is chary of pretty 
 speeches." 
 
 "But you have one serious fault," added Sarah. 
 
 "Now, you spoil it all. What is it?" 
 
 "You are too much of a 'lady's man.' You will 
 always be a little bit in love with every pretty woman, 
 consciously or unconsciously 'playing with the affec- 
 tions of chaste femininity,' " averred Sarah. 
 
 "Thank you. Shall we follow the royal couple?" 
 
 "We promised to come at once. They doubtless 
 think we've forgotten them. How far is it?" 
 
 "Not far across; but we must go around under 
 the hill, or the crowd will see us and maybe follow 
 us," stated Ralph. 
 
 "I know it was more from habit than any precon- 
 ceived plan that made Russell suggest visiting his big 
 tree. We have not been fair in tarrying so long," 
 said Sarah. 
 
 They skirted the grove and walked up by the 
 stream of water, keeping close under the bank until 
 they could see Russell and Eleanor. 
 
 Russell had spread his royal robe on the ground 
 for a throne for Eleanor, and, with two long sticks 
 they called sceptres, they murdered pebbles by flip-
 
 GRANDMOTHER 199 
 
 ping them into the waters, and reviewed historical 
 incidents of cruel sovereigns and rebellious subjects. 
 When Eleanor caught sight of the delinquents, she 
 ran to meet them. 
 
 With flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, she cried: 
 "I thought you would never get here. Where have 
 you been?" 
 
 Very seriously, Sarah replied: "Ralph has been 
 proposing to me. Under those circumstances you 
 could not expect me to hurry." 
 
 "I don't believe it," Eleanor asserted impulsively. 
 Then seeing Ralph's embarrassment, she drew her- 
 self up haughtily and asked: "Is it true?" 
 
 "You're not very cordial in your congratulations," 
 interposed Sarah, enjoying the situation immensely. 
 "The truth is, he did not think I would be willing 
 to marry him, and I told him that, barring certain 
 conditions, I would." 
 
 With a bitter, insulting tone, Eleanor began: 
 "You are- " 
 
 Sarah wisely interrupted: "We were just wishing 
 that matters were progressing with another couple. 
 Ralph says the next thing he most desires, is to have 
 you for a sister-in-law." 
 
 The surprise in Eleanor's face was no revelation 
 to Sarah, though Ralph was bewildered. Eleanor 
 essayed to speak, caught her breath, compressed her 
 lips, and stood a moment defiant. 
 
 "Everything is perfectly lovely with us; but we're 
 not going to have it talked about by the whole 
 school," she said, and, leaving them, she ran back to 
 her place by the side of Russell, who seemed ab- 
 sorbed in counting the pebbles in the brook. 
 
 "What did you mean, Miss Sarah?" asked Ralph. 
 
 "To open your eyes," replied Sarah. "Sit down 
 a minute. The joke is too good to be true." 
 
 "I don't see the joke. She says it is all right with 
 her and Russ," Ralph grumbled,
 
 200 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "Aren't you glad?" said Sarah, gurgling with 
 suppressed merriment. 
 
 "What's the matter with you?" insisted Ralph. 
 
 "Aren't you glad? Answer," Sarah persisted. 
 
 "Blamed if I am. Russ is too cold-hearted to ap- 
 preciate her," acknowledged Ralph. 
 
 "Why didn't you think of that sooner?" asked 
 Sarah, laughing. 
 
 "Why were you so slow in deciding that Russell 
 couldn't appreciate Eleanor? I suggested giving 
 him Mary Baker," continued Sarah. 
 
 "You're to blame. Yes, you are to blame !" Ralph 
 stared at his companion. 
 
 "Me? Well! Sit down a minute and let us rea- 
 son it out. They are having a cozy time. See how 
 she cuddles over him," continued Sarah, mischiev- 
 ously. 
 
 "If you don't stop laughing I'll be tempted to do 
 something desperate. What did you mean by mak- 
 ing her think we were engaged? You know you 
 wouldn't marry me." Ralph threw himself on the 
 ground and covered his chagrin by pitching stones 
 into the river. "You wouldn't be bothered with me 
 or any other 'lady's man.' ' 
 
 "I didn't really prevaricate, you know. I just 
 twisted our conversation around a little and used it 
 to surprise her secret," Sarah defended, smiling. 
 
 "That wasn't necessary; for Russ will tell me," 
 Ralph objected. 
 
 "Poor Russell; he will remain in ignorance while 
 I see I must enlighten you, unsophisticated boy that 
 you are." Again Sarah choked down her mirth; for 
 she knew Eleanor was watching them. 
 
 "Proceed," urged Ralph, "and be serious for ten 
 minutes." 
 
 "Didn't you notice how hurt and then how angry 
 she was?"
 
 GRANDMOTHER 201 
 
 "No. I was so surprised at what you said that 
 I didn't notice anything," acknowledged Ralph. 
 
 "In all seriousness, Ralph, when Eleanor con- 
 cluded that you were committed to me, she deter- 
 mined, in an instant, that I should think that she 
 had won Russell. And she will now try to win him, 
 though she has never tried before. If you really 
 wish her to succeed, leave her unenlightened as to 
 the true situation with us. If you don't want to give 
 her Russell, go marry her yourself. You can do it,'* 
 Sarah concluded. 
 
 Ralph kept on throwing stones into the river. 
 
 "Think it over seriously and don't act hastily," 
 advised Sarah. 
 
 "It might be a good plan to leave it as it is now, 
 until the end of this year, anyway. I will stifle 
 this fool hurting in my inwards and watch develop- 
 ments. Shall we?" and he extended his hand to 
 assist her to her feet. 
 
 "You will not be annoyed if she lets it get out 
 that your fiancee is that old Sarah Runyan?" Sarah 
 asked, seriously. 
 
 "No affectation of modesty, dear old girl. You 
 know there's not a man in Danboro that wouldn't 
 be proud of the honor," asserted Ralph. 
 
 "If you were not among the wealthy yourself, you 
 might get the appellation 'fortune-hunter,' " said 
 Sarah, laughing. 
 
 "You're worth more than your money, Miss 
 Sarah; for you're the best friend a fellow ever had. 
 And if you're willing, we will have quite a bit of 
 fun before June. And well, you're the only girl 
 I'd be engaged to and not " Ralph hesitated. 
 
 "Kiss her," finished Sarah. "I'll kiss you when 
 you're married. And, by the way, I must take Hor- 
 ace into our secret and prevent his writing home. 
 They sent me here to look after him; it would be
 
 202 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 ridiculous to reverse matters and have him taking 
 care of me." 
 
 Russell rose to greet them and offered his seat 
 on the robe beside Eleanor to Sarah, and instinct- 
 ively glanced up at the seminary. He pulled a little 
 white handkerchief from his pocket and stealthily 
 waved at a figure on the balcony, embarrassed by 
 an unexplainable consciousness of concealment. 
 
 Ralph attributed his confusion to the interruption 
 of their tete-a-tete, and suggested returning to the 
 seminary. Russell threw the robe over his shoulder 
 and would have walked with Sarah; but Eleanor 
 haughtily intercepted and marched him ahead with 
 her; the others quietly followed. 
 
 They were not the only ones who had strayed be- 
 yond the limits during the evening; so their absence 
 and advent attracted little comment. 
 
 Throughout the remainder of the year, Eleanor 
 continued her devotion to Russell in an artful, clever 
 manner. She decided to do some extra work in 
 Latin, and joined a class of three whom Russell was 
 tutoring. This gave her frequent occasions for quiet 
 study and conversation with her conscientious, mat- 
 ter-of-fact teacher. At the same time she had ample 
 opportunities to cultivate friends among the students, 
 and securing for herself the honor of being the most 
 popular girl in school. Ralph, she regarded with 
 disfavor and Sarah Runyan with the utmost con- 
 tempt. Yet she was not happy. 
 
 Eleanor Harding had, by inheritance, two dis- 
 tinct natures, which were constantly at war in her 
 soul. An ambition to be transcendently beautiful, 
 inexpressibly gifted, and unapproachably admired, 
 contended with a desire for aloneness or solitariness, 
 with one deep abiding love. A will that was law, 
 to which everything must give way, was offset with 
 a. longing for a master will to subdue her own. With
 
 GRANDMOTHER 203 
 
 ability to conquer was strength to endure; with a 
 knowledge of power was a feeling of abandon. She 
 studied Russell Farnam more earnestly than she 
 conned her Latin verbs. On leaving the recitation- 
 room after an hour of work in which she had put all 
 her energy into a final effort to awaken some sympa- 
 thetic interest, she looked into his dangerous brown 
 eyes, her own dancing with excitement, and said: 
 
 "This is our last lesson." 
 
 "We may work together next year," he replied. 
 
 "That depends." She moved closer to him and 
 took up their Latin reader, and, turning the leaves 
 thoughtfully, waited. They were alone in the twi- 
 light room. Half an hour later, she left the recita- 
 tion-room with a lighter heart. She had shared her 
 burden with a friend. 
 
 Sarah Runyan was enjoying her part in the little 
 comedy. She independently laughed at the friends 
 who were mystified or disgusted with the role she 
 was playing, as the sweetheart of a boy seven or eight 
 years her junior, and exerted her influence to stimu- 
 late Ralph to earnest work and higher achievements, 
 and encouraged him in patiently waiting the consum- 
 mation of the year's association. She knew his heart 
 was aching under the imaginary happiness of his 
 brother, but rejoiced in the fact that it was making 
 a better man of him. He no longer wasted time in 
 idle flirtations, or neglected his studies to pen poems 
 to violet eyes and raven locks. He was applying 
 himself to his books and energetically entering into 
 the fraternity contests. Apathy and indifference gave 
 place to a desire to excel in every branch. "Take 
 life as it comes and enjoy it as it is," was no longer his 
 motto. His lugubrious countenance amused Sarah; 
 for she knew beneath it was the firm resolve to ac- 
 complish nobler achievements. A beautiful love, re- 
 quited or unrequited, is refining and elevating to the 
 soul of one in whom the foundation of true charac-
 
 204 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 ter is begotten. The nature in which an hereditary 
 proclivity to seek the lower or evil course is the one 
 that succumbs to a disappointment in love; and sim- 
 ilar results would follow commercial or political 
 failures. The young man who threatens to throw 
 his life away in drink or recklessness has not the 
 manhood in which a woman may safely trust her 
 happiness. 
 
 When at the close of the year Ralph held the hon- 
 ors of his class, had won the fraternity contest and 
 received the medal in elocution, there were no two 
 people more proud than his brother and Eleanor 
 Harding. But Sarah Runyan had the satisfaction 
 of believing that she was instrumental in directing 
 him into paths of success that crowned him with 
 glory.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 DEVELOPMENTS. 
 
 Finden, the old Kentucky home, was alive with joy 
 and activity. The June roses were blooming in 
 abundance, the violets were waving their little heads 
 in profusion from the front gate to the brook at 
 the foot of the hill, the burning bush was aflame 
 with blossoms, the lilacs were making a sad effort 
 to hold their fragrance longer, the snowballs were 
 whitening in the sun, and the bees were humming a 
 tune of plenty. The cows were lowing a requiem 
 for offspring gone to market. The lawn and mea- 
 dow, sparkling with fireflies, vied with the starry 
 heavens. 
 
 Mrs. Falconer, coming home from the village at 
 twilight, stopped at the end of the grape-arbor, won- 
 dering what all the commotion was about. Through- 
 out the yard were children and negroes catching the 
 little lightning-bugs. From the veranda came peals 
 of laughter, then sudden quiet, then another burst 
 of merriment. Leaving Jim to attend to the horse 
 and buggy and Jennie to care for the purchases she 
 had brought from the village, she came slowly up 
 the walk. 
 
 "O Grandmother, come and see our pet toad," 
 cried Varena. 
 
 "Your what?" Mrs. Falconer asked. 
 
 Clara Pryor and Florence Lindley had come over 
 to call on Varena and her guest, Mary Baker. They, 
 with Russell and Ralph, were all standing watching 
 a large toad that had come up on the veranda. Va- 
 
 205
 
 206 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 rena had seen it suck a firefly into its mouth over a 
 space of two or three inches. From this followed 
 the sport of catching the bugs and guessing on the 
 distance from which the toad could secure his victim. 
 After a number of fireflies had been devoured, they 
 were amazed to what extended proportions the toad 
 had swollen, and also at the clearness with which 
 they could distinguish his skeleton when the flies 
 lightened inside him. They seemed to fill a cavity 
 from the crown of his head to the joints of his knees. 
 
 "He must have swallowed fifty or a hundred 
 flies," said Ralph. 
 
 "Isn't it funny! He draws them by suction, don't 
 you think, Grandmother?" Varena asked. 
 
 "Let's not feed him any more. He may burst," 
 Mary Baker suggested. 
 
 "Now, if he can manage to digest one fly a day, 
 he can go and creep into some rock and pose as the 
 philosopher's toad, and live six months or more," 
 said Varena. 
 
 They called it Miss Mary's toad. The next even- 
 ing, it came back, lank and hungry, and the young 
 people fed him. In fact, it came to be the regular 
 sport to sacrifice the brilliant fireflies at the shrine 
 of the homely toad, until Grandmother became an- 
 noyed with the heathenish rite and requested them 
 to desist. Then, the hungry creature hopped the 
 full length of the veranda and into the house, and 
 continued to come for several days. Varena said he 
 was hunting for Mary Baker and advised her to 
 ship him to the zoological gardens. 
 
 The two friends spent a delightful summer. Free 
 from care and unrestrained by conventionalities, they 
 roamed over the old farm, enjoying every feature 
 of its rural beauty. Little excursions were made to 
 visit the scenes of juvenile games and youthful expe- 
 riences. A lunch was eaten on the high hill, and the 
 big tree, from which Varena had ingloriously fallen,
 
 GRANDMOTHER 207 
 
 was examined critically. The underbrush had all 
 been cleared off from the hillside where Ralph had 
 leaped into the heavens to escape the serpent; but 
 the old limb that had scattered the girl and the ber- 
 ries over the ground still hung across the path. A 
 flock of sheep ranged over the pasture, questioning 
 the intruders with mild, wistful eyes; but no daring 
 leader approached them. It was in the old Peace 
 Palace tree, in the grove near the house, that the 
 friends often climbed and sat for hours, reading and 
 exchanging confidences. 
 
 "This is such a restful, happy summer," said 
 Mary, closing her book and adjusting herself to a 
 more comfortable position in the old tree. "No 
 wonder you are such lovely people reared on a farm 
 like this. It makes me tired to think of going back 
 to the glitter and pomp and bustle of the city." 
 
 "It's just Grandmother. It is so lovely to come 
 back to her in the same old house and furniture, the 
 flowers, the bees, the trees, all just as we left them. 
 I shall be eighteen next June, and I'm as happy sit- 
 ting in this old tree, swinging my feet, as I was years 
 ago when Ralph said 'I wouldn't play fair.' I'll tell 
 you a secret, Mary. There's a great mystery con- 
 nected with this tree and the earth beneath it. And 
 I have a presentiment that it in some way affects my 
 life." 
 
 "I'm afraid of mysteries and secrets. In story- 
 books, they are always associated with things un- 
 canny and terrible," Mary replied. 
 
 "This is not a story. It's a real, sure enough 
 happenstance," whispered Varena, ghostily. 
 
 "Happenstance is not in the dictionary," laughed 
 Mary. 
 
 "That is what I mean, anyway a strange circum- 
 stance that happened years ago. Often, my im- 
 agination reaches out into the unknown, and I try 
 to fathom the future; and, always, this mystery
 
 208 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 spreads out before me like an immense enigma of 
 people, places, and things, and I feel that I shall 
 some day be able to solve it," continued Varena. 
 
 "Professor Clayton says you're too visionary," 
 said Mary. "We shall have a practical problem to 
 solve at school the first of the year." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Our class president. There are fourteen of us, 
 provided no new girls come in, which is not prob- 
 able; and the fight for the office will be over you and 
 Eleanor Harding." 
 
 "There shall be no fight as far as I am concerned. 
 Let Eleanor have it. She'll make a good president." 
 
 "We knew that was the way you would regard the 
 situation; so you weren't invited to attend the cau- 
 cus we held before school closed. Your friends are 
 determined to have you, and you really owe some- 
 thing to them. Eleanor has been very overbearing 
 and distant to most of the class, until the last few 
 weeks." 
 
 "I don't think she means to be supercilious. She 
 is naturally proud and reserved," explained Varena. 
 
 "Why should she begin cultivating the girls just 
 at the close of the year?" Mary asked. 
 
 "For some reason she grdw weary of the boys 
 and naturally turned to the girls. If she aspires to 
 the honor of president of our class I shall vote for 
 her," insisted Varena. 
 
 "It will be closely contested. We counted on 
 Katie Benedict; but, since she began rooming with 
 Eleanor, she's gone over to her side." 
 
 "Katie has a better opinion of her roommate than 
 Sarah had, then?" Varena asked. "Katie lives in 
 Milwaukee, doesn't she?" 
 
 "Yes; we came back together after the holidays. 
 She is perfectly bewitched with her roommate; she 
 talks about her continually. She feels a sympathy for
 
 GRANDMOTHER 209 
 
 her that she would not dare manifest to the girl 
 herself." 
 
 "I'm not surprised. Eleanor is an unapproach- 
 able girl," said Varena, indifferently. 
 
 Mary continued: "Katie says, Eleanor's charac- 
 ter is a combination of two distinct personalities; 
 that while she appears proud, she is simply trying to 
 be reserved; haughty, she is praying to be gentle; 
 arrogant, she wishes she were affable; disdainful, 
 she is longing to be unassuming; irritable, she is 
 pleading for patience; selfish, she admires utilitari- 
 anism; vain, she covets modesty; strong, yet she 
 knows herself weak." 
 
 "I'm sorry for her," said Varena. "I wish she 
 could have my grandmother; then her better nature 
 would predominate." 
 
 "Your grandmother is lovely, and so good to me. 
 Think of her making me a present of my graduating 
 dress! I'm going to, wear it on a much more im- 
 portant occasion," Mary confessed, blushing. 
 
 "When? Have you a secret that you haven't told 
 me?" 
 
 "I think you have guessed it," answered Mary, 
 still blushing. 
 
 "I used to wish that you and Ralph would fancy 
 each other; but I soon saw that Professor Clayton 
 was your ideal. Ralph expects to go to Harlam, 
 Tennessee, to be cashier in the bank next summer. 
 That's the reason he's staying in the First National 
 in the village this summer, just for the practise. Our 
 father was the largest stockholder in the Harlam 
 bank, and that will belong to Ralph and me. I don't 
 know why Russell was not to have a share in the 
 bank, unless he is to take the farm. But tell me 
 about your wedding. When is it to be?" 
 
 "Some time in the summer, as soon as I can get 
 ready after I leave school. We'll miss you the next
 
 no GRANDMOTHER 
 
 year at Danboro," said Mary, very happy in the con- 
 templation of her future. 
 
 "I'm awfully glad for you. I know you'll be the 
 dearest little wife, and have the coziest little home 
 imaginable," gushed Varena. 
 
 "And do you know that I think I am very much 
 indebted to you for it? Professor Clayton has al- 
 ways loved me; but he never found it out until this 
 year. He said when he saw me that first Sunday 
 at church, that his heart went all to pieces; then, the 
 night that I represented Aphrodite, the matter was 
 eternally settled." 
 
 "I hope you will always be happy," said Varena. 
 There was wistful melancholy in her voice. 
 
 "You mustn't feel bad because I have concluded 
 to go home. You have already done so much for 
 me, I can never cease to thank you," added Mary. 
 
 "We don't want thanks; we are compensated in 
 your happiness; but I shall be pretty lonely when 
 you are gone, with Ralph in town all day, and Russell 
 so very busy, for he has everything to superintend 
 now," said Varena. 
 
 "There are so many things necessary for me to 
 attend to at home this fall, that I may be ready to 
 leave next year," explained Mary. 
 
 "I understand. Yonder comes Ralph; it must be 
 after four o'clock. He has the letters, too," cried 
 Varena. 
 
 "One for me, sure," and Mary smiled in anticipa- 
 tion of the letter that she might read accurately with- 
 out breaking the seal. 
 
 It proved to be a letter in which Professor Clay- 
 ton asked her to meet him in the city of Louiston 
 the following Thursday as she was on her way home. 
 
 Russell was having a very vexatious time on the 
 farm this summer. A large crop of tobacco had 
 been raised and prepared for market; but a war
 
 GRANDMOTHER 211 
 
 between the farmers and the trusts had sprung up 
 so rapidly and was waged so bitterly that no disposi- 
 tion had been made of the produce when the boys 
 returned from college; and, very much as it was 
 during the time of the Civil War, houses were di- 
 vided among themselves. Earnest and conscientious 
 as to the right and wrong of the situation, Russell 
 and Ralph took opposite sides of the question. One 
 wished to ship the tobacco and sell it on the city 
 market; the other was determined to hold, or pool it, 
 until the trust was forced to give a reasonable price 
 for it. There was no personal feeling between the 
 boys, only a determination to outwit each other. 
 Consequently, Russell planned to secure help and 
 have the hogsheads hauled to the river some night 
 while his brother was asleep. Ralph, equally secre- 
 tive, had arranged with a party to get the tobacco, 
 and store it with the Equity Company. Jack Lind- 
 ley, the boy whom Russell had struck in the face for 
 kissing his sister, resolved, without any accomplice, 
 to burn the barn and its contents and enjoy the secret 
 satisfaction of revenge, while the stigma would fall 
 on one or the other of the contending tobacco organi- 
 zations. 
 
 Twice Jack came in the night with his oil and 
 matches, and, seeing a dim light in the barn, ran for 
 his life, imagining a pistol shot in every twig that 
 was broken by his scampering feet. In the third ef- 
 fort at incendiarism, he approached the barn from 
 a different direction, and poured his oil over a bunch 
 of hay and was in the act of striking a match, when, 
 in the stillness of the night and magnified by his 
 guilty imagination, a little sneeze sounded so like 
 the explosion of a dynamite bomb that he dropped 
 his oil can and matches, and made for the road. 
 He ran into an old cow, stumbled over a nest of 
 pigs, fell into a pond of water, and left a piece of 
 his shirt on a wire fence.
 
 212 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 A few nights later, while the brothers were watch- 
 ing each other, Ralph's men quietly drove their teams 
 into the lot and began opening the big doors when a 
 light suddenly flared up and they drove away rapidly. 
 Ralph was very much provoked at their failure, at- 
 tributing their scare to some will-o'-the-wisp. 
 
 The next night, Russell and his gang came rather 
 boldly, for Ralph had been sent to the city on busi- 
 ness for the bank. They drove the wagons up near 
 the doors, and, as they opened them, Russell saw 
 a glimmer of light, and was sure that some one was 
 setting fire to the barn. He drew his pistol and 
 rushed in. There was a tiny lamp burning on top of 
 one of the hogsheads, an open book beside it, and 
 Varena sound asleep. He caught her up in his arms 
 and pressed her to his heart, and she laughed heart- 
 ily, when she saw who held her. 
 
 "And so you are the guardian who has saved our 
 barn from burning. Well, this ends it. Ralph and 
 I will divide to-morrow. He may take his half and 
 do as he pleases, and I will ship the other half. 
 Grandmother's worries will end, and you can sleep 
 in the house. You're a brave girl," said Russell. 
 Turning to the men, he continued: "Sister rules to- 
 night. Come back to-morrow afternoon, and I think 
 we will haul my share away in daylight," and the 
 trouble was ended for that season. 
 
 The autumn was crowding on to the summer. Na- 
 ture was rapidly changing her dress, and Russell was 
 rushed in an effort to fill the granaries and gather 
 the fruit, so as to leave the place in a comfortable 
 condition when they returned to school. 
 
 Coming in from his labors one afternoon, he 
 found Varena asleep in the front yard. Near a rose 
 bush on the rolling ground, where the grass was 
 green and dry, she was lying with her head resting 
 on a mound, and her fancy work lying on the ground
 
 GRANDMOTHER 213 
 
 before her. The boys had purchased a kodak, in- 
 tending it for their sister's birthday, and had been 
 watching for an opportunity to snap her picture, 
 without her knowledge ; so that, when she sent her 
 first batch to the photographer to be developed, she 
 would be surprised to find herself among them. 
 Russell came near, with an armful of beautifully 
 tinted leaves, and finding Varena sound asleep stood 
 looking at her, unmindful of the opportunity he had 
 been coveting, until he heard Ralph whistling. He 
 raised a silencing finger and together they decorated 
 their sleeping sister with autumn leaves and roses. 
 They then propped a mirror in front of her in such 
 a position that she would see herself first when she 
 awakened. The boys stood behind her and took one 
 picture of her sleeping and one with the eyes wide 
 open in pleased surprise. She rose laughing, saying: 
 
 "I knew you were decorating me. I could hear 
 you breathe. But I could not imagine what you were 
 doing so long when you fixed the mirror. And I 
 didn't dare to peek because you were down before 
 me." 
 
 The boys laughed, too; for they knew she had not 
 seen the kodak. It disappeared suddenly, before she 
 had grasped the whole situation. 
 
 A personal influence that may exert puissant con- 
 trol when present, gradually diminishes in power 
 with intervening space. Individual magnetism, like 
 electricity, makes only feeble indentures when too far 
 removed. It was not necessary for Sarah Runyan 
 to return to Danboro another year; for her brother 
 had chosen his companions from trustworthy friends 
 and was launched on his course in comparative 
 safety; and Ralph Farnam was left without his con- 
 fidante and monitor. 
 
 The university was scarcely in running order be- 
 fore a fever of excitement pervaded the different
 
 214 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 departments over the election of the class president 
 in the seminary. The students gave expression to a 
 preference on the different sides in the fight, though 
 the active participants were limited to the fourteen 
 members of the senior class. The Farnam brothers 
 were the most deeply interested and said the least 
 about it, even avoiding each other when the matter 
 was discussed. It had been the custom for a mem- 
 ber of the faculty to preside at the first class meeting, 
 when the officers were elected. There was no prece- 
 dent in which a teacher had cast the deciding vote 
 in case of a tie, and she refused to do so now. After 
 the first meeting, in which Eleanor Harding and 
 Varena Farnam had received seven votes each, the 
 girls were advised to appoint another meeting, and, 
 in the meantime, talk the matter over amicably. The 
 advice was followed, and three different times they 
 met and adjourned with the same result. The pecu- 
 liar quality of the Kentucky atmosphere animated 
 the girls with the resolve to elect the candidate of 
 their choice or none at all. Varena's appeal to her 
 friends to give up and put an end to the trouble only 
 increased their love and admiration for her, and 
 strengthened their determination to elect her at all 
 hazards. 
 
 When Ralph came to his sister and asked her 
 to withdraw in favor of Eleanor, she asked: "Does 
 Russell wish me to?" 
 
 "I don't know; but I think not" 
 
 "I'm in the hands of my constituents, and shall 
 be guided by them," she replied, smiling. 
 
 It was known that each nominee for office had 
 voted for her opponent, and a remark had been 
 made that the contest might be terminated by one 
 voting for herself. 
 
 Mary Baker said to Katie Benedict: "Varena 
 would be offended at the suggestion."
 
 GRANDMOTHER 215 
 
 "They are all discussing it," laughed Katie. "But 
 if each votes for herself, the tie remains." 
 
 "Varena Farnam would not do such a thing," 
 Mary declared. 
 
 "I don't know whether Eleanor would or not. I 
 hope not," said Katie, seriously. 
 
 Some urged one thing, some another; finally, a 
 meeting was appointed. Advocates were chosen 
 from both factions to plead the merits of. the candi- 
 dates. The girls were all excited, save Varena, who 
 was indifferent to the result. Katie Benedict, who 
 loved and admired her roommate and knew her 
 good qualities better than any one knew them, now, 
 nervously but quietly watched her, hoping that Elea- 
 nor's better nature would conquer, and she might be 
 able to resist the temptation of accepting doubtful 
 honors. As she sat looking across the room at the 
 proud beauty, she remembered that in writing the 
 names, Varena Farnam ran straight along the line, 
 while Eleanor Harding went above and below the 
 line. The tellers passed slips of paper. The pencils 
 moved, and a loud-sounding sigh escaped Katie 
 Benedict before her eyes dropped to her own paper 
 and she wrote unhesitatingly. The tellers counted 
 the votes and the chair announced "A tie." 
 
 The tell tale crimson of Eleanor's cheek, the flash 
 of her angry eye, indicated clearly that she knew one 
 friend had forsaken her. Varena rose and tried to 
 withdraw her name; but her voice was drowned in 
 a bedlam of noise, and the meeting adjourned. 
 
 .The faculty met to consider the situation and to 
 devise some plan by which satisfactory results could 
 be attained that would prevent the breach from wid- 
 ening and leaving a permanent feud in the school. 
 Varena was sent for and readily agreed to withdraw 
 in the interest of peace and harmony. The inter- 
 view with Eleanor Harding was less satisfactory,
 
 2i 6 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 though she was persuaded to be content with holding 
 the office for a term of half the year. A meeting 
 was called. A motion to divide the year into a first 
 and a second period was made and carried. When 
 the nomination for president for the first term was 
 called for, the Harding faction precipitately nomi- 
 nated Eleanor, who was unanimously elected. They 
 had blundered into thinking that the election for 
 the last and most important period would not take 
 place until the expiration of the first term; but Va- 
 rena was duly elected at once. In a shor time, all 
 parties were satisfied by the amicable adjustment of 
 the class and were enthusiastically planning for the 
 brilliant achievements of their regime; and the school 
 enjoyed an unprecedented season of sparkling events. 
 Each function was unique and more enjoyable than 
 the last. Eleanor never wearied in her festivities. 
 She seemed controlled by a proud, restless spirit that 
 slept neither day or night. 
 
 The sombre clouds had overspread the sky. The 
 cooling winds murmured through the trees, giving 
 promise of a coming friend that would clothe their 
 nakedness in garments soft and white, as a compen- 
 sation for their unresisting submission when Jack 
 Frost stole their dresses of green. The brown leaves 
 flitted to and fro in restlessness, seeking a sheltered 
 grove where they might sink into mother earth, that 
 unannihilated protoplasm could be born again in 
 newness of form in the spring's awaking. The ver- 
 anda vines, swayed by the impulse of the wind, 
 loosed their tendril clasps and fell in heaps on the 
 ground, no longer obstructing the askance rays of 
 the winter sun. Eleanor Harding looked out at the 
 beautiful white snowflakes coquetting in every direc- 
 tion, and conceived the happy idea of a sleighing 
 party for her last social function. It was a glorious 
 scheme. Such heavy snowfalls were rare in Ken- 
 tucky. A wagon-bed on a pair of old-fashioned
 
 GRANDMOTHER 217 
 
 bob-sleds would hold the fourteen girls and the chap- 
 eron and as many boys. They would have dinner in 
 the mountains and return by moonlight. The scheme 
 met with the approval of the class, and a committee 
 called on the Principal to requst permission to pre- 
 pare for and execute the plan. 
 
 She shook her head, saying: "Saturday would be 
 the only day that I could let you go. By then your 
 beautiful snow will be all mud." 
 
 "And may we go if the snow lasts?" they asked. 
 
 "You may go if there is snow sufficient. Your 
 President has had a happy success in all her work 
 so far, and she must not grieve when once she is dis- 
 appointed. It is too warm and the snow too light 
 to last," continued the Principal. 
 
 Still, the snow kept on falling, all that day and 
 the next; then it began to grow warm. At midnight 
 some of the girls arose to look out at the snow. 
 All nature was shrouded in white; it clung to the 
 trees and bushes. But the pale moon made one dark 
 shadow conspicuous. Eleanor held her breath in 
 wonder. A shadow that, at first seemed stationary 
 beneath her window, moved swiftly across the lawn 
 and disappeared behind the shrubbery. She was in- 
 tent on catching another glimpse of the object when 
 Katie Benedict called to her, saying: 
 
 "You'll take cold out there in your gown. How is 
 the snow? Melting?" 
 
 "It isn't cold. The snow is lovely, but it will not 
 last. It is dropping from the trees now. O, I'm so 
 sorry," sighed Eleanor. 
 
 Saturday morning found the girls all filled with 
 regret that the winter picnic had to be abandoned. 
 
 "Melting snow and drizzling rain," said Mary 
 Baker to Katie Benedict. "I'm more sorry on Elea- 
 nor's account than anything else. She will feel vexed 
 over the failure of the scheme, even though it is 
 nature's fault"
 
 218 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "She does not seem to care at all," replied Katie. 
 "She's in better spirits than she's been this year. I 
 mean she's in a different mood." They did not know 
 that Eleanor's change of mood was caused by a 
 change in her outlook on the things of life. 
 
 She had left one of her books in the college li- 
 brary the day before and it was returned to her by 
 Horace Runyan. In it she found a card on which 
 was written, in a well-known calligraphy, this little 
 poem: 
 
 Starlight shines upon the snow, 
 
 Brightly so brightly, 
 Yet it wakes no genial glow 
 In the cold, unfeeling snow, 
 
 Sleeping so whitely. 
 
 Thus is falling now my love, 
 
 Lightly so lightly, 
 On a heart no power can move, 
 On a heart that treats my love 
 
 Lightly so lightly. 
 
 Eleanor, tell me, where the snow 
 
 Now sleeps so whitely, 
 Will not love flowers some time grow, 
 When my love shall melt the snow, 
 
 Kissing it lightly? 
 
 She read and re-read the poem with humid eyes. 
 She recalled, with a new interpretation, many words 
 and acts, and read in coy expressions things only 
 hoped for before. She pressed the little card spas- 
 modically to her heart. It was a key by which she 
 could answer many questions, a rule by which she 
 could solve many little incidents of the past few 
 months. 
 
 Later Katie Benedict found her roommate dress-
 
 GRANDMOTHER 219 
 
 ing for dinner with unusual care, and asked: "Are 
 we to have guests to-day?" 
 
 "Not that I know of," Eleanor answered, smil- 
 ing at herself in the mirror. 
 
 "Why are you dressing so handsomely? You 
 haven't taken the trouble to do your hair in French 
 waves since the last party," said Katie. 
 
 " Tm just a feelin' good,' " quoted Eleanor. 
 
 "There's somethin' in me, though as seems 
 
 Would burst out if it could. 
 I'm just a bubblin' over now 
 
 'Cause I'm a feelin' good.' ' 
 
 "We supposed that you would be the most disap- 
 pointed one of the crowd, when the snow melted," 
 stated Katie, in surprise. 
 
 "I am very sorry that we didn't get to go. I hope 
 the girls will not feel too bad. Everything else that 
 we planned was a success. Sometimes, a little pleas- 
 ure may compensate for the loss of a big lot of fun. 
 Since the snow melted off the pansy bed, I found 
 these blossoms. Aren't they pretty? Think of their 
 blooming under the snow! Don't they look sweet 
 on my black hair?" continued Eleanor. "You little 
 darlings." 
 
 "You're a queer girl. Sounds like my little sister 
 making love to her kitten," said Katie. 
 
 "There's the dinner bell. You'd better hurry," 
 answered Eleanor, smiling radiantly. 
 
 "You have spent an hour beautifying your beau- 
 tiful self, and a plain little body like me has to jump 
 into her togs in five minutes," and Katie hastily 
 changed her dress. 
 
 "You don't have to," averred Eleanor. 
 
 "The more you have, the more you want; the less 
 you have, the less you care. Isn't that a wise say- 
 ing? Write it down that it may be preserved for
 
 220 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 generations to come," ended Katie, as they hastened 
 to the dining-room. 
 
 Eleanor carefully preserved her pansies, and wore 
 them in her hair next day, when she went to church. 
 She treasured them as the emblem of the poem she 
 had found in her book. At night, restless and unable 
 to sleep, she sat by her window, conning the verses, 
 watching the stars, and thinking of the shadow that 
 had crossed the snow-covered lawn a few nights pre- 
 vious. The moon had not yet risen and the earth 
 was dark and gloomy; but there was brightness in 
 her thoughts and exultation in her heart. She be- 
 lieved that her window was the lodestone of the mid- 
 night wanderer, and again she felt the presence, but 
 could not see anyone. She reached over to her 
 dresser and took the bunch of pansies, fastened them 
 together with a scrap of tin-foil, and stepped out on 
 the balcony. She listened. There was not a sound. 
 She leaned over the railing and held her hand out, 
 and, in a moment, dropped the pansies. Then she 
 went back to bed, wondering if she would find the 
 little beauties all faded in the dirt in the morning. 
 The next evening, when the students were in evidence 
 at one of the lectures, she recognized her pansies, 
 wilted, but securely pinned on the lapel of a coat. 
 
 At church, in class, on reception evenings, there 
 was an exchange of expression, a hand-clasp, a touch, 
 a sigh; call it telepathy, affinity, or psychology, under 
 its spell they understood, responded, developed and 
 experienced beyond the power of words to express. 
 To cherish a secret is to increase its power. 
 
 Spring advanced. Unfortunately Katie Benedict 
 was called home by the illness of her mother, and, 
 in her absence, Eleanor found company in counting 
 the stars from the little veranda under her window 
 and in dreaming and longing for a presence that 
 had become dearer to her than life. When Katie 
 Benedict returned to school, after an absence of three
 
 GRANDMOTHER 221 
 
 months, she found that her roommate was very much 
 changed. She had left her bright and happy, she 
 found her pensive and irritable. Eleanor often ab- 
 sented herself from meals and pleaded headache 
 from church; she grew indifferent to class recitation, 
 and, all at once, lost interest in the prospect of grad- 
 uation. Yet, every one was surprised when it was 
 whispered at the breakfast table one morning: 
 "Eleanor Harding's father came for her and she 
 left last night. She is going to Europe with her 
 brother, the journalist." 
 
 "Only two months till commencement he might 
 have waited that long and let her graduate," was 
 the answering comment. 
 
 "She said she was glad to go," stated Katie. "I 
 helped her pack her things, and I think she was sorry 
 to leave school, too, for she cried all the time." 
 
 "Did she get to tell the boys good-bye?" asked 
 one. 
 
 "No," Katie answered. "She left a letter for me 
 to deliver." 
 
 "To whom?" asked Varena. 
 
 Katie smiled, saying. "There's no secret in its 
 contents. I know she wouldn't care if you read it." 
 
 Varena read: "Dear Friend, good-bye. I sail 
 for Europe with Brother Tom in a few days. Do 
 not write until you hear from me." 
 
 "What address is given?" asked one. 
 
 "She will send that when she writes back from 
 Europe," explained Katie. 
 
 "I mean to whom is the note addressed?" she 
 urged. 
 
 "That is my secret," said Katie, smiling. 
 
 "She wasn't expecting to go in a hurry," another 
 girl announced; "for she bought a ticket to the lec- 
 ture next Friday night." 
 
 "I'm sorry to lose her from our class; she would 
 have been a handsome figure commencement night,"
 
 222 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 mused Varena. "And she's so unlike the rest of 
 us." 
 
 There was no reply to this comment; and, in a 
 short time, Eleanor was forgotten, save for the 
 cloud that seemed to fill the place of her bright pres- 
 ence. 
 
 Varena was busy planning for the closing func- 
 tions of the school. Commencement essays and 
 graduating dresses were under consideration. The 
 air was fragrant with the blossoms of early fruit, 
 and wild flowers were in abundance. On the morn- 
 ing of the first day of May, the young ladies were 
 up early, dressed and out on the verandas, hunting 
 for May baskets. It was one of the prettiest cus- 
 toms of the university boys, to surprise the girls 
 with baskets of flowers, often containing boxes of 
 candy, books, poems, or billets-doux. In a basket 
 of exquisite roses, Varena found a verse of poetry 
 that she thought was the sweetest verse that had ever 
 been written, and around which hung an unsolvable 
 mystery; for she knew there was not one student 
 in the university for whom she had manifested a 
 shadow of interest, or that entertained for her any 
 feeling other than that which results from polite in- 
 tercourse. She had conceived the idea that Russell 
 thought she was made of some rare material and 
 could live above the commonalities of life; and, in 
 deference to his opinion, she was wedded to music, 
 literature, and religion. But this dainty little verse, 
 peeking out from among the red roses, touched a 
 chord in her nature that had never vibrated before. 
 She was in love with the poetry, but wished that the 
 poet would remain anonymous. It read: 
 
 If I were a dewdrop 
 
 And you a red rose, 
 On thy soft silken petals 
 
 I'd gently repose.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 223 
 
 Steal the sweetest of perfume, 
 
 And revel in bliss; 
 Seek thy lips sweetest dimple, 
 
 And dissolve in a kiss. 
 
 Varena was impatient for an opportunity to re- 
 peat her verse to Russell; but when she found it 
 convenient to do so, as they walked home from a 
 lecture, she could not bring herself to say the words. 
 He questioned her about the different girls and their 
 baskets; but each seemed to feel some peculiar re- 
 straint, which checked their confidential intercourse. 
 
 Horace Runyan had developed into a student of 
 ambitions and ability and was a great friend to 
 Ralph, who, in gratitude for his sister's former kind- 
 ness, refused to enter any contest that would bring 
 them into competition. If Horace desired to try 
 for the medal in elocution, Ralph would not speak. 
 At least this was the excuse with which he tried to 
 satisfy his brother, who was chosen as valedictorian 
 of his class. Russell was extremely vexed with 
 Ralph for throwing away his last opportunity to dis- 
 play his ability and win the plaudits of his fellows. 
 A year that, in the beginning, promised to be the 
 brightest and best of the whole course, seemed to 
 end in a cloud of uncertainty. There was nothing 
 tangible to be criticized or surmounted. It was like 
 atmospheric pressure coming down into low, 
 swampy plains, after having lived in a high, rarified 
 altitude. Still, commencement week was complete 
 in every form. The orations were excellent, the 
 girls beautiful, the music of the best. The literary 
 contests were good, only lacking in enthusiasm. 
 Mary Baker, in the contemplated marriage with Pro- 
 fessor Clayton, was very happy. The Farnam young 
 people went home, rejoicing in the prospect of once 
 more being alone with Grandmother.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 TROUBLE. 
 
 A premonition of evil caused Dr. Harding to 
 withhold the purport of the telegram that he re- 
 ceived from the Principal of Danboro Seminary, and 
 simply state to his wife that he had a call that would 
 take him away from the city for a few days. His 
 voice was hard and irritable, his good-bye cold and 
 uncommunicative. To these, she was in a measure 
 accustomed; but that his personal necessities could be 
 supplied in a small hand-grip, not including his medi- 
 cine-case, was a matter of serious conjecture; and 
 Luella Harding was tempted several times to go over 
 and discuss her anxieties with her sister-in-law, Ma- 
 bel Kendrick. By an intuition incomprehensible in 
 its influence unrecognized at the time, and remem- 
 bered with gratitude afterward she restrained her 
 impatience and waited, with uncertainty, the return 
 of her husband. 
 
 Dr. Thomas Harding travelled all night, reaching 
 Danboro in the morning. He ate a light breakfast 
 in the restaurant at the station, avoiding a hotel, 
 where he would be required to register his name. 
 About nine o'clock he called at the seminary and 
 was received by the Principal. The business under 
 consideration was briefly stated, and the Doctor was 
 permitted to hold a long conversation with the ma- 
 tron of the school. He then went out, incognito, 
 among the university students; presumably in the 
 interest of the Y. M. C. A.; in reality, to study 
 character and reputation. He did not see his daugh- 
 
 224
 
 GRANDMOTHER 225 
 
 ter until she joined him in the carriage that carried 
 them to the train; nor did he speak to her until they 
 reached home. 
 
 Then, to the questioning amazement on his wife's 
 face, he said. "She is sick. Take her to her room 
 and keep her there." 
 
 His cold, hard, contemptuous bearing had wrought 
 on his daughter, chilling her better nature into proud 
 defiance, which was changed to sorrow and humilia- 
 tion at the first glance of her gentle, loving mother; 
 then, the locks melted, the flood-gate burst open, and 
 she ran upstairs into her own room, and let the over- 
 whelming stream of grief flow unrestrained. Mrs. 
 Harding went to her daughter again and again, each 
 time to find a deeper sense of misery. She begged 
 her to put aside her wraps and rest and try to con- 
 trol her feelings, saying: 
 
 "I will not urge you, dear, until you care to talk." 
 
 She closed the door softly as she left the room, 
 and the tears coursed down her cheeks at the pathetic 
 cry: "O Mamma! Mamma! good, patient, gentle 
 Mamma ! Must I be the last straw that makes your 
 burden too great to bear." 
 
 Dr. Harding came home late at night and de- 
 manded of his wife: "What have you learned?" 
 
 "Nothing. She's too deeply distressed to talk. 
 I sent supper up to her room." 
 
 "Distressed! The hell she is. I'll see that she 
 talks," he threatened. 
 
 "Please, Thomas, don't disturb her now. Let her 
 rest to-night. To-morrow will be time," pleaded the 
 mother. 
 
 He pushed past her, and mounted the stairs, step- 
 ping heavily on the polished hard wood. The room 
 door was locked; and, threaten as he dared, he re- 
 ceived no response from inside. His wife was not 
 visible when he left the house; she wisely avoided 
 showing her gratification in the forethought that
 
 226 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 had secured for her daughter a few hours' respite. 
 
 Later, Mr. and Mrs. Kendrick came in to see 
 Eleanor. They were to go east on the morning 
 train, and be absent for several weeks; but they of- 
 fered to postpone the trip if there was any probabil- 
 ity of their niece being seriously ill. Luella Harding 
 assured her brother that she appreciated their offer, 
 though she would not permit them to remain at 
 home. Eleanor, having retired, saw them only a 
 few moments, and bade them a tearful good-bye. 
 
 Dick Harding was now a practising physician in 
 a neighboring city, and Tom had sailed for Europe 
 the day after his sister reached Louiston. By those 
 of her acquaintances who had seen Eleanor get off 
 the train, she was supposed to have come to Louis- 
 ton to have her elegant dress fitted and elaborately 
 trimmed for the commencement exercises. While it 
 was not possible to keep the servants from knowing 
 of her protracted stay at home, it was only necessary 
 to admit into her confidence the faithful little maid 
 who had served her for several years. 
 
 Eleanor locked her door whenever she heard her 
 father's step or voice; but, when her mother looked 
 at her, or spoke to her, she burst into tears with the 
 heart-rending wail: "O Mamma! Mamma! you 
 are so good and so gentle and patient. If you would 
 just be mean and cross to me, I would not be so mis- 
 erable. It is killing me to see how I am breaking 
 your kind heart. O Mamma, I don't know how it 
 ever happened. It was just one bewildering moment 
 when, intoxicated with ecstatic rapture, the world 
 seemed a phantom, and people neglible qualities. 
 Oh that I had died instead of Aunt Mabel's little 
 baby!" 
 
 "Hush, dear; I know how deeply repentant you 
 are. Do not think of me. Turn to Him who made 
 you, with all your beauty and your weakness, and 
 ask His forgiveness," pleaded her mother.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 227 
 
 "Isn't it too late, Mamma? Will God hear me, 
 now?" cried the girl. 
 
 So insistent was their grief that they were uncon- 
 scious of a presence in the hall. Dr. Harding, de- 
 termined to probe his daughter until she acknowl- 
 edged certain facts that it was important for him to 
 know, had come up in noiseless slippers and heard 
 only the wail : "Oh that I had died instead of Aunt 
 Mabel's baby!" He was staggered and fell back 
 with a pain in his breast like a blow from an unseen 
 hand. "Retribution," he murmured as he stole 
 away. Filled with remorse, he went to his operating 
 rooms, where he spent most of his time, until the 
 cruelties he practised on the helpless animals hard- 
 ened his heart to its abnormal state of revenge. 
 
 In the meantime Eleanor had grown careless of 
 her door, and was surprised one evening when her 
 father stood before her. She closed the book she 
 had been reading, and prayerfully waited for the 
 encounter. 
 
 In a mild tone of voice, more dreaded than his 
 harsher speech, he asked: "Eleanor, what was the 
 cause of your misfortune?" 
 
 "I was," came the prompt reply. 
 
 "There were other influences and circumstances. 
 What were they?" he questioned. 
 
 "The influence of the stars; the warm South wind 
 that kissed my cheek; the ravishing perfume of the 
 flowers that found their way to the little balcony 
 under my window; the mythological poems that I 
 studied, that told of love of the gods. I can't ex- 
 plain the mystery of it all. I am weary of think- 
 ing and sick with longing." 
 
 She seemed to forget that she was speaking to 
 her father, and he saw that she was living again 
 those hours of the past, and his mind went back to 
 long banished memories. Another face filled the 
 space between him and his daughter; a young girl
 
 228 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 as he had loved her: then, a happy bride when he 
 hated her: again, an agonized mother and a dead 
 child. With these came the words of the minister's 
 text a few Sundays previous : "Vengence is mine, I 
 will recompense." 
 
 He turned and hastily left the house; and, Elea- 
 nor, aroused from her reverie, was surprised to find 
 that the interview was ended. A sad sigh escaped 
 her and a deep sense of gratitude filled her heart, 
 for she was sure that some power stronger than hu- 
 man influence had subdued her father's wrath. 
 
 Later, when she kissed her mother "good night," 
 she put her arms around her neck and whispered: 
 "Mamma, dear, Mamma, you can't understand the 
 awful loneliness of my heart, and, forgive me, 
 Mamma, but it's true, there is the sweetest sadness 
 that comes with the memories of those school days; 
 and I do believe that God will take care of me, be- 
 cause he softened father's anger to-day." 
 
 "I am thankful for even temporary peace, dear, 
 now go to bed and try to rest," replied her mother. 
 
 She buried her face in the pillows and sobbed her- 
 self to sleep, and dreamed of the little balcony and 
 the stars and pansies blooming in the cold snow. 
 
 Whenever Doctor Harding entered his daughter's 
 room with the determination to force her to a con- 
 fession of the circumstances that brought an abrupt 
 ending to her college career, she seemed to be pro- 
 tected by some supernatural power. Though his 
 anger grew more bitter and his hatred more hellish; 
 some word of the girl, innocently spoken, some sen- 
 tence framed without design, would touch a secret 
 chord that, vibrating with his own thoughts, a phan- 
 tom of his evil deeds would rise up between them, 
 and shield her from his invectives. 
 
 Weeks past. Late one afternoon he came into 
 his wife's room with an open letter in his hand.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 229 
 
 "A letter from Tom. He expects to sail the thir- 
 tieth of next month. What are you going to do 
 about it? What are you going to do anyway? 
 Something must be done before he gets home." 
 
 His wife did not reply. He walked the floor, mut- 
 tering to himself, "Perversity damn stubbornness 
 headstrong." 
 
 "Doesn't she come by some of her faults hon- 
 estly?" questioned Luella Harding, hesitatingly. 
 
 "That's enough! I don't want to hear any more 
 about the sin of the parent visited on the children. 
 If there were any virtue in your saintly prayers, you 
 might avert the evils of hereditary depravity," 
 sneered the Doctor. 
 
 "I haven't lost all my faith yet," mildly replied 
 his wife. 
 
 "Well, I'll supplement it with works. Take these 
 powders and give her one every three hours." 
 
 "She does not need any medicine " began the 
 
 mother. 
 
 "Will you give them to her," he demanded, "or 
 shall I stay at home and see that my directions are 
 carried out?" 
 
 "I'll give her a powder every three hours," she 
 meekly replied. 
 
 When the doctor left the house, Mrs. Harding 
 took the medicine from all the little papers save one, 
 and replaced it with sugar and flour. She then went 
 up to her daughter's room and told her what she 
 had done, and said: 
 
 "I am sure that the powder he intended you should 
 take is a very strong medicine, and he will watch 
 for its effect on you. You will have to do some 
 clever acting in order to deceive him." 
 
 "Do you mean for me to feign to make be- 
 lieve? That is so unlike you, Mamma," said Elea- 
 nor. 
 
 "My dear, in the last hour a revolution has passed
 
 230 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 through my soul. Another self is dominant: the old 
 submissive one is completely crushed. Henceforth 
 I shall determine your welfare and, 'the Lord will- 
 ing,' accomplish your destiny, praying that I sin not 
 as a wife and mother." 
 
 "Mayn't you be mistaken, Mamma? I told him 
 that I have a severe headache. Perhaps he feels 
 more kindly than you think?" 
 
 "No, dear, I have learned to read his face. I 
 know what a certain twitching of his eye and the 
 hard set of his jaw mean." 
 
 "O, I am so unutterably sad!" sobbed Eleanor. 
 
 "Your father is desperate and and, I'll try not 
 to judge him too harshly. But we must deceive him 
 for a few days." 
 
 "What good will a few days do?" 
 
 "Your Uncle Richard and Aunt Mabel will be at 
 home next week. Their presence will be a restrain- 
 ing influence." 
 
 "O, but I don't want to see them, Mamma. Can't 
 we go away to spend the summer?" 
 
 "We might possibly arrange it. We'll think 
 about it. You know Richard has purchased a car- 
 riage that is run by electricity, called an automobile. 
 Judge Johnson says it's a wonderful machine. I 
 never knew him so elated over anything as he is 
 over their automobile. He has arranged for Rich- 
 ard to take your father and some friends on a 
 pleasure trip down through Kentucky. But we have 
 other things to think of now. This medicine, that is, 
 the real medicine, in all probability would make a 
 change in the action of your pulse " she hesi- 
 tated, endeavoring to hide her tears, "you mustn't 
 let the doctor take your temperature or feel your 
 pulse. So, perhaps you had better play the part of 
 the willful hysteric. Watch his questioning, and an- 
 swer as you think he anticipates. Be sure that you
 
 GRANDMOTHER 231 
 
 don't take any medicine that he may want to give 
 you till I have had a chance to " 
 
 "You don't think he would " Eleanor stared, 
 
 with questioning horror. 
 
 "I hope not, dear. He was up very late last night, 
 and his countenance was dark and severe. He's been 
 strangely restless all morning. He forbid me to 
 speak to him of Mabel's coming." 
 
 "Maybe, he don't like it because they have the 
 first automobile?" 
 
 "It's not that, for if he likes it he will get one of 
 his own. It would be an advantage to him in his 
 practice." 
 
 "Well, I wish something would happen to take 
 his thoughts away from me. I am weary, sick and 
 sad. I know that the way I failed in finishing my 
 senior year was a great disappointment to him, but 
 it does not justify him in adding more wickedness to 
 what can't be helped," sighed the girl. 
 
 "Be courageous and follow my advice. Don't let 
 him get any satisfaction. You know how to act bet- 
 ter than I can tell you." 
 
 "I can do anything in the world for your sake, 
 Mamma, I would willingly die for you, if by so do- 
 ing I could blot out all of your unhappy life and give 
 you that which you deserve. But I will not suffer for 
 the cruel man whose false pride and egoism would 
 condemn me to eternal misery." 
 
 The powders were taken regularly, and at 9 
 o'clock in the evening Dr. Harding went to Elea- 
 nor's room. He found her in bed, sobbing. Her 
 hair was disheveled and her covers awary. 
 
 "Where are you suffering?" inquired the doctor. 
 
 Her mumbled reply from the depths of the pil- 
 lows was unintelligible. 
 
 "Where are those powders?" he asked, looking 
 around,
 
 232 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 His wife, who was listening, came in from the 
 hall, and he questioned her. She knew he was not 
 satisfied; but she did not shrink as she would have 
 done under other circumstances. She was resolved 
 to outwit him by deception, or, failing in that, resist 
 in open defiance. 
 
 "Has she slept any?" he asked. 
 
 "I do not know," she replied. 
 
 "It's your business to know," he asserted. 
 
 "I was kept in the parlor with callers," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 "Hang callers! How many more damn ques- 
 tions did your callers ask?" he questioned. 
 
 "Nothing more than to ask if Eleanor was im- 
 proving, and if she really had tuberculosis," said 
 Mrs. Harding. Then, to hide a smile that took 
 her unaware, she added: "They were very kind in 
 their sympathy." 
 
 From behind her father's back Eleanor was peek- 
 ing from under the pillow; her face was aglow with 
 fun and mischief, which the traces of real sorrow 
 made most pathetic. The Doctor turned sharply 
 around and was greeted with a prolonged groan. 
 
 "Give me those powders," he demanded. 
 
 "There is only one left," Mrs. Harding replied, 
 mildly. 
 
 "There should be two," he stated. 
 
 "I spilled one," she lied. 
 
 He took the real powder, opened and examined 
 it, and said: "Give this to her now, and I will 
 prepare some more." 
 
 Mrs. Harding crossed the room to get a spoon 
 and glass of water from a stand, and, as she did 
 so, exchanged the real powder for the false one; 
 and after a great deal of coaxing, she quieted her 
 daughter sufficiently to take it. 
 
 "You had better stay with her. I'll be in my
 
 GRANDMOTHER 233 
 
 study for the rest of the evening," said the Doctor, 
 as he left the room. 
 
 "Take that awful powder out of your mouth, 
 Mamma. I saw you slip it in. Spit it out," urged 
 Eleanor, as soon the door closed on her father. 
 
 "I did, dear, the moment Thomas turned his 
 back." They smiled into each other's tear-stained 
 eyes. "You acted well, can you keep it up?" 
 
 "I'll try, Mamma. It is fun to fool him. How 
 shall I perform when he comes again?" 
 
 Mrs. Harding raised her finger and looked to- 
 ward the door. Both listened and heard a sound 
 like one breathing excitedly. Eleanor began to moan 
 and groan and fret. In a few minutes her father 
 opened the door. He tried to take her hands and 
 examine her pulse, and she flung wildly about. He 
 laid his hand on her hair, and she buried her face 
 in the pillows. Her mother tried to soothe her, and 
 she screamed and cried, taking care not to make a 
 noise that could be heard very far. 
 
 "Give her this powder and it will quiet her nerves 
 so she may sleep. At one o'clock begin with these 
 pink powders, and give her one every two hours. 
 I have a call to the west side of the city that will 
 detain me all night. I want Eleanor to sleep while 
 I'm absent." 
 
 "I'll go down and get some fresh water," said 
 Mrs. Harding. She allowed some trivial duties to 
 detain her in the dining-room until her husband had 
 left the house. When she returned to her daughter's 
 room, they laughed and cried together. 
 
 "I hope, dear, that you can sleep in peace to- 
 night, though I never know what to expect from 
 Thomas. He may return at any moment, or he may 
 stay away for days." 
 
 "Mamma, you are so kind and good to me. I 
 wish I could make you know how deeply I appreciate
 
 234 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 your patience, and especially your willingness to let 
 me suffer alone; to make all this sorrow mine." 
 
 "I believe I understand you, dear, but I trust that 
 'the end is not yet.' "
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE SPECTRE. 
 
 "Do you think the old man is a dullard?" in- 
 quired the Adjutant-General of his assistant. 
 
 "I'm more inclined to think that he's a detective, 
 employed by a party who has reasons for avoiding 
 the police," replied the assistant. 
 
 "What evidence have you?" inquired the superior 
 officer. 
 
 "The manner in which he frequents public places, 
 without any apparent object, save to watch for men. 
 He never smokes, drinks, gambles, or swears; he 
 simply sits for hours at a stretch, intently watching 
 each customer as he appears. Having fully identi- 
 fied them all, he quietly disappears and seeks a posi- 
 tion in a new locality. He was over a month in that 
 gambling den of Blodget's, which the police scat- 
 tered last week. The toughs kicked him out; still 
 he persisted, and they finally gave him a seat in the 
 hall, where he sat staring at each stranger until he 
 removed his hat and coat. In the lobby of the Poor 
 Man's Eating-House, where the men are in a hurry, 
 he would grab hold of them and turn them half 
 round, then civilly beg their pardon. One inspection 
 is all he wants. He doesn't waste time on a second 
 look. Policeman or vagabond, banker or chimney- 
 sweep, all possess the same interest for him," replied 
 the assistant. 
 
 "Doubtless you're correct," said the Adjutant- 
 General of the Salvation Army. 
 
 235
 
 236 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "When walking on the street, he'll pass a man, 
 and turn quickly to go back on the other side of him," 
 said the assistant, laughing. 
 
 "A case of aberration," concluded the Adjutant 
 
 "Rather conclusive evidence that the old colored 
 man is not concerned about the actions of anyone," 
 stated the assistant; "simply looking for a certain 
 man that he will recognize by some earmark when 
 he sees him. There goes his nurse, question her." 
 
 "How is your patient, Miss Fredereka?" inquired 
 the officer. 
 
 "Still flighty and very weak," was the reply. 
 
 "Where was he found? Have you learned any 
 facts about him?" 
 
 "It seems that he'd followed a funeral procession 
 conducted by the Masons and Odd Fellows. He'd 
 been walking very rapidly, going back and forth, first 
 on one side of the parade and then on the other, and 
 had doubtless fainted from exhaustion. He was 
 found unconscious by the side of the road and 
 brought to the Salvation Army Hospital," replied 
 the nurse. 
 
 "What does the doctor think of his condition?" 
 questioned the assistant. "I'm interested in him." 
 
 "It acts like a sunstroke, though the doctor thinks 
 he will recover," said Miss Fredereka. 
 
 "I hope so," added the officer. "Such faithful- 
 ness to a purpose deserves its reward. Could you 
 gather any information from his wanderings?" 
 
 "I could only distinguish the letters, D. V. But 
 toward morning he was quite rational for a little 
 while, and told me that he had been hunting for a 
 man who had only one ear. He has gone from place 
 to place, in the grog-shops and saloons, in China- 
 town, over at the Italian quarters, among the Jews 
 and other foreigners," she stated interestedly. 
 
 "I'll wager you've promised to continue his search, 
 in case he dies," said the officer, kindly.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 237 
 
 "Perhaps. He's to tell me all about it when he's 
 stronger." 
 
 "His man may be dead," suggested the assistant. 
 
 "Uncle Henry believes that he is not, because his 
 life is necessary for some great retribution," averred 
 the nurse. 
 
 "I've been working with the army a long time, and 
 we do occasionally find an imposter," asserted the 
 officer. 
 
 "I've been with the army nearly twenty years and 
 I've never seen the righteous forsaken," replied the 
 nurse. 
 
 "But you have, occasionally, been mistaken in 
 those whom you thought were righteous," persisted 
 the officer, blandly. 
 
 "When I was young," said Fredereka, smiling, 
 "I had faith in every one. I have learned to dis- 
 tinguish between the good and the near-good; the 
 bad and the near-bad." 
 
 Days and weeks passed. The voices of spring 
 were hushed in the heat of the summer sun; scantily 
 clothed children rolled out on the sidewalks; crowded 
 tenements opened up for ventilation; buildings took 
 on new, dry colors, and the air was vibrant with 
 outdoor life. 
 
 "Where've you been, Uncle Henry? I've not 
 given you permission to go out yet. You're not 
 strong enough. And here I've sat up until nearly 
 twelve o'clock," scolded Miss Fredereka. 
 
 Henry, trembling and shaking, fell into a chair 
 near his cot. 
 
 "Ah, Miss Fredereka, I've done seen a sure 
 'nough ghost," said the old man. 
 
 "You're not well, Uncle Henry, and your im- 
 agination got the better of you," replied the nurse. 
 "There are no such things as ghosts." 
 
 Henry shook his head. "I got powerful restless, 
 an' just started to take a little walk. The moon
 
 238 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 was bright an' I ca'culated that I could see plainer 
 if I got a little ways out from the city. You see, 
 Miss Fred'reka, I told you as how I could look at 
 the moon an' know that my Misses, the Grand- 
 mother, could look at the same object. An' when I 
 get homesick for the old place, I just go out an' look 
 at the moon." 
 
 "And did you see the ghost in the moon?" queried 
 the nurse. 
 
 "Sure, law! No, Miss Fred'reka, I was a walkin' 
 'long by the cemetery; an' just as I looked over to- 
 ward the hill that comes down back of them tall 
 marbles, I seen a man, powerful tall. Leastwise, I 
 thought he was a man. He was swingin' his long 
 arms, an' his long white hair was a streamin' in the 
 wind; an' he has a beard like Aaron's beard that 
 come clean down to the edge of his garments, with 
 dew on it. Yes, sir; Miss Fred'reka, I sure 'nough 
 seen just such a man a comin' down that hill, power- 
 ful fast. All to once he run up to a big gravestone 
 and swung his long arms up an' down; an' then, 
 pretty soon, he screamed a powerful strange, wailin' 
 moan that made the chills go up an' down my back, 
 an' took all the kink out of my hair. Sure ! Miss 
 Fred'reka, it done stood up straight as an Injun's. 
 My knees knocked together so as I couldn't move. 
 Then everything was still like, an' the groanin' got 
 softer an' softer; an' I kept my eye straight on that 
 tall man. The moon come out from behind a cloud, 
 an' sure, Miss Fred'reka, just while I was lookin' 
 right at that man, he was gone !" 
 
 "Like a flash he vanished, did he?" added the 
 nurse. 
 
 "Sure ! it was no man. It was a real live ghost," 
 . persisted Henry. 
 
 "But if he were alive he would not be a ghost," 
 laughed the nurse. 
 
 "When a bad man dies," said Henry, "I 'low his
 
 GRANDMOTHER 239 
 
 soul comes back to haunt the earth. When he is 
 movin' round, he sure is 'live. When he disappears, 
 he sure is dead. 'If he expurgates his sins,' our 
 old preacher say, *de Lord let him rest in peace.' 
 That's the why folks be 'fraid o' ghosts. Leastways, 
 maybe I don't know much for sure," soliloquized 
 Henry, still nervous over his experience. 
 
 "If you will obey orders and not go out for sev- 
 eral days, I'll have the matter investigated and find 
 your live ghost some night; but the recovery of your 
 health and the continuation of your special mission 
 is of more importance to you," said the nurse. 
 
 Fredereka Lewis was too anxious for the old ne- 
 gro to get sufficiently strong to begin his quest for 
 the missing man, to endanger his health by risking 
 another trip to the graveyard; so she secured the 
 company of the bravest one of the nurses, and fol- 
 lowing Uncle Henry's directions, went out near the 
 cemetery. Having secreted themselves in a comfort- 
 able place behind some shrubbery, they watched for 
 the appearance of the live ghost. They thought it 
 probable that some one was haunting the tombs for 
 pillage; boys had been known to exchange flowers 
 and ribbons, stolen from the graves, for cigarettes. 
 It would require only a little imagination to make a 
 prowling boy a ghost among the tombstones. The 
 bravest will experience uncanny sensations in watch- 
 ing a graveyard at night, when the moon turns every 
 shadow into a moving object, and the white stones 
 reflect a different face with each passing cloud. The 
 two women were nervously conversing in an under- 
 tone, when Fredereka caught her companion by the 
 hand, and they held their breath and gazed out over 
 the cemetery. From the centre of the tall, dark hill 
 that towered back of the city of the dead, there 
 emerged an object. The old colored man was not 
 mistaken. The live ghost, with long limbs and fly- 
 ing hair and beard, came rapidly down the hill. He
 
 240 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 wandered on, turning first in one direction and then 
 the other, when, suddenly, he made for the centre 
 of the grounds and stood a moment before a large 
 monument in the form of a cross. The grave was 
 up on a little hillock, which made the cross and the 
 strange apparition stand out distinctly. The girls 
 watched and listened, trembling but afraid to move, 
 convinced, yet doubting their own vision. He waved 
 his arms and clasped the body of the cross to his 
 breast, and the unearthly wails that he sent forth 
 might have come from Dante's "Inferno" : "There 
 shrieks are heard and lamentations, moans." Then, 
 under the light of the full moon, he speedily dis- 
 appeared. The earth seemed to open and swallow 
 him, as when Moses commanded and Korah was 
 engulfed. 
 
 The girls were never quite able to understand how 
 they got back to the city. A few nights later, in 
 company with two young men, they occupied the 
 same retired spot and watched for the appearance 
 and disappearance of the live ghost, and witnessed 
 the same mysterious performance. The intention 
 had been to follow the spectre and learn how it van- 
 ished. But a threatening rain-cloud made a legiti- 
 mate excuse for hurrying home, and purporting a 
 daylight visit to examine the tomb. Half a dozen 
 went out; but there were no marks of the human, 
 and no revelations of the supernatural. The report 
 of a ghost spread through the city, and, night after 
 night, curious crowds haunted the outskirts of the 
 cemetery, enlightened by imagination and strength- 
 ened by confabulation. Consequently the tales 
 brought back were contradictory and unreliable ; and, 
 doubtless, such promiscuity was disgusting to a re- 
 spectable ghost. However that may be, the inter- 
 est waned, and the variety-loving Americans turned 
 in pursuit of new amusements. 
 
 Uncle Henry, dominated by the perplexities of his
 
 GRANDMOTHER 441 
 
 own secret, morbidly connected it with this new 
 mystery. During the weeks of his illness he had 
 forgotten to send to the post-office and a letter ad- 
 dressed to him had been returned. Left without 
 money, he asked for work in the hospital. There 
 was not much that he could do, though he faithfully 
 made an effort to be useful. 
 
 "Uncle Henry," said Fredereka, coming into the 
 ward where the old colored man was fanning a sick 
 boy, "I want to make a bargain with you." 
 
 "Sure, Miss Fredereka, I'm agreed," replied 
 Uncle Henry. 
 
 "If I give you something very nice, will you do 
 as I request?" 
 
 "Ain't I always 'bedient to your commands?" in- 
 quired the old man. 
 
 "Yes; you're all right. Here's the letter you've 
 been expecting, and, if it contains money, we simply 
 don't want you to start home until some of these 
 poor sufferers are out of the way. That last train- 
 wreck is giving us a dozen more bruised and mangled 
 people to wait on, and we can't spare you." 
 
 Fredereka Lewis gave the old man a letter. It 
 contained fifty dollars in bills and four pages of 
 letter-paper written over in a plain, smooth chirog- 
 raphy, which was well sprinkled with tears before 
 Uncle Henry had finished reading it. Then, he 
 folded the five-dollar bills separately and put them 
 in different pockets, reasoning that if he was robbed 
 in one pocket, the others might escape. Experience 
 had proved the prudence of his plan. He offered 
 to pay twenty-five dollars for his board and care 
 while ill in the hospital; but it was refused. 
 
 " 'After many days,' D. V.," murmured Henry. 
 
 "What do you mean, Uncle Henry? You were 
 always calling on Grandmother, and saying 'D. V.' 
 when you were delirious," said Fredereka. 
 
 "Grandmother is my old Mistress. The children
 
 242 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 an' the neighbor's children, they all call her Grand- 
 mother. All her future is planned, D. V. All the 
 past accepted, 'cause it come, D. V.," explained 
 Uncle Henry. 
 
 "The doctor said D. V. stood for the latin, Deo 
 Volente, the Lord Willing," stated Fredereka. 
 
 "Sure. The Lord willing, this here boy will get 
 well, an' we can send him home to his mother, an' 
 he will never run away any more." He smiled at 
 the boy as he wakened from a long sleep. The little 
 fellow had played truant from school and been run 
 over by an automobile. 
 
 "Good-bye, boy; I'm glad you're better. I must 
 hasten away. I'm detailed to carry some medicine 
 to a sick man on the hill back of the Catholic ceme- 
 tery, and I must find a man to go out and care for 
 him," said the nurse, as she arranged the boy's pil- 
 lows so he would rest comfortably. 
 
 "Please, Miss Fredereka, let me go with you?" 
 asked Henry. 
 
 "You can't walk fast and we must hurry to get 
 back before dark," the nurse answered. 
 
 "I'd like powerful well to go," urged Henry; 
 " Tears like I got to go." 
 
 "Come on, then. I'll carry the basket of food, 
 and you the medicine," said Fredereka, smiling. 
 
 "Powerful obliged to you." The old man rose at 
 once, called a girl to take his place by the cot, nodded 
 his head to the boy, and went softly out with the 
 head nurse. 
 
 There are two main roads that lead south from 
 the city. One branches southwest past the Catholic 
 and Masonic cemeteries; the other, southeast, is sep- 
 arated from a view of the graveyards by a hill, or 
 cluster of great and small hills. In early days, a 
 number of fine residences, a church, a small bank 
 building, and an amusement-hall looked down on 
 the growing city from these picturesque heights. A
 
 GRANDMOTHER 243 
 
 great fire had destroyed the dwellings, and the other 
 houses had been neglected or torn down. All that 
 remained of the bank was the vault, which had been 
 built into the hillside. It made a very good basement 
 kitchen, or cellar. A one-room cottage had been 
 put up in front of the old vault, and, into it Fred- 
 ereka and Henry entered with their Salvation Army 
 supplies for the sick man. A table stood in the cen- 
 tre of the room; two cane-bottom chairs were near 
 the window, a clock ticked on the shelf. In the cor- 
 ner was an old-fashioned corded bedstead with 
 straw-filled bedtick. A quilt, pieced after the pat- 
 tern of the "ocean wave," faded and worn, dis- 
 played the various colors of the scraps left from 
 dresses of the child. Fredereka knew at once that 
 a loving mother's hand had pieced the quilt, and 
 the knowledge might give her the key to the man's 
 confidence. The moaning from under the cover was 
 not pleasant to hear, and the nurse gently turned 
 back the spread. As she did so, she drew back with 
 a start and looked toward Uncle Henry, whose eyes 
 were riveted on his live ghost. 
 
 "Sit down, Uncle Henry. Remember, D. V., it 
 will be all right," said Fredereka, with a forced se- 
 verity in her tone that was necessary to strengthen 
 his trembling old body. 
 
 "Mr. Adams," spoke the girl. The man opened 
 his eyes but did not move. He was lying with his 
 face resting on one hand. 
 
 "The doctor has sent us with some medicine and 
 food for you. He said your name was Adams." 
 
 "What doctor?" mumbled the man, glaring at her 
 with angry eyeballs. 
 
 "The doctor from the Salvation Army hospital. 
 He picked you up in the ravine last week and brought 
 you home. Don't you remember of telling him that 
 you were trying to crawl up to your house?" The 
 sweet tone and the army-nurse influence subdued his
 
 244 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 anger, and he remained quiet. She continued : "The 
 doctor said your clothes were wet through; you must 
 have some clean garments or your fever will in- 
 crease, and, perhaps, serious trouble result." 
 
 Henry began to tremble. To touch the man was 
 as much as he could do. He would run home rather 
 than remain alone in the room with him. 
 
 Comprehending the situation and understanding 
 the negro's dread and anxiety, the nurse added: 
 "I'll help dress you after Henry has bathed you and 
 brushed your hair. While he's doing that I'll wash 
 this front window." The window did not need it; 
 for everything about the room was clean and in 
 order. 
 
 Henry timidly approached the bed and essayed to 
 remove the quilt ; but the invalid held on to it. 
 
 "Better hang it in the sun to air, an' let me put 
 this blanket over you," advised the colored man. 
 
 The man shook his head. 
 
 Fredereka came near and said: "You must have 
 your clothes changed. If we don't get you nice and 
 comfortable, the Doctor will censure us." 
 
 "Doctor?" he demanded savagely. 
 
 "The Salvation Army physician. We work under 
 his orders. This is a pretty patchwork quilt. It is 
 called the ocean wave. I have one like it. My 
 mother made it for me. I suspect your mother 
 pieced this for you. That's why you love it, and 
 don't want to sleep under any other." His face 
 softened and his eyes grew moist. "I'd like to put 
 it in the sun by the window. You may have it again." 
 She removed the quilt gently and motioned to Henry 
 to get to work. 
 
 The hospital training enabled the colored man to 
 accomplish the changes with little fatigue to the pa- 
 tient and the bed was soon made comfortable. The 
 muddy garments were carried out and Henry began 
 the more unpleasant task of combing the long, gray
 
 GRANDMOTHER 245 
 
 hair. He had smoothed out one side and turned 
 the sick man's face toward the wall that he might 
 more conveniently brush the other side. Fredereka, 
 busily arranging the provisions on the little table, had 
 stepped to the door to fill a glass with water from 
 a pail outside; but it dropped from her fingers and 
 splashed back into the water, and her whole being 
 thrilled through and through at the sound of Uncle 
 Henry's voice. 
 
 In surprised, exultant, glorified, yet subdued tones, 
 he murmured: U D. V., Grandmother, D. V." 
 
 Fredereka came to the bed. The old negro was 
 supporting himself against the wall, with hands 
 clasped as in prayer, and eyes gazing up at heaven. 
 The shaggy, gray hair was drawn back from the in- 
 valid's face, exposing a peculiar scar just back of 
 the jaw. The long-sought-for man was found at 
 last. 
 
 "What's the ado?" asked Luke Adams. 
 
 "Uncle Henry is very religious, Mr. Adams," be- 
 gan Fredereka, "and often prays." 
 
 That seemed to satisfy him ; but, presently he said : 
 "I pray to the Virgin Mother. Didn't he say, Grand- 
 mother?" 
 
 Henry seemed metamorphosed from the timid old 
 man to youth, strength, and happiness. He caressed 
 the capillose head tenderly, lovingly, and grinned as 
 he replied: 
 
 "I can pray an' give thanks to Virgins, Mothers, 
 an' Grandmothers, an' all the saints in glory. Just 
 you take your medicine an' eat a bite. We're goin' 
 to get you well." Henry knew what he was working 
 for now. All fear, or superstition, had gone with 
 his discovery. 
 
 The nurse fixed the medicine, and Henry saw that 
 it was swallowed. In the vault or cellar, a little 
 oilstove was found on which she made coffee, and 
 the man ate supper and felt revived and more willing
 
 246 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 to talk. Henry begged to remain all night. After 
 years of strenuous effort he dared not lose sight of 
 his man; so a blanket was spread down on the floor 
 and a coat rolled up for a pillow. The next morn- 
 ing, a cot and necessary comforts were sent up from 
 the hospital. The man, Luke Adams, was weak and 
 exhausted in mind and body, and submitted passively 
 to their plans. In a few days Uncle Henry was se- 
 curely established in the queer cottage on the hill. 
 All that he could learn from his charge was that he 
 had a task to finish; that done and he was ready 
 to die. He could not be coaxed into telling about 
 himself. Night after night, he grew more and more 
 restless, and at last demanded of the doctor to know 
 the worst of his condition. When told that one 
 limb was paralyzed so that he might not be able to 
 walk again, he tore his hair and raved wildly. Help- 
 less and exhausted he was forced to listen to the 
 advice of the old negro. 
 
 "You just got to get strong as you can, an' maybe 
 I can help you to walk a little," he said soothingly. 
 
 "Will you help me down to that big cross in the 
 Catholic cemetery?" asked Luke Adams, anxiously. 
 
 "Fetch you down there?" asked Henry, startled. 
 "You couldn't get back; I couldn't tote you up the 
 hill." 
 
 "I'll get back. Will you take me down?" pleaded 
 the man. 
 
 "I'll go look over the hill an' see how far 'tis," 
 said Henry. 
 
 He went out and walked up over a ridge from 
 where he could look down on the city of white monu- 
 ments. The air was balmy and invigorating and he 
 thought of the sudden disappearance of the ghost, 
 and wondered if he could solve the mystery by carry- 
 ing Luke Adams to the tomb. Before he would 
 promise to carry him down the hill, he would require
 
 GRANDMOTHER 247 
 
 him to give up his secret and explain the task he 
 had to accomplish. Henry was "powerfully" afraid 
 of the cemetery; but the success of his long quest was 
 a stronger passion than fear. He knew, too, that he 
 could pack the man up the hill; for he was not much 
 more than skin and bones. 
 
 Returning to the cottage and pulling a chair near 
 the bed he said: "I want to ask you a question, 
 Marse Luke Adams. Nights, when you think I'm 
 asleep, what are you groaning about?" 
 
 "I want to get up and walk," sputtered the man. 
 
 "Sure! You are pow'ful anxious to walk, an' 
 you pow'ful troubled 'bout what you done long time 
 ago," said Henry, sympathetically. 
 
 "How do you know? Have I been delirious?" 
 asked Adams, alarmed. 
 
 "I won't tell nothin'. You can trust me like a 
 priest," said Henry, uncertainly. 
 
 "Priest! God knows my sentence is long and 
 hard, and it may be purgatory in the end," moaned 
 Adams. 
 
 "Sure, powerful sure, the good Lord knows it 
 all." Henry's nerves were taut. He feared the 
 conversation would end abruptly as it had done on 
 other nights when he was near to touching the secret 
 spring of the man's life. 
 
 After some moments had elapsed, Adams asked: 
 "What have you heard me talking about?" 
 
 "Uncle Henry is honorable, he don't eavedrop," 
 said the colored man, aggrieved. 
 
 "You couldn't help hearing over on your cot, 
 when you're awake and I'm a dreaming. What do 
 you know? I'm not mad about it. You're a friend 
 
 to me, and you're going to be legs to me. So I 
 
 What do you know, blast it? What are you taking 
 care of me for?" urged the paralytic. 
 
 "The Salvation Army works for the Master," said 
 Henry, solemnly.
 
 248 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "They work and ask no questions. You've been 
 trying to pump me all the time. I'm no fool." A 
 flicker of a smile came into Adams' eyes. 
 
 "Lord forgive me for pryin' into a sick man's 
 secrets," prayed Henry, with feeling. 
 
 "What secrets?" demanded Adams. "What do 
 you know?" 
 
 Henry made the experiment that Miss Fredereka 
 had suggested. "I know how you love that old 
 mother, an' how you hate that other doctor." 
 
 First tears, then a burning flash of anger shot 
 from Adams' eyes. "She loved the devil who ruined 
 her. Poor mother! poor mother! Henry, carry me 
 to the tomb, I must go. It's for her sake that I 
 must go," he begged. "Let my soul be damned so 
 she may pass from purgatory." 
 
 "Now, see here, Marse Adams. Just you get 
 quiet an' listen to this old Baptist nigger. There 
 ain't no purgatory 'cept on the earth. Your old 
 mammy has been all the time in the busom of the 
 Lord, an' you been wastin' a powerful lot of time 
 grievin' for her. Your own sins 're all you need to 
 'tend to. An' that wicked doctor " Henry hesi- 
 tated, wondering if he was dead. "What he 
 done " Still he hesitated. 
 
 "I promised mother on her death-bed that I'd 
 never tell on him; and, because I refused to confess 
 it to the priest, I've got this awful penance to per- 
 form," groaned Adams. 
 
 "I see, I see," said Henry, sympathetically, not in 
 the least comprehending what Adams had admitted. 
 
 "Are you going to carry me to the tomb?" de- 
 manded Adams. Getting no reply, he turned his 
 face to the wall and refused to talk. 
 
 Henry looked out on the still night, at the waning 
 moon and myriad stars, and out over the city, where 
 the lights and noise and smoke of animated nature 
 and living beings gave marrow to the bone and
 
 GRANDMOTHER 249 
 
 strength to the heart. Then he walked over the lit- 
 tle hillside and again looked down on the slumber- 
 ing city of the dead. With both in view the con- 
 glomeration of sonorific sound on the right, the soli- 
 tary, sepulchral silence on the left, he deliberated. 
 Outside the city, on the road that leads past the 
 cemetery, were the quarters of the Salvation Army. 
 To keep their nearness uppermost in his mind, would 
 strengthen his nerve and sustain his courage to the 
 daring feat of solving, at once and alone, the mys- 
 tery of the evanescent ghost. 
 
 He returned to the cottage, and, lighting the can- 
 dle, went into the vault, which was used both for a 
 clothes-press and a cellar. He got a pair of trous- 
 ers and a linen coat, and came to the bed. Adams 
 was now watching him, his eyes radiant with joy. 
 Beard and hair so covered his face that the organs 
 of vision were the only index of his emotions. Now 
 they shone with a strange, unnatural fire that almost 
 shook Henry out of his resolution to carry him 
 to the cross. As the old quilt was laid back Adams 
 patted it lovingly, and submitted nervously to the 
 dressing. He was elated over the prospect, and im- 
 patient to be on the way. With his arms around 
 Henry's neck, his breast on his back, and the negro's 
 hands clasped under his trouser seat, they started 
 over the hill. 
 
 "What'll you be taken for?" asked Luke Adams. 
 "Croesus with a bag of gold, or old Peter Piper with 
 his stolen sheep?" 
 
 "Ghosts," panted Henry. 
 
 "Wonder if any one took me for a ghost?" asked 
 Adams, interestedly. 
 
 "That was when I first made your acquaintance," 
 panted Henry. "Crowds come out to see you." 
 
 "And got disappointed. I saw them, but didn't 
 know they were looking for me. I was sick, got too 
 wet, took cold, and, now, these legs. I guess the
 
 250 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 Lord sent you to lend me your legs. Can you hold 
 out? Am I very heavy?" He began to grow nerv- 
 ous. 
 
 The trip was accomplished with difficulty. A bar 
 in the iron fence around the cemetery, which Adams 
 had fixed to slip out to admit him, had become rusty 
 and required a good deal of kicking to work it loose. 
 But the man was at last put down on the grassy 
 mound in front of the tomb, above which stood the 
 large white cross. Henry stepped back and wiped 
 the perspiration from his brow. 
 
 "Now you go home," ordered Luke Adams. 
 
 Henry stood dumfounded. Home; and leave a 
 man who could not walk a step or even stand on his 
 feet! All his superstitious horror of ghosts came 
 back to him. Go home and let the man disappear 
 and come up out of the bowels of the earth and 
 greet him in his bed! 
 
 "Go," again Adams commanded. 
 
 Henry went back toward the road with a half- 
 conceived idea of watching him from a distance. 
 Adams, twisting his neck, saw him and begged him 
 to leave him alone for an hour. Henry moved far- 
 ther away, but still could see him. From his half- 
 sitting attitude, Adams lifted his long arms wildly, 
 and, as he pointed to the crown above the cross, he 
 seemed to be rising out of the earth in a supernatural 
 form. The negro could stand no more, and took to 
 his heels and ran for the road. Before he reached 
 the gate, he heard the old wailing lamentation, and, 
 as he climbed the high fence he glanced back, and 
 saw the arms outspread, then drop, and the man dis- 
 appear. Henry did not stop until he reached the 
 barracks. 
 
 Fredereka Lewis was out, and, not wishing to con- 
 fide in any other, he asked for a place to rest, not 
 expecting to sleep. But the calm and peace of his 
 surroundings, aided by his physical exhaustion, im-
 
 GRANDMOTHER 251 
 
 prisoned his mind in slumber. With the coming of 
 daylight, came the feeling of abject disgust with him- 
 self, that he should have lost the opportunity of 
 solving the mystery of the tomb, and forsaken the 
 man before he had secured the information that he 
 knew he possessed. Without a moment's hesitation, 
 he procured some of the daily provisions and re- 
 turned to the cottage. There were no signs of any 
 one having been there before him. Thanking the 
 good Lord that the weather was fair, he returned to 
 the city and found Miss Fredereka and told her all 
 that he had done. Together, they went to the ceme- 
 tery; but no one was there. Ascending the hill by 
 the path that Henry had carried the sick man down, 
 they found no traces of him; the inside of the cot- 
 tage was undisturbed. The old servant was so dis- 
 tressed and conscience-stricken that he opened his 
 heart to the nurse and asked her to help him; he 
 told her why he had hunted for the man and what he 
 wished to find out. She was deeply interested. Sud- 
 denly their colloquy was interrupted by the sound 
 of a familiar moan. They sprang out of the door 
 together and found Luke Adams a few yards from 
 the house. Henry carried him in and laid him on 
 the bed. His clothes had the appearance of his hav- 
 ing passed through the bowels of the earth, though 
 no aperture in the ground was discoverable. 
 
 The doctor's call, in the afternoon, dispelled all 
 hope of recovery, and the old negro began again 
 to probe the man's past. He sat by his bed and pa- 
 tiently waited for returning vitality. Slow, quiet 
 breathing was the only evidence of life. He lay like 
 one physically and mentally exhausted. One long, 
 bony hand crept from under the quilt, and the index- 
 finger pointed to a place on the wall opposite. Henry 
 looked and could see nothing. The insistency of the 
 eyes compelled him to go and examine closely. There 
 on the white plaster near the window, were seven
 
 252 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 columns of figures. Each line beginning with one 
 and going straight down, marked the numerals to one 
 hundred. Six columns were complete. The seventh 
 column began with one and continued to ninety-eight. 
 On a nail in the window-frame hung a pencil tied to 
 a string. Henry concluded that the pencil was kept 
 there to add each number as circumstances indicated. 
 He took the pencil and looked at Adams, who tried 
 to speak. His voice was so weak that Fredereka 
 could barely distinguish, "nine, nine." 
 
 "Do you want me to mark down ninety-nine?" 
 asked Henry. 
 
 Adams nodded. 
 
 Henry put it down and remarked: "One more 
 an' you will have seven columns of one hundred 
 each." 
 
 The man's eyes brightened in pleasurable antici- 
 pation, and he whispered: "Once more, carry me 
 to the cross." 
 
 "Do you mean that you have gone to that tomb 
 in the grave-yard six hundred and ninety-nine 
 times?" asked Fredereka, in amazement. 
 
 Something like a smile flickered through Luke 
 Adams' eyes as he assented, and whispered: "Once 
 more, take me to the cross once more." 
 
 The pleading pathos of his eyes affected Henry's 
 nerves, and he rushed out of the room. As he 
 walked up and down before the door with the set- 
 ting sun laughing in his face, light dawned on his 
 muddled brain. He approached the bed gently, sat 
 down, and stroked the long fingers, and cleared his 
 throat. Tears forced their way to the surface, and 
 he blew his nose as excuse to wipe them away. 
 
 "Marse Luke Adams, have you been doin' pen- 
 ance for six hundred years?" he inquired tenderly. 
 
 Again, a smile played about the man's eyes, but 
 settled into gloom as he whispered. "Not years,
 
 GRANDMOTHER 253 
 
 but times. One more and Mother is out of purga- 
 tory and I am absolved." 
 
 "Didn't I tell you there ain't no purgatory?" in- 
 sisted Henry. 
 
 "Are you wise as the priest? He was good to 
 Mother. Take me to the cross, to the cross," he 
 pleaded, in sepulchral whispers. 
 
 Henry pondered seriously. "You take this medi- 
 cine and go to sleep, so you can get strong 'nough to 
 talk." 
 
 "Then will you take me to the cross?" pleaded 
 Adams. The wild eagerness of his deep-set eyes 
 surrounded by over-hanging gray eyebrows and 
 white bearded face was startlingly dramatic. 
 
 "Sleep first," persisted Henry. 
 
 Adams shook his head and clutched the quilt spas- 
 modically. 
 
 "I'll take you down on conditions," said Henry 
 emphatically. 
 
 Adams closed his eyes and feigned sleep. Henry 
 sat in the door nervously watching for the nurse, 
 who had gone into the city, promising to return be- 
 fore bedtime. Two hours passed into eternity. He 
 went in and prepared some gruel and gave it to the 
 sick man. Then, a little stimulant seemed to 
 strengthen him, so that he could speak aloud. 
 
 "The cross, the cross. Carry me down," he 
 begged. 
 
 Henry nodded and sat down by the bed. "What 
 made your priest give you such a powerful hard 
 task?" he asked timidly. 
 
 "I kept my promise to my dying mother," said 
 Adams, with a gleam of pleasure in his eyes. 
 
 "Uh-huh," grunted Henry. " 'Cause you were 
 faithful to your pretty ma, you have been punished." 
 Henry was persuasive and sympathetic. 
 
 "She was a beauty; but she died without confes-
 
 254 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 sion, and the priest could not administer extreme 
 unction. Poor Mother, she loved that Doctor bet- 
 ter than her soul's salvation. I swore to her that 
 I would not betray him. It was all the comfort I 
 could give her that, and the promise to take the 
 child to him." Adams ceased speaking from weak- 
 ness and distress, as he recalled the last hour of the 
 mother whom he had loved devotedly. 
 
 "The child?" questioned Henry, softly. 
 
 Adams seemed to have forgotten about the child, 
 but continued: "I did not go to confession for five 
 years. I was a tool for him; buying dogs, hunting 
 rats, stealing birds, and hating him. A new house 
 was built down by the road, and a new sexton em- 
 ployed. I was sick here in our old home and he 
 left me to starve and die. The old priest, a good 
 father, found me and nursed me back to life. I 
 made a clean confession of all, but the identity of 
 the man who murdered my mother Poor, dear 
 mother, her expiation from purgatory and my pur- 
 gation could be accomplished either by the betrayal 
 of her confidence or the nightly trips to the tomb." 
 He sighed wearily. 
 
 The colored man waited patiently, then gently 
 questioned: "The child. You took it to him?" 
 
 Adams assented. 
 
 "What became of it?" asked Henry, tremblingly. 
 
 Adams pointed toward the cemetery. 
 
 A groan of disappointment shook the old negro's 
 frame. He stretched his arms above his head, grasp- 
 ing for more light. When he looked down at the 
 paralytic, the tears were coursing through his beard. 
 
 "What're you thinking 'bout?" asked Henry. 
 
 " 'Bout a beautiful woman. It was at her house 
 I went that night. I saw her once at Cedar Park, 
 when I was trapping birds. She gave me money for 
 my sick mother. He followed her there, I saw him. 
 He didn't see me. I should have exposed him then.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 255 
 
 Now, there is nothing left but the cross. Will you 
 take me there to-night? It's the last thing you can 
 do for me?" he pleaded. 
 
 Henry nodded. "First, tell me how you know 
 that the child is in the cemetery?" 
 
 "He wouldn't come when mother was sick, he 
 didn't come when she was dead, and when I was re- 
 fused a place in the Catholic grounds, I sent to him 
 for a permit to bury her in the yard beyond." Adams 
 paused for breath. "I wrapped the little boy in a 
 blanket and laid him in the basket that I used in 
 secreting the birds that I carried to his office. He 
 was not there, and I slipped through the alleys to 
 the back of his house, and saw him go in the back 
 door of his neighbor's home. I followed him." 
 Again he stopped to rest. "He made me wait in a 
 basement. My little brother got chilled and I held 
 him in my arms to warm him. At last he came 
 gave me the permit, and laid a bundle in the basket. 
 Then, he took the child and said: 'There's a dead 
 one; go bury him in Maria's arms, and her child 
 shall have a good home and care.' I see him now, 
 an iron mask of corruption. Yet, fool ! I believed 
 him. I imagined my poor mother pleased and the 
 beautiful lady comforted. I hurried home. There, 
 by that window, she lay in her wooden box. I put 
 the cold, still babe in her arms and spread the quilt 
 over them. I sat and waited for the sexton and 
 undertaker." He paused again, exhausted. "They 
 had promised to help me. They didn't hurry for 
 a man like me, thank the Lord." His eyes had a 
 pleading look, like one in the confessional. 
 
 Henry walked to the door to reassure himself by 
 a look at Fredereka, who had come up quietly and 
 remained outside listening intently. She was so vio- 
 lently excited that her eyes were bulging, her lips 
 white, and her heart throbbing.
 
 256 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 Encouraged by her presence, Henry went back to 
 the paralytic, saying: "Yes, the sexton came " 
 
 Adams continued: "They started up the hill. I 
 went for a last look at the dear old face, turned the 
 quilt down. There the little babe was rooting his 
 nose into my mother's pale cheek. He looked up at 
 me with his big, brown eyes, and I grabbed him and 
 ran into the vault and shut the door; rolled him in 
 some old clothes and laid him in the corner. He 
 fretted a little; but I got outside before the men 
 reached the house. Didn't object when they hurried 
 my poor mother away." Adams wiped the tears 
 from his eyes. "First tears since that night." 
 
 "You kept the boy?" asked Henry, trembling. 
 
 "A few weeks," he said. "I found out that my 
 brother was dead, saw 'em bury him like a prince. 
 He was puny and got chilled in the basement. Died, 
 I guess. I got attached to my brown-eyed boy. I 
 wanted to return him to his mother; but I knew that 
 fiend would say I'd stole him. He threatened to 
 turn me over to the authorities for other misde- 
 meanors if I ever told I'd been in the city that night. 
 He was vicious. I was 'fraider of him than the 
 devil himself. He didn't know that I had the boy. 
 I got crazy over the babe; possessed with a fear 
 that he'd find him, that he knew he was not dead, 
 and would take him away from me to his den, where 
 he could experiment on him and maybe murder him. 
 Then I got sick and he nearly starved." With 
 each sentence the invalid paused to gain strength 
 and breath. "I got so scared I began to conjure 
 plans by which I could dispose of him. O Lord, 
 forgive me! Won't you take me to the cross? It'll 
 be too late soon," he pleaded. 
 
 "Who was that mean doctor?" asked Henry, in- 
 nocently. 
 
 "Don't ask me that," the man cried, staring 
 wildly. "Tell now, after these years of faith and
 
 GRANDMOTHER 257 
 
 penitence? No!" He threw his arms up wildly. 
 "Take me to the cross." 
 
 "Sure, sure, I will. Just keep quiet; you see it 
 ain't near dark. What did you do with the baby?" 
 urged Henry, gently. 
 
 "What good will it do you to know? I'll not tell 
 any names. I'll talk no more," he said. 
 
 "You didn't promise anything about that child. 
 Wouldn't you like to confess what you did with 
 him?" urged Henry, puzzled to know how to pro- 
 ceed. He realized that Luke Adams was failing 
 fast. 
 
 "I did. I told the priest," stated Luke. 
 
 "An' now you are goin' to confess to me, an' then 
 I'll take you to the graveyard an' back again," Henry 
 promised. 
 
 "I used to do odd jobs around the Calvary Church 
 and parsonage. I helped crate some furniture that 
 was stored in one room; heard it was to be shipped 
 to the widow of a former minister. 1 remembered 
 the woman; she was kind to my mother. Began 
 scheming for a way to ship the boy with her things; 
 she'd take care of him. I'd watched experiments for 
 years, and knew how to give narcotics. I'd been 
 making the babe sleep when I was away, so as no 
 one would hear him cry; I'd trained him to sleep 
 all day. In the old vault, there was a queer iron 
 box that was left when the bank burned. I filed 
 some air-holes in the top under the edge, kind o' out 
 of sight; I put a pillow on the bottom and secured it 
 fast by riveting leather straps to the iron. I put 
 the boy in a sack, and he kicked and laughed; but 
 I fastened the sack so he would hang or lay all right 
 if the box was upside down or straight. I fed him 
 well and gave him a full dose of medicine. When 
 he went to sleep, my heart was broke; I cried more 
 than I did when my mother died. I oiled the lock, 
 made it fast, laid the key in a crack, and covered it
 
 258 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 with soft solder; put the box on an old cart; 
 drove to the steamboat, and shipped him to that 
 good woman. 'Twas a hard job to load the cart 
 alone. I had the strength of a man crazed with 
 grief. With planks and a pry I succeeded. That's 
 all. Now carry me to the cross and let me die." 
 
 "Did you ever hear from the boy?" asked Henry, 
 anxious for just a little more information. 
 
 "I was afraid to inquire. It may have been 
 dumped in the river; the babe dead and the name de- 
 stroyed," sighed the sick man. 
 "Was the name in the box?" 
 "Inside, to the right, there was a slip of black 
 paper pasted to the iron; under it, I put a silk band. 
 His mother's name was on it. Now, take me to the 
 cross, take me, take me," he pleaded. 
 
 "Is the doctor's name in the box" timidly ques- 
 tioned Henry. 
 
 "No; I've told enough. Take me as you prom- 
 ised to the cross," he pleaded. 
 
 "You are not strong enough to hold on to my 
 back. I'll have to carry you in my arms," said 
 Henry, making preparations to gratify his last de- 
 sire. 
 
 He heard Miss Fredereka moving away, and 
 knew she would have made the opening in the fence, 
 and be waiting for them in the cemetery. They had 
 planned that she was not to let the sick man know of 
 her presence unless it was necessary to help get him 
 back home. The night was clear and calm, and 
 only stars were watching, when the old colored man 
 gently placed his burden on his stomach in front of 
 the great white cross. With his elbows on the 
 ground and his chin in his hands, he appeared to be 
 happy. Henry moved back, for the place on which 
 he stood seemed holy ground. Fredereka came near 
 and they could hear, not moans and lamentations, 
 but a pathetic requiem of peace, of toil almost ended.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 259 
 
 Presently he drew himself up to the tomb and clasped 
 the base of the cross in his arms, then gently slid 
 down on the grass, where an abrupt incline led away 
 from the grave. From any position east or north, 
 he would seem to disappear from view very quickly. 
 The watchers kept him in sight. 
 
 Lying flat on his stomach, he made his way slowly 
 down the ravine, across a ditch, under a fence, and 
 over into the pauper's ground. Painfully and per- 
 sistently he kept on, frequently pausing for strength 
 and breath. 
 
 "We can't let him go any farther, Henry; go offer 
 to help him," advised Fredereka. 
 
 They were following him, and, as he appeared to 
 be resting with his head on a grave, they approached 
 slowly, and read the name on the slab "Maria 
 Adams" his mother's grave. They lifted his head 
 and looked into his face; he was dead. His white 
 hair seemed like a halo around his peaceful counte- 
 ance. From a path worn down smooth and the grass 
 and stubbles rubbed one way, it was evident that he 
 had been going to the cross to pray, and then creep- 
 ing on his hands and knees down the ravine, past 
 his mother's grave, and up the hill to his cottage. 
 The sexton was wakened, and Luke Adams' body 
 was carried to his home and later interred by the 
 side of his mother. Uncle Henry took the pencil 
 and completed the column of numbers, making the 
 last one hundred.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 REVELATIONS. 
 
 In the little grove at Finden, the autumn leaves 
 were falling fast, huddling together in retired nooks 
 and clinging around the rose bushes and shrubbery, 
 covering up the daffodils and jonquils, or drifting 
 aimlessly at the mercy of the coquetting winds. On 
 a level spot at the foot of the little hill that sloped 
 down from the old house, there was a great pile of 
 leaves, apparently raked together for a bonfire, or 
 to be conveniently hauled away and spread over the 
 garden. Near by, the lately disturbed earth, under 
 the old Hague tree, marred the beauty of the au- 
 tumn scene. The "national trees" shivered in naked 
 shame before each other, stripped of their blooming 
 honors, and pillaged of their fruits. The old Peace 
 Palace, denuded of its green adornments, was still 
 the favorite spot of Varena Farnam. Here she 
 climbed with her book and pillow when she sought 
 to be alone. But the time had come when her quiet 
 hour was to be seriously disturbed. Stretched along 
 the boards that lay over two large limbs of the tree, 
 her elbows resting on her cushion with her book 
 open before her, she heard voices approaching and 
 looked up questioningly. 
 
 "Who in the world can those people be with 
 Grandmother, and what are they coming down here 
 for?" she soliloquized. "Uncle Henry is guiding 
 them, and with him is a matronly woman in a nurse's 
 costume. And that beautiful woman, so quiet and 
 sad, she looks like Russell. That must be her hus- 
 
 260
 
 GRANDMOTHER 261 
 
 band with his arm around her. What a jolly, old, 
 gray-headed man talking to Grandmother! He acts 
 as if he was tickled to death about something. But 
 that tall, dark man, I'd be afraid to meet him alone, 
 even in the daylight. Why are they coming down to 
 my old tree?" Then she looked down at the up- 
 turned earth and added: "Not to disturb my peace, 
 maybe, but to solve the mystery, D. V." She lay 
 down on her pillow with her eyes half closed and 
 waited and listened. Russell, only, noticed her and 
 smiled. 
 
 The little company stopped in front of the shock 
 of leaves, and Henry spread three rugs along the 
 ground. The women sat down on one and two of 
 the men on the other. The nurse stood below, near 
 Uncle Henry, who constantly mopped his brow with 
 his bandanna. The atmosphere was vibrant with 
 suppressed emotion and eager anticipation. Varena 
 watched with humid eyes and listened with a tremb- 
 ling heart. Intuitively she felt some great change 
 approaching. 
 
 Uncle Henry was the first to speak. He bowed, 
 wiped his brow, cleared his throat, coughed, bowed 
 again, and began: "Ladies an' gentlemen an' 
 Grandmother." He hesitated, coughed, rubbed his 
 head, and continued: "I should like to just say that 
 I begged the privilege to bring you all to this grove 
 on this occasion, an' I have 'quested the Judge to 
 'splain the situation." He moved back toward the 
 leaves, wiping the perspiration from his face. 
 
 The venerable Judge Johnson came down before 
 the company, and, keeping his eye on the dark- 
 visaged man, in carefully chosen words, stated: 
 "This is a family secret. It has been, in a measure, 
 buried for twenty years. For the honor of the fami- 
 lies connected, the skeleton is to be brought to view 
 for an hour, and then disappear forever. The Om- 
 niscient has unravelled the mystery, has meted pun-
 
 262 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 ishment and reward, afflicting the evil-doer and 
 blessing the faithful. The past has been in His 
 hands; the future we trust to Him. In my watchful 
 interest over the daughter of an old sweetheart of 
 mine, I suspected that for some ulterior motive 
 she, at a critical period in her life, was being im- 
 posed upon. Unable to establish any facts or find 
 a clue by which I could unravel the web, I kept my 
 own counsel. I was three years in finding this lady, 
 Miss Fredereka Lewis, who had been cruelly de- 
 prived of her privileges as a nurse by the instigation 
 of an influential physician, and had joined the Sal- 
 vation Army. We have been in communication 
 since, and I have found the Army an efficient and 
 conscientious detective force. The injustice and 
 mystery of her experience impressed upon her mind 
 the vivid memory of a child, whose birth she had 
 witnessed. Miss Lewis was a young girl then, when 
 she washed and dressed a brown-eyed boy and 
 watched him fall asleep listening to her first lullaby." 
 
 "Miss Lewis!" murmured the beautiful woman. 
 
 "Will you describe the child?" the Judge asked, 
 turning to the nurse. 
 
 The dark man sprang to his feet. "Is this what 
 you brought me here for?" he demanded. "You 
 told me it was to christen the Mayor's new auto- 
 mobile." 
 
 The old Judge fixed his compelling eyes on him 
 and spoke quietly: "Sit down, Dr. Harding. This 
 is all in the family. Its remaining so, depends upon 
 you. If it were given to the public, where would 
 you land?" 
 
 "You can't prove anything," he asserted, falling 
 back on the rug. 
 
 "Wait; and remember that it is for the sake of 
 your wife and children and her brother's family that 
 you are spared," averred Judge Johnson.
 
 GRANDMOTHER 263 
 
 Mrs. Kendrick was very pale and her husband 
 moved near and held her hand. Mrs. Falconer was 
 calm and happy; for she had heard all the particu- 
 lars from her faithful servant immediately on his 
 reaching home. She had rewarded his faithfulness 
 by humoring his wish to have the revelation made 
 at the old home and in the grove where the secret 
 had been entombed. Russell, to whom the scene was 
 of most vital interest, stood apart, with livid lips 
 and flaming eyes. Grandmother had taken him 
 alone and prepared him for what was coming. 
 
 "Miss Lewis," said Judge Johnson. 
 
 Miss Fredereka modestly stated: "The night of 
 the Bernadotte ball, about twenty years ago, in the 
 home of Mrs. Kendrick I washed and dressed a 
 beautiful baby boy, with a bald head, brown eyes, 
 perfect ears. There was not a blemish about him, 
 unless a slight bend in the little finger could be con- 
 sidered one." 
 
 Mayor Kendrick and Russell simultaneously lifted 
 their hands and looked at their fingers, then smiled 
 at each other, and Richard said: "A family hered- 
 ity." 
 
 The Judge, gratified, continued: "The night of 
 the great international party I returned to the city 
 with my friend, and, impelled by some superhuman 
 influence, went into his home. I looked at the child 
 to find not one characteristic feature of the family 
 receding chin, pug nose, heavy hair. I turned it 
 over and found one defective ear on the dead babe's 
 head." 
 
 "I never killed the child. He died. What is your 
 object in coming here to the woods and telling this 
 to strangers?" asked the Doctor, nervously. 
 
 "I am sure you have not forgotten that Mrs. Fal- 
 coner's honored husband was the pastor of your 
 church for a number of years," stated the Judge.
 
 264 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "I have the greatest respect for Mrs. Falconer 
 and would spare her this uncomfortable, damnable 
 scene," replied Dr. Harding. 
 
 "Quiet, Doctor. Better for Luella's comfort that 
 you are a little distance from home. However, the 
 chief reason of our being here is that the first right 
 to know the whole truth belongs to Grandmother." 
 The Judge spoke the name with a peculiar sweetness 
 as he bowed to her. "We are indebted for the con- 
 summation of our hopes to Mrs. Falconer and her 
 faithful servant." 
 
 During these remarks, Uncle Henry was remov- 
 ing the leaves and bringing to view a rusty iron box, 
 recognizable as an old-fashioned deposit-box, which 
 might have been used before the advent of bank- 
 safes. 
 
 Judge Johnson pointed to it and continued: "This 
 safe was shipped to Mrs. Falconer, put off at the 
 landing, and, with some furniture that happened 
 to come at the same time, was hauled over to the 
 house; it was supposed to be full of silver plate re- 
 turned after the war. It was an hour or more be- 
 fore the safe could be opened, when the key was 
 accidentally found by removing some solder from a 
 crevice. Strapped to a pillow and fastened securely 
 to the bottom was a child asleep." A lump in the 
 Judge's throat checked his words. 
 
 Mabel Kendrick leaned against her husband, with 
 her eyes fixed on Russell. The interest was intense. 
 Henry opened the safe door. The pillow had been 
 preserved and laid in its place. 
 
 The Judge continued: "Grandmother's daughter 
 had given birth to a boy a few days previous, and 
 the mysterious stranger was taken to her breast, 
 twin brother to her own son; and, as such, they have 
 been reared and educated, the truth known only 
 to the parents, the old family physician, and Uncle
 
 GRANDMOTHER 265 
 
 Henry. Grandmother will confirm these state- 
 ments." 
 
 "Supposing all that you say to be true, how can 
 you connect this old box with our families?" de- 
 manded Dr. Harding. 
 
 "I have been waiting for you to ask that question," 
 replied the Judge, smiling. "If you will look care- 
 fully, you may see a piece of black paper pasted in- 
 side the iron box. It is more noticeable now than it 
 was years ago; for the paper is mouldy and the iron 
 rusty. It has not yet been disturbed. There may 
 be revelation or disappointment for us. Uncle 
 Henry, take your knife and remove the paper, 
 please." 
 
 Henry did so with trembling hands and took from 
 behind it a little silk band with the name "Mabel 
 Kendrick" stamped indelibly on it. It was yellow 
 and rotten; but Miss Lewis recognized it, and said: 
 
 "I made some little belly-bands out of a white 
 silk skirt of Mrs. Kendrick's. This happened to 
 be the one with the name on it. I remember when 
 I pinned it on the baby." Her eyes glowed with 
 excitement and gratitude. 
 
 Richard Kendrick lifted his wife to her feet and 
 kept one arm around her trembling form. Taking 
 Mrs. Falconer's hand, he said: "Our gratitude to 
 you is boundless." 
 
 Russell came to them. He had never experienced 
 the need of a mother, because of the all-sufficiency 
 of the Grandmother; but, as he realized that this 
 man and his wife were his parents, his heart 
 throbbed with a new sensation, his soul glowed with 
 a filial affection unknown before, and he looked up 
 with pride at the noble father and took his beautiful 
 mother in his arms and kissed her tenderly. Then, 
 with an impulse born of true nobility, he turned and 
 hugged Grandmother heartily.
 
 266 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 Mrs. Falconer, disengaging herself and smiling 
 through her tears, said: "I shall have to part with 
 you, my boy. You have been good to me, and we 
 shall miss you; but greater things are in store for 
 you; and my happiness is complete in the knowledge 
 that Richard and Mabel Kendrick are your parents." 
 
 "Will you leave the home of your childhood and 
 go with us?" asked Richard. 
 
 "It is yours to command, and mine to obey," said 
 Russell, smiling. "I am not yet of age." 
 
 "My baby for one year, anyway," cried Mabel, 
 joyously. 
 
 Not for a moment during the interview had Va- 
 rena been absent from Russell's thoughts; he now 
 led his parents toward the Peace Palace, and held 
 out his arms. They looked up in the tree and thought 
 they had never beheld a more beautiful vision. The 
 young girl had risen, and, poising for an instant 
 with her dainty feet resting on the bough of the tree, 
 the soft folds of her delicate blue dress clinging to 
 her shapely limbs, her loosened curls falling about 
 her flushed face, and her great, wistful eyes looking 
 out appealingly she lifted her arms and dropped 
 easily to Russell's breast, as she had learned to fall 
 on the mattress in the school gymnasium. He 
 pressed her to his heart for one brief moment, then 
 presented her to his father and mother and Judge 
 Johnson. She was very shy of Mr. and Mrs. Ken- 
 drick, but she took the old Judge's breath away when 
 she threw her arms around him and kissed his 
 wrinkled cheek. 
 
 When Mayor Kendrick walked over to take the 
 hands of Miss Lewis and Uncle Henry, words 
 seemed to have forsaken him; and the Judge slapped 
 him on the shoulder, saying: "Here's a man who 
 sways an audience by the power of his eloquence, 
 subdues a city council to his will, controls the popu-
 
 GRANDMOTHER 267 
 
 lar vote by his harangue, dumb with gratitude before 
 an old colored man and a modest nurse." 
 
 Uncle Henry mopped his brow, bowing and smil- 
 ing. Miss Fredereka said: "We understand, and 
 the Salvation Army knows, too, where our large do- 
 nation came from." 
 
 Judge Johnson interrupted by asking: "Where 
 did you send Dr. Harding, Uncle Henry?" 
 
 "I 'lowed as you would want room in the auto- 
 mobile for Marse Russell; an' as the Doctor seem'd 
 'bout to start up over the hill, I said as how he could 
 catch the packet at our landin', if he went straight 
 across the meadow. The boat whistled for the vil- 
 lage just a minute ago," explained Henry. 
 
 The party went up to the big side veranda, where 
 Jim and Jenny, obedient to orders, had brought out 
 little tables and served cream and cake and fruits. 
 After some deliberation, it was decided that Rus- 
 sell should accompany them to his new home, and 
 Mrs. Falconer excused herself to look over the mail 
 that the delivery man had left in the box. 
 
 "We haven't heard from Ralph since he left 
 for Harlam, Tenn., where he is to take the position 
 of assistant cashier in the bank in which we are in- 
 terested. If you will excuse me, I'll get the mail, so 
 that Russell may hear from him before he leaves." 
 
 Russell followed Mrs. Falconer to the grape- 
 arbor, and with his eyes drew her aside. 
 
 "Grandmother, tell me, have you known all these 
 years that Varena was not my sister?" he eagerly 
 questioned. 
 
 "Yes, Russell; and I have recognized that your 
 affection for each other was a natural affinity, of 
 which you were wholly unconscious. I have always 
 intended giving you the history of your coming to 
 me. And have prayerfully waited for the proper 
 time to come when it would be right for you to know
 
 268 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 your true relationship. My faith has been rewarded 
 in the blessings of to-day." 
 
 "Then it would not be wrong " began Russell. 
 
 "I anticipate your desire," interrupted Mrs. Fal- 
 coner; "go home with your parents. Let a few 
 months of separation intervene, and then we will 
 talk more about it." 
 
 "May I say good-bye to Varena alone?" requested 
 the boy. 
 
 "Certainly; you will find her upstairs. I sent her 
 to help Jenny pack your valise. She knows best 
 what you will most wish to take with you." 
 
 Mrs. Falconer went on out for the mail, and Rus- 
 sell returned to the house. He found Varena stand- 
 ing by his secretary, gazing at a scrap of paper, on 
 which was scribbled the original of the little verse: 
 "If I were a dewdrop and you a red rose." Two 
 big tears were loitering on her long, dark lashes. 
 
 "Leave Jennie to finish the packing and come with 
 me, Varena, I'll show you the rose bush that gave 
 inspiration to the poem," said Russell, smiling into 
 her wistful eyes. 
 
 Something in his manner calmed the throbbing of 
 her heart, the possessive note in his voice dried her 
 tears. Together they sought the mound where she 
 had slept while the boys crowned her with flowers. 
 
 The company on the veranda waited, finished eat- 
 ing their ice-cream, and still waited. An hour passed 
 before the truants appeared, flushed and happy. 
 Then they sat together on the old settee where so 
 often they had listened to Grandmother's stories, 
 and now she read to them a letter from Ralph. 
 
 Mrs. Falconer was greatly agitated over the news 
 that she had just received from her son. It was al- 
 most as startling a revelation as that which they had 
 witnessed under the old "Peace Palace" tree. 
 
 "I have a letter from Ralph that I may as well 
 read to you. As Judge Johnson said, 'it is all in the
 
 GRANDMOTHER 269 
 
 family.' Whatever concerns our children now, must 
 be of interest to you all," and Mrs. Falconer con- 
 tinued: 
 
 "Dear Grandmother: 
 
 "When I left home to take the position of assistant 
 cashier in the bank at Harlam, I really intended 
 coming direct. Now, dear Grandmother, to make 
 you understand why I did not do so and get you to 
 forgive me for leaving you so long without a letter 
 knowing how you will worry about me I must 
 go back and explain some things that happened while 
 we were in college. 
 
 "I knew and loved a very beautiful girl and she 
 loved me. We met clandestinely and planned to 
 keep our engagement a secret until we had finished 
 school and I could visit her in her home. I learned, 
 incidentally, that her father was a hard, tyrannical 
 man, exacting and unsympathetic, and I determined 
 to be started in business and able to provide for his 
 daughter before trying to secure his consent. We 
 were very happy until he came, unexpectedly, and 
 took her home from the seminary. She left a note 
 for me, in which she said that she was expecting to 
 sail for Europe with her brother, the journalist, in 
 a few days and for me not to write until I heard 
 from her. I waited and watched the newspapers. 
 The week following, I saw the list of passengers 
 who sailed from New York, in which her brother's 
 name was mentioned. But either her name had been 
 omitted or she did not go. In the latter case I hoped 
 that she would attend the college commencement. 
 After that I waited for a letter. You will recall the 
 fact that I got the mail out of the box every day 
 while I was at home this summer. If I did not get 
 a letter, I wanted to know that Russell didn't either. 
 They were great friends at one time. Dear old 
 Russ.
 
 270 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 "Well, when I left the old home and the dearest 
 Grandmother that ever lived, I determined to satisfy 
 my mind about Eleanor before 1 went South. I 
 knew I could not start into my new position with 
 any ambition or success with this awful uncertainty 
 gnawing at my heart, and that I must find my sweet- 
 heart. I could not risk a letter on account of her 
 father. So I just switched off at the junction and 
 took the train for the city. I found the avenue on 
 which I knew she lived, and went within a block of 
 the house several times. I was cherishing the hope 
 of seeing her mother, whom I knew was kind and 
 gentle, like you, Grandmother; but I was horribly 
 afraid of running into the despicable father. Finally, 
 I ventured past the house. My darling had often 
 described her home to me and that of her aunt's in 
 the same yard. It must have been her Aunt Mabel 
 that I saw on the veranda yes, she says it was. 
 She is awfully afraid that I will not word this letter 
 exactly right. Anyway, Grandmother, the beautiful 
 woman reminded me of Russ. She looked at me 
 with a questioning gaze, like he used to when he 
 thought I was up to some mischief. But, Grand- 
 mother, she looked so sad that it made me feel like 
 I was a well of tears, and I rushed down the street 
 with the lids tight over my eyes to keep from flood- 
 ing the sidewalk. No joke, Grandmother; I was 
 "powerful' blue myself, as Uncle Henry would say. 
 I saw her the next night, and there never was a 
 face more beautiful or more sad. I wish you could 
 see her, Grandmother; you would know how to make 
 her happy, maybe. I walked past the house the next 
 evening and saw no one. I just could not leave the 
 city without some definite information; so I was en- 
 deavoring to muster sufficient courage to call at the 
 front door and pose as a book-agent, when some- 
 thing fell on the walk in front of me. I looked and 
 found a spool of thread. Seeing no one in sight, I
 
 GRANDMOTHER 271 
 
 went away quickly. When alone, I began to unwind 
 the thread, and soon discovered a bit of paper, on 
 which was written in- a beloved handwriting the 
 words: 'Come to the alley gate at io o'clock.' I 
 went, and, in a few moments, clasped my darling in 
 my arms. I can never tell you, dear Grandmother, 
 how she wept on my neck; how unselfishly she had 
 loved me; how nobly she was sacrificing herself for 
 me; how she watched me walk past for three days, 
 before her strong resolution gave way to her longing 
 for me and she threw the little message to call me 
 to her. I tell you all this, dear Grandmother, for 
 you are one of the few women who never grow too 
 old to understand these heart experiences. 
 
 "I planned to come again the next night with a 
 closed carriage; for you know that one of the char- 
 acteristic elements of a thorough blue-blooded Ken- 
 tucky gentleman is a run-away wedding. The day 
 was a long one, but io o'clock came. Her father 
 had just gone with a party to tour through the coun- 
 try in the new automobile her uncle had brought 
 from New York; so she took me in the house to see 
 her mother, Luella Harding. She knows you, and 
 she sang in the choir when Grandfather was pastor 
 of Calvary Church. She was so good to us. Packed 
 a large trunk full and helped me carry it down-stairs. 
 She felt bad when she told us good-bye; but she is 
 coming to see us soon. We took the 12:10 train and 
 reached the junction about 3 A.M. Here we had four 
 hours to wait. We had plenty of time to eat break- 
 fast, find the clerk, procure a license, and call on the 
 minister. Then, as Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Farnam, 
 we bought tickets for our destination. 
 
 "The president of the bank gave us a cordial wel- 
 come and has been very kind in helping me find a lit- 
 tle cottage. Of course, we do not say anything about 
 being bride and groom; for it will be pleasanter to 
 avoid the charivari and jokes that they play on a fel-
 
 272 GRANDMOTHER 
 
 low down here. We are going to settle down to 
 business now, and not come home for three years; 
 then you will all be glad to see us. And, Grand- 
 mother, you never can know how grateful I am that 
 you sent me down to take a position in Harlam. 
 Eleanor is looking over my shoulder, reading every 
 word that I write. She sends her love to all of you 
 and says you need not worry about trying to help 
 us set up housekeeping, for she found a letter in her 
 trunk with a $5,000 wedding check from her mother. 
 But I would like to have the quilts that you pieced 
 for me and my blankets. Don't make a mistake and 
 send the pair you had made for Varena out of the 
 wool that she made a saddle to ride down hill on. 
 It makes me a little bit homesick to write to you, 
 Grandmother, but I am the happiest boy in the world 
 too. Write and tell me all the news and give my 
 love to Russ and Sister and Jim and Jennie and 
 Uncle Henry and Flash and the cats and bird and 
 horses, and most for you. 
 
 Lovectionately, 
 
 RALPH. 
 Harlam, Tenn., Sept., 19 
 
 "Eleanor Harding!" ejaculated Varena. "Was 
 that her father who was here?" 
 
 "That was her father," said Judge Johnson. 
 "She is like her mother." 
 
 "I knew she loved Ralph," said Russell, quietly. 
 "She gave me her confidence one evening after our 
 last lesson together." 
 
 "Another link that unites our families," said Rich- 
 ard Kendrick. "Mrs. Falconer, you have given us 
 a nephew and a son. What compensation shall we 
 ever be able to make to you?" 
 
 "I know," said Judge Johnson, winking mischiev- 
 ously at Varena. 
 
 "Be good to the boys and I am satisfied," said
 
 GRANDMOTHER 273 
 
 Mrs. Falconer, while the tears again made their ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 The aesthetic nature of Mabel Kendrick the 
 faith, hope, beauty, and purity of soul, the ambition, 
 aspiration, and longing of mind, the love, apprecia- 
 tion, and gratitude of heart expressed itself in the 
 terseness of her graceful figure, in the pallor of her 
 fair face, and in the liquid depths of her blue eyes. 
 Her happiness was too deep for words. 
 
 "We must say good-bye to Mrs. Falconer if we 
 wish to reach the city before night," Judge Johnson 
 suggested. 
 
 As adieus were exchanged, Richard Kendrick, 
 realizing that Varena would be deprived of her com- 
 panion, held her hand in a warm clasp and said: 
 "We shall take you home with us some day." He 
 was surprised at the crimson that suffused her cheeks ; 
 but his wife smiled with gratification and kissed her 
 tenderly. 
 
 When the marvellous new machine, with its honk- 
 honk-honk vibrating through the hills, turned into 
 the main road, carrying away Russell and his new- 
 found parents and friends, Mrs. Falconer put her 
 arms around Varena as they stood on the old ver- 
 anda watching for the last flutter of a handkerchief, 
 and said: 
 
 "The destiny of my three darlings decided in a 
 day." 
 
 "Russell is coming back, Grandmother, and we'll 
 never leave you," sobbed Varena. 
 
 "D. V., Grandmother," responded Uncle Henry, 
 from the stone steps at the end of the veranda.