HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
Fa,,,on s riayers-Lasky Corporation. Mary Piekford-Artcra/t Picture 
 
 JEAN PRACTICES ART. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, 
 JEAN? 
 
 BY 
 
 ELEANOR HOYT BRAINERD 
 
 n 
 
 Illustrated with Scenes from the 
 ARTCRAFT MOTION PICTURE 
 STARRING MARY PICKFORD 
 
 Released by 
 FAMOUS PLAYERS-LASKY CORPORATION 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
Copyright, 1917, by 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CoMPANT 
 
 All rights reserved, including thai of 
 
 translation into foreign languages r 
 
 including the Scandinavian 
 
 OOPTBIOHT, 1917, BT THE CHOWZLL PUBLISHING COUP/4 
 UNDEB THE TITLE "THE INEXIGIBL8" 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN ? 
 
 958939 
 
HOW COULD YOU JEAN? 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 BABS, dear, do I look like a parasite?" 
 
 Barbara Herrick looked at the girl on the window 
 seat and laughed. 
 
 "Jean, dear," she mimicked, "you do not!" 
 
 "Well, there you are!" 
 
 Jean Mackaye threw out her hands in a swift little 
 gesture of finality. 
 
 "It's angelic of you to want me to live with you, 
 Babs, and it's superangelic of Tom to back you up in 
 it. I suspect you of using thumbscrews on him." 
 
 "He was perfectly delighted with the idea," vowed 
 Tom's wife; and her eyes met her friend's eyes 
 steadily, though a tell-tale colour crept into her 
 cheeks. 
 
 Jean leaned forward and kissed one of the flushed 
 cheeks. 
 
 "You'd make a magnificent liar, Babs, if you could 
 control your circulation, but isn't it enough that Tom 
 has been made to see the light at all? No other man 
 
 3 
 
4 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 vx)uld have been coaxed or bullied into agreeing to 
 such a plan. Some day I'll try to tell you how I feel 
 about your wanting me, but I'd howl like a dervish if 
 I tried to talk about it now, and this isn't my crying 
 day. To-day I'm a cool, hard-headed, businesslike 
 young person, looking for a job." 
 
 " A job ? " echoed little Mrs. Herrick. " What kind 
 of a job?" 
 
 "Exactly. That's what I've been asking myself for 
 three days and four nights. I've gone over and over 
 all the nice genteel things that perfectly useless, in- 
 competent ladies in reduced circumstances are willing 
 to do teaching, you know, and Library work and 
 being social secretary or companion, and all that sort 
 of thing, but I don't know enough to teach anybody 
 anything except spending money, and a librarian, 
 nowadays, has to have a library school training, 
 and there are 999 social secretaries to every woman 
 who needs one or can afford one, and as for tying up 
 to the decrepit or peevish well, I decided I'd 
 rather do something that wasn't in the least genteel; 
 but, do you know, Babs, even when I flung gentility 
 to the winds, I couldn't see my way. It wasn't 
 until this morning that I decided what I would 
 do." 
 
 She rose to her feet, rammed her hands in the 
 pockets of her silk sweater, squared her shoulders and 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 5 
 
 looked down at the girl in the big chair with an ex- 
 pression half humorous, half defiant. 
 
 "Hold fast, Honey," she urged. "Don't scream 
 or faint. I'm going to be a cook lady ! " . 
 
 Barbara Herrick gave a startled gasp, then 
 laughed uncertainly. 
 
 "You're joking, Jean." 
 
 "Never was more serious in my life!" 
 ; Jean -- " 
 
 "But me no buts, child. I'm adamant. There's 
 just one thing I know how to do. That's cooking. 
 Thank Heaven father had an old-fashioned theory 
 that every girl must learn how to cook, and clean an 
 ice box, and save drippings, even if she didn't know 
 anything else. So I had all that rubbed into me 
 when I was sixteen, and I've fooled with it more or 
 less ever since. I like it." 
 
 "But, dear, you couldn't possibly 
 
 "Oh, yes, I could." 
 
 She was flushed, determined, eager, lovely, and her 
 friend's eyes adored, while her lips protested. 
 
 "You don't realize what domestic service is, dear. 
 It would cut you off from everything and everybody." 
 
 "And that's a crime, Barbara Herrick but it's 
 what I want for a while." 
 
 "But you'd have to put up with all sorts of horrid 
 things. You'd be a perfect slave.' ' 
 
6 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "Not at all." The potential cook lady dropped her 
 defiant air and laughed at the distressed face up- 
 turned to her. "The domestic servant is the only 
 surviving autocrat, Babs. I've picked out the pro- 
 fession because I've always had my own way and I 
 want to go on having it. Now honestly, is your Sa- 
 rah a slave?" 
 
 Sarah's mistress made an ineffectual effort to re- 
 tain her gravity and giggled weakly. 
 
 There ! You see ! Sarah rules you and Tom with 
 a rod of iron. You simple grovel before her. You 
 wouldn't dare contradict her." 
 
 "She's such a gorgeous cook," explained Barbara. 
 
 "So am I." 
 
 "And she does make us so comfy." 
 
 "7'm going to make some deserving family comfy 
 I'm going to look around and select a pleasant, rather 
 helpless elderly couple, and then I am going to run 
 that couple according to my own method. I'll be 
 gentle with them. I'll humour them, I'll make them 
 more comfortable than they've ever been before, but 
 I shan't allow them to have wills of their own. The 
 poor dears will be wax in my hands. I can hardly 
 wait to get at them." 
 
 She was smiling gayly, but there was resolution in 
 the brown eyes, in the firm chin, in every line of the 
 well-poised, vigorous young body. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 7 
 
 "Oh, Jean; you it's awful!" 
 
 "Don't cry, Babs, don't. I'm not bluffing. I'm 
 cheerful inside. Truly I am. I was perfectly miser- 
 able at first, but since I thought of this way out, I've 
 been tremendously interested and excited. I know I 
 can make it go. I feel it in my bones; and it will be 
 such a lark to put it through. 
 
 "Do you remember that quiet Mr. Hollister at 
 Mary Pratt's? Mining and railroad man with the big 
 jaw and the nice eyes and the bad manners? Well, 
 he asked me what I did with myself, and when I tried 
 to tell him it sounded so silly that I laughed and so 
 did he, but he said it was too bad I was wasting my- 
 self that he rather thought I had the makings and 
 that there was no fun like tackling a real job and 
 putting it through. Maybe he was right ! " 
 
 "But you've always been awfully happy," Bar- 
 bara protested. 
 
 Jean nodded. 
 
 "Oh, I suppose so. While father lived, everything 
 seemed all right. He didn't have much time for me, 
 butane let me do about as I pleased, and I couldn't re- 
 member mother; so I didn't miss her. Then when 
 father died and I went to live with Uncle John, I was 
 at the age when a girl can't help being happy. Sor- 
 row simply won't stick. 
 
 "I didn't like Uncle John but he didn't interfere 
 
8 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 with me, and I suppose I'd have gone rocking along 
 indefinitely if he hadn't lost all my money along with 
 his own and then died and escaped the mess. 
 
 " There wasn't much of anything left, you know 
 just enough to pay my debts and there wasn't any- 
 body that belonged. There was just me and I wasn't 
 much of a comfort to myself. Fact is, I'm ashamed, 
 Babs. I don't amount to a row of pins, but I do know 
 how to cook. That's the only thing Dad ever in- 
 sisted upon my learning and it's my one valuable 
 asset. I am going to use it. Of course I realize it 
 means cutting loose from the people I know. You 
 and I will write and keep hi touch, but we won't see 
 each other and no one except you is to know y ou and 
 Tom. I'll just drop out. I can say I'm going out to 
 friends in the West or in New Zealand, or Timbuctoo. 
 Then I'll lose myself right here in New York, and 
 everybody will soon stop asking questions and forget. 
 
 "After I've proved to myself that I'm not a help- 
 less Persian cat sort of person that I'm a real 
 human, and can make my way among humans, and 
 after I've saved enough money to carry me through a 
 year or so, I'll bob up from the social depths and train 
 myself for something dressier than housework." 
 
 "Tom and I would love " Mrs. Tom began 
 
 breathlessly. 
 
 "Of course I know you'd love to lend me the money 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 9 
 
 for the training. Bless you both for a pair of 
 cherubs! But how would I know that I could ever 
 pay you back? No, I'm going to earn that money. 
 Some unsuspecting and incapable housewife is going 
 to have a pearl of great price wished on her at once; 
 no, to-morrow. To-day I'm going to buy work 
 clothes and a black mohair for dress up, and my own 
 caps and aprons. There isn't the mistress living that 
 I'd trust to buy caps for me. I've always longed to 
 wear them. 
 
 "Barbara Herrick, stop wailing like a banshee over 
 me. I'm not unhappy. I've a sneaking conviction 
 that the best of my life is just beginning." The pros- 
 pective cook lady turned toward a mirror that hung 
 against the wall, studied her reflection critically, and 
 nodded approval. "I'll be rather nice in a cap, 
 Babs," she said contentedly, "one of the crisp, 
 perky kind, and a waitress's apron, the round, 
 frilled sort with a bib. Heaven help the elderly gen- 
 tleman unless he's blind or very absent-minded as 
 well as elderly. Maybe I'd better select a widow and 
 take no chances. I'd hate to break up my employer's 
 family, but as to butchers' boys and icemen and 
 janitors " 
 
 "That's just it!" sobbed Barbara. "You could 
 marry anybody!" 
 
 Jean leaned over, took her friend's shoulders in 
 
10 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 her two strong hands, and gave the mournful little 
 figure a gentle shake. 
 
 "You're flattering but inaccurate, my dear," she 
 said. "I could marry Wilson Burky, or Dick Carter, 
 or Seymour Everall. Maybe by steady application 
 and unfailing energy I could marry Charlie Weth- 
 erby. They're all rich, but don't you honestly think 
 thirty-five dollars a month and no followers beats 
 married life with any one of the four? You talk about 
 slavery well, at least I shan't sell myself into it. 
 I'm going where I can give a week's warning and 
 quit! Babs Babs, dear! Do turn up the corners 
 of your mouth and be a sport!" 
 
 The small woman blew her nose violently and 
 achieved a watery smile. 
 
 "All right," she said, with a pathetic little wob- 
 ble in her voice. "If you will you will, and I'm with 
 you. So's Tom or anyway he will be; but if any- 
 thing happens, if you're sick or unhappy or need 
 anything, you'll come straight home to us, won't 
 
 you?" 
 
 "It's a promise." Jean spoke lightly, but there 
 was a wobble in her own voice. Friends who stand 
 by when one's world crumbles away are wonderful 
 things. 
 
 "It's a promise, Babchen," she repeated, more 
 steadily. " Now we'll dress, and you'll take me out in 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 11 
 
 your car to buy clothes for a respectable cook 
 lady." 
 
 Late that evening when Sarah, the tyrant, was 
 safely in bed, Tom Herrick shamelessly kissed a 
 radiant Young Person wearing black mohair and a 
 frilled apron and the sauciest of caps. 
 
 "Isn't she too darling, Tom?" his wife asked rap- 
 turously. 
 
 He looked at the Young Person and laughed. 
 "My dear," he said, "she is. She is altogether too 
 darling. No sensible married woman would con- 
 sider hiring her. It's a widow for yours, Jean, and if 
 she has a bachelor friend, he's a dead duck." 
 
CHAPTER H 
 
 HANNAH JOHNSON looked up from an unsatisfactory 
 reference that had come in her morning mail, and saw 
 a vision. 
 
 A girl in a plain dark blue suit and a demure but 
 highly becoming black hat was standing quietly be- 
 fore her. 
 
 Girls in dark blue suits and black hats were not 
 uncommon in the employment office but this girl 
 would have been uncommon anywhere, and the 
 Swedish woman with the broad, cheerful face and the 
 shrewd, appraising eyes recognized the fact at first 
 glance. 
 
 The Spirit of Youth had strayed into the bare, 
 unlovely office on Fourth Avenue. Sweetness of 
 youth, eagerness of youth, pride of youth, confidence 
 of youth they were all there and, curiously enough, 
 the woman behind the desk found herself remember- 
 ing a northern fjord and a summer day and a boy's 
 face and a girl's will. 
 
 Then she came back to the little office with its dull 
 gray paint and its stiff, hard chairs, and its morning 
 
 12 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 13 
 
 smell of wet dirt and soap, and to the girl who seemed 
 so out of place in the setting. 
 
 If she had ever heard of the young Diana, she 
 might have been reminded of her. As it was, she made 
 a mental note to the effect that this stranger looked 
 strong and healthy in spite of being slender and that 
 she had a wonderful complexion. That was her 
 first general impression. When she came to details, 
 the interest deepened in her eyes and she settled her 
 spectacles more firmly on the sketchy nose that in- 
 tervened between her florid cheeks. 
 
 "You want a position?" she asked doubtfully. 
 
 It was possible, though improbable, that an em- 
 ployer, by some chance, had wandered in through the 
 employees' waiting room and a mistake would be 
 embarrassing. 
 
 "I'm looking for general housework in a small 
 family," said the girl. 
 
 She was very clear and decisive about it. Her chin 
 was up, her hazel eyes met Mrs. Johnson's frankly, 
 but a faint tint of amusement lurked in the depths 
 of those eyes and about her mouth. The agent 
 smiled involuntarily. It was absurd that this ex- 
 traordinarily pretty and distinguished looking young 
 girl should be asking for a general housework posi- 
 tion. 
 
 If she had wanted to be a lady's maid, or a parlour 
 
14 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 maid, or a waitress but general housework! Still, 
 business was business. 
 
 "Your name?" 
 
 "Jean Mackaye." 
 
 " You have references of course? " 
 
 "Mrs. Thomas Herrick, 28 East Sixty-first Street." 
 
 "How about wages?" 
 
 " Thirty-five dollars." 
 
 "You must be competent." 
 
 "I am." The hint of amusement still lingered 
 but the girl was serenely self-confident, and, after all, 
 youth did not mean inefficiency. Moreover, good 
 general housework girls were few and far between and 
 the demand for them was large. 
 
 "You sit down in the waiting room," said Mrs. 
 Johnson. "I'll telephone Mrs. Herrick and see if 
 this reference is all right. If any one comes in that 
 you'd be likely to suit I'll send for you." 
 
 "Thank you," said the girl. Mrs. Johnson won- 
 dered why the hazel eyes were dancing as she turned 
 away. 
 
 It did not seem amusing to her that Mrs. Thomas 
 Herrick should be asked whether she knew one Jean 
 Mackaye to be sober, honest, and competent to 
 handle general housework. 
 
 For an hour Jean sat in the inner room with a 
 varied assortment of Scandinavians punctuated by 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 15 
 
 occasional Irish and semi-occasional Germans. She 
 had never thought much about house servants. One 
 had them. They did the work well and stayed, or 
 they failed to do the work well and went. Griggsby, 
 the butler, had attended to all that. There had been 
 a pretty Irish chambermaid called Kitty. Jean had 
 missed her when she disappeared, and had felt un- 
 happy when the girl's successor had said that Kitty 
 was in trouble. She had even sent some money, 
 but it hadn't occurred to her to look the girl up 
 and give her anything more than money. Then 
 there was Barbara's Sarah. Sarah was different a 
 personality. Perhaps general housework servants 
 were all personalities, but the Herricks were the only 
 people Jean knew intimately who got along with one 
 servant so she couldn't generalize. 
 
 She intended to be a personality herself; but, look- 
 ing at the women around her, the rose-coloured side 
 of domestic service dulled a little and she felt a 
 twinge of apprehension. 
 
 Was it the life that had made the women or had the 
 women made the life? There were a few women 
 neatly dressed, quiet-mannered, intelligent looking; 
 but the rest who was responsible? Perhaps if the 
 women who were served took a warm human in- 
 terest in the women who served them, perhaps if the 
 place where one worked were a home; but what could 
 
16 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 one do with a cook like the blear-eyed derelict in the 
 corner, or the silly-faced, flashily dressed girl whose 
 willow plume waved in the breeze by the window, or 
 the stolid, dull-eyed woman on the front row of 
 chairs, or the loud-voiced, hard-faced, coarse-mouthed 
 girl who was telling a friend what she "up and told" 
 her last employer? If only one could catch them 
 young, very young. There must be some way. The 
 system must be wrong and if one could find out what 
 was wrong 
 
 "Jean Mackaye," said Mrs. Johnson at the door. 
 
 Jean's socialogical fumblings ended abruptly. She 
 felt a sudden panicky impulse to bolt through the 
 outer door and escape, but she gripped her courage 
 hard, rose, and walked into the other room. 
 
 "This is the girl, madam," said Mrs. Johnson. She 
 hurried away and Jean was left confronting a portly 
 woman with an eagle eye, a double chin, a coquettish 
 toque, and an enormous sunburst. 
 
 She wouldn't do at all. Jean realized that im- 
 mediately and her spirits rose. It was uncertainty 
 that she had dreaded. 
 
 "You look very young," said the toque-crowned 
 lady disapprovingly. 
 
 "It's because I am young," Jean explained sweetly. 
 
 "You wouldn't want to be gadding about all the 
 time?" 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 17 
 
 "No." 
 
 "And I can't have young men hanging around." 
 
 The inference was flattering but the announcement 
 did not seem to call for a reply. 
 
 "You make good bread?" 
 
 "Yes, madam." 
 
 "My husband likes home-made bread. Pies?" 
 
 "Yes, madam." 
 
 "Cake?" 
 
 "Yes, madam." 
 
 "I hope you aren't wasteful. I won't stand 
 waste." 
 
 "You're quite right, madam." Jean was having a 
 beautiful time, a better time than she had expected. 
 She hoped there would be a great many impossible 
 ones before the right one came. 
 
 "I might try you," said the ponderous one conde- 
 scendingly. "What wages do you get?" 
 \ "Thirty-five dollars, madam." 
 
 The plumes of the toque shook violently, the 
 double chin quivered. 
 
 "Well, I never Of all the at your age!" 
 
 "Are there many in family?" Jean inquired. 
 
 "Four but you can't really expect thirty-five 
 dollars!" 
 
 "And the washing goes out?" 
 
 "Washing out! And thirty-five dollars! You'd 
 
18 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 expect to use the parlour, I suppose." Sarcasm 
 seethed in the tone. 
 
 "No, madam, not if I have a large sunny room of 
 my own; but I couldn't take on more than two in 
 family. I'm sorry. Good morning, madam." 
 
 Civil, serene, ignoring the snorts of rage that fol- 
 lowed her, Jean left the room in her best drawing- 
 room manner. 
 
 Life was good. Life was gay. She was finding 
 going out to service tremendously entertaining. 
 
 To her in a few moments came Mrs. Johnson, a 
 worried look on her face. 
 
 "I don't know what you said to Mrs. Blaine, Jean, 
 but we can't have impertinence, you know," she said 
 firmly. 
 
 Jean smiled at her, and Jean's smile was a very en- 
 gaging performance. It began in her eyes, breaking up 
 the surfaces into glinting lights. Then it curled up her 
 lips and overflowed to her cheeks, bringing unsuspected 
 dimples into play and wrinkled up her nose in an ab- 
 surd, lovable way; even her hair seemed to wave mer- 
 rily and to take on a brighter gold in its high lights. 
 
 Hannah Johnson relished the exhibit and relaxed 
 into an answering smile. 
 
 "I wasn't impertinent," Jean assured her. "I 
 was very polite. She doesn't want to pay thirty- 
 five dollars or put the washing out." 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 19 
 
 "Most of them don't," said the agent dryly. 
 
 "I'm worth it." 
 
 Mrs. Johnson looked at the girl keenly and smiled 
 again. 
 
 "I don't know but what you are to the right per- 
 son," she admitted. 
 
 "That's it," agreed Jean. 
 
 "Some one with no grown sons," supplemented the 
 agent as she went back to her office. 
 
 Jean inspected five employers and found them un- 
 satisfactory. They were not susceptible of training. 
 She was sure she could never feel an honest pride in 
 them, and the conditions offered were not what they 
 should be, though several of the women were patheti- 
 cally eager to pay thirty-five dollars and send out the 
 washing. 
 
 The afternoon was almost gone when Mrs. Bonner 
 drifted into the office. Drifted is the word. 
 
 There was nothing purposeful about her. She 
 came in with a look of vague uncertainty on her gen- 
 tle face, smiled at Mrs. Johnson, sat down by the 
 window, took a letter out of her bag and read it, then 
 lapsed into placid and apparently cheerful medita- 
 tion. 
 
 After a time Mrs. Johnson, having sped her other 
 clients on their way, crossed over to the little figure 
 in gray. 
 
20 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "You want a servant, madam?" she asked. 
 
 The woman came back from a far country, and 
 looked about her with a mild surprise in her soft, near- 
 sighted eyes. 
 
 "Oh, yes. This is the intelligence office. I beg 
 your pardon. I was thinking of something else. I 
 do want a maid. I want one very badly. I've had 
 one a great many years. She had to go away, sud- 
 denly, to California. We seem to be completely up- 
 set completely. It's very trying. If you have a 
 maid a nice person cheerful, you know, and nice 
 looking. Hannah wasn't very nice looking. I've 
 often thought I'd have the next one quite pretty. 
 Have you a pretty one? " 
 
 Hannah Johnson eyed the inconsequential little 
 woman with amazement touched with pity. 
 
 " You want a general houseworker? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, I couldn't stand two. They interrupt 
 so. Yes, a general houseworker and quite pretty." 
 
 "You'd like a good cook I suppose." Mrs. John- 
 son strove hard to keep the sarcasm out of her 
 voice. 
 
 "Yes yes, indeed. She'd have to cook and 
 clean, you know and things like that; but the tele- 
 phone and dumb waiter are the worst. I can't get 
 along at all with the dumb waiter. If it isn't the 
 garbage it's the ice and if it isn't the ice it's the 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 21 
 
 butcher and all that. She mustn't let me be both- 
 ered by the dumb waiter." 
 
 "What wages do you pay, madam?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. What wages do they want- 
 that kind?" 
 
 "Would you be willing to pay thirty-five dollars?" 
 
 "Why, yes; we paid Hannah only thirty but then 
 as I told you, she wasn't pretty and she didn't cook 
 very well. I rather think she wasn't clean, either, 
 but she stayed and she didn't fuss about any- 
 thing." 
 
 Mrs. Johnson went to the waiting-room door and 
 called Jean Mackaye. 
 
 "There's an elderly infant out here who wants 
 something to look at," she said as Jean passed 
 her. " I thought you'd fill that bill." 
 
 The little woman in gray looked up as Jean stopped 
 before her, looked again, and smiled. 
 
 "Oh, you're a very pretty one," she said happily. 
 "She's quite an intelligent woman, isn't she? I 
 didn't suppose she'd understand so well. When 
 could you come, my dear?" 
 
 It was only through heroic self-restraint that Jean 
 refrained from hugging her, so friendly, so gentle, so 
 sweet voiced, so utterly inconsequent; but it would 
 not do to be swept away by impulse. 
 
 "How many are there in family, madam?" 
 
22 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "Two just my husband and I. He's very busy 
 too. Moths you know." 
 
 " Would you pay thirty-five dollars and send out 
 the washing?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, indeed. That's quite settled." 
 
 "And I could have a comfortable, sunny room?" 
 
 The gentle face clouded over. A furrow of dis- 
 tress appeared between the near-sighted eyes. 
 
 "Oh, I'm so sorry. It's dreadful, but you know 
 how it is about small apartments. Architects don't 
 seem to understand. Of course you ought to have a 
 comfortable, sunny room, but it's quite small and 
 on the court." 
 
 "I'm sorry, too," Jean's voice was honestly regret- 
 ful. She was beginning to feel discouraged about 
 that comfortable sunny room, and yet how could she 
 bear the life without it? 
 
 "We might move," the little woman in gray sug- 
 gested hopefully, then relapsed into distress. " But I 
 don't see how we could so many papers and 
 things." 
 
 "I'm sorry," Jean repeated. She was sorry. Here 
 was the helpless, lovable mistress of her dreams. 
 
 Suddenly the distressed face cleared. 
 
 "The guest room, my dear! We have a guest 
 room. I'd quite forgotten it. We've never used it, 
 you see, so I couldn't remember. It's very nice, I 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 23 
 
 think, and sunny. You'll be comfortable in it, I'm 
 sure. So that's all settled. You can't think how 
 relieved and pleased I am. Could you come right 
 home with me?" 
 
 "I'd have to get my box and see about my trunk. 
 If to-morrow morning would do?" 
 
 "It would be so pleasant to think you were there 
 to-night. Not for dinner, you know. I get very 
 good sandwiches at a shop around the corner and I 
 think there are apples. That will do nicely, but if 
 you could come hi later, and be there when I wake up. 
 It upsets me not to have anybody there when I wake 
 up anybody to make coffee, I mean. Of course 
 Mr. Bonner is there but he's very helpless except 
 about moths." 
 
 "I'll be there by eight o'clock this evening," 
 promised Jean. 
 
 Mrs. Bonner beamed upon her gratefully. 
 "That's sweet of you, and you are pretty. It's 
 going to be very pleasant to see you around and I 
 dare say everything else will go nicely. We live at 
 38 West Twelfth Street. You won't forget the 
 address, will you? Rufus Bonner, 38 West Twelfth 
 Street. You wouldn't fail to come?" 
 
 "I'll be there at eight." 
 
 "Yes, of course, only I've heard they do sometimes 
 but I'm sure you aren't like that. At eight then. 
 
24 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Good-bye, child. You are only a child, aren't you? 
 I like young people about." 
 
 She drifted away toward the hall door, stopping at 
 the desk to pay her fee. 
 
 "I'm so much obliged to you," she said gratefully 
 to Mrs. Johnson. "I believe she'll be quite perfect. 
 So pretty, don't you think?" 
 
 Hannah Johnson watched her until the door 
 closed behind her, then turned to Jean. 
 
 "Well, ain't she the limit?" she commented. 
 
 "She's a precious lamb," Jean declared with 
 fervour. 
 
 Twenty minutes later she burst into Barbara 
 Herrick's living room, hugged the mistress and 
 master of the house impartially and perched upon the 
 arm of Barbara's chair. 
 
 She was flushed, excited, triumphant. 
 
 "I've done it," she announced. "I'm a working 
 woman. At eight o'clock to-night I begin playing 
 Providence to an absent-minded cherub with a moth- 
 eaten husband." 
 
 " Oh, Jean ! Not to-night ! " wailed Babs. 
 
 " To-night, at eight ! It upsets her to wake up and 
 find nobody there except the husband, and she 
 mustn't be upset. I gathered that it didn't make 
 much difference whether I could cook or clean, but 
 that I positively must prevent either her or the 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 25 
 
 moth-eaten one being upset. What do you suppose 
 is the matter with that poor man? She said he 
 was very helpless except about moths, and that he 
 was always busy with them. It must be an obses- 
 sion. What do you do for moths, Babs? " 
 
 "Tar paper isn't worth a cent nor those nasty- 
 smelling moth-balls either." Babs was desperately 
 interested, eager to help. "My furrier says there's 
 nothing for it but just to put the things in the air 
 and brush them well every week or two. If the 
 place is full of them, it will be an awful job, dear." 
 
 "Children," said Tom, with the loftiness of the 
 logical masculine, "you're dippy. That man can't 
 spend all his time fighting moths. If he's that far 
 gone, he'd be in the psychopathic ward. You must 
 have misunderstood the absent-minded cherub, Jean." 
 
 "No, that's what she said 'helpless about every- 
 thing but moths. ' ' 
 
 Barbara Herrick's expressive face took on a look of 
 alarm. "Why, Jean, that's dreadful. You ought to 
 have asked her what was wrong with him. And 
 anyway she doesn't sound quite all there herself. 
 You can't go off alone with people like that. You 
 must stay here until Tom inquires. Moths! Why 
 it may be D. Ts. Employers ought to give references 
 anyway, but Tom can find out. I believe they're 
 mad, Jean absolutely mad. You shan't go a step." 
 
26 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "I'm going to be there at eight." Jean was firm. 
 "You didn't see her, Honey. She's a darling, and if 
 her husband wants first aid from the handiest little 
 moth fighter in New York he's going to have it. You 
 couldn't keep me away with a twenty-mule team, 
 Babs, but if dinner is ready, please feed me. After 
 this I'll have to eat my own cooking, and I want one 
 last square meal." 
 
CHAPTER HI 
 
 AT FIVE minutes to eight on the evening of the great 
 adventure, a taxi-cab stopped before the door of 
 38 West Twelfth Street, and Jean Mackaye, her 
 dressing case and her small trunk were deposited 
 upon the sidewalk. 
 
 Out of deference as much to his fare's face as to her 
 tip, the driver carried her bag to the door, gave it to 
 the hall boy, and offered to wait and help the janitor 
 with the trunk. 
 
 Jean thanked him in a small, uncertain voice and 
 fought against a wild inclination to cling to him and 
 beg him not to go away. He was the connecting 
 link with the old life and, standing on the brink of a 
 world altogether strange, she suddenly felt young and 
 lonely and a little bit afraid. 
 
 Her sense of humour came to her rescue as it so 
 often did. What if she should throw herself into the 
 arms of the unsuspecting and amiable young man, 
 and entreat him not to leave her? 
 
 She laughed, and the bad moment passed. 
 
 "I'll help the janitor take the trunk upstairs," said 
 
 27 
 
28 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 ! 
 
 the coloured hall boy haughtily. He objected to 
 alien labour. If tips were in the air, it was right and 
 proper that they should fall upon him. 
 
 "All right. Good-night, Miss." 
 
 Jean reached out and deposited a second quarter 
 hi the hand of the departing chauffeur. He stared 
 at it in surprise, lifted his cap again, and hurried 
 away. If an absent-minded young woman forgot 
 she had already tipped him and did it again, he was 
 not the man to protest. How could he know that he 
 was a bridge across a great gulf and that the young 
 woman who had tipped him twice felt that the bridge 
 was long enough to justify two tolls? 
 
 The apartment house was an old-fashioned one. 
 Jean was glad there were no mirrors or onyx pillars 
 in the hall. She had always hated apartment houses 
 and coloured hall boys and rooms strung on a string 
 had always insisted that nothing could persuade 
 her to live in one. She remembered that as the ele- 
 vator shot her up to the ninth floor, and smiled a 
 little, not quite happily, but her pulse quickened 
 and her heart beat high as the elevator boy stopped 
 the car and rang the bell of the apartment on the 
 left. 
 
 The door was opened by the little woman in gray. 
 
 "I was sure you would come!" she said joyously, as 
 she held out a welcoming hand. "Put the bag into 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 29 
 
 the back room, John. If you don't mind, my dear, 
 I'll take you right in and show you to Mr. Bonner. 
 He doesn't believe in you at all. You see he has an 
 idea I'm not very practical and that I dream a good 
 many of the things I see, but I told him I was sure you 
 were real, and just as I described you face and voice 
 and all. If I'd been dreaming of some one to take 
 Hannah's place I'd never have dreamed anything 
 half so nice. 
 
 "Rufus, this is my pretty girl. I didn't ask your 
 name. Jean? Well, Rufus, this is Jean. Didn't I 
 tellyeu?" 
 
 The, little old gentleman laid down his paper, rose, 
 wiped his spectacles, and examined the confused and 
 blushing girl with careful though respectful atten- 
 tion. 
 
 "You were right, my dear," he said gravely. "A 
 very choice specimen." 
 
 He was thin and stooped and bald, save for a fringe 
 of graying hair across the back and sides of his head. 
 Aside from his scanty locks he showed no sign of 
 being moth-eaten, and if he was mad, as Babs had 
 prophesied, there was no hint of it in his gentle, 
 scholarly face. 
 
 "Mrs. Bonner is delighted to have found you, 
 Jean," he said and, though his tone marked the dis- 
 tance between servant and social equal, he spoke 
 
30 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 with a kindly old-fashioned courtesy. "I hope you 
 will be happy here. I'm very busy. I may not 
 notice, but if anything is wrong you must come to 
 me. Speaking to me once about anything won't 
 answer, I fear. You'll have to keep at me till I really 
 understand that the matter is important. So few 
 matters seem important." 
 
 "I'll try not to bother you, sir." 
 
 He looked at her hopefully. 
 
 "That will be very nice," he said. "Hannah 
 interrupted me sometimes but being interrupted 
 by you would be less distressing than being in- 
 terrupted by Hannah. My wife said it would be 
 pleasant to have some one pretty in the family. It 
 is pleasant. 
 
 "Now, Maria, if you will excuse me, I'll go back to 
 my work. I had reached a very interesting point. 
 You've been most successful, my dear extraor- 
 dinarily successful. I could regret that you hadn't 
 given your attention to the matter before. But of 
 course we didn't realize that it wasn't necessary to 
 have one like Hannah. Good-night." 
 
 As he passed Jean, he smiled at her; but the smile 
 and the tone were both oddly detached. His work 
 had apparently come to meet him and he was already 
 absorbed in it. 
 
 "You'd like to go to your room I'm sure," Mrs. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 31 
 
 Bonner said. "I went in to see it when I came 
 home. It's quite large and I am sure it will be 
 sunny. I'm so glad we happened to have a guest 
 room. If we ever move I must remember to take 
 a place with a guest room, but I don't think we'll 
 move. The packing would be too difficult. Mr. 
 Bonner's room is so cluttered, and he wouldn't let 
 anybody touch anything. By the way, you mustn't 
 dust in there or disturb things not on any account. 
 I believe Hannah used to insist on cleaning twice a 
 winter, but it inconvenienced him dreadfully. He 
 didn't like Hannah, but he seems to have taken a 
 great fancy to you. Perhaps he'll be willing for you 
 to clean oftener." 
 
 She was going down the long, narrow hall as she 
 talked, and reaching the end, she opened a door, 
 stepped through it and turned on an electric light. 
 
 " This is your room. I hope you'll like it. I doubt 
 whether Hannah left it clean, but it looks neat on the 
 outside, doesn't it? If you haven't everything you 
 need to make you comfortable, just tell me. We 
 want you to be comfortable." 
 
 "I want very much to make you comfortable," the 
 new maid said earnestly. 
 
 " Oh, I'm sure you will. There's something about 
 your eyes or maybe it's your mouth anyway, 
 there's something. It makes me feel cheerful." 
 
3S HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 She turned toward the door, hesitated, came back 
 to where Jean was standing. The near-sighted eyes 
 with their curious, vague softness, looked up into the 
 girl's face, and she laid a thin white hand on the girl's 
 arm. 
 
 "You're so self-reliant and used to things," she 
 
 said diffidently; "I don't suppose Still you are 
 
 very young It seems hard you wouldn't be 
 
 homesick or lonesome, would you?" 
 
 For one awful moment the new cook lady wavered 
 on the verge of falling upon her mistress's neck and 
 weeping floods of tears. Then she pulled herself to- 
 gether and smiled into the concerned, friendly face 
 one of her extra-special smiles. 
 
 "How could I be homesick at home?" she asked 
 gayly. 
 
 Mrs. Bonner looked relieved. 
 
 "If you can feel that way, of course 
 
 She left the sentence hanging in the air. Most of 
 her sentences were left hanging in the air. 
 
 "What do you have for breakfast?" Jean asked, in 
 her foost businesslike manner. 
 
 Mrs. Bonner's face expressed a vast indifference. 
 "I think Hannah used to have coffee. Yes, coffee 
 and toast I think, and a cereal. It really doesn't 
 matter. Whatever you think best. At eight, you 
 know. I hope you don't mind getting up early. Mr. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 33 
 
 Bonner and I both like to begin work early, but if 
 you'd rather " 
 
 "Eight suits me perfectly." 
 
 Remembrance of her ten-o'clock breakfasts in bed 
 smote Jean as she spoke, but she wouldn't be dancing 
 all night every night now. After all, there must be 
 better things to do with daytime than sleep in it. 
 
 Mrs. Bonner lingered a moment longer. 
 
 " There was something I wanted to say. Oh, yes, 
 I was going to say good-night. You must be tired. 
 Good-night." 
 
 Jean closed the door behind her, and stood for a 
 moment looking around the unfamiliar room. 
 
 It was pleasant as apartment rooms go, but it gave 
 her no welcome was as characterless, as blankly 
 non-committal as the ordinary guest room. Per- 
 haps one could make a home of it. A few books and 
 pictures and one's own little things and at least 
 there was a bed. She undressed hastily and just 
 before she turned off the light, she took a nickel clock 
 out of her bag, set the alarm for seven, put the 
 clock on the table beside the bed, and regarded it 
 with honest pride. There was something tremen- 
 dously impressive about an alarm clock. She won- 
 dered if the sun would be up at seven, but it really 
 didn't matter whether the sun got up early; the 
 Bonners did. Seven o'clock ! That would give her an 
 
34 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 hour. She would make muffins for breakfast and 
 an omelette. Those two babes in the wood were 
 going to be pampered, and the process might as well 
 begin at once. 
 
 She was planning luncheon when sleep overtook 
 her. The way to keep from missing things and 
 people was to fill one's thoughts and time full of 
 other things and other people. Menus would do as 
 well as anything for filling. 
 
 The sun was up when the alarm rang, but it had 
 not climbed far enough through the soot and haze 
 to make its presence felt. 
 
 Jean sprang from bed, stumbled across the room in 
 the murky half light, drew the curtains and turned 
 on the light. Getting up at seven was not a joyous 
 thing in mid-winter and she never had been keen 
 about getting up at any hour. There were people 
 who leaped lightly from bed and sang or whistled 
 as they dressed. Blanche Morrow had told the girls 
 that her husband was like that. She had seemed to 
 think that it was rather splendid of him, but Jean 
 had felt at the time that there was really nothing to 
 do with a husband who sang before breakfast but 
 divorce him. Living with him would inevitably 
 wreck any one's disposition. 
 
 At seven fifteen Mrs. Bonner's cook was in the 
 small dark kitchen hunting for things that the de- 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 35 
 
 parted Hannah had broken or lost or thrown away. 
 Her temper was frayed about the edges but her 
 sporting blood was up. Presumably every cook 
 who went to a new place was turned loose in a 
 strange kitchen without map or chart, and expected 
 to work miracles. Remembering the assortment of 
 cooks in the intelligence office, Jean set her teeth 
 hard. If all those women could work miracles, she 
 ought to be able to work them with one hand tied 
 behind her. So she used what she could find instead 
 of what she wanted, and promptly at eight she 
 served a well-cooked meal to two indifferent persons 
 whose minds were evidently upon other things. 
 
 "There is no fruit in the house, madam," she 
 said apologetically. Mrs. Bonner looked up from 
 her paper. 
 
 "No? Oh well, never mind." She went back to 
 the paper and Jean made a mental note of the fact 
 that it would be well to withhold papers until after 
 breakfast. That, however, would come later. Re- 
 forms must not be too drastic at first. When she 
 had her family firmly in hand she could arrange all 
 those matters. 
 
 The unsuspecting victims ate their cereal docilely. 
 Midway through his dish, Mr. Bonner poised his spoon 
 in midair. "My dear," he said, with a puzzled 
 frown, "the oatmeal is different in some way." 
 
36 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Jean's heart stood still. Perhaps she had forgotten 
 the salt, but Mrs. Bonner's reply relieved her mind. 
 That lady with an obvious effort wrenched her at- 
 tention from the newspaper and tasted her next 
 mouthful critically. 
 
 "I think the difference is that it isn't scorched, 
 Rufus," she suggested, and the subject was dropped 
 there. 
 
 When Jean came in with the omelette, she found 
 Mr. Bonner disappearing through one door and Mrs. 
 Bonner through another. 
 
 " Oh, please ! " she pleaded. "You aren't through." 
 
 They turned around and came back to the table. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said the old gentleman. "I 
 supposed ' ' 
 
 His glance fell upon the omelette a delicately 
 browned, inviting omelette. "Well, really!"' he 
 murmured, as he sank into his chair. "Really- 
 
 Mrs. Bonner laid her newspaper aside. 
 
 "I always liked an omelette," she admitted, "but I 
 didn't know they were made now." 
 
 Jean brought in the muffins and passed them with 
 an ill-concealed air of triumph. Mr. Bo: ate 
 three, thought of taking a fourth, and refrained 
 
 "I believe, Maria" (his tone held a childlike sur- 
 prise), "I really believe my appetite is improving." 
 
 When she had sent the two to their workrooms, the 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 37 
 
 new cook ragtimed to the kitchen with an empty 
 omelette plate in one hand and an empty muffin dish 
 in the other. 
 
 "Poor innocents!" She took the gas stove into 
 her confidence. "They've been half starved, and 
 they were too absent-minded to notice it." 
 
 The sun was high now. It even looked into the 
 gloomy little kitchen and played impertinent tricks 
 with the cook's hair, though the dirty window panes 
 did their best to shut it out and preserve the 
 proprieties. 
 
 "Hannah!" the girl exclaimed, as she pulled out a 
 dish pan and saw the ring of grease around its sides, 
 "Hannah indeed!" 
 
 Close upon the heels of her snort of scorn came a 
 wave of ambition. That kitchen should be cleaned 
 cleaned thoroughly at once. Everything should 
 be cleaned except Mr. Bonner's room. It might take 
 her a week to persuade him that she could clean him 
 painlessly, but she looked forward to that forbidden 
 room. Mrs. Bonner had said that it was cluttered. 
 She would put the clutter to rights even if it did in- 
 terrupt the poor dear's work. She wondered what 
 his work was what Mrs. Bonner's work was. 
 
 Well, at least her own work was clearly laid out for 
 her. She was going to be gloriously busy, was going 
 to play Providence, was going to try her hand at 
 
38 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 creating a new heaven and a new earth and training 
 a man and a woman to live happily in it. It was 
 sacrilegiously like something out of Genesis. 
 
 "Jean, my child," she said to a young person in 
 blue chambray, white-capped, white-aproned, who 
 looked at her from the mirror in Mrs. Bonner's 
 bureau, "you are a useful member of society for the 
 first time in your silly old life. Hurrah for you!" 
 
 The kitchen was cleaned thoroughly, and at once. 
 
 So soul-satisfying an experience Jean had never 
 even imagined. She dug, she soaked, she scoured. 
 She began mildly with washing soda and worked up to 
 lye and chloride of lime. Working within limited 
 space, the departed Hannah had accomplished 
 prodigies, and as each grease-encrusted cooking uten- 
 sil was dragged from its hiding-place, each dark 
 corner disclosed its secret, each bit of debris was 
 added to the scrap heap, the cook lady's spirits 
 soared. Never in all her life before had she known 
 the sacred frenzy of housecleaning, but now, from the 
 primal depths of her being welled up the world-old 
 feminine instinct, and she gave herself up to it with a 
 whole-hearted abandon that her tennis and her 
 dancing had never known. 
 
 She grudged the time devoted to preparing and 
 serving luncheon. She hurried her two through din- 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 39 
 
 ner; she worked until far into the night and when 
 tired, hot, dirty she went toward bath and bed, 
 she closed the door upon a kitchen of which any 
 housekeeper might have been proud, a kitchen whose 
 shining pots and pans hung primly upon neat brass 
 hooks, whose cupboards revealed a neatness almost 
 painful to the unaccustomed eye, whose gas stove 
 was an ornament, whose windows were crystalline 
 pure, whose table oilcloth was as the driven snow, 
 whose linoleum had developed a clear but previously 
 unsuspected pattern in blue and white. 
 
 To be sure there were yawning gaps in the equip- 
 ment. Clothes-basketful after clothes-basketful of 
 battered and broken and unreclaimable kitchen 
 derelicts had gone down upon the dumb waiter, but 
 the gaps could be filled, and it was better that things 
 should be killed than that they should be merely 
 crippled. 
 
 After she had removed the signs of the fray and 
 was ready for bed, Jean went back down the hall, 
 opened the kitchen door, turned on the electric light, 
 and looked around. Her tired face glowed with 
 satisfaction and pride, and as she trailed away to- 
 ward her room, she cast an appraising glance through 
 the open door of the dining-room. 
 
 "To-morrow," she said happily, "will be another 
 day." 
 
\ CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE first week of the new cook's regime saw a 
 revolution in the Bonner apartment a revolution on 
 the South American order much fervour, an ex- 
 penditure of cash, a change of rulers, but few actual 
 casualties. 
 
 A man came in to rub up the furniture. Another 
 man polished floors. A third man cleaned windows. 
 There was a man to repair the gas stove and a man to 
 put the electric lights in order and a man to see to the 
 plumbing. 
 
 The place swarmed with men; and among them 
 moved a young woman with fire in her eyes, authority 
 in her voice, and honey in her smile. If a shirker 
 proved impervious to the fire and the authority, the 
 honey won him to unaccustomed effort. As for the 
 coloured hall boys, they promptly, unhesitatingly, 
 reverted to a condition of slavery. 
 
 "It ain't that I has to do it," the day boy explained 
 to the night boy, "but when she calls me up there an' 
 turns them lamps of hers on me say, man! " 
 
 The dirt and decrepitude of years were routed 
 
 40 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 41 
 
 from the Bonner apartment. Things were put in 
 order in whole, clean, smooth-running order. 
 
 Jean planned, toiled, commanded, cajoled, while 
 behind closed doors her employers worked on peace- 
 fully ignorant of the turmoil. When, called to 
 meals, they came out of seclusion, they found a 
 quiet dining-room, a tranquil presiding genius and an 
 irreproachable meal. They were entirely comfort- 
 able and as entirely undisturbed, and they asked 
 nothing more of fate. Some day they were to be dis- 
 turbed. Jean was working up to that. She had 
 discovered what they did when they shut them- 
 selves away. Writing was their particular branch of 
 crime. Mrs. Bonner was absorbed in the fauna, flora, 
 and folk-lore of the Faroe Islands. Mr. Bonner was 
 in the throes of making an important contribution to 
 the scientific literature concerning the moths of North 
 America. 
 
 Each wrote at an untidy desk with books and letters 
 and papers piled high on every side; but Mr. Bon- 
 ner's room was by far the more untidy of the two. 
 Specimen boxes, nets, paraphernalia of many kinds 
 were added to the books and papers in his room and, 
 over all, the dust had settled thickly, steadily, save 
 where a volume or specimen or paper had been in re- 
 cent use. 
 
 Jean, standing for the first time in the doorway 
 
42 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 and eyeing the chaos, felt the berserker rage for 
 battle sweeping over her and fled incontinently, but 
 the vision lingered. Some day she would have, in 
 that room, such an orgy of cleaning as even the 
 kitchen had not afforded; but not yet not yet. 
 
 When the last workman had laggingly departed 
 and the apartment, aside from the rooms in which 
 genius burned, had been swept and garnished, Jean 
 made a triumphal tour, stopping in each room to 
 gloat over the fruit of her efforts, then retreated to 
 her own room and sat down to write to Barbara 
 Herrick. She wrote: 
 
 BABS DEAR: 
 
 Did you ever clean anything that was horribly dirty? 
 If not, don't begin. Once started, you can't stop. The 
 momentum you've worked up to get you past the first 
 disgust carries you on indefinitely. The thing becomes a 
 mania, an obsession. The cocaine habit isn't a circum- 
 stance to it I could easily refrain from dusting. It's 
 puttering, futile work; but cleaning! 
 
 I've cleaned this apartment until more cleaning would 
 be painting the lily, and heaven knows the place needed 
 it. My contempt for the Hannah who allowed the dirt 
 to accumulate is tempered by gratitude. If I had come 
 into an approximately clean apartment I might never 
 have known my own possibilities, but now I am self- 
 reliant to the point of insolence. As for generalship 
 Napoleon was a mere piker compared to me. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 43 
 
 Do you remember Walt Whitman's "I myself could stop 
 here and do miracles"? No; I remember you never 
 thought Whitman quite nice. Well, it makes no difference. 
 I was only going to say that I know exactly how he felt. 
 
 And I've not only cleaned; I've cooked. I've cooked 
 delicious things, Babs so delicious that my Heavenly 
 Twins are coming out of their trances and remembering to 
 enjoy their meals. 
 
 And I've marketed. It's not at all hard to market if 
 you find an obliging young man who knows his business 
 and is polite enough to pretend that you can tell a broiler 
 from an old hen without his assistance. Our diplomatic 
 service ought to be recruited from among market men. 
 They'd raise its tone tremendously and there's a certain 
 red-headed young Mr. Parsons whom I could recommend 
 for ambassador to any troublous country. He almost 
 makes me believe that I am picking out my own food and 
 that he is gathering up crumbs of wisdom as they fall from 
 my lips, in a hope of one day knowing half as much about 
 vegetables and meat and poultry and fish as I do. 
 
 And, Babs, I've kept accounts! Miracles? Well, 
 rather. Of course the accounts don't always come out 
 right. I'm weak in addition and subtraction, and fractions 
 leave me limp; but at heart I'm honest, and I keep those 
 accounts very, very carefully. Somebody has to be careful 
 in this family. 
 
 The first time I needed money for household expenses I 
 interrupted Mrs. Bonner at her work the unpardonable 
 sin. She waved me off. 
 
 "My purse is on the bureau or the piano or somewhere," 
 she said. "I don't know whether there's any money in it 
 but I think perhaps there's some in a vase on the dining- 
 
44 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 room mantel or maybe it's in the match safe. When you 
 think you are going to need some more, speak to me about 
 it at meal time, please." 
 
 There were eighteen dollars in the purse and two one- 
 hundred dollar bills and a ten in the match safe. How's 
 that for a system of household finance? I wonder whether 
 Hannah was honest. 
 
 Apropos of honesty, I'll have to admit that I haven't 
 worked all my miracles single-handed and alone. No 
 woman need do that. There are always men willing to 
 help. There's Mr. Flavin, the janitor, for instance. I'm 
 afraid he drinks; and the smell of his pipe as it floats up the 
 dumb waiter indicates low tastes in the matter of tobacco; 
 but, as for heart he's all heart, is Mr. Flavin. He tells 
 me that has been his fatal weakness but Mrs. Flavin in- 
 sists that drink is the real enemy. 
 
 I do love the Irish, Babs. 
 
 There was Barney Flynn. Of all the men who have ever 
 courted me I could have come the nearest marrying 
 Barney. Yes, dear. I know he made love to every pretty 
 face, and he had a fiend of a temper, and money wouldn't 
 stick to his fingers. He'd probably have beaten me and 
 he might not have supported me, but oh, how he would 
 have entertained me ! 
 
 And by the way, while the talk is of courting, let me tell 
 you, Mrs. Thomas Herrick, that you were entirely wrong 
 when you prophesied that by going into domestic service I 
 would shut the door upon eligible suitors. I moi qui vous 
 parle have softened the heart of a plumber! I had im- 
 agined that plumbers were stony-hearted, inaccessible 
 Olympian beings who were to be called upon like Baal of 
 old and might possibly bend ear to the call but were more 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 45 
 
 likely to sleep on. They're nothing of the sort. At any 
 rate, my plumber isn't. He's quite human. I sent for 
 him; he didn't come. I went for him; he came with 
 alacrity. More astonishing still, he stayed until he had 
 finished the job. Mr. Flavin had given me to understand 
 that he would probably disjoint everything so that none of 
 the pipes could be used, and all the water from our apart- 
 ment would drain into the ceilings below, and then would 
 go away for a week; so I'll admit I took special pains to 
 keep him interested in the work. 
 
 When he went away he told me he'd like to keep steady 
 company with me. I declined gently but firmly and I'm 
 afraid I've lost a perfectly good plumber, but the glow of 
 self-satisfaction lingers. For Babs, that sturdy young 
 man in overalls was worth six of any gilded youth you ever 
 begged me to marry and I knew it. That's a sign that 
 my gray matter hasn't altogether ossified from disuse. I've 
 a sneaking idea that I'm worth more myself than any one 
 (except the plumber) ever suspected. I'm beginning to 
 believe that everybody's worth more than his face value. 
 I wonder if it's true. 
 
 When I went into this general housework game I had an 
 idea that I'd hold myself toploftically aloof from every- 
 thing concerned with it except my work and my pay and 
 my employers but, do you know, I'm beginning to be 
 tremendously curious about the other general house- 
 workers. This place of mine is opera bouffe. I know 
 that. It isn't aside from the cooking and cleaning, etc. 
 any more like the ordinary general housework position 
 than an aeroplane is like an ox. I've had the luck of the 
 world; but those othei employers and kitchens and cooks 
 I wonder 
 
46 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 There's such a pretty young Irish girl working in the 
 apartment across the hall. Mrs. Flavin says she's a 
 "traipsin', 'stravagin' piece" and that the "gurul" who 
 works in the apartment below us is a " steady, knowledge- 
 able body" and that the Collins's maid, over my head, 
 "had ought by rights to be in the 'orspital." Now I 
 wonder what the sick girl's room is like, and I 
 wonder what the "traipsin', 'stravagin' piece's" mother 
 was like, and I wonder how the "knowledgeable body" 
 came by her knowledge. People are frightfully interesting 
 when you find out they're there, but they do upset all one's 
 theories. None of the rules I learned, fit. I don't 
 suppose any set of rules would fit. People don't seem to 
 have been made by rule. They're all exceptions. 
 
 Don't worry about me, Babs. I'm getting along fa- 
 mously. My finger-nails aren't what they were, and I 
 scalded my nose with spattered grease to-day, which 
 mars my beauty, and my feet get so tired that I've taken 
 to large, soft, square-toed, low-heeled, old-ladies' slippers, 
 but I've a hopeful feeling that all my pains are growing 
 paing. Some day D. V. I'm going to be a WOMAN! 
 
 Devotedly 
 JEAN. 
 
 There were things that Jean did not put into her 
 letters to Barbara Herrick things that she did not 
 admit even to herself, save once in a while when 
 leisure hung heavily upon her hands. 
 
 Even the most energetic and scrupulous of general 
 houseworkers cannot spend all her waking moments 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 47 
 
 making two elderly, unexacting cherubs comfortable, 
 and keeping a nine-room apartment clean; and, in the 
 idle hours, loneliness lurked. 
 
 Mrs. Bonner, on a day when the Faroes had tem- 
 porarily sunk below the horizon, had made a vague 
 inquiry about her new servant's ideas on the subject 
 of "days out." 
 
 * ' Days ou t ! ' ' They were the last thing the servant 
 in question coveted. She wanted to keep busy, 
 desperately busy; but, after the first few weeks, her 
 work ran so smoothly that she could not make it fill 
 her days. In the afternoons she could walk if she 
 wasn't too tired and the weather was good, and there 
 were plenty of districts where she was safe from meet- 
 ing folk who knew her. Fascinating districts they 
 were, more foreign to her than anything in London or 
 Paris or Rome or Berlin. She had done con- 
 scientious sightseeing in the capitals of Europe, but in 
 New York she had bounded her world on the south 
 by Washington Square, on the west by Broadway 
 and Riverside Drive, on the east by Park Avenue. 
 On the north there had been a place called Harlem 
 through which one motored as quickly as possible 
 on the way to country houses along the Hudson or the 
 Sound. 
 
 Now she explored new country, followed every 
 winding cow-pathway of old Greenwich Village, 
 
>48 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 wandered down into the Italian quarter and over to 
 the lower East Side, idled along the smelly truck- 
 crowded river fronts. When she was too tired to go 
 farther afield she sat in Washington Square and 
 watched the queer, heterogeneous crowd of humanity 
 drifting along its paths, sprawled over its benches, 
 playing in the open spaces. There were old friends 
 of hers in some of the big, brick houses whose fronts 
 glowed so softly mellow in afternoon sunshine 
 along the north side of the Square; but the people 
 who had been her people were not likely to go 
 below the dead line that stretched for them along 
 Washington Square North. Some of them did not 
 suspect that there was anything below, save per- 
 haps the studios of a few artists whose talent offset 
 their strange willingness to live quite out of the 
 world. 
 
 Sitting on her iron bench beyond the pale, Jean 
 smiled indulgently at the geographical limitations of 
 the world that had been hers, yet there were times 
 when she wished that she had not discovered the flaw 
 in her own geography. Life farther south teased her 
 with problems, upset her smug philosophy. Some- 
 thing ought to be done about a lot of things. That 
 was evident, but she did not feel equal to anything 
 more strenuous than general housework and it was 
 depressing to glimpse the fact that her great adven- 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 49 
 
 lure wasn't much of an adventure after all that she 
 was still safe in harbour, still shirking, still a futile 
 atom in humanity's great bulk. 
 
 Just at first that bulk staggered her. She saw 
 only the crowd the strange, seething, impersonal, 
 unintelligible crowd; but, little by little, she became 
 conscious of individuals always against the back- 
 ground of the crowd, but reassuringly human just 
 persons, male, female, child, grown-up, each standing 
 out distinctly in the welter of humanity, good and 
 bad, sick and well, cheerful and sad, surly and 
 friendly just persons. 
 
 There was the pale, stooped, cheerful old man in 
 the second-hand book shop on Houston Street. Jean 
 liked him. He was so glad to talk about books even 
 to a girl who didn't know a first edition when she saw 
 it. At first she had worried about him and the stock 
 that crowded his shelves. How could a man sell 
 Herbert Spencer and Nietzsche to Houston Street, 
 when even on Upper Fifth Avenue only the high- 
 brow contingent browsed on such upland pasturage? 
 But after she had watched and listened for a while, 
 perched on a stool in the dark little shop, she laid 
 aside her theory that the East Side confined itself to 
 literature of the Laura Jean Libby type. The sallow, 
 thin, eager-eyed Jewish lads who patronized the shop 
 and wrestled mightily over prices carried off amazing 
 
50 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 volumes as the fruits of their bargaining, books whose 
 very titles made Jean's brain ache with weariness. 
 
 "Do they read them?" she asked incredulously 
 of the bookseller. 
 
 "Eat them up," he assured her. "But as for di- 
 gesting I can't say." 
 
 Then there was Mrs. Pacioli, the mother of ten. 
 Jean liked her, too. Mr. Pacioli was doing his bit up 
 the river some little matter of disagreement about 
 the number of red peppers strung on a neighbour's 
 line, and a knife and a judge with absurd ideas about 
 the inability of gentlemen to settle quarrels among 
 themselves. Mrs. Pacioli was inclined to think that 
 there would be doings when Giuseppe got out. 
 Meanwhile, the Lord be praised, business was good 
 and Luigi was able to keep the boys from raiding the 
 fruit and vegetable stand. Luigi was a good boy 
 and quick with the fists. There were three older, but 
 they worked on the railroads far away to the west. 
 
 The other six were too young to be relied upon 
 though Maria could help much if the law did not 
 foolishly insist upon her going to school. Judges, 
 courts, law Mrs. Pacioli had a poor opinion of them 
 all, but she was very friendly to the signorina with 
 the smile, and Jean once spent two whole hours 
 buying three sweet peppers from her. 
 
 Rachael also was a Person. She worked in a shirt- 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 51 
 
 waist factory on West Fourth Street and lived on 
 Bleecker. On holidays she often sat on the same 
 bench with Jean in the Square. Sometimes her young 
 man was with her. His name was Immanuel Im- 
 manuel Liebwitz and he was usually on strike. Some- 
 times Rachael, too, was on strike and then the two 
 spent week-days as well as holidays on the park 
 bench, unless they happened to be picketing or attend- 
 ing union meetings. 
 
 It was with Rachael and Immanuel that Jean went 
 to her first Cooper Union meeting. After that she 
 often went alone. It filled her evenings and her 
 thoughts and no one in the Cooper Union crowd 
 would know her or would pay the slightest attention 
 to her. On Broadway she might have been annoyed, 
 but the Cooper Union men were too much absorbed 
 in their own burning interests to notice that a girl was 
 pretty and alone. 
 
 The meetings stirred Jean's brain and soul but 
 she got little from them beyond the stirring. No two 
 of the impassioned speakers saw things from the same 
 angle, advanced the same theories, proposed the 
 same remedies and the girl herself had not felt 
 deeply enough, studied earnestly enough, lived fully 
 enough, to separate wheat from chaff by any mental 
 or spiritual process of her own. 
 
 It was interesting to listen stimulating. Jean's 
 
52 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 receptive mind ran lightly from single tax to socialism, 
 from socialism to anarchy. She frothed with enthu- 
 siasm over sabotage and split her gloves applaud- 
 ing I. W. W. incitement to riot. She sickened under 
 descriptions of conditions in restaurant kitchens and 
 sweat shops and bakeries and political caucuses. 
 
 She lost her appetite for most kinds of food through 
 the disclosures of pure food specialists, acquired a dis- 
 respect for the courts that rivalled Mrs. Pacioli's 
 own, and was temporarily convinced that capitalists 
 were monstrous oppressors, though she could not 
 help making a few mental reservations in favour 
 of certain plutocratic, fatherly old gentlemen with 
 whose families she had been intimate. 
 
 Altogether she accumulated a mass of raw thought 
 and more-or-less distorted fact which her brain 
 struggled vainly to digest and, having finally reached 
 such a point of pessimism that she would not have 
 been surprised to have the whole world give a loud 
 scream and go to hell, she forsook the haunts of free 
 speech. Something was wrong with the world, but 
 down under the muddle of new ideas and convictions 
 which she had been accumulating stirred a suspicion 
 that something was wrong with her and that, when it 
 came to reformation, it might be the part of wisdom 
 to try her 'prentice hand on herself rather than on the 
 world at large. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 53 
 
 The old bookseller in the dingy Houston Street 
 shop put the thing into words the next day. 
 
 "Some of them read and some of them think and 
 some of them only feel," he said, "but they all fer- 
 ment. It's healthier than dry rot. Change comes 
 that way; but it's easier to shriek protest against 
 wrong than to do right. When every man does his 
 duty toward himself and his neighbour there won't 
 be any need of dynamiting the man on the next block 
 but that's a long way off and the dynamite may 
 help. It wasn't invented in Christ's time, but 
 crucifixes were popular then. I don't know. No- 
 body knows. Some try dynamite and some try 
 brotherly love and some just howl and beat the air 
 and try nothing. I'd like to be here in five hundred 
 years and see how things have worked out only 
 I'm afraid human nature'd be pretty much the same 
 at it is now, and if it was, there'd still be brotherly 
 lovers and dynamiters and howlers. I'm hoping 
 though that I'd have grown a little myself in the 
 five hundred years. Even a sprout or two'd be a 
 start. There's lots of growing time in eternity." 
 
 Jean was mulling over what he had said as she 
 hurried home through the early dusk. She was too 
 young to think in 500-year cycles. She wanted to 
 sprout at once to grow like Jonah's gourd, and to 
 pull this whole world up with her, "brotherly lovers, 
 
54 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 dynamiters, howlers " and all; but one phrase of the 
 old man's stuck fast in her memory: "When each 
 man does his duty toward himself and his neighbour 
 there won't be any need of dynamiting the man in 
 the next block." 
 
 The idea was old enough. It went back to the 
 Ten : Commandments and Buddha and Confu- 
 cius and the beginning of thought. It had been 
 preached at her from the most fashionable pulpits 
 in the land; but some way or other, the little old 
 man with the thin, thoughtful face and the shabby 
 clothes and the quiet voice had made the thing 
 sound different. Perhaps the howling and dynamit- 
 ing had opened her eyes to the possibilities of 
 brotherly love. Perhaps, after all, that was their 
 part in the scheme of things. At any rate, here was a 
 starting point. She would take herself in hand and 
 her neighbour; but who was her neighbour? 
 
 The girl who "by rights had ought to be in the 
 'orspital " answered the question. Not in words. She 
 wasn't up to words. She was sitting on the steps of 
 a house on East Twelfth Street and just at first Jean 
 thought she was drunk, and turned away from her. 
 Then she turned back impulsively. Even if the 
 woman was drunk and she might be ill. She was 
 ill. One look into her white face told that. Her 
 breath fluttered painfully. Her lips moved without 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 55 
 
 sound. Her big sombre eyes stared miserably into 
 those of the girl who leaned over her, then closed. 
 Jean looked around in utter helplessness. There 
 must be something one could do but what? It was 
 criminal not to know to be of no use in emergencies. 
 That was the way she had lived. There had always 
 been some one else to meet the emergencies. She 
 thought of policemen and ambulances and doctors, 
 but some one must telephone for them, and who 
 would telephone, and where? 
 
 She slipped an arm under the head that lay against 
 the stone step and rubbed the cold, gloveless hands. 
 Whisky but where, how? The world was so full of 
 whys and hows. Funny she Lad never noticed that 
 in the old days. 
 
 Out of the dusk came a familiar face, a girlish 
 pretty face under an outrageous plumed hat. Two 
 blue eyes glanced indifferently toward the group on 
 the step and widened in surprise. 
 
 "Lord! It's her High-and-Mightiness," said "the 
 traipsin' 'stravagin' piece" impertinently. "WTiat's 
 up? Drunk and disorderly, eh? Well, you're a soft 
 un." 
 
 Then as she bent to look at the face that lay against 
 Jean's shoulder, the careless mockery died out of the 
 blue eyes. 
 
 "Why, it's Susan," she said. "Here's a go; I told 
 
56 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 her she'd croak on the street some day if she didn't 
 look out." 
 
 "If you'd go for a policeman," Jean suggested. 
 
 The "traipsin' piece" shook her head scornfully. 
 
 "Not me! She'd thank me for calling a cop not. 
 Rather go to the morgue than to Bellevue, Susan 
 would. I bin tellin' her she'd land there if she didn't 
 let up ; but there's a kid somewheres and the money 'd 
 stop if she let her job go, so she felt as if she had to 
 keep peggin' at it. She ain't as bad as this, only in 
 spells, and the woman she works for don't notice 
 nothin* as long as the work's done. You hold her and 
 I'll get some brandy. That'll do it." 
 
 She was off like a flash for the nearest ladies' en- 
 trance, and Jean sat in the gathering dark with her 
 strong young arms holding the limp body of the girl 
 who had been fighting a losing fight so near her all 
 through the winter days and nights. 
 
 A kid somewhere, and a mistress who didn't notice 
 so long as the work was done, and only the hospital 
 when worst came to worst. This was the sort of 
 thing that made Cooper Union orators. Wrong, 
 wrong the whole world was wrong. She could 
 understand social hate, social revolution, anarchy. 
 Even the fatherly old plutocrats who had been her 
 friends must go. They were part of the system. 
 And after the old social order should be swept away, 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 57 
 
 what? Her thoughts came back with a jerk to the 
 girl in her arms who stirred and moaned. 
 
 Would the new order be built on only one's duty to 
 oneself and one's neighbour? Or would the old 
 selfish circle round itself out again? 
 
 Here was a girl who had been working just above 
 her head working against awful odds sick, un- 
 happy, afraid, forlorn, and she herself had been 
 dodging loneliness, trying to amuse herself during 
 leisure hours, working herself up to hysterical sym- 
 pathy with abstract wrongs and smugly ignorant 
 of her neighbour's need. 
 
 She hadn't known that was just it. She ought to 
 have known. Katy had known and helped. What 
 was it Katy had called her? "Her High-and- 
 Mightiness." 
 
 That was how she had impressed other working girls. 
 
 Neighbour a selfish snob ; a selfish snob playing at 
 work, making a game of what was life and death to 
 other women. 
 
 "Here you are. Lift her head a little." Katy 
 was back and had taken charge of the situation with 
 the air of one used to casualties. 
 
 "That's it! Strangled you a bit, eh, Susan? Just a 
 little more. That'll fix you. Easy does it. You keep 
 still. Everything's all right. We'll get you home. 
 Lot's of time." 
 
58 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Susan's face lost its deadly pallor. Her lip:- 
 turned from blue to wan red; her eyes opened, but the 
 shadows under them looked like bruises on the white, 
 sunken cheeks. She tried to rise, tried to speak. 
 Katy pushed her gently back upon Jean's shoulder 
 and leaned over to catch the words. 
 
 "Late for dinner is it?" she said, straightening up 
 with flushed cheeks and reckless eyes. " To hell with 
 dinner. Let 'em wait! But then I ain't got a kid," 
 she added. "I don't have to take things." 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 IT WAS seven o'clock when Jean slipped her latch key 
 into the lock and turned it. Dinner would be late 
 but probably neither of her Two would notice it. If 
 they did, probably they wouldn't care; and, if they 
 did care well, in Katy's vigorous phrase, "to hell 
 with 'em!" 
 
 She had taken Susan home, lighted her fire, put on 
 the dinner for her, seen her gradually gain strength 
 enough to drag herself to her feet and move about her 
 work. 
 
 Later she was going up to wash the girl's dishes 
 and make her comfortable for the night as com- 
 fortable as she could be made in the Black Hole of 
 Calcutta that she called her room. The next day 
 Susan should see a doctor, things should be done. 
 Suddenly life seemed very full of things to be done, 
 things of vital moment. 
 
 She opened the door, entered quietly, and was con- 
 fronted by Mrs. Bonner an agitated, pale-faced 
 Mrs. Bonner who gave a little cry of relief. 
 
 "You're all right?" she said. "You're quite all 
 
 59 
 
60 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 right? I was afraid. I missed you; somehow or 
 other I didn't feel like working and everything was 
 dark and you weren't here. It made me think. I 
 hadn't thought before. I'd just been comfortable. 
 You've made me so comfortable. But all of a sudden 
 well, dinner never is late and you're so young 
 and so pretty and there are such dreadful things in 
 the papers. I called Mr. Bonner. He's gone out but 
 I don't think he quite understands. Probably by 
 this time he's forgotten what he went for. Oh, my 
 dear, I'm so glad nothing had happened to you." 
 
 The soft voice fluttered on and on breathlessly. 
 The little gray lady's cheeks were flushed and her 
 eyes looked suspiciously moist. 
 
 Jean's sore heart warmed to her. It was good to be 
 missed, to have some one care. She had fancied that 
 nothing nearer than the Faroes was important to 
 this absent-minded mistress. 
 
 "I'm very sorry to be late," she apologized gently. 
 "There was a girl who works upstairs. She was 
 taken ill on the street and I helped her home, and then 
 I started dinner for her. She was afraid her lady 
 would discharge her if dinner wasn't ready." 
 
 "Oh!" There was protest, indignation in Mrs. 
 Bonner's voice. She straightened herself and her 
 face lost some of its gentleness. "I didn't think 
 people really did; you go right back up to her, my dear. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 61 
 
 It doesn't make any difference about dinner here. 
 Rufus won't remember about it anyway, and I'll find 
 
 some crackers. I really didn't suppose Still 
 
 we don't any of us I'm going to look after you 
 
 better, child. You are very young, you know and 
 
 pretty. I don't believe it's quite right to If 
 
 you'd been ill, of course but it's only a matter of 
 degree. Some people are cruel and some are just 
 absent-minded, and the results are a good deal the 
 same. You go up to that girl, my dear. Has she 
 had a doctor? No? Rufus shall get one if he isn't 
 lost Rufus, I mean. No, here he is." 
 
 Mr. Bonner came in, looking profoundly dis- 
 turbed, but his face cleared at sight of Jean. 
 
 "There, Maria. I assured you. She's perfectly 
 safe." 
 
 "But there's a girl who's ill, Rufus. You're to go 
 for the doctor." 
 
 Distress enveloped the bewildered man once more. 
 He was not used to having the world's tide roll in upon 
 him. 
 
 "Who what " he stammered. 
 
 Jean came to the rescue. "We might telephone," 
 she suggested, "and if the doctor could see her down 
 here, in my room she doesn't want Mrs. Collins to 
 know she's ill." 
 
 " Of course. It's Fordyke. Dr. William Fordyke, 
 
62 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Perhaps you'd better do the telephoning. We don't 
 Jiave him often, but he'll know. I'll see him when he 
 comes. It really is all a matter of degree. I can see 
 that quite plainly, but when one's interested in work 
 and so very comfortable " 
 
 Mr. Bonner was already in his study. Mrs. Bon- 
 ner headed toward hers, turned and came back. 
 
 "It isn't that I haven't appreciated," she said, 
 patting one of Jean's hands softly. "I do appreciate 
 everything, between whiles. Truly I do; but the 
 Faroe customs are so very interesting. Did you 
 know that they still dance and sing the old sagas? 
 It's the only place. So you see I forget but I'm 
 going to try to remember. People have no right to 
 forget." 
 
 The doctor came at nine o'clock in spite of Susan's 
 protests. 
 
 " He'll tell me to stop work and worryin'," she said 
 drearily. "They always do. As if you could do the 
 two things together. If I stop work there'll be 
 enough to worry about. I tell you that." 
 
 And Dr. Fordyke did tell her to stop work to 
 ;stop work at once, and not to worry. She listened 
 respectfully, but there was a queer expression in the 
 .great sunken eyes fixed so gravely upon his face. 
 
 "With entire rest and freedom from anxiety," he 
 explained to Mrs. Bonner and Jean in his bland, pro- 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 63 
 
 fessional manner, "the condition of the heart can be 
 overcome. I'll leave some medicine and she might re- 
 port to me from time to time. Plenty of fresh air 
 and the diet I've indicated in this list, and no exertion 
 of any kind. I should advise at least half of each day 
 in bed. Glad to have seen you again, Mrs. Bonner. 
 You don't look as if there were danger of your need- 
 ing me professionally. Mr. Bonner well, too? That's 
 good not for me, of course. You'll excuse my 
 hurrying off. I've a long round of visits to make. 
 " Complete rest, remember, and no responsibilities 
 
 or worries." 
 
 The door closed behind him and the three women 
 sat looking at each other. 
 
 Mrs. Bonner was the first to speak. " That man's 
 a fool," she said indignantly; "and yet I don't 
 know. Probably he's right about what she needs, 
 and he's only paid to prescribe. Somebody else 
 must see to filling the prescription. Are you mar- 
 ried, Susan?" 
 
 A dull red steeped the girl's white cheeks. 
 
 "No, ma'am." 
 
 "Father or mother?" 
 
 "No, ma'am." 
 
 "Nobody at all?" 
 
 Susan looked down at the rough, red hands that 
 fingered her apron, and her lips twitched nervously. 
 
64 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 At last, with a sudden defiant movement, she lifted 
 her head. 
 
 "My little girl," she said. Her voice rang hard, 
 but there was a light in her eyes. She made a move- 
 ment as though to go. The thing was finished now. 
 The lady was through with her. 
 
 But Mrs. Bonner was not through. She had only 
 just begun. 
 
 "Oh that is nice." She beamed benignly upon the 
 young mother whose sullen defiance melted into 
 blank surprise. 
 
 "One can't be very lonely with a little girl of one's 
 own. I've often thought but the Faroes are ex- 
 tremely interesting and of course one can't drag 
 children about. I've travelled a great deal. Do you 
 know I went to one of the outer islands once with 
 the pastor. He hadn't been there before. It's 
 a bird island, just high cliffs and most of the time 
 boats can't land there at all. The old pastor hadn't 
 been strong enough for the trip and the climb not 
 for years and years; but the new pastor would go. 
 He waited two months before there came weather 
 when the boatmen would attempt to make the land- 
 ing a very dangerous landing in any weather but 
 finally they agreed to chance it, so the pastor and I 
 went. A very rough trip. They threw us out; 
 waited until a big wave lifted the boat high, and then 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 65 
 
 threw us to a little ledge where there was a foothold 
 and the island men caught us. It was quite exciting; 
 and then the climb just narrow footpaths along the 
 face of the cliff. The pastor was dizzy I remember, but 
 he said he was sure the devil could climb the cliff and 
 a servant of the Lord ought to be able to do it. They 
 were so glad to see us the people; just a few people 
 perched up on that high bare place with the sea raging 
 to get at them. The birds gave them their living. 
 
 "Now how did I come to be talking about the bird 
 island? Oh, yes; there was a girl such a pretty 
 young girl, and she had a lovely little baby girl. 
 There hadn't been a pastor there since the little 
 mother was born. The pastor christened her and 
 baptized her and married her and christened and 
 baptized her baby, all hi the one morning. He was a 
 very solemn man and he couldn't see a gleam of 
 humour in the thing. When he put the record in his 
 book, he wrote: "A very momentous day for this 
 young woman." 
 
 "It really was, wasn't it? I wanted very much to 
 stay there but the boatmen would only Tvait a few 
 hours and I might not have gotten away for months. 
 They broke my arm getting me into the boat. 
 What's your baby's name, Susan?" 
 
 "Mary, ma'am." 
 
 " The sweetest name in the world and I'm sure the 
 
66 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 baby matches it, but I'm wondering whether you're 
 strong enough to take care of her. Cf course I'll send 
 her with you. That's the best way to mend your 
 heart, I think, but perhaps we could find some one 
 
 What do you think, Jean?" 
 
 "I think," said her maid disrespectfully but ador- 
 ingly, "that you are a darling. That's what I 
 think." 
 
 That evening mistress and maid sat in Jean's room 
 and held high converse. A barrier had been broken 
 down. 
 
 "One thinks about things in the Faroes and such 
 places," the little gray lady explained; "but some way 
 or other, when I'm here at home it's different, 
 you know. People don't seem so interesting when 
 they live riffat around you. You take them for 
 granted. It doesn't occur to you that things are 
 happening to them every day that all the really 
 big things do happen to them. Do you suppose 
 things happened to Hannah? I can't quite imagine 
 things happening to Hannah. Still she was born, 
 and she'll die. They're big. And probably there'll 
 be things in between. 
 
 "Now this Susan. She's not more than twenty- 
 seven or eight, is she? And she's loved and sorrowed 
 and borne a child and worked and suffered and just 
 that common irl! Is the man dead?" 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? C7 
 
 " No." Jean's voice was bitter. This was her first 
 close contact with sex tragedy. "He's married out 
 in Iowa. He left Susan before the baby came." 
 
 Mrs. Bonner gave a soft little cluck of pity. 
 
 "Poor girl. Still she's better off without him. 
 I never could see the comfort of keeping a worthless 
 man around just because he happened to be the 
 father of one's baby. Of course if he'd been a decent 
 sort but he wasn't. And she has her baby. Funny 
 that a baby can be a disgrace to a woman. I never 
 could feel that way about it disgrace for the man 
 that goes away perhaps. 
 
 "Well, anyway, there's Susan and there's the baby. 
 I'm so glad you found them, child. We'll send them 
 up to Mrs. Morley in the country. It will be a nice 
 place for them milk, you know, and eggs and fresh 
 air, and Mrs. Morley's a good woman. She hasn't 
 any sense at all about some things, but she has a 
 kind heart and she loves children. 
 
 "Then when we go to the farm in April we can see 
 how things are going. Maybe Susan will be strong 
 enough to do our mending and darning and little 
 things like that. I hope it's a pretty little girl." 
 
 She coloured guiltily. "It's all wrong, I know. 
 One ought to be above such things, but I do find it so 
 much easier to love my neighbour if she's good to look 
 at." 
 
68 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Jean laughed. 
 
 "Susan would be nice looking herself if she weren't 
 so pale and thin. I'll bet Mary's a duck." 
 
 Her thoughts swung round to her own affairs. 
 There was a farm, and the Bonners went to it in 
 April. Would they want to take her and would 
 she want to go? 
 
 "WTiere is your farm?" she asked, by way of lead- 
 ing up to the main issue. April ! This was the first of 
 March. It was disconcerting to find that within a 
 month she was to be torn up by the roots. 
 
 Mrs. Bonner's gentle face kindled with enthusiasm. 
 
 "Haven't I told you about it? I usually tell people 
 about it as soon as I meet them. It's in Connecticut, 
 on the river. There's no river sweeter than the 
 Connecticut. I'm sure of it. I've gone about quite 
 a bit hunting up rivers just to see. Some have falls, 
 of course, but falls never seem real to me. They're so 
 spectacular. I always feel as though Burton Holmes 
 or some of those travelogue people were showing them 
 to me on a screen. The Connecticut's a perfectly 
 real river, all the way from the beginning to the 
 Sound. You'll love it. I'm sure you will. It's the 
 comfortable kind of river that plays around at first 
 like any child but quiets down as it grows up and goes 
 flowingalong through farmlands and past houses, and 
 between hills that aren't too high for grain fields to 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 69 
 
 climb. Wooded hills, too. Of course there are 
 wooded hills. Our own hill's wooded, but it's a 
 friendly bit of woodland all full of cowpaths and 
 laurel; and then there's a place at the end of our lane 
 where the hilltop is bare a great big shoulder of rock 
 above the treetops with huckleberry bushes and 
 sumach and lichens rolling up against it. 
 
 "I've never been able to decide what kind of a day 
 I love most on that hilltop or what time in the day. 
 
 "It's splendid to watch a gathering storm from 
 there, but on a perfect summer day yes, I believe 
 that's best. Sometimes I go down there in the 
 very early morning. It's wonderful then when the 
 houses are asleep but the birds are all awake and the 
 valley's stirring just a little and stretching itself. 
 You must se,e it then, Jean. Down where you know 
 the river is you can only see heaped-up mist; like 
 fallen clouds it looks, and some of them come floating 
 up and up until they get tangled in the cedars just 
 below one's feet, but they never reach the level top. 
 One's always in the clear of the morning up there. 
 Oh, yes, it's wonderful then; but at noon on a mid- 
 summer day a path of liquid gold and blue as far as 
 you can see, and the hills drov/sing in the sunshine, 
 and the fields spread out like checker boards in 
 squares of different-coloured grains, and the tower 
 of the white church in the little town across the river 
 
70 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 pointing up into the blue. Don't you think churches 
 should always have white pointing fingers, child?" 
 
 She was silent for a few minutes but her eyes were 
 seeing visions. 
 
 "And the sunsets " 
 
 Evidently she felt unable to deal with the sunsets 
 for she fell into silence again. 
 
 "The sunsets?" Jean prompted. 
 
 The little gray lady shook her head helplessly and 
 took up the story. 
 
 "We have supper either early or late so that we can 
 always go down to see the sunsets. The sun drops 
 right down into the river, over at the rim of the 
 world, and there's a path of glory to it; and the sky's 
 a miracle of gorgeousness in the west and of tender- 
 ness in the east; and the ridges that run down to the 
 river grow bluer and darker and the ravines are 
 purple, and you hear little wings fluttering. It's 
 why it's like Revelations, Jean! The cattle coming 
 up from the pastures might be the Beasts of the 
 Apocalypse. That hilltop's the greatest preacher I've 
 ever known. I don't believe any one could be bitter 
 or cynical or discouraged or weary of heart on my hill- 
 top. 
 
 "I'm a fool about the farm. I'm downright fey 
 about it, I can't even seem to care about the Faroes 
 when I'm up there. That's why I try to work so 
 

 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 71 
 
 steadily all winter. One might as well shut oneself 
 up and work in the city. There's nothing calling one 
 outside." 
 
 Suddenly her face clouded. She leaned back in her 
 chair and looked at Jean with a little furrow between 
 her kindly eyes. 
 
 "That's just it," she said. "That's where I've 
 made my mistake. There's enough calling, always. 
 I don't hear, that's all. Susan's been calling and 
 the others. It isn't pleasant to hear, but well, the 
 city ought to be the worst place in the world for 
 shutting oneself away behind closed doors." 
 
 The girl who was listening looked wonderingly at 
 the little woman in gray. 
 
 Here was a new Mrs. Bonner and even the old 
 Mrs. Bonner was new. A gentle, near-sighted, 
 absent-minded, futile little woman Jean had thought 
 her sweet and lovable in her way, but as neutral as 
 the grays in which she clothed herself; but now with 
 her careless talk of adventure in far lands, of sea dar- 
 ing and cliff climbing, and broken arms, her quick 
 sympathy and indifference to conventional standards, 
 her eager love of river and hills and her sudden sense 
 of responsibility for her city neighbour there was no 
 doubt about it. She was a darling and Jean mentally 
 apologized to her as she led her thoughts back to the 
 Connecticut Valley. 
 
72 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "It's a real farm?" 
 
 Mrs. Bonner laughed her chuckling, delightful little 
 laugh that was like the sound of water running over 
 and among mossy stones. 
 
 "We call it a farm, my dear. It was a farm in Mr. 
 Bonner 's great-great-great-grandfather's time. Four 
 hundred acres, I believe mostly of rocks. Land has 
 been sold from time to time. I think we have 
 seventy-five acres now, but that's enough. Rough 
 pasture a good deal of it, and a few good cleared fields, 
 and some woodland and an orchard, and gardens and 
 the old house. Wait a minute. I'll show you." 
 
 She rose and went away down the hall. When she 
 came back she carried a book bound in black leather. 
 
 "These are my farm pictures." She was smiling 
 happily. Her white hands handled the book as 
 though they loved it. 
 
 Jean slipped from her chair to the floor beside the 
 gray-clad knees, and looked at the first picture. It 
 showed a white farmhouse among great maple trees, 
 the sort of a farmhouse exiles from New England see 
 in their dreams. A white picket fence shut tJbe trim 
 front yard away from the big triangle of green 
 sward around which the road ran, doubling back upon 
 itself. 
 
 "We're at the end of the road," Mrs. Bonner 
 explained. "I like that. No motor cars roaring 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 73 
 
 by. We're quite out of the world. I wonder if you'll 
 be lonely." 
 
 Jean was turning the pages, eagerly, hastily. 
 River and woods, fields and gardens, orchards and 
 far blue hills ! Such a homely, friendly, lovable bit of 
 New England! So utterly unlike those Italian- 
 terraced, and Gothic-towered, and English-timbered 
 country places where she had golfed and motored, and 
 played tennis and ridden and swam and flirted 
 through her previous summers. One could love a 
 farm like that. Some day she would own one. 
 
 "I think I'll give you the pink room," Mrs. Bonner 
 was saying. "You can't see the river from it, but it 
 has such a wonderful view of the hills and you'll like 
 the paper. It's a very foolish paper with bridges and 
 boats and summer houses and ducks on it; but there 
 isn't a bath. Oh, my dear, I forgot to tell you that 
 and no hot and cold water in the kitchen. Jane put 
 up with it, but she said nobody else would. I sup- 
 pose you won't go." 
 
 She was overwhelmed. Calamity had come upon 
 her suddenly, unexpectedly. Life had been so com- 
 fortable, so pleasant. She had quite forgotten about 
 the hot and cold water. 
 
 "I can't blame you," she said woefully. "It does 
 make the work hard. I couldn't expect a girl like you 
 to put up with it." 
 
74 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Jean turned back to the picture of the white house 
 among the maples and gloated over it. 
 
 "You couldn't keep me away by anything short of 
 murder." Her voice was dreaming. "I can see it 
 and smell it and hear the wind in the leaves." 
 
 Mrs. Bonner slipped her arm around the girl's 
 shoulders and gave her a quick little squeeze. 
 
 "My dear," she said. "My dear! You will hea* 
 the orioles!" 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 MRS. BONNER'S guest room for the first time fulfilled 
 its original mission. For six days Susan was in 
 harbour there and on the second of the six days 
 Mary joined her mother. Jean's prophetic spirit had 
 not fooled her. Mary was a duck a round, dimpled, 
 yellow-haired, five-year-old scrap of humanity with 
 wheedling on the tip of her tongue and mischief in 
 the tail of her twinkling blue eye. 
 
 "She's not meek and mild enough for a Mary," 
 Jean protested when she stopped hugging the small 
 woman and held her off for a second look at 
 her. 
 
 "I call her Molly," Susan said shyly. She was no 
 longer sullen and dull-eyed, but shyness had fallen 
 upon her like a mantle. One cannot make free with 
 the Saints. 
 
 "Molly it is." Jean gave the child another hug. 
 "Molly's a name that goes with dimples." 
 
 "She's had good food," Molly's mother said 
 proudly; and, counting the cost of the dimples, Jean 
 sighed. 
 
 75 
 
76 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Mrs. Bonner herself had broken to Mrs. Collins the 
 news that she was about to lose a maid. 
 
 "It will be a pleasure to do it," she had insisted, 
 "and if the woman is disagreeable there are several 
 things I'd like to say to her." 
 
 She was as serene as ever but there was a quality 
 in her gentleness that made one think of the cliff path 
 and the tossing boat. When the little gray lady was 
 interested in a thing, her absentmindedness became 
 concentration. For a long time she had not been in- 
 terested in anything except the Faroes; but now 
 that Susan's need had been forced upon her attention, 
 she went about meeting it with a fixity of purpose that 
 admitted no obstacle. 
 
 As it happened, Mrs. Collins was not actively dis- 
 agreeable. She was a stout, impressive, dressy woman 
 who was greatly surprised to hear that her maid 
 was ill. 
 
 "Susan hasn't said anything about feeling badly," 
 she explained. "And therwork went very well. I'm 
 away a good deal. My club work takes so much of 
 my time but everything was always in perfect order 
 here. I'm not one of the club women who neglect 
 their homes" [she was very emphatic on that last 
 point. Women with public spirit and the larger 
 vision were so often misjudged, maligned, and it 
 hurt the cause]. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 77 
 
 "Our first duty is to the home"; she was addressing 
 Mrs. Bonner in her best platform manner; "but an 
 intelligently administered home need not consume all 
 of a woman's time. Now that so much of woman's 
 home work has been taken over by the factories, and 
 she is left with idle hands, she cannot limit her sphere 
 to the home. The world needs her. She has time, 
 after her home duties are met, to give herself to the 
 burning public questions, to the social uplift, the 
 freeing of woman, the " 
 
 "The doctor says that Susan must have absolute 
 rest and freedom from care," Mrs. Bonner inter- 
 rupted the fervid peroration quietly but ruth- 
 lessly. In her near-sighted way she saw only one 
 burning question and that the stout lady in purple 
 velvet had apparently overlooked. 
 
 "She's very sorry not to give you the usual week's 
 notice but the doctor says she's reached her limit 
 passed it. I'm sending her to the country. My maid 
 will come up and pack her things." 
 
 "You're very good, I'm sure," Mrs. Collins faintly 
 resented the virtue in her visitor, but the resent- 
 ment was tempered by relief that the matter was out 
 of her hands. A sick servant was trying. There was 
 the hospital, of course, but some women were so un- 
 reasonable about hospitals. One never knew quite 
 what to do and with the convention coming on. It 
 
78 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 really was fortunate that the girl had friends who 
 would look after her. 
 
 "Very good," she repeated. "I hope Susan appre- 
 ciates. They so seldom do. You may tell her for me 
 that it's quite all right about the week's notice. Of 
 course it was inconsiderate. She might have thought; 
 still one can't expect them to feel things as we do, and 
 there's a woman who comes in sometimes, a very 
 good woman. I can get along." 
 
 Mrs. Bonner had not sat down when invited to do 
 so. She turned and moved hastily toward the door. 
 
 "It's pleasant to have met you," boomed the 
 oratorical voice. "I wonder if you but of course 
 you are interested in ' 
 
 "I'm interested in Susan," the visitor said curtly 
 as she closed the door behind her. 
 
 She arrived in her own apartment red cheeked, 
 shining eyed, short of breath. 
 
 "No use saying things to that woman," she gasped, 
 answering the question in Jean's eyes. " One might as 
 well shoot peas at a rhinoceros. Go up and pack 
 Susan's things, child; though I've an idea she's little 
 to pack except Molly." 
 
 The guest room was the centre of great activity 
 that week. Mrs. Bonner went shopping and bundles 
 of all sorts and sizes came piling in. Very few of 
 them, when opened, proved to be things needed and 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 79 
 
 sent for, but they were all useful in a hit-and-miss way 
 and some of them were exceedingly pretty. There 
 was a quilted pink silk lounging robe, for instance, 
 at which Susan looked with awe-struck, unbelieving 
 eyes. 
 
 "Yes, it's for Susan," the little gray lady insisted 
 when attacked about it. "No; I know pink silk isn't 
 practical. I tried to buy a dark blue eiderdown but 
 I couldn't. I really couldn't. The pink one was so 
 soft and light and pretty. Susan's worn out her heart 
 being practical. Maybe pink silk will be good for 
 her. A pink silk dressing gown, and Molly, and 
 spring in the country, ought to brace up the tiredesi 
 kind of a heart. The robins are hopping around Mrs. 
 , Morley's dooryard by now, Jean." 
 
 So Susan, still incredulous, kept the pink silk robe, 
 but by way of reinforcement, her gray cotton flan- 
 nel wrapper was washed and mended. All her old 
 clothes and Molly's a scanty all were put in order 
 for country visiting. Katy came over in the even- 
 ings and helped. She had a clever knack of 
 trimming hats, if an effulgent fancy was properly 
 restrained, and she could work wonders with an old 
 waist or skirt, if nobody cared about the length of 
 her stitches. 
 
 Her language was racy and her views on life, 
 liberty, and the pursuit of happiness were somewhat 
 
80 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 startling to the orthodox; but her heart was in the 
 right place, and she worked like a beaver for Susan 
 though she had the poorest sort of an opinion of the 
 sick girl's intellect. 
 
 "Wurkin' yersilf to death, is it? More fool you. 
 It's not necessary at all and gurrls so scarce the 
 madams are afraid to say their souls are their own, for 
 fear their cook'll think different and lave! I do my 
 wurrk af ther me own way. They can take it or lave it. 
 There's always them that'll take it. And I don't 
 stand no back talk nor no pokin' around in my 
 kitchen. 'Is the ice box clane? And was the cold 
 beans saved, and how did the gravy bowl get bruk?' 
 None av that for me. She kapes to her part of the 
 house and I kape to mine. If she don't, I give 
 notice. There's some as will let their madams drool 
 on about followers and 'what time d'ye come in?' 
 and all that. Not me! If I want to be dancin' the 
 feet off me at the Palace all night wid Johnny, it's 
 nobody's business but my own, so long as breakfast's 
 on time. I'll go as I plase and I'll come as I plase. 
 The lady I'm wurrkin' for now does that same it's 
 none av my business, but if her husband 'ud come 
 home off the road unexpected he might make it his 
 business." 
 
 She was young and pretty, reckless and slatternly 
 and conscienceless but she let Johnny dance with 
 

 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 81 
 
 some one else for six nights and she bought Molly a 
 most absurdly expensive white coat in which the 
 child looked more of a duck than ever; and when 
 Susan and the small girl went to their train 
 Molly was clutching a new doll that Katy had 
 given her, and in Susan's bag was a five-dollar bill 
 that Katy had tucked away there when no one was 
 looking. 
 
 Thyra, the "knowledgeable body" had come to 
 Susan's aid, too. 
 
 A very different story was Thyra clean, tidy, 
 wholesome-looking, clear-eyed, pleasant-voiced, and 
 oozing efficiency at the pores. 
 
 She listened quietly to Katy's tirades while she 
 sewed on buttons and darned stockings, and she 
 accomplished a most astonishing amount of work, 
 making pinafores for Molly, stirring up eggnogs that 
 were the only things Susan would swallow without 
 protests, teaching Jean on request some amazingly 
 simple and as amazingly helpful things about cleaning 
 bath tubs, washing pots and pans, and keeping dish 
 cloths white. She was kind, helpful. No one could 
 have failed to respect her, but it would have been 
 difficult to love her. She did not open the door to 
 sentiment. Probably she would not have been so 
 quietly efficient if emotions had ever had their way 
 with her. 
 
82 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "I've always had good places," she told Jean, "and 
 pleasant ladies. You mustn't expect too much of 
 them but you're pretty likely to get as you give. No- 
 body's treated me bad. Katy's the kind that'll 
 come to no good. She doesn't mean bad, but she's 
 always wanting something that we can't have in our 
 station of life. She can't give up that gay times ain't 
 for everybody. She's going to have them, no matter 
 what; and she can't have them and do her work right 
 and keep well, so she don't stay in good places. She's 
 all for dancing and dressing and gadding and loving, 
 but they don't go good with general housework. 
 There's lots that hold with her. Folks ain't got a 
 right to be poking into their affairs, after work's done, 
 they say. Most girls won't work out just on that 
 account, but the kind of ladies that make good mis- 
 tresses don't like girls staying out till morning. I 
 never was one for running nights anyway." 
 
 So sensible, so calm, so unshaken by tempera- 
 mental storms. Her theories were right, absolutely 
 right. They would work out perfectly. 
 
 She had a young man an electrician. 
 
 "I cou d have had a grocer but a trade's best," 
 she said in her matter-of-fact way. "There's always 
 work at a good trade if a fellow's steady. Five dollars 
 a day and he don't drink or run with women. Next 
 year we'll have money enough to put by for sickness 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 83 
 
 and things that might happen. Then we'll get 
 married." 
 
 "It's hard to wait, isn't it?" Jean was warmly 
 sympathetic, but Thyra shook her head. 
 
 "I don't know. A home's best when you're 
 gettin' older and Olaf s steady; but I've my own way 
 now and my own money and my lady's good. I get 
 twenty-five dollars at Christmas. No I'd just as 
 soon wait." 
 
 A most sensible young person; but Jean's heart 
 went out to poor, foolish, pretty Katy, clutching at 
 youth and love and laughter, headed for "no good." 
 
 There were maids and maids as there were mis- 
 tresses and mistresses. Rules would not fit here any 
 more than they would fit elsewhere. It all came 
 back to the old teasing problem. 
 
 Something ought to be done; but what? 
 
 One thing at least was done. Susan and Molly 
 were sent to the country. Jean saw them off, Susan 
 white and weak, and a little afraid to let go the 
 hand that had been stretched out to her in her 
 drowning hour, Molly ecstatically hugging her new 
 doll and smiling confidingly at all the travelling world. 
 
 In due time came a grateful letter from Susan to 
 Jean. She was comfortable. Mrs. Morley was good. 
 Molly was happy. 
 
 Mrs. Morley wrote to Mrs. Bonner later. 
 
84 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "The young woman's doing well," she said, "but 
 she'll need a long rest and she doesn't relish her 
 victuals as I'd like her to. The baby's hungry 
 enough for two though, and she's got everybody on 
 the place fair bewitched. Jim, the boy that's doing 
 chores for me, isn't a blessed bit of good since she 
 came. He's always off somewhere with her after 
 something that can't wait. Old Mr. Masters that 
 lives down the road let her bring home one of his pigs 
 yesterday pink little baby pig as clean as ice. I 
 wouldn't have believed old Masters would do it for 
 anybody. She tied a blue bow to its tail and fed it 
 warm milk and teased until her mother made it a little 
 apron, but she took it back to-day because she'd 
 promised. She's real good at keeping promises but 
 it's lucky Silver had kittens last night. It'd have 
 gone right hard with the little thing to give up that 
 pig if it hadn't been for the kittens. We drown them 
 most always but we couldn't get one of them away 
 from her long enough. I don't know that Jim would 
 do it anyway. She's worried most to death about 
 their eyes being shut." 
 
 "I rather thought Molly would liven things up 
 at Mrs. Morley's," the little gray lady commented 
 as she gave the letter to Jean who laughed as she 
 read it but lapsed into seriousness as she thought it 
 over. 
 

 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 85 
 
 "I'm sorry Susan won't eat," she said anxiously. 
 "The doctor said she needed building up." 
 
 Mrs. Bonner chuckled. 
 
 "Don't you fret about her not eating. You don't 
 know Mrs. Morley. Mrs. Morley, my dear, is a 
 woman with an obsession for feeding people. It's 
 her greatest joy in life. When she hasn't anybody to 
 feed she feeds the animals on the place. Blossom, her 
 horse, is so fat she can hardly move and has heaves 
 into the bargain, and Dick, her collie, is a monstros- 
 ity. If you don't eat until you're gorged, she mourns 
 over your not relishing your victuals. - Susan's pro- 
 bably eating quite as much as is good for her and 
 Molly's eating much more than is good for her. I'll 
 say this for Mrs. Morley. Her cooking would tempt 
 a wooden man to gluttony." 
 
 March went by, a month of snow flurries and raw 
 winds, with now and then a mocking sunshiny day 
 that hinted at spring's coming. 
 
 Mrs. Bonner refused to be depressed by the 
 weather. 
 
 "After March comes April," she would say cheer- 
 fully, as she looked out into driving sleet. "There 
 are bluebirds in my pasture!" 
 
 She was restless since she knew that the bluebirds 
 had come. The door of her study stood open much 
 of the time while she wandered about the apartment 
 
86 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 from window to window or talked with Jean wher- 
 ever the girl happened to be. 
 
 "I can't help it," she admitted with a rueful smi'c 
 at her own idleness. "Spring's no time for work, 
 and March is spring even if it doesn't look it. The 
 calendar says so and there's something in my blood 
 that says so, too. I always used to begin packing in 
 March. Generally I didn't have the faintest idea 
 where I would go but I knew that I was going and 
 that I was pretty sure to head north like the other 
 wild geese." 
 
 She looked so plump and placid and homekeeping, 
 standing there by the kitchen window in her gray 
 dress. One could not by any stretch of the imagina- 
 tion associate her with wild-goose flights. 
 
 Perhaps she saw the wonder in Jean's eyes. 
 
 "I was born in a Hudson Bay trading post," she 
 explained. "That's how the North got into my 
 blood, though my mother was an Alabama girl; 
 timid, gentle little mouse of a woman they tell me. 
 She died when I was a few months old, and father 
 came back to the States with me but he couldn't 
 stand it here. So he left me with mother's people 
 and went back. I can't remember him but I know 
 how he felt, and I'm glad he went. He'd have hated 
 to die down here." 
 
 "Did he die there?" Jean asked softly. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 87 
 
 "Yes, on the trail; that's the way he wanted it I 
 think/' 
 
 "And you- 
 
 " Oh I grew up in Alabama. Everybody said I was 
 like mother, and I was ; but when I was old enough to 
 go my own road, I couldn't keep away from the 
 North. I'm afraid of a mouse and I'd run miles from 
 a cow, but I've enjoyed almost freezing to death in a 
 lot of queer places. I had to have an excuse, so I 
 went 'in for folk-lore and natural science collected 
 specimens and made millions of notes. That's how I 
 happened to go to the Faroes. I'd been to Iceland 
 after some plants and somebody told me there were 
 more of the same sort in the Faroes. So I stopped 
 over a boat and stayed six years. It's a terribly 
 hard life they live there hard and bleak just a 
 fight from year's end to year's end ; but I loved it, and 
 it was a great place for riding my hobbies. 
 
 "When I came home, I lectured to some scientific 
 people. That scared me, right enough. It's the 
 very worst form of freezing to death; but that's where 
 I met Mr. Bonner. He wasn't so wrapped up in 
 moths as he is now and we fell in love and married, 
 and have been happy. We had our scientific in- 
 terests and our writing, and after a while we got the 
 farm. It isn't very far north, but it's a great comfort 
 when spring comes along. I couldn't go far, you 
 
88 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 know. Rufus needs me. Most of the time we're too 
 busy to speak to each other, but he'd know if I weren't 
 here and he'd miss me. He can't work unless 
 he knows I'm around somewhere, and he's doing 
 
 very important work. But when spring comes 
 
 There are so many places I've never been." [She 
 turned to the window and looked down into the grimy 
 little back yard.] "Big, quiet, white places," she 
 said dreamily. 
 
 Jean once more mentally readjusted her ideas 
 about the little lady in gray. She had been doing a 
 good deal of such readjusting. Snapshot classifica- 
 tions it seemed were unreliable things. She wouldn't 
 be surprised now to see Mr. Bonner fox-trot out of his 
 study in a pink waistcoat and gray spats, and an- 
 nounce that he was on his way to the Winter Garden. 
 After all, why not? There were moths a-plenty up 
 and down Broadway. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 APRIL was masquerading as May. A week of rain 
 followed by sunshine and summer heat had dragged 
 even the city into the mumming and though all city 
 folk, from English sparrow to Wall-Street money- 
 kings, knew that snow and sleet might be lurking 
 round the next weather corner every one of them 
 whose blood was still capable of swifter and warmer 
 flow lent himself to the whimsey. The sparrow 
 flirted his tail more audaciously, stole scattered grain 
 even out of delivery trucks, and made swaggering 
 love to his neighbour's wife. The Wall-Street man 
 put on a fancy waistcoat, took a reckless flier in stocks, 
 and sent large boxes of daffodils and narcissi to 
 various young women who, under the influence of 
 the weather, sentimentalized over them, though, as a 
 usual thing, they preferred American Beauties or 
 orchids. 
 
 Teddy Burton, standing in the doorway of his 
 friend Kennedy Coles's Twelfth Street house, drew 
 a long breath and smiled for no particular reason, 
 but just because he felt like smiling. 
 
90 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 He had returned from a West Indies cruise onK 
 the day before and had cursed New York climate 
 fluently as he came up the Bay in a raw, north wind 
 under a leaden sky; but, this morning 
 
 "After all, give me a northern spring," he said to 
 the man beside him, while his smile broadened. 
 "You're never sure what it will do to you, but it's so 
 blamed nice, when it is nice. I'll take my weather 
 and my girls that way, thank you." 
 
 "Easy to find your weather and your girl to fit 
 those specifications." Coles was a bit crusty, even on 
 a day when the stunted trees along the asphalt street 
 were groping up toward an azure sky and easing their 
 swelling hearts in leaf and bud. If he had been 
 susceptible to glamour, he would never have been, at 
 forty, a successful architect with a big, old house and 
 two Japanese servants, and a liberal income of his 
 own, but yet a bachelor. 
 
 Teddy tipped his hat farther back on his head and 
 looked down at his necktie with disapproval in his 
 eyes. For half a fcent he would have gone back up- 
 stairs and changed that dark blue tie for a certain 
 light and cheerful red one, more in harmony with his 
 spirits and the day. 
 
 " I didn't say anything about my ' girl.' " His mind 
 was still on his tie, but something in his friend's tone 
 jarred on his May-time mood. Hang it all, Coles 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 91 
 
 couldn't forget that it was April. Probably he was 
 still frozen in, back in March. 
 
 "No. I didn't say anything about my 'girl,'" he 
 repeated. "I said 'girls'; that's different. A fellow 
 takes girls and weather as they come, and I merely re- 
 marked that I'd take them capricious. That's how 
 I'd jolly well have to take them anyway, I suppose. 
 But as for the girl she may be capricious; but, 
 Coles " 
 
 "Go over and quote your poetry to the sparrows 
 in the churchyard," urged the older man. " Be merci- 
 ful to your friends." 
 
 Teddy looked at him pityingly. "Coles, if you'd 
 quit building houses and build air castles for a while 
 it might not improve your front elevation but it'd 
 brighten up your interior a whole lot. I'd quote 
 poetry to you if I knew any. You need it more than 
 the sparrows. The Lord's looking out for them 
 we've got the Bible for that but I'm afraid He's 
 taken his eye off you. Now, as I was saying, when 
 the Girl comes along f9 
 
 And just then she came along. 
 
 He knew it the moment he saw her, though he did 
 not know that he knew it. He only knew that the 
 glad spring world was past budding was in flower. 
 
 She was like What was she like? For a mo- 
 ment he suspected that he was going to quote poetry, 
 
92 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 after all. Little fragmentary phrases came swarming 
 out of his memory, subconscious salvage from reading 
 he had considered a bore in college days, things about 
 eyes and stars and faces and flowers and foolish stuff 
 like that. The poets weren't such a rotten lot; they 
 knew a thing or two. Even her back, as she went 
 
 away down the street, had a look Well, there 
 
 was something about Artemis, or maybe it was 
 Atalanta. Anyway it was some young heathen, and 
 she was a corker when it came to getting over the 
 ground. 
 
 "By Jove!" he gasped, with a hasty look at his 
 watch, "I'm ten minutes late for my engagement 
 now. See you at the club at two, old man." 
 
 He was off, down the street, on the old spring trail. 
 
 Kennedy Coles looked after him with a grin. He 
 was not so crusty that he did not know a pretty girl 
 when he saw one, or had not noticed the ways of men 
 and maids. 
 
 " Young idiot," he said laughingly; but there was 
 affection in his voice. He was fond of the young 
 idiot. People usually were fond of Teddy Burton. 
 
 The Girl walked rapidly. She was slender and 
 straight, and not too tall. 
 
 "Just about up to my ears," Teddy reflected with 
 satisfaction. That was a cosy height. Only a little 
 droop of the girl's head and there you were! It 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 93 
 
 occurred to him, however, that this girl's head did not 
 look as though it would droop readily. It was too 
 proudly poised. Well, who wanted a girl's head to 
 droop whenever it came near a shoulder? He liked 
 them proud, himself, chin up and a neck that 
 didn't poke forward from between the shoulders. 
 Probably that was what the poets meant by a throat 
 like a tower of ivory. Maybe it wasn't the poets. 
 Perhaps it was Solomon or David. Any way some of 
 those knowing old geezers had put it that way. The 
 girl's back was wonderful, but her face! He wished 
 he were coming toward her instead of following her. 
 No, if he were coming toward her he'd soon have 
 passed her. As things were, he could at least keep 
 within sight of her. 
 
 But he could not. She suddenly turned in at an 
 apartment-house door. A loose-jointed, sandy- 
 haired Irishman, who was sunning himself in the 
 doorway, stepped aside and jerked off his cap. She 
 stopped to speak to him, smiled at him lucky dog! 
 Her profile was more wonderful than her back. 
 
 Just before the gloomy hall swallowed her she 
 turned to say something more to the man in the 
 doorway. 
 
 Her full face! Really the English language was 
 a poor anaemic affair. There was not an adjective in it 
 that could do justice to her full face. 
 
94 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 The sandy-haired man followed the Girl into the 
 darkness. The doorway yawned emptily. The tall, 
 ugly, brownstone building looked very much like any 
 other apartment house of the mid-Victorian period. 
 Teddy marvelled at its reticence. He had passed it 
 the day before and felt no thrill, no presentment. 
 How was one to suspect that a sullen brownstone 
 front and two particularly painful caryatids sheltered 
 a girl like that? Any apartment house in which she 
 made her home should have forgotten its gloomy 
 past, should have broken out into buff brick and white 
 stone and window boxes and carvings of fruit and 
 flowers should have been cheerful from basement 
 to roof but no apartment house could be a fit shrine 
 for Her. His fancy installed her in a big country 
 house a white country house among lawns and gar- 
 dens and trees. Sunshine everywhere and colour 
 and the blue of water and the blue of hills and the 
 Girl in a white frock. 
 
 The sandy-haired man reappeared in the doorway 
 and looked curiously at the stranger who stood ap- 
 parently rapt in admiration of the brownstone f agade. 
 
 "Were ye huntin' for somebuddy?" he asked. 
 
 Teddy came back from a garden overlooking the 
 sea. 
 
 "N-no," he stammered. "I've found somebody, 
 thank you." 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 95 
 
 Dennis Flavin watched him as he went away down 
 the street. 
 
 "He's a good-lukkin' lad," he said to the hall boy 
 Who had joined him, "but I misdoubt he has too 
 many in the early marnin'. 'Tis a bad system that, 
 Fred. Ye should work up aisy to the evenin', if ye 
 drink at all. Ye'll be the betther for lavin' the stuff 
 alone, me boy, and the surer av kapin' yer job and, 
 by the same token, I'm moinded av an errand I havt 
 on Sixt' Av'noo. Ye can tell anybuddy that asks fer 
 me I'll be back in the wink av an eye." 
 
 He went his thirsty way and the hall boy dozed 
 on the elevator seat, and, up in the Bonner apartment 
 Jean Mackaye busied herself about her morning 
 work. Nobody had been jarred out of the usual 
 routine except Edward Burton, Jr.; but that young 
 man, abandoning all prearranged plans, swung 
 aboard a Fifth Avenue 'bus and rode up to Central 
 Park. There, through the long morning hours, while 
 angry friends telephoned vainly to all his accustomed 
 haunts, he sat on a sunny bench with spring yearning 
 round about him, and wondered who She was. 
 
 The next morning, when Icho, Kennedy Coles's 
 houseman, climbed to the parlour floor in the progress 
 of his early morning work, he was surprised to find his 
 master's guest up, dressed, and seated in the big bay 
 window of the library from which could be enjoyed 
 
96 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 an uninterrupted view both up and down the street. 
 The hour was seven-thirty, and early rising had never 
 been this guesi's specialty. Icho took the problem to 
 Tokichi, the cook, who was older and more used to 
 American ways. 
 
 "He has, maybe so, lost much money at poker," 
 said Tokichi sagely. Then, happening to be standing 
 by an open window, he sniffed the spring air and had a 
 vision of iris fields and cherry bloom. " Or, maybe so, 
 he has seen dam fine girl," he added, and he smiled as 
 he prepared a grape-fruit for the early riser. America, 
 Japan the country made little difference when a 
 young man met a "dam fine girl" in the springtime. 
 
 Teddy had not slept well. In the first place, 
 he had gone to bed late after an evening's celebration 
 of his return to town. Then, just as he was lapsing 
 into drowsiness, a horrible thought had leaped at him 
 out of the dark. 
 
 What if she were married! 
 
 That had kept him awake for a long while; but in 
 the end he persuaded himself that the thing was un- 
 thinkable, impossible. Fate could not play him so 
 scurvy a trick. 
 
 For the second time he had dozed; but, just beside 
 the gates of the Castle of Sleep, another good idea 
 assailed him. 
 
 He had taken it for granted that she lived in the 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 97 
 
 apartment. Perhaps she didn't. She might have 
 been calling on a friend. She might have gone away 
 later in the morning, while he was mooning in the 
 Park. He sat up in bed to wrestle with the waking 
 nightmare. Why hadn't he stayed at home and 
 watched the apartment house? How could he find 
 her if she had gone? Drivelling, chuckle-headed ass 
 that he was. He had lost her! 
 
 Sudden recollection of a red-headed Irishman's 
 doffed cap and the Girl's smiling greeting pulled him 
 out of the Slough of Despond. The Irishman looked 
 like a janitor, and janitors were open to diplomatic 
 overtures. If the man did not know where she lived, 
 he could probably find out. But how to meet her? 
 
 Of course he might happen to know some one who 
 knew her, but that was a chance shot; and if he did 
 not know any friend of hers, what could he do, short 
 of having a fit at her feet or wrecking his car as she 
 passed by? Even in case of such a casualty, she 
 would probably call a policeman and go her way. 
 
 He might rent an apartment in the building; but 
 she wasn't the sort of a girl a fellow could speak to 
 in the elevator. She'd have gone away for the sum- 
 mer long before he would dare make a break like that. 
 
 For hours he lay puzzling over the problem, invent- 
 ing imaginary meetings in which he played heroic 
 roles, while the Girl turned to him and clung. He had 
 
98 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 just pulled her from under a touring car at Forty- 
 second Street and Fifth Avenue and was himself lying 
 crushed and bleeding on the pavement when sleep 
 overtook him and saved an already-overburdened 
 traffic policeman from maddening complications. 
 
 Why, after all this, he wakened two hours earlier 
 than usual, let the love-smitten tell. Waken he did, 
 and instead of yawning and turning over luxuriously 
 for another nap as was his habit, he sprang from bed 
 the moment his eyes opened, and rushed his bath and 
 toilet as though important business were waiting. 
 Important business was waiting. The Girl might be 
 taking an early train, might make a practice of early 
 morning walks, might throw open a front window and 
 lean out into the sunshine. With the daylight, con- 
 fidence in his luck had returned. He felt sure that she 
 was hidden away behind the ugly brownstone wall 
 sure that somewhere, somehow, he and she would 
 come together. Cupid would never knock a fellow all 
 in a heap and let it go at that. 
 
 But he must not lose any tricks. Luck was one 
 thing and good management was another. So he sat 
 in the bay window and watched the caryatides until 
 his own neck and shoulders ached in sympathy with 
 theirs. 
 
 When Icho announced breakfast, t,he guest upset 
 tradition again by asking to have his coffee brought to 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 99 
 
 him where he was. No, he didn't care for a grape- 
 Truit or for eggs. Only the coffee, served right there. 
 His host, strolling downstairs at nine o'clock, found 
 him ostensibly reading a morning paper, but keeping 
 a watchful eye on the apartment-house door. 
 
 "Had your breakfast?" Coles asked in surprise. 
 
 "Yes, old man. Felt a bit headachey. Thought 
 some coffee would fix me up. You see I've an im- 
 portant engagement." 
 
 "Another?" Coles's face was profoundly serious 
 but his guest reddened guiltily and retired into the 
 folds of his newspaper. 
 
 Five minutes later he sprang from his chair, rushed 
 into the hall, grabbed his hat, and slammed the frorir 
 door behind him. 
 
 He was standing on the steps as she passed. She 
 was even lovelier than he had thought. Her lips 
 curled up at the corners and her brown eyes smiled 
 out at the world from under their long lashes. She 
 was young and glad. The spring was in her blood and 
 she went lilting by like a gay tune set to joyous words. 
 
 Teddy followed her down the street to Sixth 
 Avenue and along the Avenue southward. Overhead 
 the L trains rattled and roared; on the street, clatter- 
 ing, clanging, trolley cars ground shrieks from the 
 helpless rails trucks and market wagons wound 
 heavily in and out among L pillars and street cars and 
 
100 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 hurrying crowds; stale smells came stealing out from 
 dark shops to defile the soft, warm air, and soot 
 floated grimly down the sunbeam slopes; across the 
 street a police wagon dumped a load of drunks and 
 disorderlies on the sidewalk before the steps of 
 Jefferson police court; man-made horrors blurred the 
 smile of spring, but Teddy Burton found lower Sixth 
 Avenue a primrose path. 
 
 When the Girl stopped at a market, the doubts of 
 the night once more elbowed their way into his sun- 
 shine. 
 
 If she were married ! but she wasn't married. She 
 couldn't be married. She didn't look married. Just 
 because a girl bought beefsteak and escarole, she 
 wasn't necessarily married. Probably she did the 
 marketing for her mother or for a sick friend but it 
 wasn't necessary to be so nice to a red-headed little 
 market man. What was the use of smiling like that 
 at a market man when there were men who would 
 give but of course market men must be propitiated. 
 Nobody liked tough steak. Teddy didn't himself, 
 and he always tried to be reasonable; he prided him- 
 self upon it. Still he was glad when she had finished 
 her marketing. He did not follow her home. Being a 
 gentleman was a habit with him. Being a lover was 
 only an obsession. 
 
 So he stood in the cigar-store door and watched her go 
 
HOW COULD YOU; JKAN? 101 
 
 up the Avenue and turned into Twelfth Street before 
 he, too, strolled that way. When he reached the Twelfth 
 Street corner she was just disappearing through the 
 door of the apartment house, but his heart was light. 
 She lived there or at least she was staying there 
 and she probably went to market every morning. 
 Perhaps she went somewhere in the afternoons, too. 
 It was something to see her even if he did not know 
 her, and the janitor was Irish. One could always get 
 on with the Irish. 
 
 She did not go out that afternoon. Teddy was 
 disappointed; but sitting in a sunny bay window, 
 watching the house where the Only Girl lives and 
 thinking long thoughts, was not such a bad way of 
 spending a spring afternoon. 
 
 The next morning she went to market in a dif- 
 ferent hat, a distractingly becoming hat with a white 
 wing tilting it to leeward. Teddy did not follow her 
 this time. He only stood on the steps and watched 
 her go by, then waited for her to come home. Her 
 hair waved up from the nape of her neck. So few girls 
 had back hair like that. Usually it was stringy. 
 
 On the third day she did not go to market. As a 
 matter of fact, she decided to use the cold steak for 
 hash and there were salad and string beans in the 
 house; so she telephoned to the blond Mr. Parsons 
 for some onions and turned her attention to silver 
 
102 HO\\ COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 cleaning. But the young man on Kennedy Coles's 
 front steps could not know all these unromantic 
 facts. He only knew that spring was a fake and that, 
 in spite of a blue and cloudless sky, the sun refused 
 to shine. 
 
 Something had happened. The Girl was ill or 
 perhaps she had gone away in the night. He waited 
 until one o'clock, did scant justice to Tokichi's ex- 
 cellent luncheon, and then began walking around the 
 block. It was impossible to sit still any longer yet he 
 could not go far away. 
 
 On the third lap he passed Mr. Flavin, tacking care- 
 fully home from one of his frequent excursions to 
 Sixth Avenue. Teddy did not recognize the back, 
 but the profile prodded his memory and, turning, hf 
 saw the genial rubicund face with its thatch of 
 carroty hair. The Irishman was smiling. An aura of 
 satisfaction and good will toward men folded him 
 round. The moment was auspicious and, recognizing 
 the fact, Teddy stopped and waited for the man. 
 
 Mr. Flavin remembered him. "Huntin' agin, is 
 it?" he asked cheerfully. 
 
 "Well in a way," the young man admitted. 
 "Fact is, I'm hunting for information and I rather 
 think you can give it to me." 
 
 Mr. Flavin swelled his chest and leaned against a 
 neighbour's iron fence not that he actually needed 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 103 
 
 the support, but because he felt that he could give his 
 entire attention to the subject in hand if he did not 
 have to devote any of it to dominating his legs. 
 
 "I'm the grrand one for that same," he said en- 
 couragingly. " There's no man knows the neighbourr- 
 hud betther. And what sort of information would 
 it be now?" 
 
 Teddy hesitated, cleared his throat. A wave of 
 crimson spread from his collar to his hair. 
 
 "And is it so?" Mr. Flavin's tone was indulgent. 
 However unreliable his legs might be, his eyes and his 
 wits were still working. "Now what would she be 
 loike?" he prompted. 
 
 Teddy made the plunge. He did not like finding 
 out about Her in this way, but there seemed to be no 
 other. 
 
 "I wanted to ask you about a young lady who 
 lives in your house," he said. His gravity approached 
 solemnity, and Mr. Flavin's face became correspond-' 
 ingly serious, though his eyes twinkled. 
 
 "There's some eight or nine av thim about the 
 place." 
 
 Teddy's heart protested. There was only One. 
 
 "She has brown eyes and hair," he explained. 
 
 It was horribly inadequate but if he tried to 
 describe how she really looked to him, the man would 
 think him mad. 
 
104 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "Some do," assented Mr. Flavin. 
 
 "And pink cheeks," supplemented Teddy. 
 
 "It's a way with the young things." 
 
 "She's well, she's quite different." 
 
 Mr. Flavin laughed. 
 
 "Ye've no flow av language atall, atall. It's 
 aisy seein' ye're not Irish, man. Now if ye're 
 manin' a colleen wid the two eyes av her like run- 
 ninl wather with the sun on it, and lips as red as 
 rowan berries, and a smile that'd coax a mavis off the 
 branch, and a way wid her altogither that makes a 
 man think the sun's shining whin she does go by, 
 and the sun, moon, and stars are drownded entirely 
 whin she's out av his sight; if ye're manin' her 
 
 "That's her!" Teddy's grammar was weak, but 
 his conviction was strong. 
 
 Mr. Flavin leaned more comfortably against the 
 iron fence. 
 
 * 'Tis a great thing to have the gift av spache, me 
 boy; an' 'tis the Irish that make the fine lovers. 
 As for husbands, that's as may be." 
 
 "But the Girl?" urged Teddy. 
 
 "Well, now, the gurrl's name is Scotch. 'Tis her 
 only fault. Her name's Jean Mackaye, and she's 
 maid to thim daft Bonners on the eighth floor." 
 
 For a moment the world reeled round Edward 
 Burton, Jr. He put out a groping hand to steady it 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 105 
 
 and found the iron fence. It was good to hold fast to 
 something that seemed stationary. 
 
 From some remote place Mr. Flavin's voice 
 drifted to him. 
 
 "She's the wonder av the wurrld fer wurrk, is that 
 gurrl. Not a speck av durrt will she have on the 
 primises. 'Tis not healthy to be so clane, I do think. 
 And she cooks that fine, the little ould lady and 
 gintleman are plumpin' up like partridges. She's 
 cook and nurrse and guardeen and hiven knows what 
 ilse to thim two. They had the grrand luck vrhin 
 they got her." 
 
 \ Teddy relinquished his grip of the fence, squared his 
 shoulders, pulled himself together. What a fool he 
 was ! Of course the man wasn't talking about the Girl. 
 
 "That's not the young lady I mean," he said. 
 "The one I'm talking about wears a dark blue suit 
 and a hat with a white wing." 
 
 "'Tis the same," declared Mr. Flavin. "Man, 
 there's no two av thim like that in one house or in a 
 hundred houses for that matther. Ye cud take her 
 fer the daughter av the Prisident, and she just a 
 wurrking-out gurrl. Bridget, me wife, says she'd 
 look grrand on a throne, that gurrl and it's the 
 Lord's truth. If ye can trust the pictures in the 
 paper, she'd make the other quanes look like two 
 shpots, the whole bunch av thim." 
 
106 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 " Does she go to market in the mornings? " Teddy 
 was clinging desperately to straws of hope. 
 
 "She does that, but she didn't go this marnin'. I 
 was up to fix the drain in the ice box and it's hash 
 she'll be havin' for dinner the-day she said, so there 
 was no need av goin' out and wastin' time. There's 
 nothin' wasted in that flat not aven the maid's 
 time. She'd make a grrand wife for some poor man, 
 that gurrl." 
 
 The eagerness had all died out of Teddy Burton's 
 face. He looked white and hurt and bewildered; but 
 he managed a rather sickly smile as he pressed a dol- 
 lar bill into Mr. Flavin's willing hand. 
 
 "Thanks awfully," he said. "Of course you won't 
 mention my inquiring." 
 
 "Divil a wurrd. I was a great lad for the gurrls 
 mesilf." 
 
 Teddy turned on his heel and went away. 
 
 Icho opened the door for him. 
 
 "Honourable Sir wants something?" the little man 
 asked solicitously, after one look at the Honourable 
 Sir's unhappy face. 
 
 "Wants to be let alone," Teddy answered un- 
 graciously as he shot toward the stairs. 
 
 Arrived in his own room, he bolted the door, 
 dropped into a chair, and tried to look the truth in 
 the face unflinchingly. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? , 107 
 
 A servant girl ! 
 
 All the traditions and prejudices of his class 
 quivered under the blow. It had never even occurred 
 to him that she did not belong in his own little world. 
 He had not given a thought to money, had not cared 
 whether she was rich or poor; but birth and breeding 
 he had taken these as a matter of course. She 
 looked so unmistakably a gentlewoman, thorough- 
 bred every inch of her. He had gloried in that look of 
 hers. The Burton women had always been like that 
 not beautiful like the Girl, but with an air. He 
 could remember his own mother though she had been 
 dead so long a frail, blonde woman with the sweetest 
 eyes in the world and the proudest mouth. And his 
 grandmother she had been a Carter of Virginia and 
 never had allowed any one to forget it. Ugly little 
 woman but grande dame always. There were five 
 generations of that sort of thing behind him. That 
 was a long record for America and before that back 
 in England well, the family tree branched out 
 most imposingly in England. A snob was a loath- 
 some beast but there was something about family. 
 He had always been brought up to feel that he owed 
 a good deal to his; and if he had not, so far, added to 
 its glory, he had, at least, been negatively loyal. He 
 had come through college with no honours, but with- 
 out any dishonours and that was fairly good for a 
 
108 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 millionaire's son. Perhaps being the most popular 
 man in his class and making the football team had 
 even been honours. 
 
 Since college he had played around and spent a 
 good deal of money; but he hadn't done anything 
 very bad. The old gentleman had told him to take 
 two years and get the foolishness out of his system, 
 and he had been doing it. There might be a bit of 
 foolishness left, here and there in a corner; but, on the 
 whole, he was about ready to settle down to business. 
 He had always intended to go home to Buffalo, 
 tackle a job in the factory, marry the right girl, and 
 be a credit to the Burtons. 
 
 "The right girl!" 
 
 A glad young face smiled at him from under a 
 white-winged hat set saucily atilt, and his heart 
 leaped for joy in the vision, but fell back, a leaden 
 weight. 
 
 The right girl was the wrong girl. 
 
 He had found her. Even now he had no doubt of 
 that. Servant or princess, there was the one girl in 
 the world for him. 
 
 But if he should say to his father: 
 
 "I'm going to marry a girl who is a servant in a 
 
 flat down on Twelfth Street " Imagination failed 
 
 him. It was not that he was afraid of his father, It 
 was that he thought such a lot of him. It would be 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 109 
 
 beastly rough on the old gentleman to have all his 
 plans and hopes and ambitions knocked from under 
 him like that. He'd been such a corking good sort, 
 
 and when a chap was an only son Perhaps if he 
 
 could just see the Girl No. Dad was broad 
 
 minded but he'd always been down on a fellow's 
 marrying out of his own class, or a girl's doing it 
 either. Teddy had agreed with him about that. A. 
 man and his wife ought to have the same background, 
 same traditions, same point of view, same tastes. 
 Even at that, marriage was a long shot. One ought 
 to play for safety. Then there was the other family 
 the girl's family. She might be lovely enough and 
 adaptable enough to fit in after a while, but if her 
 family was impossible? Thanksgivings! Christ- 
 mases! Grandfathers and grandmothers and uncles 
 and aunts for a fellow's children! 
 
 Oh, hell! 
 
 He sprang from his chair, jammed his hat on his 
 head, and went out into the late afternoon sunshine. 
 His problem was too big for four walls. 
 
 Fifth Avenue, even between Twelfth Street and 
 Twenty-sixth Street was spring kissed. A strayed 
 flower seller at the corner of Fourteenth Street 
 offered his tray of daffodils, fresh enough still to make 
 the whole neighbourhood seem aglow. A little 
 Jewish factory girl, scurrying out of one of the tall 
 
110 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 i 
 
 buildings, had a bunch of arbutus pinned to her coat 
 collar. The driver of an express wagon, lolling on his 
 seat before the office, wore a red rose in his button- 
 hole. But the tall young man who went striding up 
 the street with his soft hat pulled low over a scowlir 
 face noticed none of these things was hopelessly 
 out of tune with a world that smiled. 
 
 Farther up town the sidewalks were crowded from 
 shop door to curb, solid battalions of motor cars 
 filled the streets. Not one flower seller here but 
 dozens of them, pushing their way through the 
 crowd, thrusting masses of violets, roses, arbutus, 
 daffodils, narcissi under the eyes of the passer-by, 
 leaving trails of fragrance behind them. Florists* 
 windows shouted of spring. Jewellers' windows were 
 Arabian Nights' dreams, gay finery flaunted in the 
 windows of the shops that catered to fashion's whims. 
 
 Everywhere colour and light and luxury and laugh- 
 ter. Everywhere women's faces, young and old, 
 pretty and homely, but all with smiles on their lips 
 and lights in their eyes. 
 
 Teddy had always loved Fifth Avenue on a spring 
 afternoon, but now he went ploughing his way along 
 it, blind and deaf to its lure. 
 
 Women's faces? There was only one woman's face, 
 and it belonged to a girl who was cooking another 
 woman's dinner in a kitchen on Twelfth Street. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? Ill 
 
 The sun was setting when he reached the upper end 
 of the Park, but he went on, through the soft twilight 
 and the clinging dusk, into the starlit spring night. 
 \yhen he found himself in a little park far up on the 
 \ ?nk of the Hudson he knew that he had, uncon- 
 sciously, been heading for there ever since leaving 
 home. 
 
 jy He had discovered the place years before and had 
 *dways remembered it as curiously out of the life 
 current eddying round about it. Now it was as 
 lonely as his memory of it, and he dropped down on a 
 bench with a sudden realization that he was tired. 
 
 Far below he could see the river, dark but liquidly 
 mirroring the stars. Beyond, an irregular line of 
 darkness less black, and jewel-set here and there 
 with clustering lights marked the Jersey shore. 
 Above was the wide starry sky dark, too, but with an 
 infinite capacity for light. 
 
 The noises of the city had died away to a murmur, 
 rising and falling on a night wind that was chill, 
 though it had moments of relenting was warmed, 
 now and then, by odd, sudden little breaths from the 
 lips of spring. 
 
 The man on the bench turned his coat collar up 
 about his throat, rammed his hands down into his 
 pockets, and stared at the river. 
 
 He had come to this quiet place to think things 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 out; but, now that he was there, his thoughts did not 
 seem as important as they had seemed in his room 
 down on Twelfth Street. He did not feel so im- 
 portant himself. 
 
 His eyes wandered from the stars that quivered in 
 the river to the stars that glowed serenely in the sky 
 above. Funny thing how many stars there were. He 
 had never realized it before, had never thought much 
 about the stars. They didn't jump out at a fellow the 
 way the moon did. One took them for granted; but, 
 seen from a hilltop, on a night of spring, they made a 
 chap feel he couldn't quite tell how they did make a 
 chap feel, only they took the fever out of him. A man 
 could make all sorts of a fool of himself under the 
 moon, but if he once let the stars get at him, he was as 
 likely as not to go down on his marrow bones and 
 pray. 
 
 That was it! That was the way the stars made a 
 chap feel like praying. No wonder he couldn't rec- 
 ognize the feeling right at first. They were so far 
 away and quiet and steadfast. Who was the blamed 
 fool that started the "twinkle, twinkle" business 
 about the stars? Nice sort of a brain he must have 
 had. Anybody who'd make the stars twinkle, would 
 call Mt. Blanc "nice." 
 
 Worlds, all of them! Worlds swinging along 
 through space, to some tune of their own, since the 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 113 
 
 beginning of time and here was a silly ass of an 
 atom on one ha'penny world raving about grand- 
 fathers ! 
 
 Suddenly he pushed his hat back on his head and 
 laughed. 
 
 Five generations of Burtons! Good Lord! 
 
 The Burtons weren't so important after all, if you 
 put it to the stars. 
 
 Who wanted to marry a girl's grandmother? And 
 who cared a tinker's damn whether a girl worked in a 
 kitchen or loafed in a drawing-room, so long as she 
 was the Girl of Girls? As a matter of fact, the odds 
 ought to be in favour of the cook. Any fool could loaf. 
 
 When it came down to star values, what had he, 
 Edward Burton, Jr., to offer to a girl? Family 
 piffle! Money rot! 
 
 The Girl could cook. What could Tie do? She had 
 been making her own way in the world, making an 
 honest living, fighting, with her chin up and a smile in 
 her eyes, while he had been pottering around on 
 yachts and polo ponies, spending the money his 
 father had been man enough to make. 
 
 Servant? Well, what was life for but for service? 
 Jolly lot of serving he'd ever done! He wasn't fit to 
 live on the same street with the Girl. He wasn't fit 
 to live on the same earth with her. 
 
 Here he'd been wondering whether he could con- 
 
114 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 descend to marry a servant. It hadn't occurred to 
 him that she might insist upon marrying a Man. 
 
 Marry him? Why, she probably wouldn't even let 
 him black her kitchen stove for her. 
 
 Alone, under the stars, Teddy Burton humbled 
 himself and prayed, after a fashion, though he did 
 not know that he was praying. Honest humility 
 and a desperate longing to be worthy of great happi- 
 ness come very close to prayer. 
 
 At nine o'clock that night a tired but cheerful 
 young man opened the door of Kennedy Coles's 
 house and turned to look up at the sky. Only a 
 narrow river of blue-black showed between the house- 
 tops; but there were stars in it. 
 
 "Right you are, boys!" the young man said 
 irreverently. "The Burton family isn't such a 
 much!" 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE decision made under the stars was all very well 
 in its way, and its way was a good one; but when 
 Teddy Burton wakened the next morning, per- 
 plexity and doubt once more claimed him for their 
 own. One hurdle was taken. Looking back, he 
 wondered that he had ever for a moment balked at 
 it. He hated to worry his father, but a man could 
 not marry simply to please his father, and as soon as 
 Edward Burton, Sr., recovered from the first shock, 
 
 as soon as he saw Jean Oh, it would be too easy. 
 
 There wasn't a man living who could resist her. 
 
 As for her doing housework, that ought to count 
 one for her. Why on earth there should be a prejudice 
 against domestic service he couldn't understand. If a 
 girl had to earn her living, the natural thing was for 
 her to turn to woman's work. A nice girl was a lot 
 better off in a home than in a shop, or a factory or an 
 office. 
 
 If for the smallest fraction of a moment he felt a 
 misgiving, he shook it off. Suppose she shouldn't 
 match her face; suppose she should be illiterate, com- 
 
 115 
 
116 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 mon. He laughed; the thing simply wasn't possible. 
 There were pretty girls without brains or refinement 
 or morals. He'd met a lot of them, and some of the 
 lot were in his own class, that precious superior class 
 he had been doddering around about the day before; 
 but you could always tell whether when you got by a 
 pretty face you were going to find anybody home. 
 Now Jean [he liked that name. It sounded sensi- 
 ble, characterful, and yet it was such a cozy, dear 
 little name] well, Jean wasn't pretty. She was 
 beautiful and the beauty wasn't just a matter of 
 complexion and colour and the shape of her chin and 
 her nose and all that sort of thing. It was the soul 
 of her that made the difference between pretty and 
 beautiful. A girl with that face couldn't help being 
 good and sweet and dear oh, unspeakably dear. 
 Dad would realize that, too. He was an under- 
 standing sort of a man, Dad was. 
 
 But it was one thing to adore a girl and quite an- 
 other thing to find a chance to tell her so. How in the 
 name of Cupid was he to meet her, to know her, to 
 persuade her that he wasn't a bad risk as husbands 
 go? He puzzled over the problem while he dressed, 
 while he ate his breakfast, but then forgot it in the 
 excitement of the absorbing, vital question of the 
 moment. Would she go to market? Wouldn't she 
 go to market? Would he see her in a few minutes or 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 117 
 
 would he be obliged to drag through another in- 
 terminable day without a glimpse of her? 
 
 She went to market. 
 
 He saw the white wing leave the darkness of the 
 apartment-house doorway. Then he saw her face. 
 It came nearer, nearer; was beside him; passed him; 
 left him limp. 
 
 Shades of departed lovers, what a girl! He must 
 meet her now at once. Waiting was out of the 
 question. And in his impatient fumbling for ways 
 and means he remembered the Irish janitor. A 
 good-natured fellow and every Irishman loved a 
 lover. Yes; the janitor was his one best bet. Per- 
 haps the man could think of a way, do something, 
 suggest something. 
 
 "There's a man wants you," the hall boy an- 
 nounced to Mr. Flavin an hour later. 
 
 "What sorrt of a man?" the janitor asked. He 
 was not owing anything to speak of at the moment, 
 but he had the habit of caution. 
 
 "A young fellow in a gray suit and a hurry." 
 
 "Well, now, I wonder " mused Mr. Flavin, 
 
 laying aside his paper. 
 
 "I was thinkin' it was you," he said to his visitor 
 a moment later. "Wud ye come in, or wud ye stay 
 out, or wud ye walk a ways with me. I've an irrand 
 to Sixt' Av'noo." 
 
118 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 They attended to the errand and Teddy laid his 
 case frankly before the deeply sympathetic Celt 
 frankly but with reservations. He did not mention 
 his name or his social standing or his father's money. 
 He was simply a young man up to the ears in love with 
 a girl he did not know. What could Mr. Flavin, 
 with proper encouragement and compensation, do 
 about it?" 
 
 The janitor took off his hat and ran his fingers 
 through his red hair. 
 
 "Faith an' it's not mesilf that wud blame ye, lad." 
 His voice oozed sympathy. "She's the rose av the 
 wurrld. Did ye iver see my Bridget? She was rosy 
 hersilf, Bridget was. I mind me there was a path 
 up out av Bally shannon, along the sea but that's 
 neither here nor there and Bridget's some changed. 
 Still I know. Lad, I know. Ain't it the grrand, 
 chokin', hurrtful feelin'? Ye wudn't give a pint av 
 small beer half drunk up fer yersilf . Ye know ye're 
 a sinful, worthless young divil, but ye feel ye have it 
 in ye to change, and ye're thinkin' maybe an angel 'ud 
 stoop down from hivin and take a hand at improvin' 
 ye, because 'tis angels are built on the lovin' and 
 savin' plan. Oh, well, I know but the trouble's here, 
 mon. Yer angel's the kind that holds her head 
 so high she wudn't be afther seem' sinful but well- 
 manin* young men unless they was called to her 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 119 
 
 attintion special. She has no eye out fer the lads. 
 There's been no call fer it. 'Tis the lads that have 
 had the eyes." 
 
 " I thought maybe you She seemed very jolly 
 
 and friendly with you Teddy was incoherent 
 
 but hopeful. 
 
 Mr. Flavin looked at him pityingly. 
 
 "I, is it? Me bhoy, d'ye think I'd dare lead a lad 
 av my acquaintance up to her and introduce him? 
 'Tis plain ye haven't her measure atall, atall. 
 Frindly with me? She is that; but do I call her by 
 her first name as I do the other maids in the house? 
 Not John Flavin. It's 'Miss Mackaye' to her if ye 
 plase, and yet she's that swate and smilin' and nivir 
 a wurrd that isn't frindly. Ye can't tell what it is, 
 but ye'd no more take a liberty with her than ye'd 
 kick a keg of dynamite. Not that she'd go off with a 
 bang and clutter up the place. She'd luk at ye. 
 That's all and that'd be enough. 'Twould be only 
 in hell ye'd get thawed out and I'm hopin' I'll stop 
 short av thim same tropics. No, sorr. I'm wishful to 
 help ye. Ivery man with a heart in him is willing to 
 help on a courtin' and 'tis queer 'tis so whin the 
 consequinces av courtin' and marryin' is known to be 
 as they are but I cudn't introduce ye to her or put 
 ye in the way av spakin' with her or give her a note 
 ye'd be afther writin'. Many's the time I'ved one 
 
120 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 it for others but the gurrls was different. Whin ye 
 git to know this wan, mind ye, it'll have to be reg- 
 lar." 
 
 So that chance was done for. 
 
 Teddy was disappointed, but down in his heart, 
 he rejoiced. He was glad she was not a girl Mr. 
 Flavin could make free with. He had not really 
 imagined the janitor could do anything to help him. 
 He had only hoped; he did not know just what he 
 had hoped. He intended to know her. That was 
 settled; but how? How? How? 
 
 For a week he went about with that "how?" beat- 
 ing at his brain. For a week he fed his hungry heart 
 on glimpses of Her. The days when she went out 
 twice were feast days. A Friday when she kept 
 within doors was fast day indeed. 
 
 Then came Sunday. She did not go out until 
 afternoon on Sundays. At least she had not gone 
 out until afternoon on the Sunday before this one. 
 Teddy settled himself for a long and wearisome morn- 
 ing with the Sunday papers; but just in order to take 
 no risks, he sat in the bay window and made note of 
 every flutter of petticoats in the doorway of the house 
 where She was hidden. 
 
 By twelve o'clock he had read everything the 
 papers had to offer except the advertisements. He 
 yawned, looked at his watch, glanced down the 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 121 
 
 street, and idly turned his attention to the advertis- 
 ing pages of the Herald. The "Position Wanted'' 
 columns were the first to catch his eye. A wealth of 
 competent female stenographers and travelling com- 
 panions and of young men ably fitted to take charge 
 of large business interests or superintend estates! 
 It was sad to know that such talents were being 
 allowed to languish. 
 
 "Domestic service." The reader's interest quick- 
 ened. He studied the columns carefully and his 
 astonishment grew as he read. Here were cooks of 
 superlative ability, laundresses whose merits were 
 bounded only by the cost of advertising rates, 
 general hous"eworkers who could make life for any 
 family one round of happiness and content; it ought 
 to be a perfectly simple matter to pick up catisfactory 
 servants. Teddy wondered why women made such 
 rough going of it. Women were not naturally ex- 
 ecutive that was it. A household should be run 
 like a business. Now, if a man were keeping 
 house If he had had a wife he would have ex- 
 plained the thing to her; and, if she had been married 
 to him a short time, she would have argued the 
 question with him; but, if she had been married long 
 enough to acquire wisdom, she would have said: 
 "Yes, dear," and have gone on thinking of something 
 else. There are certain fundamental characteristics 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 in the Eternal Masculine. When one runs up 
 against them, one goes around, not through; but it 
 takes a wife some time to learn this interesting fact. 
 
 Not having a wife, Teddy Burton kept his theories 
 and deductions to himself, and they were slightly 
 shaken by perusal of the next department in the 
 paper. Here on the very same page with the offers 
 of irreproachable service were columns of appeals for 
 help. Nobody wanted a stenographer or a travelling 
 companion, but small families without children, 
 pledged to stay in the city, willing to pay high wages, 
 wanted general house workers. Families moving to 
 the country clamoured for cooks, laundresses, wait- 
 resses. Queer that the admirable servants and the 
 tempting positions could not get nearer together 
 than adjoining columns in the paper. 
 
 Here were men wanted; no one seemed to need a 
 superintendent for an estate, but farm hands and 
 ordinary all-around men for country places were in 
 tremendous demand. 
 
 Teddy's eyes travelled down the column. Sud- 
 denly he sat up as though he had had an electric 
 shock, clutched the paper in both hands, stared in- 
 credulously at something in the middle of the column 
 headed "Help Wanted Male." 
 
 "Handy man or boy on small farm, used only as 
 summer home. Must run small car and care for 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 123 
 
 garden. No heavy farming." The advertisement 
 was like many others but it was the address that had 
 caught his eye: "Apply 38 West Twelfth Street. 
 Bonner." 
 
 Thirty-eight West Twelfth Street! She lived 
 there. Bonner the janitor had said that she worked 
 for "Thim daft Bonners." 
 
 They were going to the country. Perhaps they 
 were going soon. She would go with them of course, 
 and he His world was a barren, illimitable wil- 
 derness. Summer stretched out before him empty, 
 forlorn, interminable. 
 
 She was going to the country, to a farm. He could 
 not hang around a farm without being regarded as a 
 suspicious character; could not even enjoy the tan- 
 talizing privilege of sitting somewhere and, once a 
 day, seeing her pass by. 
 
 It occurred to him that he might find a place near 
 her farm where he could board. There would be more 
 chance for informal meeting in the country. Snakes, 
 for instance; all women were afraid of -snakes. If 
 there were no snakes there would surely be cows, and 
 most city women were afraid of cows. She didn't 
 look as though she would be afraid of cows, but you 
 never could tell. For a moment or two he felt hope- 
 ful; but a wave of impatience swept through him. 
 Suppose the snakes and the cows should fail him? 
 
124 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Suppose she could qualify for snake-charmer and 
 milkmaid? He was tired of leaving things on the 
 knees of the gods. He wanted to do something. 
 Hang it all, he envied the fellow who was going to be 
 the Bonners' handy man. 
 
 The paper fell from his hands, the light of inspira- 
 tion dawned in his eyes. 
 
 The Bonners' handy man! 
 
 "Teddy, my boy," the young man in the armchair 
 said gaily, "that's you" 
 
 It was a snapshot decision but the more he thought 
 it over, the better he liked it. He had been tired of 
 'leaving the things on the knees of the gods. Well, 
 the gods, in merry mood, had tossed the responsi- 
 bility into his own hands. If he fumbled it, the fault 
 was his; but he did not intend to fumble it. 
 
 His ideas of a handy man's duties on a small farm 
 were vague, but he could run the car that was a 
 cinch. As for the garden, he had never really digged 
 and delved but he knew something about a garden. 
 Macdonald, the old Scotch gardener at home, was a 
 great friend of his. He had fussed around the gar- 
 dens quite a lot and Mac had taught him a good 
 many things. He rather thought he could get away 
 with the gardening. 
 
 Being handy did not sound difficult. It probably 
 meant a little of everything and a good deal of helping 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 125 
 
 the cook. He grinned joyously as that phase of the 
 job presented itself. Would he be a handy man for 
 the Bonners? 
 
 He would. 
 
 If things should go wrong, he could leave; but he 
 did not intend to leave. He intended to stay and 
 help the cook. When he did leave he would take the 
 eook with him and keep right on helping her. 
 
 His spirits rose, effervesced. 
 
 He went up to his room, looked his clothes over 
 carefully, picked out a well-worn suit of tweeds he 
 had intended giving away, and dug a battered cap 
 out of his steamer roll. As he worked, he whistled, 
 and Icho, polishing furniture in a room across the 
 hall, smiled happily. 
 
 "Some better now," he said to himself with cheer- 
 ful satisfaction. 
 
 Edward Burton Jr. was "some better." He was 
 much better. His uncertainty and discouragement 
 were gone. His path stretched straight before him 
 a bit thorny perhaps, but what of that? The only 
 sort of trail he hated was a lost trail. 
 
 The next morning he put on his old tweeds, laid the 
 old cap on the hall table and went to breakfast with a 
 look on his face that distracted Icho's attention from 
 the unaccustomed shabbiness of his coat. Kennedy 
 Coles noticed both the look and the clothes and 
 
126 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 pondered over them; but he made no comment. The 
 boy was up to something. From the glint of his eye 
 Coles suspected devilment and following on the 
 heels of two weeks' restlessness, moodiness, alternat- 
 ing excitement and despondency the projected 
 devilment very likely had to do with a woman. The 
 older man felt slightly uneasy. Teddy Burton had 
 always flirted with any pretty girl he met, but he had 
 invariably kept his head. There was a certain 
 wholesome common sense back of his reckless gaiety, 
 and he was such a decent young chap, clean through 
 and through, in spite of all his racketing around. 
 Still, many a decent fellow had come an awful cropper 
 on a designing woman's account, and Teddy was a 
 rich man's only son. 
 
 Coles looked across the table at the young man with 
 the laughing, reckless gray eyes, opened his mouth for 
 speech, and promptly shut it again. When had 
 youth ever listened to age or to middle age? And, 
 after all, probably there was nothing serious in the 
 air. 
 
 After breakfast he went to his office, leaving his 
 guest smoking and reading the paper in the bay 
 window of the library. If he had stayed at home 
 until ten o'clock he would have seen the aforesaid 
 guest lean forward suddenly, look intently out of the 
 window for a few moments, then fling his paper and 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 127 
 
 cigar aside and hurry out of the house, picking up 
 a disreputable cap as he went. 
 
 Jean Mackaye went to market at ten o'clock that 
 morning and the beauty of the day tempted her to 
 idleness, so she walked on down to Washington 
 Square and sat on her favourite bench for a while. 
 The fountain was playing for the first time of the 
 season, and little half-awake leaves were throwing 
 soft, mottled shadows over the cement walks, while 
 here and there a tree in full leafage bulked densely 
 green against the quivering mistiness of its neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 Jean sighed softly, for no reason save that spring is 
 sighing time. She was not unhappy. She was not 
 even lonely. Her work kept her busy most of the 
 time and she had found friends. Mrs. Bonner had 
 been a little less absorbed in her work since spring 
 had wandered up from the South, and when she did 
 not work, she followed Jean around the apartment or 
 sat with her in the sunny room that had been in- 
 tended for a guest room. She was amusing, incon- 
 sequent, dear, the little gray lady; and her wandering 
 talk, with its dashes and parentheses and sudden 
 absolute abandoning of nominatives, was vastly en- 
 tertaining. 
 
 Then there was Katy. Katy had acquired a way 
 of dropping into the Bonner apartment a dozen times 
 
128 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 a day with admiration in her eyes and slang on her 
 tongue. She had given up the outrageous, plumed 
 hat and was wearing a demurely saucy one with a 
 white wing for trimming. Her new spring suit was 
 modelled as nearly as possible upon the old blue suit 
 Jean wore for street, and she had brushed her tangle 
 of curly hair into recognizable imitation of Jean's 
 simple coiffure. Even her talk was toned down a 
 trifle; but she would have resented any suggestion 
 that she had been influenced by the girl she so 
 plainly adored. 
 
 Thyra came, too, and the other maids in the house 
 curious to see whether it was true, as Katy re- 
 ported, that the Bonners' cook was not f such a "black 
 frost" as she seemed came in shyly or boldly, 
 according to their temperaments, but all came again. 
 
 Jean found them more interesting than her casual 
 visitors of the old days. 
 
 "Someway or other they're more human," she had 
 written to Barbara Herrick. "Probably every- 
 body's human, but most of the girls you and I knew 
 were so padded with artificiality that one couldn't get 
 through to the humanity. Now these girls have their 
 affectations and their reserves, but the big human 
 part of them seems to be nearer the surface. You can 
 get at them. I'm not saying that some of them don't 
 offend my taste. That's a natural consequence of 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 129 
 
 my training; but Babs, I'm awfully fond of some of 
 them and I'm interested in most of them and I'm the 
 better for knowing all of them. A lifetime of work in 
 girls' clubs and settlements wouldn't have taught me 
 what I've learned about working girls in a few 
 months. The de-haut-en-bas business doesn't work, 
 and with the best will in the world I don't believe 
 anybody can weed it out of her relation to people 
 of a lower social level. She's got to get down and 
 work with them if she's going to understand what 
 they do and think and feel. Probably her different 
 training will keep her from altogether understanding 
 even then. I don't want to do kitchen work all my 
 life I don't intend to; but if I ever have money and 
 leisure again I won't use them as I did before. I want 
 to help, Babs and I'd know how to help, now. I 
 don't want to be an uplifter person. I just want to 
 be friends." 
 
 She was thinking about that letter as she sat on 
 the bench with the leaf shadows flickering over her. 
 Evidently she wasn't a deep or a serious-minded 
 person. It was discouraging to plumb one's soul 
 and find only shallows. All of the Cooper Union 
 talk had filtered out of her brain. She hadn't any 
 coherent ideas about economics or sociology. She 
 couldn't feel angry or bitter or violent. She just 
 wanted to be friends wanted desperately, with a 
 
130 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 lump in her throat and an ache in her heart, to be 
 friends. 
 
 An Italian baby came toddling across the walk, 
 clutched her knees to steady himself, and looked up 
 questioningly into her face. He was not so very 
 clean. He was not even pretty, but she caught him 
 up, hugged him and kissed the place on his face that 
 most nearly approximated cleanliness. She would 
 have hugged and kissed the whole toddling, unsteady, 
 not-very-clean, questioning world, if she could have 
 drawn it into her arms. 
 
 The baby's mother bareheaded, dark-skinned, 
 tragic-eyed, dressed in a faded purple skirt and a 
 bright green waist, with a knot of orange at her 
 throat looked up from her lace- working and flashed 
 a smile at the young lady who had kissed her Carlo. 
 She was pleased, but not surprised. A baby like 
 her Carlo! Why shouldn't a pretty young lady 
 kiss him? 
 
 Jean smiled back at her as she set the baby on 
 his uncertain feet, and turned toward home. 
 
 She belonged to a class steeped in self-conscious- 
 ness; but it occurred to her that she could enjoy 
 wearing bright green and purple and orange, and 
 sitting, bareheaded, in a public park and taking 
 friendliness for granted. 
 
 When she reached home she found Mrs. Bonnet 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 131 
 
 standing by one of the windows in the living room, 
 looking idly out into the sunlit world. 
 
 "Thinking about the farm?" Jean called lightly. 
 
 Her mistress turned a happy face toward her. 
 
 "That's exactly what I was doing, child. You 
 see, the young man interrupted my work. I'm so 
 pleased with him. I'd have liked you to see him; 
 but I'm sure you'll be pleased, too." 1 
 
 "Young man?" echoed the girl. 
 
 "Yes, for the farm, you know. Didn't I tell you? 
 Rufus put the advertisement in yesterday. We 
 always put it in on the twenty-fifth; but I didn't ex- 
 pect any one so soon or so nice. They aren't so very 
 nice usually. Most of the nice ones have steady 
 work, I suppose, but we have to pick up a new one 
 each year. It would be better if we could get some 
 one up there in the neighbourhood, but we can't." 
 
 Surprise, alarm, distaste chased each other across 
 the face of the listening girl. A young man! She 
 might have known that a man would be needed on a 
 farm, but she had never given the outdoor work a 
 thought. 
 
 Now calamity was upon her. A young man hang- 
 ing around her kitchen, eating at her table, thinking 
 that he could be familiar with the cook! All her 
 newly acquired democracy melted away. All her 
 eager desire to be friends vanished. If it had been 
 
132 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 a girl She would not mind working with an- 
 other girl now. She had found out that "Judy 
 O'Grady and the Colonel's lady" really were "sisters 
 under the skin" and she did not feel so fussy about 
 -the skin as she had before she learned to know Katy 
 and Thyra and Susan and other Judys; but a young 
 man was different. Her imagination pictured the 
 worst. Hadn't Mrs. Bonner said that the nice men 
 all had steady work? Only the most ordinary sort 
 of a man would be drifting around willing to take a 
 summer's job as handy man at small wages. She 
 could see him hulking, stupid, bad-mannered, not 
 very clean. 
 
 "He was a little bit shabby," Mrs. Bonner was 
 saying, "but absolutely clean and neat, and such a 
 likeable face not handsome, but frank and smiling 
 and boyish. He had good manners, too. I felt 
 about him the way I felt about you when I first 
 saw you, only not so much so. I believe we're going 
 to have a very cheerful summer. Everything is 
 working out so well." 
 
 She was satisfied, sure of sympathy, and Jean 
 managed to smile, though protest was clamouring 
 within her. 
 
 Not hulking and stupid but worse, what Katy 
 called a "jollier" a young man who fancied him- 
 self, and would be impertinent, fresh. Oh, why, why 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 133 
 
 did people go to the country? One could get along 
 so nicely without a man, in town. To be sure there 
 was Mr. Bonner, but he wasn't exactly a man. He 
 was a scientist. When one needed anything done in 
 town, a man came and did it and went away. Some- 
 times he even went away before he finished doing it. 
 
 A white house among green trees rose before her 
 mental vision. Orioles sang to her from orchard 
 boughs. Lilacs hung over stone walls to pour fra- 
 grance in her path. She sighed but shook her head. 
 All her farm enthusiasm had oozed away. 
 
 She longed desperately to stay in town. Maples? 
 Orioles? Lilacs? They were heavenly things, but 
 Mrs. Bonner's nice young man would spoil them all. 
 
 She thought about him constantly during the 
 busy, last days of packing and making the apartment 
 ready for summer emptiness, and her efforts to meet 
 Mrs. Bonner's eagerness with responsive gayety did 
 not ring quite true; but the little gray lady was too 
 excited to notice the failure. 
 
 She still sat at her desk a good deal of the time, 
 but the Faroes were left to their island isolation while 
 she busied herself with catalogues catalogues of 
 groceries, of fertilizers, of flowers, of vegetables. 
 Every day she went out and bought prodigious quan- 
 tities of things, coming home shamefaced but happy. 
 
 Jean, attempting to reason with her on the subject 
 
134 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 of household supplies, found her conscious of her 
 folly but joyously unrepentant. 
 
 "My dear I know we won't eat four dozen cans of 
 sardines," she admitted. "I don't like sardines my- 
 self. I've never cared for fish of any kind since I 
 lived on it in the Faroes; but the sardines were a 
 'special,' and they did seem very cheap for 'large, 
 boneless' ones you know. There's a young man I 
 always go to at Macy's. He's very intelligent and 
 helpful, and when I get comfortably fixed in a chair 
 beside one of the little tables and he goes through 
 the catalogue with me, it seems perfectly foolish to 
 skip anything. He has a way of telling you how 
 nice things are, and how they will help out when one 
 is in the country and there isn't a grocery store 
 within miles. After he's explained to you about 
 anything you feel as though you'd be flying in the 
 face of Providence if you didn't buy quantities of it. 
 Anchovy paste for instance, and maraschino cherries, 
 and chutney, and capers, and ripe olives, and pre- 
 served ginger, and all that sort of thing. Rufus and 
 I never touch them, but I buy them every spring. 
 We've got cupboards full. 
 
 "And prunes! I do hope you like prunes, Jean. 
 My man always makes me believe that I'd be ab- 
 solutely lost if my prune supply should give out, so 
 I've a tremendous lot of them." 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 135 
 
 "You'd better let me buy the groceries," Jean 
 suggested; but the proposition was promptly vetoed. 
 
 "Not for worlds," Mrs. Bonner said laughingly. 
 "I love it. I never could enjoy buying a pound of 
 anything at a corner store, but when there's a 
 catalogue and some one to explain how good things 
 are that's different. And then it's rather like 
 outfitting for a long trip only I never carried ginger 
 and chutney on a northern trail. Once, when I 
 went down the Mackenzie to the Arctic, we had 
 nothing but salt fish for four weeks. I was dread- 
 fully sick afterward couldn't eat real food; but I 
 was the first white woman to make that trip. There 
 were only the Indians and a missionary, but I didn't 
 miss other women. I wouldn't dare say it to most 
 people, Jean, but other women are a frightful nui- 
 sance generally on a hard trip, you know. Even 
 when they don't cry, they clutter." 
 
 Then she told the story of the Mackenzie trip and 
 at the end of it her audience hugged her. Jean 
 always hugged her at the end of her northland stor- 
 ies. She looked so little and so gentle and so home- 
 keeping, and her low voice flowed so softly through 
 tales of grim dangers and hardships she had shared 
 of far beauties she had seen. 
 
 The garden catalogues needed no assistance from a 
 suave and persuasive salesman. Eloquence had gone 
 
136 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 to their making and imagination did the rest. Mrs. 
 Bonner revelled in them. 
 
 "Jean," she called, one morning, and, going to 
 her study, Jean found her shining eyed, rapt, a seed 
 catalogue held close to her near-sighted eyes. 
 
 "Listen, child," she said, "I can't decide which 
 muskmelons to try. Here's one that is flight- 
 resisting, vigorous, highly coloured, fine-textured and 
 of delicious flavour.' That sounds good, doesn't 
 it? But I like the sound of this one, too. It's 'early* 
 and has 'thick meat and thin rind,' and is 'firm* 
 and 'melting' and 'very sweet.' And there's another 
 that's 'wonderfully luscious and juicy and solid.' 
 It's 'eatable clear through to the outside coating' 
 and it's 'enormously productive.' Which do you 
 think we'd enjoy most?" 
 
 Jean yielded to the spell. 
 
 "I rather like the luscious one," she said doubt- 
 fully. "Luscious is such a fine melony word, isn't 
 it? But they all sound delicious. I believe I'd say 
 'eeny, meeny' and decide that way. Do you al- 
 ways have heaps of them?" 
 
 Mrs. Bonner' s radiance dulled slightly, but very 
 slightly. 
 
 "Well, we've never been very lucky with musk- 
 melons," she confessed. "They seem difficult; but 
 I think the seasons were unusual or the hills were 
 

 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 137 
 
 wrong, or something. I'm sure they'll do well this 
 summer if we choose the right kind." 
 
 On another day the mistress of the house wandered 
 into the kitchen, garden book in hand. 
 
 "I want a blue and white border, Jean," she said 
 dreamily. "It seems very simple delphiniums you 
 know and platycodon and speedwell and white phlox 
 and lilies and things like that just a hundred feet 
 of it somewhere along a path." 
 
 Or perhaps she came down with rose fever. 
 
 "I've always been afraid of roses," she admitted. 
 "They sound so buggy and blighty; but this book 
 says anybody can have them the kind that bloom 
 'abundantly and uninterruptedly all summer.' 
 That's the way the author puts it. They'd be 
 lovely for the house, wouldn't they great bowls full 
 of them everywhere." 
 
 She bought seeds enough to plant a dozen gardens, 
 and she ordered hundreds of plants; but she had her 
 lucid intervals. In one of them she acknowledged 
 that the orgy was a yearly event. 
 
 "I simply can't be sensible about it, Jean," she 
 said. "I don't even try to be sensible. There's a 
 part of my brain that remembers about mildew and 
 cut worms and drought and flea beetles and all those 
 nasty nuisances, and that knows our gardens have 
 never amounted to anything; but the rest of 
 
138 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 brain goes fey when time for moving to the farm 
 comes. It believes anything. Its fruit is all juicy and 
 spicy and luscious, and its vegetables are all large and 
 fine-flavoured, and its flowers bloom wonderfully 
 and smell like Araby the Blest. I do hope that that 
 part of my brain will never wake up the part that 
 believes and dreams. 
 
 "I can't garden. I'm so near sighted I can't get 
 close enough to the ground to tell a weed from a 
 seedling, and a cut worm would have to crawl up and 
 sit on my shoulder before I'd see him; but I do so 
 enjoy planning the gardens I don't have. 
 
 " Maybe Edward really can garden. Did I tell you 
 his name was Edward? I'm glad it isn't Oscar. We 
 had an Oscar last year. His references said he was 
 sober and honest, and he was; but I did dislike him 
 so. It was his mouth I think. He kept it open. 
 Anyway, I'm prejudiced against Oscars and Mil- 
 tons, too. You'd think a Milton would be splendid, 
 wouldn't you dignified and noble and all that? 
 We got a Milton when Oscar left. He was American, 
 too. I'd never tried an American only Swedes and 
 Norwegians and Germans and Poles and Italians and 
 Irish. I had tremendous hopes of Milton but he 
 wouldn't do at all. He drank too much hard cider, 
 you know. And he made love to Hannah. After 
 all that was rather splendid making love to Hannah, 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 139 
 
 I mean. No coward could have done it. Men have 
 been given medals for less. Probably it was the hard 
 cider. 
 
 "What was it Lincoln said when somebody com- 
 plained to him about General Grant drinking too 
 much? Said he'd like to know where Grant got his 
 whisky so he could send some like it to his other 
 generals; wasn't that it? 
 
 "Well, hard cider must be a drink for heroes if it 
 could give a man courage enough to make love to 
 Hannah. Still, I'm prejudiced against Miltons. 
 
 "Edward's a pleasant name, I think, don't you? 
 Half way between Algernon and John, you know 
 not too poetic and not too practical just sensible and 
 self-respecting. I knew an Edward once when I 
 was a girl only he had brown eyes. He used to 
 come very often. We called him Teddy." 
 
 The little gray lady fell silent all of a sudden, but 
 there was a smile on her lips. Evidently her mem- 
 ories of the Teddy of long ago were pleasant ones. 
 
 Jean wondered at her. Personally she detested the 
 name of Edward. She had never realized before that 
 she did detest it; but she did namby-pamby, pink- 
 shirt and purple-tie sort of a name! As for calling a 
 man Teddy ridiculous! She hoped the handy 
 man's last name was Jones. If it was, that was what 
 she would call him Jones. 
 
140 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 As the day of departure came nearer the obnoxious 
 Edward loomed larger and her spirits sank lower; but 
 every one was too busy to notice her unaccustomed 
 gloom. Mrs. Bonner was buying porch furniture and 
 enjoying the proceeding enormously. 
 
 "So gay," she told Jean, "and so un- Victorian. 
 Victoria was a good queen, but I'm glad we're living 
 her down. I wonder what she'd have thought of 
 yellow wicker and black-striped yellow linen with 
 bunches of bright-coloured field flowers on it?" 
 
 Even Mr. Bonner felt the excitement in the air, 
 forsook his study, and went about doing things not 
 even remotely connected with the moths of North 
 America. He blinked from under the brim of his old- 
 fashioned soft black hat in mild surprise at the 
 world's strenuousness and his own unwonted activi- 
 ties; but he was exceedingly useful, if one gave him a 
 memorandum. Without a memorandum he was 
 helpless; but as his wife pointed out to Jean, a great 
 many men would have lost the memorandum. 
 
 "Rufus is so careful and methodical about his 
 notes," she said admiringly. "It's a splendid habit. 
 He never loses a paper with writing on it." 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 WEDNESDAY, May third, was the date set for the 
 exodus. 
 
 At eight o'clock in the morning Jean locked the 
 last trunk and turned the luggage over to two burly 
 expressmen. Boxes and barrels had gone the day 
 before. The apartment was cheerless, shrouded, 
 overshadowed by its coming desolation. Looking 
 about her, Mrs. Bonner's maid of all work smiled 
 with satisfaction. She was tired clear through to the 
 immortal soul of her, but the place wore quite the 
 proper look for a town house in summer. She had 
 been over-conscientious about it perhaps. The apart- 
 ment chandeliers hardly justified covering and the 
 pictures might have gone unveiled but Griggsby 
 her useless butler had always had the chandeh'ers 
 and pictures covered. Where memory of Griggsby 's 
 methods had not served her, common sense had 
 helped; and, in moments of utter doubt, she had 
 written to Barbara Herrick who had promptly for- 
 warded information extracted from the trusty and 
 autocratic Sarah. 
 
 141 
 
142 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Jean had relaxed her stoicism before the Herricka 
 left for their little country place in the Ramapo hills 
 and had spent an hour of mixed emotions with 
 Barbara in Abingdon Square. Barbara's emotions 
 had been quite as mixed as her friend's. 
 
 "It's larky, Jean," she had said, "but I feel as 
 if I were doing something 'dark and dreadful, 
 don't you? Clandestine rendezvous and guilty 
 secrets and hidden identity and all that sort of thing. 
 Tom laughed at us all through breakfast; but I told 
 him you wouldn't come to the house or to any place 
 where you might meet people you knew, and you 
 wouldn't let me go to your apartment, and I 
 simply would see you; so we had to meet in some 
 funny place like this, though Tom says we're as likely 
 to meet business men who know us here as anywhere 
 going about to factories and wholesale places you 
 know." 
 
 That idea of the wandering business man had 
 shortened the visit, but it had been very jolly and 
 comforting even if it was short. 
 
 "You're prettier than ever," Barbara had said 
 judicially, "but you're different. I don't know just 
 what it is, but it's there. You're just as nice and silly 
 as you used to be; I'm awfully glad of that. I was 
 afraid working might have made you serious or noble 
 or something, but Tom said your sense of humour 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 143 
 
 would die hard. Still you are different. You look 
 well, you look as though you could get up and tackle 
 'most anything. If you aren't careful, you'll get to 
 looking positively cocky, dear." 
 
 Sitting in Mrs. Bonner's stripped and cheerless 
 living-room, Jean remembered the warning and 
 laughed. 
 
 Babs was such an infant; but she hadn't been so 
 far wrong. Jean felt that she would "tackle almost 
 anything," if the occasion demanded; and, prob- 
 ably, she looked it. 
 
 She had tackled so may fearsome things in the past 
 few months and none of them had proved too much 
 for her none of them but pie crust. She couldn't 
 make good pie crust. The cook books had such a 
 silly way of telling one to ' 'cut the shortening in with 
 a knife " and not to handle the stuff. How on earth 
 you were going to mix it well and roll it and pinch it 
 
 Still she intended to learn how to make good 
 
 pies. 
 
 Moving her family was not the simplest of her ex- 
 periments but, so far, everything had gone well. The 
 apartment was in order, the packing was done, the 
 woollens were put away for the summer, the bills were 
 paid, the supplies were stopped, the post office had 
 been notified of forwarding address; she checked items 
 off on her fingers with a bland, self-satisfied smile. 
 
144 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 The luggage had gone, and Mr. Bonner's hat and 
 coat, bag and umbrella, and two suit cases filled 
 with papers from which he refused to be separated 
 were ready in the hall. So were Mrs. Bonner's hat 
 and coat, veil and gloves, and bag. Their rubbers 
 were in their bags and there was a little box of 
 luncheon, and each elderly cherub was corralled in a 
 study so that neither could absent-mindedly stray off 
 out of the house and forget about the train. The cab 
 was ordered. 
 
 Yes; she had managed beautifully. Now she 
 would go in and dress and pack her own bag. 
 
 The actual trip would be easy enough, in spite of 
 the pile of hand luggage, for Mr. Flavin would pack 
 the bags into the cab and there would be porters at 
 the station. Suddenly her comfortable satisfaction 
 collapsed. 
 
 There would also be a handy man at the station ! 
 She had forgotten about the creature, but of course 
 he would go up with them. Probably he would ex- 
 pect to sit with the cook and talk to her. She jumped 
 up hastily and pulled the only raised shade down 
 with a vicious jerk. 
 
 A young man was going to be taught his place 
 immediately, thoroughly, and for all time. 
 
 The teaching did not begin according to her sched- 
 ule; for Edward was not at the station. No one ex- 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 145 
 
 cept Jean seemed to have expected him to be there 
 and it was only after the family was comfortably 
 settled on the train that Mrs. Bonner mentioned him. 
 "I had thought perhaps Edward might be useful 
 about getting us off," she said casually, "but he 
 suggested that it would be better for him to go up to 
 the farm a day or two ahead of us and have the house 
 open and put the car in order so that he could meet us 
 with it. He was quite right, too. You've managed 
 perfectly, Jean. I've never had such an easy time 
 getting off to the country. Hannah always kept 
 things so stirred up and yet she never was ready. We 
 almost always made two or three starts before we got 
 away and then we left most of the important things. 
 I can outfit perfectly when I'm going away on a trip 
 all by myself and don't have to bother about the 
 things I'm leaving behind; but moving is different. 
 I don't quite see how you do it but I'm sure nothing 
 has been neglected and you haven't fussed at us at all 
 or lost your temper or cried. Hannah always used 
 to be tempery and she almost always cried before we 
 got off. Just nerves, you know. I'm glad you aren't 
 a nervous person. I'd much rather live with a 
 woman who was stupid or dirty or wicked than with a 
 nervous woman. Not that you're stupid or dirty or 
 wicked. I'm beginning to think you're altogether 
 perfect, child." 
 
146 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 She leaned over to pat Jean's hand affectionately 
 and the girl very nearly imitated the unlamented 
 Hannah and cried, not so much because she was 
 nervous as because she was very tired and it was 
 good to be praised and appreciated. 
 
 Being efficient as a matter of abstract principle 
 might be all very well in its way but it was a lonesome 
 way. One would rather be efficient for somebody 
 and be loved for it. 
 
 On second thought she laughed, instead of crying. 
 Poor Hannah! If she could have laughed, perhaps 
 she would not have cried, but in all the illuminating 
 references to the departed one from which Jean had 
 built up a mental image of her, there had been no 
 mention of a sense of humour. Shepherding Mr. and 
 Mrs. Bonner without a robust sense of humour to 
 ease the strain, might, Jean reflected, make almost 
 any woman nervous. 
 
 The train rolled along through the tunnel, across 
 the Harlem and out into Surburbia a Surburbia 
 transfigured by spring, justifying itself, meeting all 
 the comic supplement jokes gayly, triumphantly. 
 
 Across every little vegetable garden tender green 
 things marched in straight or straggling lines. The 
 tomato plants and potted geraniums, that thousands 
 of weary commuters had carried out from town on 
 late trains and planted before early trains, were thriv- 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 147 
 
 ing lustily. Hardy annuals were popping up out of 
 garden beds and clumps of perennials looked down 
 superciliously on the upstarts. 
 
 Here and there an old-fashioned garden was already 
 abloom with iris and tulips and daffodils. Lilac 
 buds were swelling. Dooryards were adrift with fruit 
 blossom. 
 
 Farther out, gardens expanded, orchards ran 
 merrily up over little hills to look at the blue water 
 of the Sound. " Estates " shut themselves away from 
 cottage Suburbia behind high walls and forbidding 
 gates, but spring bloom and leafage peeped over the 
 walls and through the grilles of the gateways. 
 
 Still farther away were little towns, close set, 
 clustered round by summer homes but outside the 
 commuters' paradise; and, at last, after a change of 
 cars at New Haven, came the real country the 
 country of white farmhouse and broad fields and 
 pasturing cattle, of brooks and woods and untidy 
 stone walls along which already the weeds grew high. 
 
 Jean, looking from the car window, smiled friendly- 
 wise at Suburbia, even in its most suburban mood. 
 She had always hated it; but, some way or other, it 
 appealed to her now. She understood it better. She 
 could have enjoyed training yellow honeysuckle over 
 a ready-made bungalow and planting round beds of 
 foliage plants in its front yard. 
 
148 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 The walls and gates of certain country places 
 along the Sound brought gleams of recognition to her 
 eyes. She knew well all that lay behind the barriers 
 but she did not yearn for the familiar grandeur. 
 What she wanted was the country the green, smil- 
 ing, blossom-strewn, unspoiled country; and, when, 
 finally, the train slipped away into the quiet places, 
 she curled herself up as comfortably as she could on 
 the hard, red plush seat and forgot that she was 
 tired. She did not think. She did not feel. She 
 only sat there and watched spring flow past the car 
 window. 
 
 Now and then the train stopped at a little station 
 and there was a flurry of coming and going through 
 the door that the burly brakeman threw open; but 
 she did not turn to look. 
 
 After a while she began wondering about the homes 
 that drifted by. She was not interested in the hurry- 
 ing restless folk who were travelling with her; but 
 the people who were living in those tree-shadowed 
 farmhouses set beside the winding, luring white roads 
 she liked thinking about them. 
 
 A woman came out of an open door, crossed the 
 yard, and called to a man who was ploughing in a field 
 behind the house. Jean could not see her face but 
 she stood under an apple tree in bloom and the 
 breeze blew her apron out into fluttering white folds 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 149 
 
 that gleamed radiantly in the sunlight. Two small 
 children knelt at a road's edge near the railway and 
 watched the train go by. Their upturned faces were 
 dimpling with smiles and the violets they had been 
 gathering were bunched tightly in their small hot 
 hands. 
 
 A young man with a puppy frolicking at his heels 
 stopped on his way toward a long, low red barn, to 
 lean across a fence and talk to a girl who was feeding 
 a wobbly little calf. 
 
 Across the crest of an upland field a man walked, 
 silhouetted against the sky and swaying rythmically 
 as he scattered seed broadcast over the brown wait- 
 ing earth. 
 
 And everywhere, in and out and round about, was 
 Maytime. Surely, surely, country folk in Maytime 
 worked and played and loved and lived and were 
 glad. 
 
 The girl at the car window began to play a game, 
 a game of homes. She filled every farmhouse with a 
 family of her own choosing, a family to fit the house. 
 There were grandfathers and grandmothers, old men 
 with wrinkled, rosy faces, and old women with quiet 
 eyes, but all of the old folk had young hearts that 
 remembered their own springtime. 
 
 And there were cheerful, contented, middle-aged 
 folk, not too old yet to feel the beauty of the spring- 
 
150 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 time though the thrill of it they missed. There were 
 young husbands and wives with babies toddling be- 
 side them and fulfilment of promise in their faces 
 and their hearts; and there were boys and girls 
 oh, swarms of boys and girls at courting age girls 
 who sighed and boys who longed and spring to teach 
 them the meaning of the sighing and the longing. 
 And then there were the children, children every- 
 where children and puppies and kittens and calves 
 and colts and lambs and fluffy yellow chickens and 
 tiny pink pigs, all so foolish, so young, so at one with 
 the spring. Extraordinarily nice families, all of them. 
 
 yVhen she tired of sorting out families, Jean began 
 choosing a home for herself. That was absorbing, 
 fascinating business. One might so easily miss the 
 perfect thing. The homes that were in full view were 
 never quite satisfactory, but glimpses of white gables 
 seen through gaps in leafy greenness tantalized; far- 
 off dots of white on distant hilltops allured; vague 
 outlines, at the far ends of crooked shady lanes, prom- 
 ised. 
 
 Somewhere, out in the spring world, was the 
 Farm o' Dreams. Any curve of the road might 
 bring it into view. All the world hinted at it, and 
 Jean dreamed of it with a wistful droop of the lips 
 and a mistful softness in her eyes. 
 
 She did not plan a family for that Farm o' Dreams 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 151 
 
 but one did not make a home alone. Perhaps some 
 day, in the springtime 
 
 "Jean, I think I am hungry." It was Mr. Bonner's 
 voice and there was surprise in it, a tinge of injury a 
 In Hannah's day being hungry would have been 
 natural enough but Hannah's successor had always 
 forestalled any such contingency. He had grown 
 accustomed to having his needs supplied before he 
 knew that they existed and now, after a trying 
 morning, he was allowed to be hungry. Really, this 
 moving business was most upsetting. 
 
 Jean was remorseful, apologetic. She soothed him 
 with minced chicken and sandwiches and with coffee 
 out of a thermos bottle and she ate six sandwiches 
 herself by way of proving that she was a healthy 
 young woman as well as a dreamer of dreams. 
 
 After luncheon, she allowed the pacified scientist 
 to tell her the scientific names of all the moths com- 
 mon in the Connecticut valley and to describe each 
 of them minutely. It amused him and it did not 
 hurt her, and one cannot eat six chicken sandwiches 
 and then take up the thread of a dream where it was 
 broken off. 
 
 She had just been formally introduced to Lepidop- 
 tera and Heterocera when Mrs. Bonner, who had been 
 dozing, opened her eyes, glanced out of the window, 
 aad reached for her travelling bag. 
 
152 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "Here we are," she said as the train stopped beside 
 a shabby station. "Perhaps the brakeman will take 
 the suit cases, Jean. He's always very kind and 
 Edward will be outside. I'm sure he will. He 
 seemed the kind of young man who would think 
 about hand luggage." 
 
 As she spoke, some one took the travelling bag from 
 her, picked up the suit cases and handed them over to 
 a sturdy boy and gathered the umbrellas together. 
 
 Edward was not outside, he was inside. 
 
 Jean had a momentary glimpse of a pleasant, sun- 
 browned face whose eyes avoided hers. Then she. 
 was walking down the aisle in the wake of a tall, 
 tweed-clad back that, for some reason she could 
 not define, did not look like the back of a handy 
 man. 
 
 And yet he was handy, extraordinarily handy. He 
 transferred the party from the train to a waiting mo- 
 tor car, expeditously and painlessly tucked the robes 
 about them, slipped a leather cushion behind Mrs. 
 Bonner's back, and went to see about the luggage all 
 without hurry or fuss or confusion. Even Jean, who 
 was hotly resenting his existence, had to admit that. 
 
 He did not act exactly like a trained servant. She 
 noticed that he lifted his cap instead of touching it as 
 he turned away. Possibly he was the black sheep of 
 some decent family and had taken the place not be- 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 153 
 
 cause he was used to such work but because he was 
 stranded. Something must be wrong with him or he 
 would not take a general utility job in the country 
 at low wages. 
 
 Probably he drank. That was usually the trouble. 
 She would have to watch him. Mrs. Bonner was 
 such an unsuspecting blessed, and a handy man 
 could have delirium tremens in the front yard without 
 Mr. Bonner's noticing it. 
 
 "Did he have references?" Jean asked suddenly. 
 
 Mrs. Bonner, who was peering benevolently after 
 her handy man, looked half guilty, half triumphant. 
 "I forgot to ask him; but you see it has all worked out 
 beautifully. I can't seem to remember about refer- 
 ences. They never interest me at all, and, anyway, 
 nobody tells the truth in references, so what's 
 
 the use? But Edward's eyes Have you noticed 
 
 what nice eyes he has?" 
 
 Jean had noticed. They were gray eyes, very dark 
 gray eyes with a laughing light in them. 
 
 When he came back from attending to the lug- 
 gage she studied them more carefully. The laugh in 
 them was not reckless only cheerful and boyish. 
 He did not look like a hard drinker, but one never 
 could tell; and if he wasn't a drinker he was probably 
 something worse. Drinking was a good, positive, 
 likeable vice compared with some reasons for failure. 
 
154 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 She rather hoped he did drink, since he had to be 
 explained in some way. 
 
 He seemed perfectly sober, as he started the car, 
 whirled around a sharp corner, and shot down the 
 steep hill. And he could drive a car even in a 
 Ford, one could tell that. 
 
 Mr. Bonner had chosen the front seat so Jean, 
 sitting behind the driver, could study only the back, 
 and occasionally the profile, of the creature. 
 
 The back was not objectionable. Neither was the 
 profile. Nothing classic, of course, but, for a handy 
 man well, there was something rather good about 
 the way the head was set upon the broad shoulders, 
 and the chin had a clean-cut, determined look. A 
 nondescript nose, if one could judge from a side view, 
 and an over-large mouth with a trick of smiling. 
 
 His collar was clean and he had shaved carefully 
 but he was anxious to make a good first impression. 
 Probably when he settled down to work he would 
 not be so particular. Still she had to admit tc 
 herself that he was not so bad as her fancy had 
 painted him not so bad to look at. The inside of 
 the platter might be a fright and as for his manners 
 the very fact that they were good was against 
 him. It testified to wasted opportunities and vital 
 failings. The man must have had some education 
 and training and he looked strong and intelligent 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 155 
 
 enough. Nothing but utter laziness or incorrigibly 
 bad habits could account for his being willing to 
 take such a position as the Bonners had offered. 
 
 With a rattling and squeaking, but with irre- 
 pressible enthusiasm, the little car scrambled up hill 
 and down. The narrow country road apparently 
 climbed steep hills only for the fun of rolling down 
 from them, but the roll was always a little shorter 
 than the climb, and each hilltop was higher than 
 the last. 
 
 Along the way were farms not the farms of 
 Jean's dreams. Most of the houses were sadly in 
 need of repair and paint, most of the yards needed 
 cleaning up, most of the outbuildings were frankly 
 tottering to a fall, most of the fields were poorly 
 cultivated, most of the stone walls were gradually 
 tumbling down; but on the right of the road the 
 hills ran down to the river, and on the left they 
 climbed to the sky and over them, right and left, 
 surged the spring. In such a world the general 
 dilapidation seemed not so much shiftlessness as 
 abandon. Why should a farm be tidy and self- 
 respecting and profitable, when it had but to stretch 
 itself out in the sunshine and let a tide of leaf and 
 blossom flow over it and listen to the voices of 
 running brooks and smell the fragrance of green 
 growing things and feel cool cloud shadows drifting 
 
156 HOTV COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 across its face and harbour friendly furry and 
 feathered folk? Why should a house be painted and 
 shingled when flowering shrubs cuddled close to it, 
 and fruit trees shook blossom petals against the 
 broken window panes, and -through those broken 
 panes the dwellers in the house could look out into 
 paradise? 
 
 The Agricultural Department might not be in 
 sympathy with such farm philosophy but the vaga- 
 bond in Jean's soul thrilled to it, and she straightway 
 set about reconstructing the farm she was to own. 
 In its finished state it would be much as she had 
 pictured it; but when, on some lucky day, she would 
 meet it on a hilltop, it would be cheerfully disreput- 
 able a place of gray clapboards and overgrown 
 shrubbery, untidy hedgerows and rough pastures. 
 She would take it to her heart just so, and she would 
 tidy it up gently, slowly, prayerfully, doing no vio- 
 lence to its finer feelings, stopping short of Philis- 
 tinism. 
 
 Mrs. Bonner interrupted her planning by reach- 
 ing out and squeezing her hand. 
 
 "Isn't it gloriously irresponsible?" the little gray 
 lady said with a sigh of satisfaction. "Nothing has 
 to stop on the rear side of the street or the far side, 
 and you don't have to pay as you enter, and you can 
 do as you please with the garbage, and you can sit 
 

 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 157 
 
 down anywhere and feel like the psalms, without 
 being run over or run in. I hate rules and regula- 
 tions. There are things no fellow can do. You 
 have to accept that law anywhere, but living in a 
 city Jean, why do we live in cities?" 
 
 "We don't not in summer time." 
 
 The answer was confident, final. Jean was settled 
 in the shabby gray house on her Farm O' Dreams. 
 
 There came a time when there were no more hills 
 to climb and the road ran level but still inconsequent 
 along a narrow neck of land set high between two 
 rivers. Little, straggling farms fringed the road and 
 here the farmhouses showed promise of forsaking 
 their shiftless ways and becoming reformed char- 
 acters. There were signs of industry and thrift 
 grafted on the wreckage of what must have been a 
 prosperous little farming community in the days of 
 sturdy pioneering; but the cultivated fields were 
 narrow and beyond them, the land on each side of 
 the road fell away sharply on the west plunging 
 down steep cliffs to the Connecticut River, on the 
 east sinking into a narrow, wooded valley where 
 here and there a thread of silver water glinted 
 through the treetops. Beyond the broad river and 
 the narrow one, line upon line of blue hills mounted 
 to meet the horizon, the farthest fading almost im- 
 perceptibly into the sky. 
 
158 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Two miles of this upland flight and then the end 
 of the road. Jean saw the white house, the thick 
 clustering maples, the lilac bushes leaning over the 
 white picket fence. 
 
 The car stopped gently on the triangle of green- 
 sward where the road turned back upon itself. 
 
 "This," said Mrs. Bonner, with a throb of con- 
 tent in her voice, "is home." 
 
 The handy man lifted the little gray lady from 
 the car. She smiled into his face and gave his arm 
 a friendly pat as he set her down, and said : 
 
 "I think you are going to take very good care of 
 us, Edward," she said confidingly. "You aren't at 
 all like Oscar or Milton." 
 
 He had turned to the assistance of the cook. All 
 the way over from the station he had been thinking 
 of the moment when he could look fairly into her 
 face, touch her hand, perhaps even for one brief 
 moment feel her lean upon him; but he had mis- 
 calculated. The cook climbed out of the car on the 
 side opposite him, frostily took the umbrellas and 
 the smallest bag from him, and went up the flagged 
 walk to the house without so much as looking at him. 
 So far as she was concerned he was a handy man 
 pure and simple. Let him go ahead and be handy. 
 
 "Well, I'll be damned," said Teddy Burton but 
 it wasn't really so bad as that. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 159 
 
 When he had disposed of the hand luggage he put 
 the car away and then came back to the house but 
 he was not needed. In his mistaken zeal he had 
 made everything ready for the family. Fires 
 were laid for lighting, on the hearths and in the 
 kitchen stove. There was water in the pails, there 
 was wood in the wood box, there was ice in the 
 refrigerator. 
 
 Not the smallest shadow of an excuse did he have 
 for lingering in the kitchen or following the maid 
 about the house and, after futile offers of assistance, 
 politely but convincingly declined, he wandered out 
 to the barn, seated himself on an empty grain bin 
 and stared scornfully at the humble but willing motor 
 car that was his special charge. His first intro- 
 duction to it had been a blow and only vivid remem- 
 brance of a girl's face had reconciled him to his fate. 
 If Jacob had been used to a 60-horse-power F. I. A. T. 
 and Rachel's father had pinned him down to seven 
 years of driving a Ford, more tribes would probably 
 have been lost to Israel than history records. But 
 after the first shock, Teddy's heart warmed to the 
 thing. 
 
 It reminded him of a mongrel pup he had once 
 rescued from a tin can and a gang of small hood- 
 lums, and taken home with him such a plebeian, 
 unbeautiful pup but so pathetically devoted, so eager 
 
160 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 to make up for his lack of beauty by faithful service! 
 Teddy had learned to love that pup. 
 
 Three days of following Connecticut back roads 
 had almost persuaded him that he might learn to 
 love a Ford car. 
 
 "Mabel," he said now, glad of a mute but loyal 
 confidante, "my prophetic soul tells me that the 
 going isn't likely to be good." 
 
 He drummed his heels against the bin for a while, 
 looking thoughtful and slightly depressed. Then he 
 slid to the floor, straightened his tie, squared his 
 shoulders, and grinned cheerfully. 
 
 "The fair sex, Mabel," he said, giving the car 
 a friendly slap as he passed it, "makes us burn a lot 
 of gas, and I guess I'll have to go into low, but I'm 
 going to keep chugging right along." 
 
 For the moment, his chugging carried him toward 
 the vegetable garden and there he found Mrs. Bonner 
 and her cook. Mrs. Bonner's face was flushed with 
 excitement, her gray hair waving wildly in the 
 breeze. 
 
 "Edward!" she cried. "Something's coming up! 
 Quite a lot of things are coming up." 
 
 Teddy looked at the little green heads pushing 
 up through the brown earth. 
 
 "Peas and beets and lettuce," he announced. 
 His tone was tolerant but not enthusiastic. "All 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 161 
 
 in spots and bunches. What'd you expect in lumpy 
 scil like that with good-sized boulders scattered 
 through it?" he said critically. 
 
 "Tubbs always ploughs and starts the garden for 
 me," Mrs. Bonner explained. "He's quite old and 
 he isn't very scientific but it is something to have 
 peas and beets and lettuce even in bunches." 
 
 "To-morrow," said her handy man impressively, 
 "I'll take a fall out of that garden. I suppose you 
 have bone meal and wood ashes and well-rotted 
 stable manure and a compost heap stowed away 
 somewhere." He spoke lightly, in a matter-of-fact, 
 offhand way. 
 
 Mrs. Bonner 's expression was compounded im- 
 partially of admiration and consternation. "You 
 sound like a garden book," she said. 
 
 Of course he did. All of the gardens in the books 
 he had bought before leaving town began with large 
 quantities of bone meal and wood ashes and well- 
 rotted stable manure and compost. 
 
 "But we haven't any of those things," his employer 
 confessed guiltily. "Tubbs has no opinion at all of 
 any fertilizer except stable manure and you might as 
 well try to buy pigeon-blood rubies as stable manure 
 around here, and a compost heap always sounded 
 as if it would be so messy, even if one did plant nas- 
 turtiums or squashes or things over it. Some of the 
 
162 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 garden books tell you to do that, but I can't seem to 
 feel that I'd relish squashes raised on a compost heap, 
 would you?" 
 
 "What's a compost heap?" Jean inquired. 
 
 "Rot," explained the handy man tersely. 
 
 She turned away from him in profound disgust. 
 A very low person! There must be some polite way 
 of explaining a compost heap, and a man might just 
 as well say fertilizer as rotted stable manure. Of 
 course one did talk about rotten luck and rotten 
 tennis and all that sort of thing but that was dif- 
 ferent. Luck and tennis weren't actually decayed 
 though her tennis was in a fair way to decay; she 
 probably would not have a game all summer. 
 
 A twinge of regret ran through her at the thought. 
 She had a sudden vision of smooth courts under a 
 blue sky, of white-flannelled players, of wide shady 
 verandahs, of well-trained servants carrying trays on 
 which ice tinkled merrily against glasses, of a world 
 where luxury and ease and irresponsible gayety were 
 the natural way of living, and she was homesick 
 miserably, unheroically homesick. 
 
 She wanted some one to lift all the responsibilities 
 from her shoulders. She wanted to wear French 
 frocks, and spend money with both hands, and lie 
 abed mornings, and flirt and frivol, and be the most 
 parasitical kind of a parasite known to biology. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 163 
 
 "Jean," Mrs. Bonner had followed her and slipped 
 0, hand through her arm. "I think if you would 
 inake us some of those nice biscuits for supper 
 the people in the little house over there on the hill 
 keep bees Edward could run over, and Rufus loves 
 biscuit and honey." 
 
 Mrs. Bonner 's cook laughed helplessly. She was 
 not a parasite. She was that thing for which fem- 
 inism clamoured. She was economically independ- 
 ent. 
 
 "Now am I in Arcady," she quoted as she went 
 kitchen ward. "When I was at home, I was in a 
 better place." 
 
 But she did not altogether mean it. There was a 
 satisfaction in making good biscuits and seeing Mr. 
 Bonner' s seraphic smile as he ate six of them. 
 
 The handy man did not come to his supper until 
 he was called and he came perilously near not being 
 called. The cook could not make up her mind how 
 to call him. 
 
 If only she could have gone out on the back porch 
 and called "Jones "I But his name was not Jones; 
 it was Burton. Mrs. Bonner had told her that; 
 and, for some reason whose psychology she did not 
 attempt to unravel, while it would have been quite 
 possible for her to have called him "Jones" it seemed 
 out of the question to call him Burton. There re- 
 
164 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 mained "Edward"; but, while Edward was a horrid 
 name and it would be pleasant to call him a horrid 
 name, Edward argued a certain degree of familiarity. 
 "Mr. Burton" would be attaching undue importance 
 to the person. To shout "hey, there!" would be 
 undignified. 
 
 She allowed the biscuits to cool while she debated ; 
 and, finally, she settled the matter by going to the 
 end of the back porch and shouting: "Sup-per!" 
 into empty space. It sounded silly but Edward 
 came, at once alert, immaculately washed and 
 brushed, smiling. 
 
 The ceiling of the old kitchen was so low that he 
 had to stoop a little as he came through the door; 
 and, when he straightened up, he looked -so large and 
 so hungry that Jean involuntarily counted her bis- 
 cuits. 
 
 There was only one plate laid on the kitchen 
 table. If the man noticed anything odd about the 
 fact, he did not, even by the flicker of an eyelash, 
 show it. 
 
 Jean waited upon him painstakingly but in frosty 
 silence. If he had had the remotest idea of treating 
 his fellow servant with undue familiarity, that idea 
 must have been frozen at its source but the frigid 
 temperature apparently affected neither his cheer- 
 fulness nor his appetite. He did not speak to the 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 165 
 
 cook except to thank her when she passed him some- 
 thing but he ate an astonishing amount and seemed 
 quite content thereby moving the aforesaid cook 
 to hot and wholly inconsistent resentment. Natur- 
 ally she rejoiced in the success of her system, but she 
 had not been accustomed to seeing young men, under 
 the ban of her disapproval, bear up so cheerfully and 
 display such amazing appetites. Even the infer- 
 ential tribute to her cooking could not soothe her 
 vanity. 
 
 After supper Edward brought in wood for the 
 night, filled the water pails. He whistled as he came 
 from the well not because he felt like whistling 
 but just to show himself that his sporting blood was 
 as good for a siege as for a skirmish and as he 
 whistled he wondered whether the Girl was prej- 
 udiced against his sex or his face. That he had not 
 made a hit with her was, he admitted ruefully to 
 himself, sufficiently obvious; but a poor start did 
 not mean much where girls were concerned it was 
 the finish that counted. Hadn't some old duffer 
 said that it was best to begin with a little aversion? 
 Well, anyway, there was nothing for it but to keep a 
 stiff upper lip and play the game. No girl cared 
 about a man who would sit up on his hind legs and 
 beg. 
 
 The whistling ended only at the kitchen door, and 
 
166 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 the handy man's cheerful face indicated that the 
 tune was suppressed then merely out of courtesy. 
 
 "Is there anything else I can do for you?" he 
 asked politely when he had set the brimming pails 
 upon the table. 
 
 There was nothing. 
 
 Mrs. Bonner entered the kitchen just as he was 
 leaving it and the light that flashed into his eyes, the 
 smile on his lips as he stopped and looked down at 
 her, gave Jean an uncomfortable feeling. He was 
 such a big boy, and after all, he was not to blame for 
 being a blot on her landscape. He had been hired 
 and he couldn't know that his employer's cook would 
 detest him. Probably the ordinary cook would 
 have adored him. Evidently he had lost his heart 
 to the little gray lady. Everybody loved her. She 
 was so kindly and uncritical and ready to be friends. 
 
 Of course if Edward drank But even then 
 
 sometimes they inherited it, and he w r as among 
 strangers. And he must have been used to better 
 things. His manners proved that, and the way he 
 talked. Of course he was slangy all the college 
 Jmen were slangy but his grammar was all right. 
 Yes, he had been used to better things, and what- 
 ever he had done to ruin his chances, he needed 
 friends. Everybody needed friends. 
 
 "Edward," said the cook, when her mistress 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 167 
 
 started back toward the front of the house, "I won- 
 der if you could set my alarm clock for me before 
 you go out?" 
 
 Her voice registered "fair and warmer," and she 
 smiled at him as she spoke. 
 
 Never was an alarm clock wound and set with 
 more alacrity with more fervour. That Jean had 
 attended to the thing herself for three months did 
 not affect the earnestness of her gratitude. She 
 thanked him very prettily, took the clock from him, 
 murmured a good-night and disappeared up the back 
 stairs. 
 
 "Oh, my suffering Aunt Jemima!" exclaimed the 
 astonished young man who was left standing in 
 the middle of the kitchen. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 "MAN!" 
 
 Teddy Burton looked up from the lima beans he 
 was planting and saw a small boy and a smaller girl. 
 The boy was thin and freckled. His cap was pushed 
 back past a most refractory cowlick in a thick crop 
 of stiff, brown hair. His shirt was not clean and one 
 of his knees showed brown through a big hole in his 
 stockings, but the small, bright brown eyes in the 
 homely face held a most engaging twinkle and the 
 boy's mouth was peculiarly sweet a sensitive, char-, 
 acterful mouth, whose thin, well-modelled lips turned 
 up slightly at the corners and, like the eyes, had 
 a hint of amusement, even when, as now, the rest 
 of the face was grave. 
 
 Involuntarily, Teddy smiled into the twinkling 
 eyes. They kept on twinkling but declined to smile. 
 Their owner was evidently not given to snap-shot 
 judgments. 
 
 The small girl was different. She not only re- 
 turned the smile that Teddy transferred to her. 
 She added to it, gave it back with interest, dimpled 
 
 168 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 169 
 
 and beamed and fairly gurgled response. She was 
 little and plump and great-eyed. A pink sunbonnet 
 hung down her back by strings knotted hard under 
 a chubby chin and left uncovered a mop of short, 
 shining yellow curls. Sun and wind had warmed her 
 skin to the clear brown that is almost amber and 
 the red of a ripening peach. Her features were care- 
 lessly sketched. What she would be at twenty no 
 one could prophesy, but at five she was adorable 
 and the woman in her knew it. 
 
 "I'm Molly," she announced. Her voice had a 
 funny, fat little chuckle in it that would have moved 
 a more serious man than Teddy Burton to laughter 
 and, when he laughed she joined in. She was al- 
 ways willing to join in a laugh; but when it was over, 
 she went back to the matter in hand. 
 
 "Who's you, man?" she asked. 
 
 "Shut up, Molly. 'Tain't polite to ask ques- 
 tions," admonished the boy. 
 
 " Ve man wants me to know," she insisted. Molly 
 was absolutely, unshakably sure of the world's good 
 will. 
 
 "I'm Teddy Burton," said the man. 
 
 "Ted-dee Ted-dee," she crooned and, coming 
 close, she looked up into his face with her most in- 
 gratiating smile. "I fink you're nice, Ted-dee," 
 she admitted shamelessly. "Can you mik?" 
 
170 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "'Milk' she means," the boy explained. "She's 
 plumb dotty about milking just now. She's always 
 plumb dotty about something." 
 
 "Jimmy lets me," she boasted. "Jimmy lets me 
 do everyfing. Jimmy's awful good. He says, I 
 could ride in a mobile if anybody asked would I." 
 
 "I never!" Jimmy's face was scandalized but 
 Teddy rose to the bait. 
 
 "Well would you?" he asked. 
 
 She hopped up and down excitedly but pressed her 
 advantage. 
 
 "An' Jimmy?" 
 
 "Yes, of course Jimmy." 
 
 " Vere ! " she said triumphantly. " He lets me too." 
 
 "Everybody lets you." Jimmy made an effort to 
 be sternly disapproving. "That's what's the matter 
 with you." 
 
 "Matter wiv me," she echoed cheerfully. 
 
 Having got what she wanted, the young woman, 
 true to sex, lost interest and trotted up toward 
 the house, but Jimmy lingered. He watched the 
 little figure until the pink sunbonnet disappeared 
 through the kitchen door then turned back to the man 
 who was going on with his gardening. 
 
 " Can't take your eye off her," he explained. " You 
 wouldn't think anything could happen to her be- 
 tween here and the house but it could. All sorts 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 171 
 
 of things could happen. You never saw anything 
 like that kid. She just sort of draws accidents 
 ain't afraid of anything, you know; and awful curious, 
 and always goes right ahead gettin 5 acquainted and 
 findin' out about things, and I tell you she keeps a 
 fellow busy." 
 
 His tone was apologetic but pride shone bright 
 in his face. For a few moments he stood watching 
 the planting process with evident concern. 
 
 "Say," he remarked at last, his gaze fixed upon the 
 distant hills, his voice elaborately casual, "up here 
 we mostly plant lima beans eye-side down." 
 
 Teddy stopped work, studied the bean in his hand 
 and shook his head. 
 
 "That isn't logic, son. The sprout must grow 
 out of the eye and the sprout must grow upward. 
 There'd be no sense in heading it down." 
 
 Jimmy stood firm. 
 
 "Maybe it ain't logic," he conceded, "but it's 
 beans. They turn over." Mr. Bonner's gardener 
 looked into the shrewd little face and sacrificed theory 
 to experience. 
 
 "James, my boy," he said, as he went back along 
 his line turning the beans eye downward, "many 
 things that are not logic are beans." 
 
 The two were good friends before the planting 
 ended. As Jimmy explained to Mrs. Morley later in 
 
172 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 the day, "He ain't one of those conceited city 
 folk that knows it all, and he ain't one of those 
 grown-up men that thinks boys ain't got horse 
 sense. He jollies you a lot but he don't exactly 
 laugh at you; the way that makes a fellow hot. He 
 just laughs as if both of you was in the joke an' when 
 he ain't jollyin' he treats you sort of man to man. 
 Shows you about the car and lets you oil things and 
 asks you about roads." 
 
 "Well, my sakes, Jim" Mrs. Morley was in- 
 terested but apprehensive "don't you get crazy 
 over that new man and go trapping him around 
 when Molly lets go of you for a minute. You don't 
 have any too much time now." 
 
 "I get up lots earlier." The boy's face flushed 
 hotly and the woman hastened to smooth his ruffled 
 conscience. 
 
 "Oh, yes, you get the chores done all right and if 
 you want the bother of Molly, why that's your busi- 
 ness. Her mother helps me enough to offset your 
 taking care of the mite even if you did neglect things 
 which you don't," she added quickly "but it 
 don't seem natural for a boy like you to get up 
 at four so as to have his work done before the baby's 
 ready to start in on her day. You just let her im- 
 pose on you, Jim." 
 
 The boy did not meet her eyes. He was burrowing 
 

 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 173 
 
 in the ground with one toe and apparently absorbed 
 in the hole he was making. Suddenly he looked up. 
 His eyes were not twinkling. They were shining 
 and the sweetness of his mouth made the freckled 
 face forget to be homely. 
 
 "You see there ain't ever been anybody," he ex- 
 plained, "and she's so awful kind of little an' sweet 
 an' lovin'." 
 
 Mrs. Morley's own eyes grew misty behind her 
 glasses. 
 
 "You come in and have some fresh cookies, Jim," 
 she said hastily. Sympathy, with Mrs. Morley,. 
 always took the form of proffered food. 
 
 When a little later she came into the sitting-room 
 where Molly's mother and Jean Mackaye who had 
 walked home with Jimmy and the baby sat talk- 
 ing, she looked gratified. 
 
 "That boy can eat more cookies than any two 
 people his size I ever knew," she announced happily. 
 "I don't know as I ever saw a heartier appetite 
 but he don't seem to put on flesh. I'm downright 
 set on fattening him up. It's a slur on anybody's 
 cooking to have folks around looking skinny. But, 
 if I do say it, nobody stays skinny here. Look at 
 Susan. You could just about see through her when 
 she came but hasn't she plumped up? And Molly's 
 fat as butter. I guess I'll go out and whip up a maple 
 
174 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 custard for supper. Jim's crazy about maple 
 custard." 
 
 She hurried back to the kitchen and Susan shook 
 her head, laughing. 
 
 "It's no use. You simply can't keep her out of 
 that kitchen. I help her do up the work and I think 
 she can have all afternoon to sit down and rest or go 
 visiting, and the first thing I know she's back in the 
 kitchen stirring up something. If it isn't for us, it's 
 a bowl of broth for Mrs. Meyers that's sick down 
 the hill there; she's got every kind of a disease you 
 ever heard of. Or it's a tea cake for old Mr. Anderson, 
 that says nobody can make the right kind of tea cake 
 with raisins in it except her; or she just cuts up some 
 fresh pork and mixes a few sausages to send to the 
 Marellis because they like her sausage meat better 
 than any they can buy. If she can't think of any- 
 thing else, she cooks a mess of scraps for the dog or 
 a warm mash for the cow. Honestly, the dog, the 
 cow, the pig, and everything on the place except Jim, 
 are so fat they'd roll one way as quick as another." 
 
 "She's thin enough herself," Jean said. 
 
 "That's just it. She worries so about feeding 
 other people that she doesn't eat much of anything 
 herself and what she does eat hurts her ner- 
 vous, you know, and tired and sick of fussing over 
 food and smelling it and tasting it to see if it's 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 175 
 
 right. Since I've been feeling better I've done every 
 blessed thing I could to make her take care of herself, 
 but it isn't a bit of use, and now she'll have board- 
 ers coming. She always takes two or three of them 
 in the summer. Goodness knows how she does it. I 
 sort of dread the boarders. It's been so nice, just 
 Molly and Jimmy and Mrs. Morley and me and 
 neighbours running in. I don't ever want to go back 
 to town. I'd ought to be at work now only Mrs. 
 Bonner and the doctor won't let me; but when I do, 
 I'm going to get a place up here. Folks won't paj 
 high but Molly'd be with me and where it's healthy 
 and nobody that knows about him." 
 
 "Miss Mackaye, couldn't you relish some fresh 
 cookies and a cup of tea?" called Mrs. Morley from 
 the kitchen. 
 
 Miss Mackaye could not, but she was not allowed 
 to go home without a plate of the cookies for Mr. and 
 Mrs. Bonner's tea "and for the young man," Mrs. 
 Morley added. "I haven't seen him, except just 
 going by when you came yesterday. He's got an 
 awful nice face and Jim's all taken up with him. It'll 
 be real nice for you to have young company right in 
 the house, won't it? 
 
 "I wonder if he likes pie. Most men folks think 
 so much of pie. The hired man I had before Jim 
 came would sit down and eat a whole half before he'd 
 
17C HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 go up to bed never hurt him a bit either. My pie 
 crust wouldn't hurt a baby. You bring the young 
 man up some evening and I'll let him try one of my 
 custard pies. Most men folks are partial to custard 
 pie. I'll give you my recipe, Miss Mackaye. It's just 
 as well for girls to practise on what men like specially. 
 Married life needs things like that to help over. Mr. 
 Morley was tempery but I could usually manage 
 him with custard pie better than with 'most any- 
 thing, unless it was chicken fricassee. You never 
 saw such a man for chicken gravy if it was made 
 right." 
 
 Jean went away down the road pondering over men 
 and their ways. There was something that appealed 
 to her about managing a man with custard pie and 
 chicken gravy; but Mr. Bonner was not a fair test. 
 One could manage Mr. Bonner with sardines and 
 crackers, though he liked good food if his attention 
 was called to it. 
 
 She set the kitchen table for two that evening. 
 
 Since the handy man was not actually objection- 
 able there was no point in allowing her own meals to 
 spoil while he ate his and in delaying her work. 
 
 She would not encourage him too much but it 
 would be idiotic to establish a feud just because the 
 man had accepted a job that was offered to him, and 
 so, though she hated the sight of him, she would 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 177 
 
 treat him civilly, giving her civility a little skim of 
 ice around its edges. 
 
 Edward accepted the table for two as he had ac- 
 cepted the table for one without comment and with 
 unruffled serenity. He made no conversational over- 
 tures and silence hung heavily in the air until Jean 
 could stand it no longer and asked a carefully indif- 
 ferent question about the garden. He answered 
 fully but with an indifference as careful as her own and 
 the conversation would have dropped back into the 
 gulf of silence whence it had sprung if Jean had not 
 brought Molly to its rescue. 
 
 "Molly says you are going to take her 'mobiling/' 
 she said; and, because it was impossible to think of 
 Molly, much less to speak of her without smiling, she 
 smiled as she spoke. The overture was encouraging, 
 almost friendly, and she realized it; but one could not 
 sit opposite a man for hours without interesting him 
 at all. 
 
 Teddy laughed outright. The cook's smile might 
 do Molly justice but his could not. 
 
 "Of course I'm going to take her 'mobiling. She 
 says everybody 'lets ' her and I'm willing to believe it. 
 She'd wheedle a bird off a branch, and as to what 
 
 she does with Jimmy . By the way, is Jimmy 
 
 her brother?" 
 
 She had brought it on herself. Never again could 
 
178 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 she sit upon her mountain peak, remote, unap- 
 proachable, austere. She might of course retire to 
 the cold heights on occasion but she had admitted 
 that she could slide down and, in her heart she was 
 glad to be treading lower levels. Climbing moun- 
 tains was amusing; but living on them ! 
 
 "Oh no, he's not her brother," she explained. 
 "He's only her slave. Molly and her mother are 
 boarding with Mrs. Morley, and Jimmy's doing 
 Mrs. Morley's chores. She got him from the Or- 
 phans' Home. He's rather a dear, himself, I think." 
 
 "He's better than that," amended Teddy. "He's 
 
 a man." 
 
 "Well if you call that better Her dim- 
 ples had come out of long retreat. She looked up at 
 him from under her sweeping lashes in the old way. 
 It was so long since she had talked to a man a 
 young, good-looking man and habit is a powerful 
 thing; one slips back easily into the channels it 
 has worn. 
 
 Something flamed up in the man's eyes and was 
 promptly sniffed out so promptly that Jean was 
 not at all sure it had been there. 
 
 "Of course, if one can be both man and dear " 
 
 He said it so lightly that while it recognized the 
 opening it was coolly impersonal. "As Jimmy is," 
 he added. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 179 
 
 If only she had not been Mrs. Bonner's cook! 
 If only he had not been Mr. Bonner's handy man! 
 If only the kitchen had been a conservatory or a 
 canoe or a rose arbour! Jean sighed a little. The 
 iheme would have borne developing and, she had a 
 feeling that, granted all the ifs, this Edward might 
 have played the game nicely. He was not at all 
 stupid and he was better looking than she had 
 thought him right at first. She wondered whether 
 she really had seen that queer look in his eyes; and, 
 if she had, what did it mean? And she wondered, 
 as she had wondered times beyond number, what 
 could have brought him to a pass where he was 
 willing to be handy man on a New England farm. 
 There were so many better things a man could do 
 things that were beginnings of bigger things. There 
 was no reason why a man should bury himself, cut 
 himself off from his friends, work hard at work that 
 held no future. 
 
 If he had been ill, of course, farm work, in the 
 open air and all that sort of thing; but no one could 
 accuse him of being ill. He was aggressively healthy. 
 
 There was no reason why a man She began it 
 
 all over again; no reason except a disgraceful one. 
 He might be in hiding to escape the consequences of 
 something he had done. 
 
 She made an effort to fit the role to him but with 
 
180 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN 
 
 small success. He hadn't a hunted look. A more 
 care-free and unapprehensive mortal she had never 
 seen. No; he wasn't afraid of consequences but 
 he was quite evidently meeting them. 
 
 Consequences of what? What was the fatal weak- 
 ness that had kept him from making good? He did 
 not look or act like a drug fiend. He did not look 
 or act like a drunkard. Still, he had been under her 
 eyes only a short time. Sometimes drinking was a 
 periodical affair, and at his age one would not show 
 dissipation readily. It must be drink but he seemed 
 such a nice What a fool she was to be curious ! 
 
 She rose hastily from the table, put a stick of 
 wood in the stove, filled the dishpan, and set about 
 washing the dishes with a vigour that suggested 
 temper. 
 
 "Jean Mackaye," she said to herself as she knocked 
 a thin tumbler against the edge of the sink and broke 
 it, "if you are so silly about men that you can get 
 interested in a hired man of intemperate habits, 
 you'd better quit the 'economically independent' 
 game and go back to your own crowd and marry 
 the first man that proposes. Probably he'll drink 
 too, but at least he'll have money and social posi- 
 tion." 
 
 The intemperate hired man, feeling storm in the 
 air, disappeared from the kitchen, exulting in his 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 181 
 
 heart. The interlude had been brief. He and his 
 lady his cook lady were back at freezing point, 
 but she had smiled at him, she had dimpled at him, 
 she had looked up at him from under her lashes as 
 if he had been a man not in the slightest degree 
 handy. And, he assured himself, he had behaved 
 extraordinarily well under the circumstances. On 
 less provocation, a cave man would have picked his 
 chosen one up and carried her off to his cave. Civili- 
 zation had cluttered love making a whole lot. 
 
 "But oh, my suffering Aunt Jemima, how she 
 smiles when she does smile," he said, to Venus who 
 happened to be the evening star, though he was 
 ignorant of that auspicious fact. 
 
 And, in order that she might be beguiled into 
 smiling again, he trod very cautiously for a day or 
 two so cautiously that his manner was slightly 
 frigid. There came a morning when the cook, in a 
 friendly mood, did smile again, but even then he 
 did not relax his caution accepted the bewildering 
 phenomenon with outward calm and made no re- 
 sponse beyond a non-committal cheerfulness. 
 
 So discreet was he that Jean relaxed her discre- 
 tion, ventured upon further concession, lapsed into 
 her natural good humour. It was hard for her not 
 to be friendly and, while one must not under any 
 circumstances flirt with an intemperate handy man, 
 
182 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 there was no reason why, so long as he was sober and 
 showed no sign of misunderstanding, she should not 
 grant him the friendliness she gave to any chance 
 comer. 
 
 So she smiled and laughed and talked and jested, 
 and because he was a man and she was a maid and 
 both were young and the month was May, she em- 
 broidered the chance-comer variety of friendliness a 
 bit, thought she was not conscious of it. 
 
 Teddy was conscious of it, conscious of it in every 
 tingling nerve, but, having learned wisdom, he took 
 a post-graduate course in self-control. 
 
 "Mabel," he said to the car at the end of the 
 first week, "I rather think we've got the carburetter 
 adjusted. Now unless we're darn fools enough to 
 tinker with it, we may run along smoothly for a while, 
 but, old girl, there are times when I have to set my 
 teeth and say the alphabet backward to keep from 
 tearing things wide open and smashing the speed 
 limit." 
 
 Like Jean herself, Teddy did a good deal of won- 
 dering. He had known that the girl was the rose 
 of the world had known that, the very first mo- 
 ment he saw her; and after his evening with the 
 stars, he had never for a moment troubled his head 
 about the matter of social caste; but he admitted 
 to himself, now and then, that even in his most 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 183 
 
 rhapsodic moments he had hardly expected the 
 mould of perfection, on close inspection, to have 
 quite the polish it showed. 
 
 Sweetness yes, of course; sweetness and goodness 
 and prettiness and the distilled essence of charm. 
 Any nice girl from a decent poor family might have 
 those might even have a fair smattering of educa- 
 tion. Girls of the working classes were more likely 
 to go through high school than their brothers 
 didn't always have to get out to work so early. 
 And, probably, if a girl was quick, and had natur- 
 ally nice tastes, she might pick up a lot of good ideas 
 of one kind and another; but there was something 
 about Jean ; she was so sure of herself, so com- 
 pletely at her ease with every one. She had such 
 dainty ways. Why, she even ate beautifully, though 
 eating was a performance that ought ordinarily to be 
 done in private. And the way she walked, the way 
 she talked ! Yes, above all the way she talked ! Hang 
 it all, the girl might have been born to the purple! 
 
 Now, how in the name of the seventy-seven devils 
 of Li Chu, did a general housework girl happen to 
 be like that? What sort of a family did she come 
 from? Maybe her mother had been a woman of 
 birth and breeding and had married beneath her; 
 
 or perhaps her father Some fellows did make 
 
 asses of themselves over parlour maids. 
 
184 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 He caught himself up short at that point. Yes ; 
 and the parlour maids were probably too good for 
 the fellows worlds too good for them. He had 
 changed his point of view about all that sort of thing, 
 only, of course, generations of education and social 
 
 training and Oh, what the devil was a girl like 
 
 Jean Mackaye doing in Mrs. Bonner's kitchen? 
 
 She never spoke of her family, of her home; never 
 dropped the smallest crumb of information about 
 her early life; but that might be accidental, not 
 deliberate. There wasn't any reason why she should 
 spill the story of her life and her real name into the 
 sort of talk he had always had with her. Probably 
 if the conversation ever happened to drift around to 
 home and mother, she'd have as much to say as 
 any girl. 
 
 Curiosity prompted him to strategy. 
 
 On a June evening when the cook had been 
 more than usually amiable at supper, and, later, he 
 found her sitting on the steps of the back porch, with 
 a dreamy softness blurring her usual brisk alertness 
 he dropped down beside her and began a conver- 
 sation that gradually took on a reminiscent flavour. 
 
 By way of the man in the moon he led up to "the 
 queer ideas kids have" and fell into talk about his 
 own childhood. Swapping memories of childhood 
 might throw some light on his lady love's background 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 185 
 
 and every one liked to talk about that sort of 
 thing. 
 
 "Always believed the milky way was the cow 
 heaven and that the man in the moon looked after 
 the cows," he said lightly. "Broke me all up when 
 a fool Sunday-school teacher set me right; told me 
 that cows didn't go to heaven that nobody drank 
 milk up there. I wasn't old enough to realize she 
 hadn't any more inside information about heaven 
 than I had, but I never had much of an opinion of 
 the place after that. Funny little beggar, I must 
 have been. Mother spoiled me more than a bit and 
 I didn't have any brothers to cuff sense into me, nor 
 sisters to snub me." 
 
 Jean shifted her position so that she could see his 
 face in the moonlight. Her dreaminess slipped away 
 and left her wide awake, keenly interested, though 
 she still leaned lazily against the verandah pillar and 
 gave no outward sign of her change of mood. Per- 
 vaps her curiosity was going to be satisfied. Men 
 usually loved to talk about themselves and this was 
 an evening for expansive confidences a warm, sweet- 
 scented moon-silvered summer evening with just a 
 hint of loneliness in its hush. 
 
 Human companionship, human sympathy, are 
 good on such a night. 
 
 "Lonesome business, being an only child," the 
 
186 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 girl said; but she volunteered no information about 
 the number of her own brothers and sisters, and the 
 man who had waited hopefully, took up the burden 
 of reminiscence again. 
 
 "Oh, well, there are always children to play with. 
 I wasn't lonesome myself too busy getting into 
 trouble; a fellow can always do that at any age, if 
 life begins to seem dull; but I suppose girls don't take 
 naturally to deviltry, so they get lonesome. Being 
 good is lonesome business, if you ask me." 
 
 Jean's lips curled a little, scornfully, as she looked 
 down at him. How men did love confessing their sins 
 to women! He was going to tell her what a wild, 
 wicked young dare-devil he had been and he would 
 add brilliant decorative touches. They always did. 
 A man rather fancied himself in a lurid, St. Elmo- 
 Luciferian role but he never was willing to show 
 himself up as a plain, ordinary, bad lot. 
 
 "Were you a very bad small boy," she prompted. 
 
 The handy man grinned. "Oh, only so-so. I did 
 my best, but you have to have either a lot of imagina- 
 tion or a lot of experience to be sensationally bad, you, 
 know, and the average kid hasn't either. Still, I 
 don't think I've much to reproach myself with, in the 
 way of wasted opportunity. Dad kept his strong 
 right arm in pretty good muscular condition up to the 
 time when I was past being licked. He's fallen off on 
 

 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 187 
 
 his form since then; but he's cultivated a mighty fine, 
 forceful line of talk." The grin broadened. "He 
 could give Billy Sunday cards and spades, when he 
 really gets going; but I'll admit he's slow to anger." 
 
 "Poor father!" Jean reflected as she thought of 
 him. It must be dreadful to have an only son go 
 wrong. 
 
 "I suppose it's the mother that wrestles with the 
 girl problem," Edward hazarded. 
 
 "I can't remember my mother," the girl said quietly. 
 
 At last she was beginning to talk about herself. 
 He realized it, but forgot to be glad of it, because he 
 was suddenly so very, very sorry for her. Plucky 
 little dear, bucking the world alone, no mother to 
 help not even in the small girl days. 
 
 "That's hard!" The quick sympathy in his voice 
 brought a tinge of colour to Jean's cheeks. There 
 was something extraordinarily likable about him, she 
 admitted to herself. There often was something ex- 
 traordinarily likable about ne'er-do-wells. 
 
 "It would be hard for anybody," he went on, "but 
 it's worse for a girl than for a boy. No; I don't know 
 that it is, after all. A boy needs a lot besides lickings 
 and man talk. Girls don't have so much inclination 
 to play the fool as boys have, and then there are all 
 kinds of influences to hold them back, but a boy's just 
 got his mother. She's the whole shooting match for 
 
188 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN 
 
 him, so far as the spiritual side of him goes. Why the 
 only reason the ordinary boy has a friendly, respectful 
 feeling toward God is because he knows God's a 
 friend of his mother's, and he's willing to accept al- 
 most anybody on her say-so. And the only reason 
 things are bad is because they hurt a fellow's 
 mother. Later on, he dopes out some sort of a 
 system of ethics that recognizes abstract right and 
 wrong; but it never does have quite the pull with 
 him that the original idea has you see it's so fright- 
 fully complex but the mother-test is perfectly 
 simple. A small boy gets mighty well acquainted 
 with his mother. He can't always understand 
 her tastes. She has queer prejudices against so 
 many natural and agreeable things like swimming 
 in the river and fighting, and letting the dog sleep 
 on the bed. There are times when he really can't 
 bring himself to respect those prejudices; but, on the 
 whole, he believes that her tips about danger zones 
 and safe channels are pretty straight, even if he 
 
 doesn't always follow them. Why, my mother 
 
 He did rot go on, but sat looking out into the night 
 with a lonesome, boyish look on his face and Jean 
 wanted to comfort him wanted very much indeed 
 to comfort him though comforting him wasn't at all 
 the purpose with which she had entered upon this 
 conversation. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 189 
 
 " Well, at any rate I can remember her," he said at 
 last. "I'm sorry for you." 
 
 And that is as far as they went in self-revelation, 
 for Mrs. Bonner came out to look at the moon and 
 stayed to talk about nights in the arctic circle; 
 so they spent the rest of the evening frigidly. The 
 handy man knew that the cook could not re- 
 member her mother and the cook knew that the 
 handy man had loved his mother dearly, and missed 
 her. That was all the moonlit summer night had 
 brought about, in the way of confidences. No great 
 illumination of family history, perhaps: but the two 
 who had been curious felt oddly content. They were 
 sorry for each other, and being sorry for each other 
 seemed, temporarily, an absorbing occupation. 
 
 The gardening went well; or at least fertilizers 
 were procured and soil was pulverized and a garden 
 line was religiously used and not a weed showed its 
 head, without being grubbed out. Seeds were sown, 
 js plentifully as they had been bought. That the 
 garden, if it prospered, would be large enough for 
 twenty families, did not affect the enthusiasm of 
 either the gardener or his employer. 
 
 "We've got the seeds; let's plant them," said 
 Teddy recklessly indifferent to future Weeding and 
 hoeing, spraying and watering. The garden books 
 and Mrs. Bonner and the natural Adam in him had 
 
190 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 brought on garden mania in its most virulent form. 
 Supplying vegetables and flowers for a family of four 
 was child's work. He had visions of vegetables by 
 the wagonload fresh, succulent, perfect vegetables. 
 He saw blue-and-white borders stretching away be- 
 side all the stone walls, only, being a man, he would 
 have preferred red-and-white borders mostly red. 
 
 "Oh, Edward, you are a comfort," Mrs. Bonner 
 said happily, one morning when she had gone to him 
 with an idea about pink gladioli and heliotrope that 
 involved digging up the bulbs they had planted 
 two days earlier and he had received the shock with 
 undiminished cheerfulness- 
 
 " The other men were such wet blankets. I'd have 
 an idea so lovely that I'd lie awake most of the night 
 to gloat over it but when I'd come out and tell Milton 
 or Oscar or whoever it was about it, he'd look at 
 me as if I were crazy and tell me ninety-nine reasons 
 why the thing couldn't possibly be done. It wasn't 
 that they didn't have imagination; they had plenty 
 of imagination about unpleasant things. They could 
 make you feel as though you were dying of thirst in a 
 desert land with blight attacking your hair and cut 
 worms and striped beetles swarming over you, and 
 woodchucks chewing your fingers. Even Tubbs 
 could do that; but not one of them could imagine a 
 bed of poppies in the sunshine, or a perfect melon. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 191 
 
 Now you and I believe we can do such a lot of beau- 
 tiful impossible things that we'll probably do some of 
 them." 
 
 "Why not?" said the gardener, blithely. "I hope 
 you don't mind my sowing flower seeds along the 
 paths in the vegetable garden. I'm keen about 
 flowers in vegetable gardens myself." 
 
 Mrs. Bonner clutched at his shirt-sleeve for sup- 
 port. 
 
 "Edward" she was half laughing, half earnest 
 "I can't bear it. I might have known you looked 
 so different but I didn't realize it was a flower-in-the 
 vegetable-garden look. All my life I've wanted a 
 garden like one in Surrey that I remember." 
 
 Teddy nodded. "I know; flowers around the 
 vegetables and a wall with fruit trees smashed out 
 flat against it. I thought we'd have to raise this 
 stone wall about three feet." 
 
 The little woman looked at him unbelievingly. 
 
 "I never even dared suggest it, and we'll never get 
 
 it done, but to think that you Jean, isn't he too 
 
 wonderful?" 
 
 The girl who had come out for a bunch of parsley, 
 looked at him standing there in the sunlight, 
 straight and lean and strong and young and confident 
 and a little throb of assent ran through her. He 
 was rather wonderful, such a beamish boy, and yet 
 
192 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 with the man look in his eyes and about his mouth. 
 He was in his shirt-sleeves, and they were rolled 
 up above his elbows. His collar was unbuttoned and 
 fell away from his brown throat. He wore blue 
 overalls, and his hair, wet with sweat, was pushed 
 Lack in stringy locks from his forehead. His hands 
 were dirty, the knees of his overalls were caked with 
 wet earth, but there was not a hint of self-con- 
 sciousness or of apology about him. He leaned on 
 his spade and looked at her out of straightforward, 
 honest, smiling eyes; and she liked him spade, over- 
 alls, and all. 
 
 However, she did not admit that he was wonderful. 
 She only answered: 
 
 "He's very optimistic," but there was no edge on 
 the comment. She spoke as though optimism were a 
 commendable thing. 
 
 Life slipped into country ways and, on the whole, 
 the ways were pleasant ones. Mr. Bonner was not 
 interested in gardening, but June brought even him 
 out of his shell. He fell into the habit of leaving his 
 study by three or four o'clock in the afternoon and he 
 and his wife went for long walks or sat on Cedar Hill 
 to watch the sunsets. Once when she went to call 
 them for supper, Jean found them standing on the 
 verandah looking out over the steep green slope and 
 the treetops of the valley to the distant hills and 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 193 
 
 a rose-flushed eastern sky. Mr. Bonner's arm was 
 around the little gray lady and her head was on his 
 shoulder. A great content enveloped them. The 
 glow of the rose-hued clouds or of rose-hued mem- 
 ories was on their faces. 
 
 The cook went back to her kitchen and put her 
 creamed chicken where it would keep warm. Time 
 enough for feeding those two when they came back 
 out of the Long Ago. ~~-~ 
 
 She sat down by the window to wait, and her own: 
 thoughts went roaming among the yesterdays but 
 found nothing there to set love-lights in her eyes. 
 There had been foolish men who had fancied them- 
 selves in love with her. Even red-headed, freckled 
 debutantes were fairly sure of that sort of tribute, 
 and she had had more than the usual amount of it. 
 There had been moonlight and sunset and gloaming 
 and all the world-old stage settings; and some of the 
 men had been good-looking, and some had been 
 clever, and some had been bold, but not one of them 
 had left a memory that thrilled or throbbed. 
 
 Memories were all very well for the middle-aged 
 married folk out on the verandah, but remembering 
 was lonesome work for two-and-twenty, and the girl 
 by the window felt a restless quickening of her heart- 
 beats. All of her life was ahead of her, and she was 
 eager to set about living it. Wasting youth was 
 
194 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 perilous business. It was a pity one could not do 
 all the stodgy, disagreeable things, after one got too 
 Did to enjoy the full flavour of doing the agreeable 
 things. Here she was, cooking, dishwashing, mak- 
 jing a living, when she was so gloriously capable of 
 doing the living. 
 
 It would be much more sensible to live in "Behind- 
 the-Looking-Glass" fashion. First you'd do your 
 living and then you'd make it only one needed the 
 strength and courage of youth for the making; and, 
 after all, it wasn't work that wasted youth. One 
 could work slave and still be riotously happy if 
 there were things to be happy about big things; 
 but just to go ahead, day after day, doing plain, 
 undecorated living, did seem a waste. If the big 
 things were coming to her, she wished they would 
 hurry along. 
 
 Something came hurrying along, but it was only 
 Molly. There was a patter of feet on the back 
 porch, a chuckling laugh from the doorway, a little 
 rush across the room, and the small girl was hugging 
 Jean's knees. 
 
 "Yun away!" she announced exultantly. 
 
 Jean gathered her into her arms and sat down by 
 the open window. 
 
 "Molly's bad," she said; but there was no con- 
 demnation in her voice and Molly knew it. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 195 
 
 "Yes," agreed the sinner, joyously. "Molly's 
 bad." She was tremendously pleased with herself. 
 
 "What will mother do?" 
 
 "Hunt! Jimmy too." Molly wiggled with ecs- 
 tasy at the thought. 
 
 "Poor mother!" Jean was much more in sym- 
 pathy with the culprit than with the authorities, 
 but felt that she really must say a word for law and 
 order. 
 
 Molly only laughed. 
 
 "She'll hunt an' hunt" she said happily "an* 
 ven she'll spank." 
 
 Evidently she was not too young to recognize the 
 inevitableness of retribution, but she was too young 
 for fear of it. The game was worth the candle. 
 The excitement was worth the spanking. Jean en- 
 vied her the courage of her convictions. She felt a 
 bit like running away herself. 
 
 "Bimeby Jimmy'll come. Jimmy always comes." 
 Molly cuddled down more comfortably in the friendly 
 arms to wait for Nemesis. "Time to be in bed," she 
 murmured drowsily. A chuckle followed the murmur. 
 Running away was amusing enough at any hour of 
 the day but dodging bed time was added joy. 
 
 "Vere was a snake in ve woad ' she sat up 
 
 straight to impart this thrilling news "a gween 
 one." 
 
196 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 She dropped back against Jean's shoulder. The 
 long lashes fell over the big blue eyes, the red lips 
 parted, the soft breath quieted into rhythm. She 
 had had her fun. She would have her spanking. 
 Meanwhile she would sleep. Jean hugged her close 
 and reflected that there was something to the trite 
 saying that childhood was the happiest time in life. 
 Grown-ups ran away, and grown-ups figuratively 
 speaking were spanked; but grown-ups seldom, if 
 ever, were able to sleep peacefully in between. 
 
 Just what to do Jean did not know. Susan should 
 not be allowed to worry, but Mrs. Morley had no 
 telephone and the two who had drifted back into 
 June might waken to their usual autumnal habits 
 at any moment and want their supper. Perhaps 
 Jimmy would come, and speedily. She would wait 
 a little while and see. 
 
 Out beyond the window by which she sat the 
 world was trembling between afterglow and gloam- 
 ing. There was a hush in the air broken now and 
 then by a floating fragment of some bird's sleepy 
 song or the strident croaking of frogs in a distant 
 pond. Everything was very beautiful and very 
 lonely. The girl's heart ached with the beauty and 
 the loneliness. Holding Molly's soft little body in 
 her arms and feeling the warm little cheek against 
 her shoulder, eased the loneliness and yet, oddly 
 

 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 197 
 
 enough, intensified it. She wanted something. Just 
 what it was she did not know, but out through the 
 stillness and the wonder of the world there was 
 something that belonged to her, and if only she could 
 have it, there would be no loneliness between sunset 
 and twilight only beauty and heart content. 
 
 Someone came up the path from the barn and into 
 the kitchen, stooping, as he passed the door. 
 
 "Anything wrong?" the handy man asked, bend- 
 ing to look at the child in Jean's arms, and trans- 
 ferring the look to Jean herself. 
 
 She stumbled back from dreamland. "Mr. and 
 Mrs. Bonner are lovering on the east verandah and 
 the supper is spoiling. Will you have yours?" 
 
 Would he have his? She meant his supper; he 
 understood that perfectly, but he wanted his lover- 
 ing, and he came very near telling her so. 
 
 To come from work into the shadowy kitchen and 
 to find her waiting there, with a child in her arms and 
 softness in her voice and gentleness in her eyes, was 
 almost more than he could bear without flinging dis- 
 cretion aside and saying what was seething in his 
 mind and heart; but he only drew a long breath and 
 stood looking down at her. 
 
 " I'd better take Molly home. Her mother will be 
 worrying." He spoke quietly but there was a queer, 
 husky note in his voice and, meeting his eyes, Jean 
 
198 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 hastily stooped her head to press a hot cheek against 
 Molly's cool one. 
 
 The hush of the world deepened suddenly grew 
 unbearable. She was afraid of it, afraid of a thing in 
 the man's eyes, afraid of a thing in her own heart 
 yes, afraid, most of all, of that thing in her own heart 
 which sent strange little thrills creeping through her 
 nerves and set quick pulses beating in her temples 
 and surged chokingly up into her throat. 
 
 The man bent over her and she gave Molly to him 
 without looking up at him or speaking. She could 
 not trust her voice nor her eyes ; and her hot cheeks 
 flushed more deeply in the shielding dusk. 
 
 The child murmured something about Jimmy, 
 nestled into comfort against the new shoulder, and 
 slept on. 
 
 For a moment the man stood looking down at the 
 girl in the straight-backed kitchen chair. Then, 
 without a word, he turned and went away through 
 the low-linteled door into the gathering shadow. 
 
 He came back to a lighted kitchen, and to a brisk 
 and practical young woman who had already fed two 
 elderly sentimentalists and was ready for him. The 
 poetry of the June night had been ruthlessly turned 
 out of doors. A kerosene lamp with a big and gleam- 
 ing reflector relentlessly chased every shadow from 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 199 
 
 even the remotest corner. The scent of the syringa 
 that grew beside the kitchen window was blotted 
 out by the masterful smell of fried onions. 
 
 The fried onions had not been on the original sup- 
 per programme. Jean had thrown them in by way 
 of protest against the syringa scent and all that had 
 gone with it. They were her defiance hurled at 
 Mother Nature, at youth and June magic and the 
 world-old lure. 
 
 Teddy blinked as he came into the lighted room 
 looked bewildered, dismayed. Few men are emo- 
 tional lightning-change artists. 
 
 The lover still felt the tug of the summer dusk, but 
 the man's tastes were low. He liked fried onions, 
 and as the smell of them assaulted him, he admitted 
 to himself, frankly, as is the way of men, that one of 
 the things he was hungry for was food. 
 
 So he tucked away a man-sized supper and, watch- 
 ing him across the table, the cook's excitement ebbed. 
 There was something very reassuring and prosaic 
 about an appetite like his. 
 
 "Did Susan spank her?" she asked. 
 
 "No. She's going to do it to-morrow." 
 
 Jean laughed. "Nobody could ever spank Molly 
 to-morrow. It would have to be done at the top 
 notch of exasperation and I don't quite see how 
 any one could do it even then." 
 
200 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Molly was not spanked, but she was shut in a 
 dark closet; came out of the enforced retirement, 
 cheerful, loving, utterly unsubdued; and ran away 
 again later in the day. 
 
 "Indeed, ma'am, I don't know what to do with 
 her," Susan confessed to Mrs. Bonner. "Whip- 
 ping won't do it; I've tried that. She isn't bad any 
 other way not to say really bad but she will run 
 away. She says her feet 'just yun vemselves'." 
 
 Mrs. Bonner radiated sympathy. "Bless her 
 heart! I know all about it. After a while, her 
 head will bully her feet into staying home, but they 
 will always want to run away. Some people are 
 born with feet like that, Susan. I was, myself. 
 You mustn't be hard on Molly. All the same, it's 
 dangerous for her to go trotting around alone. Some- 
 body must keep an eye on her." 
 
 Everybody tried to keep an eye on Molly. She 
 spent as much time at the Bonner place as she did 
 at home. She "helped" Teddy in the garden, 
 changing his labels about, trotting over his seed 
 beds, pulling up his small plants in the fervour of 
 weeding, half drowning herself in the big water 
 barrel. 
 
 She helped Jean, mixing and spilling and breaking 
 and getting under foot, all with such irrepressible 
 enthusiasm and good will that scolding was out of 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 201 
 
 the question. She followed Mrs. Bonner into her 
 study, appropriated the chunky footstool that was 
 an indispensable adjunct of the high desk chair, and 
 demanded "stories" with utter disregard of a public 
 waiting hungrily for an authoritative work on Faroe 
 Island Folk-lore. 
 
 By way of climax, she often invaded Mr. Bonner' s 
 sacred retreat in mid morning, during the most 
 precious of the day's work hours. Just how she con- 
 ducted the first attack, no one ever knew; but Jean, 
 going softly by the door of the room where the scien- 
 tist must not be disturbed, noticed that it stood ajar. 
 As she stopped to close it gently, so gently that the 
 working of the scientific mind would not be dis- 
 turbed, she heard voices heard a familiar chuckle, 
 a crow of delight. She peered incredulously through 
 the crack. There on the big table desk sat Molly, 
 kicking her heels contentedly, while Mr. Bonner 
 holding up a choice specimen of Lithosiidoe before 
 her, was evidently telling a most exciting story of 
 its life and capture. 
 
 Yes, they all tried to keep an eye upon Molly, 
 and it was in sheer devotion to this excellent purpose 
 that the Bonners' cook and the Bonners' handy man 
 fell into the way of roaming fields and woods and 
 hills together in the long afternoons. 
 
 There was a first time, when Molly, with Jimmy in 
 
202 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 tow, appeared and demanded Jean's company. On 
 the way down the lane, the party of three met 
 Teddy returning from a fence-mending expedition, 
 and Molly annexed him by the simple expedient of 
 clinging to one of his legs until the other began 
 walking in the right direction. 
 
 So the party of four went on over the brow of the 
 hill and down the glen to the open glade where the 
 tinkling thread of brook widened into a pool before 
 slipping away over great, flat, mossy stones, into the 
 deep shadows. 
 
 They stopped now and then on the way once to 
 pick big prickly burrs which Jean made into amaz- 
 ingly ornate baskets; once at the wood's edge, where 
 the same accomplished person gathered a bunch of 
 little blossoms and leaves and transformed them into 
 the fairest of flower ladies; once under a spreading 
 oak tree, where Teddy, jealous of feminine achieve- 
 ment, fashioned solid and rotund little men out of 
 acorns and twigs; once in a birch grove, where a 
 fleet of birch-bark boats was whittled out and rigged 
 with birch-leaf sails. 
 
 But in time they came to the pool. There the 
 grown-ups sat down sedately in the shade of an old 
 tree that grew on the water's edge, while Molly 
 and Jimmy stretched themselves flat on their 
 stomachs and launched the birch -bark boats. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 203 
 
 Molly crowded her craft with flower ladies, but 
 Jimmy chose a crew of acorn men and refused to take 
 passengers. 
 
 "Mine's a freighter," he announced. "What'll we 
 ship on her?" 
 
 "Spices from Araby," suggested Jean "and dates 
 from Samarcand and peacocks and greenparrots 
 and ivory and pearls and amber, and silks, and ruby 
 necklaces and cocoanuts and tiger skins and " 
 
 "Let's talk about 'em. Let's talk about 'em all." 
 Jimmy's eyes were shining. 
 
 And so they talked about them. They fished for 
 the pearls and snared the parrots and carried the 
 ivory and dates across deserts on camel back and 
 stopped at an oasis for the cocoanuts and finally 
 Teddy killed the tigers in order to get the skins. He 
 really knew a lot about killing tigers, though he 
 didn't mention an Indian tiger-hunt or two in which 
 he had shared, and for a handy man he was 
 surprisingly well up on caravans and camels and 
 oases. In fact he carried off the honours in the 
 game when facts were in question but it was Jean who 
 shone in poetry and fiction. 
 
 "Tell fings about ladies," commanded Molly, and 
 straightway flower maidens were sent sailing on 
 perilous seas, and were captured by a band of choke- 
 cherry pirates whose stronghold was among the roots 
 
204 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 of the old tree, and were rescued by acorn heroes 
 who to the delight of Molly's feminist soul- 
 could not swim half so well as the rescued maidens. 
 
 It was all tremendously thrilling and absorbing, 
 so much so that the grown-ups forgot their dignity 
 and lay down flat on their stomachs beside the pool, 
 though the feminine grown-up made a concession 
 to the proprieties by not kicking her heels in the air, 
 as Molly did, in moments of tense excitement. 
 
 The pirates scuttled all the boats in the end, and 
 the flower ladies were all drowned and the acorn men 
 who were not slain with cutlasses were made to walk 
 the plank. Jean protested but the masculine vote 
 was against her, and Molly was unfemininely set 
 upon wholesale slaughter. 
 
 "An' vey groan an' groan an' groan, an' every- 
 fing's all bloody as can be," she explained with fine 
 relish. 
 
 They left the pirates in full possession of the pool 
 and went home through the lengthening shadows and 
 the waning gold-green light Molly in front with 
 Jimmy but making sudden futile dashes around trees 
 and into undergrowth to solve the riddles of queer 
 little sounds and stirrings. 
 
 " So many fings won't wait for me," she lamented, 
 her high, sweet little voice clear as bird notes on the 
 quiet air. "Everyfing's vere, but I can't catch it." 
 

 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 205 
 
 "Poor Molly," Jean sighed. " She'll always be try- 
 ing to catch it and I'm afraid it won't be there." 
 
 "Well, that's better than sitting in a rocking- 
 chair to wait for it and not having it happen along." 
 Teddy was optimistic. Suppose he had just gone on 
 sitting in Coles's bay window! Suppose he hadn't 
 tried to catch it ! 
 
 Not "that he had caught it. He did not claim that; 
 but here he was, walking through the sweet fern and 
 bayberry with the girl beside him, and the summer 
 was little more than begun. If he had any luck at all, 
 so he told himself, he ought to beat Jacob to it by 
 about six years and nine months. 
 
 The day after the piratical fray misfortune came 
 to the white house under the maples. It arrived in a 
 blue envelope bearing the names of Pryor, Balch & 
 Co., Mr. Bonner's lawyers, and Mrs. Bonner laid it 
 carelessly aside while she divided her attention be- 
 tween her luncheon and a collection of mail not 
 sheathed in blue. She had always found blue- 
 envelope mail dry reading. 
 
 With the dessert, however, she came to the legal 
 epistle; and after the first, few typewritten lines, it did 
 not prove dry somewhat unintelligible, absolutely 
 incredible, but not dry. She read it with an expression 
 of bewilderment overspreading her face. A second 
 reading tinged the bewilderment with dismay. 
 
206 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "Rufus," she said, looking across the blue sheet 
 of paper at her husband who was cutting the leaves of 
 a newly arrived scientific magazine. 
 
 He evidently did not hear her. Mr. Bonner sel- 
 dom consciously heard a first appeal to his attention. 
 
 "Rufus," she repeated. The disturbed note in her 
 voice caught the attention of her cook but failed to 
 penetrate her husband's detachment. 
 
 "Yes, my dear," he answered amiably but re- 
 motely. 
 
 "I've such a strange letter from Mr. Pryor. I wish 
 you'd listen a moment." 
 
 Mr. Bonner withdrew his attention from the mag- 
 azine but carefully marked with his forefinger a 
 paragraph in which he had become interested. 
 
 "It's very confusing," Mrs. Bonner seemed 
 slightly irritated. "Something has happened to the 
 Rubber Company. I can't understand at all what 
 has happened things about minority stock holders 
 and liabilities and reorganization and things like that. 
 They've passed a dividend or something and stock- 
 holders won't have any money. I really don't think 
 people ought to do things like that. Mr. Pryor seems 
 to think it is going to be very inconvenient for us and 
 I suppose it is. It does seem as if one's lawyer ought 
 to manage such matters but he doesn't suggest any- 
 thing just says he regrets and all that, but there 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 207 
 
 won't be any money for us this summer. You 
 couldn't do anything about it, could you?" 
 
 Mr. Bonner's eyes were already wandering toward 
 the paragraph to which his forefinger faithfully 
 pointed. 
 
 "I'm sorry, my dear, but business has never in- 
 terested me." He spoke with courteous regret, but 
 with finality. So far as he was concerned, the inci- 
 dent appeared to be closed and Mrs. Bonner evidently 
 accepted his statement as simply as he made it. 
 
 "Yes, I know," she admitted For a few mo- 
 ments she sat looking at the letter, with a furrow in 
 her usually placid brow; but gradually her face 
 cleared and when she folded the sheet and put it into 
 the envelope she was smiling cheerfully. 
 
 "Well then, Jean, we'll be quite poor until some- 
 thing pleasant happens," she said to the girl who 
 was hovering about the table, doing unnecessary 
 things. 
 
 "Do you mean that we will be really poor, or just 
 comparatively poor?" Jean asked. She was sym- 
 pathetic, excited, inclined to treat the event as 
 disaster. 
 
 "Oh, quite poor, I should think" Mrs. Bonner's 
 revived serenity refused to be shaken by the fact she 
 acknowledged "but probably something pleasant 
 will happen soon. It usually does; and there is the 
 
208 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 garden you know, and money doesn't really make so 
 much difference in the country." 
 
 "We'll need to change our way of living, won't 
 we?" The cook's mind was running on make-overs 
 and balanced rations. She had never bothered much 
 about these chapters in the cook book. 
 
 Mrs. Bonner gave the matter fleeting considera- 
 tion. " Why yes, I suppose we will," she assented. 
 A hint of helplessness crept into her eyes but was ex- 
 tinguished by a wave of inspiration. "We will 
 not have beefsteak." She was unshakably firm 
 about it, "Of course we do like it, but you said it 
 was very expensive the time Clark's bill was so high 
 you know, and you thought we ought to change 
 butchers. So we'll cut out beefsteak altogether and 
 I'm sure we'll get along beautifully. At any rate we 
 won't worry." 
 
 She gathered up her mail, rose from the table and 
 went toward her study looking greatly relieved. The 
 unpleasant situation had been met, adjusted. Mr. 
 Bonner disappeared through the door of his study 
 and the dining-room was left to a young woman in 
 whose face and soul amusement and consternation 
 struggled together. 
 
 Such Wonderlandish babes ! And such an upsetting 
 happening. Did they ha ve any money at all? Could 
 they keep things going? Would she get her wages? 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 209 
 
 If they had to close the house, what would she do? 
 Questions swarmed in her mind. 
 
 If only there were a man to handle the problem, A 
 
 man could look into the matter, would understand 
 
 | about stockholders and liabilities and things. A man 
 
 would do something. After all there were times 
 
 when a man 
 
 She stopped short, on her way kitchenward with 
 the dessert plates. Some one was whistling out in the 
 woodshed. She stood listening for a moment, 
 frowned a little, smiled a little, gave her head a de- 
 cisive nod. 
 
 Why not? He was awfully kind and he adored 
 Mrs. Bonner and he wasn't at all stupid incor- 
 rigibly light-minded and slangy, but not at all 
 stupid. And anyway one had to talk things over 
 with somebody. 
 
 She set the dishes on the kitchen table, gave a 
 swift glance at the mirror that hung between the 
 windows, and went sedately out toward the wood- 
 shed. 
 
 The handy man was mending a hoe handle and did 
 not hear her coming but the mending and the whistle 
 stopped abruptly when she spoke. 
 
 "Edward!" She called him Edward now, but al- 
 ways with a tinkle of ice in the name that made it 
 sound prodigiously formal. He was used to the 
 
210 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 frappe solution but to-day there was something else 
 in the "Edward." He noticed it at once. If the 
 thing had not been so improbable, he would have 
 said that she was worried and turning to him for help, 
 but that idea found no lodgment in his mind. 
 
 "More wood?" he asked cheerfully, as he laid the 
 crippled hoe aside and came toward her. 
 
 "No; there's plenty of wood. I just want to talk 
 to you." 
 
 His mind searched the day's record in trace of guilt, 
 but found none. He had made the fire on time. He 
 hadn't gone into her kitchen with muddy boots. He 
 hadn't spilled water on her spotless linoleum. He 
 hadn't kept luncheon waiting indeed had had his 
 luncheon early. His conscience was clear but she 
 wanted to talk to him and she looked perturbed and 
 her voice sounded younger than usual. 
 
 "What's the trouble?" he asked. There must be 
 trouble. She couldn't just have conceived a sudden 
 and overpowering passion for his style of conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 Jean sat down on the chopping block and looked 
 up at him. 
 
 "It's about the Bonners," she said. 
 
 It was about the Bonners. He got that after a 
 brief delay. Just for a moment he was wholly pre- 
 occupied by her way of looking up at a man. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "Yes? What's the matter with the cherubs?" he 
 asked disrespectfully. 
 
 She told him all about it at least she told him all 
 she knew about it and, as she told it, it seemed 
 to grow less and less distressing. Edward was 
 so obviously unmoved by the mention of minority 
 stock holders and liabilities and he was so ex- 
 ceedingly appreciative of Mr. Bonner's refusal to 
 be interested in his own business, and of Mrs. 
 Bonner's masterly domestic strategy in the matter 
 of beefsteak. 
 
 "That's all I could get out of them," she ended, 
 "and now they're writing away as contentedly as 
 though an uncle in India had died and left them 
 millions." 
 
 "Aren't they the real thing in puncture-proofs?" 
 
 Teddy's tone was admiring, affectionate; but his 
 eyes were serious. 
 
 "It sounds like rather a mess though. I sympa- 
 thize with the old gentleman myself. Business has 
 never interested me but it looks as though some- 
 body'd better get busy and find out what's happened. 
 We'll have to know where we stand." 
 
 He looked so big and confident and reliable that 
 Jean felt much as Mrs. Bonner had, after her inspira- 
 tion about the steak. She was sure they would get 
 along beautifully. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "I'll nail Mrs. Bonner this afternoon when she 
 comes to the garden," the man promised. 
 
 And he did. 
 
 The little gray lady's usual four o'clock stroll was 
 quite spoiled, but she was very amiable about it, and 
 entirely willing to tell her gardener all that she knew 
 about her own business affairs, which was not much. 
 She took him into the house and showed him some 
 business papers Mr. Bonner's business papers. 
 
 "He hasn't room in his desk for things like that," 
 she explained. "So many valuable notes and data 
 you know; but I thought they ought to be kept, so I 
 brought them in here. They haven't anything to do 
 with the Rubber Company stock though. That is 
 mine. I think it's about all we have that pays. 
 My husband has always been attracted to mines. 
 They do sound very interesting, don't they? But 
 they don't seem to be reliable. 
 
 " Old Mr. Pry or was a great comfort. He took care 
 of my business for me and didn't bother me at all; just 
 sent me checks twice a year nice big checks. He 
 died two years ago and his son seems to be different. 
 He writes and wants orders about things and the 
 checks haven't been so big and now there isn't any 
 check at all. Of course it may not be his fault but I 
 can't help feeling that he's not so capable a lawyer as 
 his father was." 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 213 
 
 Later, Teddy wrote a letter to young Mr. Pry or. 
 
 "I'm afraid it means being actually hard up for a 
 while," he reported to Jean. "There's very little in 
 the bank and nothing else hi sight. Mr. Bonner's 
 investments are the choicest collection of gold bricks 
 you ever saw. He's bought stock in mines all the 
 way from Mexico to Labrador and I guess none of 
 them has ever made a cent for him. They've had a 
 corking good income out of this rubber stock that she 
 inherited from an uncle, but they've never saved a 
 penny of it just gone mooning along relying on 
 manna. I don't know but what it's as good a way as 
 any. They've had a bully time and now when they 
 come a cropper, somebody will turn in and help them 
 out. Somebody always does turn in and help the 
 incapables out. 
 
 "Did you ever have to learn that beastly French 
 fable about the grasshopper and the ant? I was all 
 for the grasshopper myself but the fable hasn't got 
 the thing right at all. 'You've sung all summer' the 
 ant says to the grasshopper, you know, ' Well you can 
 dance now.' And then the grasshopper dies a victim 
 of his own idleness. That's fable right enough; it 
 isn't fact. As far as I can see, the ants just groan a 
 little and haul out the food and stuff they've stored 
 up by losing all the fun, and give it to the grass- 
 hoppers so that they can go on singing." 
 
214 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "I don't notice an ant hill in the immediate fore- 
 ground," Jean was too much occupied with the mat- 
 ter in hand to go in for generalization. 
 
 The handy man laughed a little softly. 
 
 "Looks as though it were up to us to be the ants," 
 he said with a cheerful grin. "I've never been much 
 of a toiler and saver myself but I guess I can get the 
 trick if I have to." 
 
 Taking a family upon his hands seemed to have no 
 terrors for him, and Jean, guiltily conscious of an un- 
 heroic and culpably selfish concern about her wages, 
 eyed him with open admiration. 
 
 "You're splendid," she said frankly. "I didn't 
 suppose men were like that. It isn't business." 
 
 The grin broadened. 
 
 "I suppose it isn't business but, as Jimmy would 
 say, 'it's beans'; and one can't desert helpless in- 
 fants by the roadside." 
 
 "No; one can't." She waved a mental good-bye 
 to thirty-five dollars a month but sighed softly as she 
 did it. 
 
 Teddy caught the fluttering sigh; but, the next 
 moment, doubted whether he had heard it, for she was 
 smiling at him gayly. 
 
 "It's exciting, isn't it?" she said. "I wish I had 
 kept all the Woman's-Page newspaper articles about 
 how to live on nothing a year. Can you fish?" 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 215 
 
 "I can." 
 
 "Can you catch fish?" 
 
 "If there are fish." 
 
 "Jimmy says there are pickerel in Green River, big 
 ones and sun fish. I told him I'd go fishing with 
 him." 
 
 " We will twice a week." He was evidently ready 
 to sacrifice himself to any extent. 
 
 "Fish would help a lot; and we've prunes perfect 
 stacks of prunes. And rice; Mrs. Bonner bought 
 tons of rice! The man at Macy's told her there 
 were six hundred and two delicious nourishing 
 dishes that could be made out of rice, and that a 
 Japanese could live and get fat on a handful of rice 
 a day. 
 
 "I haa a prejudice against that grocery clerk but 
 now my heart warms to him. If worst comes to 
 worst we can live on sardines and kippered herring. 
 He sold Mrs. Bonner enough of those for an army. 
 Wasn't she a lambkin to buy such a silly lot of stuff 
 when she had the money? We'll worry along beau- 
 tifully until her 'something pleasant' happens. She 
 was perfectly sure something pleasant would hap- 
 pen." 
 
 "Something pleasant has happened." There was 
 profound conviction in his voice. Wasn't it a pleas- 
 ant thing to find the walls of Troy town down, and 
 
216 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Helen and himself sitting among the ruins planning a 
 partnership? 
 
 A letter came to Mr. Edward Burton from young 
 Mr. Pryor confirming the bad news of the first letter 
 and adding details that were presumably a concession 
 to masculine intelligence. 
 
 Things were bad enough temporarily. The tangle 
 would be straightened out in time. The property was 
 sound, but there had been mismanagement; a combi- 
 nation of unfortunate circumstances had made 
 trouble. Mr. Pryor would look out for Mrs. Bon- 
 ner's interests and report to her; or, with her au- 
 thorization, to Mr. Burton. 
 
 "And so," the aforesaid Mr. Burton explained to 
 the aforesaid Mrs. Bonner's cook, "we've got to cut 
 the gasolene and butter bills. If we don't wallop the 
 high cost of living, we won't be able to pay ourselves 
 our wages." 
 
 "Wages!" The cook's face radiated relief. "I 
 thought we weren't going to have wages." 
 
 "The labourer is worthy of his hire," her fellow ser- 
 vant quoted solemnly, "and we're going to be some 
 little labourers," he added in less stately vein. 
 
 He had noticed the flushed cheeks and happy eyes 
 with a thump of his heart. 
 
 To think that she needed the measly thirty-five 
 dollars a month that she actually needed it and 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 217 
 
 he'd been loping around spending ten thousand a 
 year! 
 
 That thirty-five a month was all she had to depend 
 on and yet she'd been willing to stand by and see the 
 Bonners through. 
 
 He wanted to pick her up and run away with her, 
 wanted to give her everything the world had to offer, 
 wanted to pull the solar system apart and make it 
 into a necklace for her. It was a crime for a girl 
 like that to have to work and scrimp and worry, 
 
 while the other girls he had known Right there 
 
 he pulled himself up short. 
 
 The other girls he had known had been brought up 
 on the no-work, no-scrimp, no-worry system, and 
 look at them! Maybe idleness and luxury and self- 
 indulgence didn't make girls like this one. Perhaps 
 a girl needed grilling as much as a boy. A woman 
 was likely to have as many hard things to meet as a 
 man when it came to real living, might even have 
 to help a man meet his hard things as a partner 
 should. Fat chance of a partner a fellow had when 
 he picked his winner out of the society bunch. Now 
 Jean But, all the same he wanted to give her 
 the universe to play with, and he had just twenty- 
 eight dollars and four cents. 
 
 Of course he could get money borrow it, write to 
 his father for it; not money enough to corral the 
 
218 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 universe but enough to see the Bonners through 
 The girl wouldn't take the universe from him even 
 if he could hand it to her on a silver tray not yet. 
 
 Yes; he could get the money, but it would be a 
 crawl. He had cleaned out his bank account to 
 pay up his debts before leaving town and had written 
 his father that he wouldn't want his allowance, any 
 longer, that he was going to make his own way dur- 
 ing the summer and jump into the business in the 
 fall. Somehow or other, living on an allowance 
 hadn't seemed good enough after he'd seen 
 Jean. 
 
 The old gentleman hadn't protested, hadn't asked 
 questions, had merely taken him at his word. That 
 was like Dad. Fishing through his pockets, he 
 pulled out a crumpled letter, smoothed it out and 
 read it again. His father had dictated to his steno- 
 grapher: 
 
 DEAR TED: Yours of the 8th to hand and contents 
 noted. You do not go into details; but I assume that 
 you haven't given up your Canada fishing trip and sum- 
 mer in British Columbia except for something you like 
 better. Don't marry it. 
 
 However, when you tell me that you don't intend 
 to spend more during the summer than you will earn, I 
 doubt whether a petticoat is responsible for your change 
 of plans. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 219 
 
 Let me hear from you when you need me. Probably 
 you'd better let me hear a little in advance of the need. 
 
 Your affectionate father, 
 EDWARD BURTON. 
 
 ' P. S. You ask me to trust you. I always have done 
 so. I do. Still you've often been a good deal of an ass. 
 
 DAD. 
 
 (The postscript was in his father's handwriting.) 
 
 Teddy's eyes smiled as he read. Bully old Dad. 
 Bursting with curiosity and more worried about this 
 summer at hard labour than he had ever been by 
 anything his prodigal son had sprung upon him, but 
 asking no questions. He had set a two-year limit 
 and he was sticking to it. 
 
 No, he wouldn't write to Dad for money. He 
 wouldn't borrow money. For the first time in his 
 life he would see what he was worth when it came 
 down to primitive valuations, find out whether he 
 could buckle down and take care of himself and of a 
 family. Jean would help him. He repeated that 
 ( to himself several times. "Jean would help." Jean 
 was that kind. 
 
 There was something immensely stimulating about 
 the idea of taking care of a family with Jean to help 
 him. Lord! What couldn't a man do with a girl 
 like Jean to help? 
 
220 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 The new regime was inaugurated at once. Revolu- 
 tion swept through the Bonner menage but the 
 Bonners themselves never noticed that anything 
 was happening, and, indeed, there was no pLcc where 
 the new economy pinched their comfort. 
 
 Jean had always taken pride in her housekeeping. 
 Now she put heart and brain and body into it and 
 found the game of stretching a collar to its ultimate 
 limit of value the most absorbing and fascinating 
 one she had ever played. 
 
 Perhaps if she had been making the fight single- 
 handed and alone, her enthusiasm might have flagged 
 more readily; but a partner was extraordinarily 
 stimulating and her partner, in particular, was appre- 
 ciative to a degree that spurred her on to miracles of 
 achievement. It is only a very saintly soul that 
 can keep the acts of his right hand from the knowl- 
 edge of his left hand and still find a spicy flavour in 
 well doing. Your ordinary mortal needs some one 
 to whom he can boast at the end of a well-spent day 
 and Jean's partner tolerated boastfulness, encouraged 
 it. He even boasted a little himself modestly 
 and Jean was fair enough to take a fervent interest 
 in his end of the game. She could not thrill to the 
 renting of pasturage as she could to a cut in the 
 butter bill; but she did thrill, and thrilling was such a 
 pink-cheeked shining-eyed process on her part, that 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 it would have rewarded a man for a doughtier deed 
 than wringing six dollars out of an untilled field. 
 
 Still, six dollars would go a long way in the hands 
 of a young woman who was a wizard at manipulating 
 food values. She assured him of that. 
 
 "The things I can do with stuff I've always wasted 
 before!" she chortled triumphantly. "It's wonder- 
 ful, and yet I thought I was being economical all 
 the time. It's odds and ends and corners and all 
 that." 
 
 She was not lucid but he got her idea. 
 
 "If only we had a cow." Her voice oozed hope^ 
 less longing. "A cow and chickens. We've got the 
 garden and the fruit, and with butter and milk and 
 eggs A cow and chickens would be perfect, 
 simply perfect. If we'd only known what was com- 
 ing! The Bonners would just as soon have bought 
 cows and chickens as anything else when they had 
 money, but of course we couldn't tell " 
 
 Oh that "we"! that "we"! The listening man 
 almost purred for joy in it. 
 
 She must have a cow and chickens. That was 
 flat. Short of larceny he did not see a way of ac- 
 complishing it, but the thing was as good as done. 
 
 By way of making a start he took Peter Pease into 
 his confidence the next morning when that friendly 
 neighbour dropped in to watch Teddy at his garden 
 
222 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 work. Peter did not work himself not more than 
 was absolutely necessary. He was alone. A micro- 
 scopic pension came to him regularly. His wants 
 were few, and violent effort was not one of them 
 however, he took a tolerant interest in the activities 
 of others and he knew the neighbourhood thoroughly, 
 exhaustively. He had time to know it. 
 
 "Want chickens, eh? And the use of a cow?" 
 He seemed surprised, even grieved by the folly of 
 it. 
 
 "Mean's work, son," he warned but when the 
 Bonners' handy man insisted that he was suicidally 
 bent upon adding to his own labours, Peter sat down 
 on a wheelbarrow, lighted his pipe, and gave his 
 mind to the problem. 
 
 "There's Tim Kelly down below the hill," he said. 
 Teddy had never heard of Tim Kelly, but waited 
 hopefully. 
 
 "Tim's come into money from an uncle in Tam- 
 many. At least he was in Tammany. Where the 
 man is now I'll not say, but the crowd he's training 
 with is maybe much the same as 'twas here. But at 
 any rate Tim's come into money and he's going away 
 to spend it. He'll be selling off his things and Mary 
 Kelly his wife has got a fine lot of barred Ply- 
 mouth Rocks. They ve about supported the family 
 but now that the family doesn't need supporting I 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 223 
 
 guess Plymouth Rocks'll go cheap. Anything to 
 get away quick and begin catching up with the 
 procession. You send Mrs. Morley's Jim down to 
 offer 'em five dollars for the lot. Don't go yourself. 
 If Tim knew summer folks wanted them, he'd stick 
 you, even if he don't need the money just on prin- 
 ciple but he'll let Mrs. Morley have 'em for five. 
 
 "Then about that cow. Parsons, over on Spring 
 Hill's got more cows than he can handle just now. 
 Wife's sick. Can't make butter, and no hired help 
 to be got, and not much pasture, and feed's high. 
 I guess if you was to offer to let him turn his young 
 heifers into your east meadow where there's plenty 
 of water and good grass, and would feed a cow up and 
 let him have it again in September, he'd give you 
 the use of it." 
 
 Tim Kelly, in the flush of sudden prosperity 
 scorned to haggle over chickens. Jimmy returned 
 from his errand divided between exultation over a 
 good bargain and grief over the loss of a better one. 
 
 "He'd a let me have 'em for three, if I hadn't 
 been chucklehead enough to offer 'im five before he 
 began tellin' me about how he was goin' to live in 
 New York!" he reported "but I got 'im to throw 
 in some nestin' boxes and a roll of chicken wire." 
 
 Mr. Parsons too, was amenable to reason. Three 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 days later the Bonners' cook and the Bonners' 
 handy man made the acquaintance of a placid Jersey 
 cow and a hysterical tribe of chickens. 
 
 "Now," remarked the cook with profound satis- 
 faction, "I feel that the family circle is complete." 
 
 Teddy made a chicken run and to the very con- 
 siderable inconvenience of Gladys, the new cow 
 learned to milk. Jean fed chickens and scoured 
 milk pans and made butter. 
 
 "There's those that like work," admitted Peter 
 Pease, "and I believe in letting every one be happy 
 in his own way; but it does seem to me as if you two 
 had gone looking for trouble and found it." 
 
 It was Peter who suggested selling the surplus 
 garden stuff. 
 
 "You've got enough to feed the country. Lord 
 knows why you planted it. What's the use of work- 
 ing to raise it and then giving most of it away?" 
 
 " Well, .neighbours, you know " began Teddy. 
 
 "No, I don't know not when it goes as far as 
 work; but I wasn't talking about neighbours. It's 
 Bowles I've got my eye on. Get him to take garden 
 truck in exchange for groceries and meat. He'll do 
 it. He's got to have vegetables, and nobody else 
 around here raises stuff like yours, sits up nights with 
 it and holds its hand and tucks it in and feeds it and 
 gives it drinks and doctors it and all that sort of 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Agricultural College foolishness. Bowles'll be glad to 
 make a deal with you." 
 
 And Bowles, if not glad, was willing. 
 
 Peter Pease smiled indulgently when told the good 
 news. 
 
 "You see it isn't that I couldn't make money," he 
 said, "It's that I don't want it." 
 
 Ragged, cheerful, contented, the descendant of 
 Puritan stock sat on the well-curb in the sunshine, 
 and was at peace with the world. 
 
 "You're rather magnificent you know" (Teddy's 
 voice had a note of envy in it). "You and Buddha 
 and the rest; but I guess I was built for a Thing- 
 worshipper." 
 
 "She's a pretty thing." Peter's remark was irrele- 
 vant of course; but his face took on a look of even 
 more profound content as he watched Jean Mackaye 
 coming down the path toward the well. He liked to 
 look at a pretty woman. It was pleasant, and it was 
 easy. 
 
 Peter was not the only friend the partners made in 
 those first days of feeling then* way. There had been 
 no prejudice against the Bonners in the countryside. 
 Like Mr. Flavin, in the city, the country folk had 
 classified the pair as "daft" and were inclined to 
 accord them the tolerent kindliness usually granted 
 to the feeble-minded. There were exceptions. Mrs. 
 
226 HOW COULD *Otf, JEAlNr 
 
 Morley, for example, had learned something of Mrs. 
 Bonner's quality, and tried to make others believe in 
 it, but few came near enough to understand the little 
 gray lady and her stooping, gentle-mannered hus- 
 band, and there had been little coming and going 
 between the white house under the maples and the 
 homes round about it. 
 
 Now, gradually, the Bonner household began to be- 
 long to be a part of the country life, instead of a 
 God-given, vaguely impersonal source of summer 
 revenue for the community. 
 
 The Bonners were hard up. Every one knew it. 
 Jean and Teddy had not talked but Mrs. Bonner had. 
 She had told Mrs. Morley all about it, treating it as a 
 cheerful if unimportant topic of conversation. She 
 had told the minister, too, when he came to make his 
 annual call, and had been frankly amazed when he 
 had treated the situation as one calling for sympathy 
 and quotations from the more encouraging parts of 
 the Psalms. 
 
 "But we are getting along perfectly," she ex- 
 plained. "Jean and Edward are such excellent 
 managers and it isn't as if things weren't going to be 
 all right again very soon. Yes, of course I do pray, 
 but not more than usual. I forget about praying 
 in words you know a good deal of the time, but I'm 
 very sure with my heart all the time, and that does 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 227 
 
 just as well, don't you think? Sometimes I think it's 
 the only part of prayer that gets as far as God any- 
 way; but everybody must pray as he likes only I 
 wouldn't think of praying a special prayer about the 
 Rubber Company. It doesn't seem as though the 
 Rubber Company would make a good prayer; so 
 I'm just very thankful about having Jean and 
 Edward and that's all the special praying I'v been 
 doing." 
 
 She wasn't flippant or irreverent. She was only 
 very simple and cheerful; and the lean, long, over- 
 conscientious young man with the ministerial manner 
 and the very human heart, smiled at her as he might 
 have smiled at Molly, and put his professional sym- 
 pathy and encouragement back in the pocket of his 
 clerical coat. 
 
 He met Teddy out in the front yard as he was leav- 
 ing, and interrupted the lawn mowing for a long time, 
 but the two were not talking about the condition of 
 Teddy's soul. They were discussing fishing and 
 baseball and canoeing and chicken feed and head 
 lettuce; and, finally, they strolled around the house 
 to the garden where they found Jean picking peas for 
 supper. 
 
 She showed no consideration whatsoever for the 
 cloth. Here was a young man, a good-looking young 
 man. That he was a very godly young man made no 
 
228 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 difference in her attitude toward the phenomenon. 
 For a long time she had been very, very good. 
 Moreover, Mrs. Bonner's handy man had never seen 
 her with another young man. 
 
 / The young minister enjoyed a very stimulating if 
 slightly bewildering hour on a garden bench and went 
 away with a rose in his buttonhole and confusion in 
 his orderly bachelor heart. 
 
 He talked a good deal about the Bonner household, 
 as he made his other visits, not because he was a 
 gossip but because he really could not keep away 
 from the subject and since he was as simple and 
 transparent as he was good, the Ladies' Aid Society, 
 at its next session, devoted much of its time and talk 
 to the susceptibility of the unmarried clergy and to 
 Jean Mackaye's looks and character. 
 
 Mrs. Morley, the only member who was actually 
 qualified to express an opinion about the young 
 person's character, spoke with no uncertain note. 
 
 "She's as nice a girl as ever stepped and I don't 
 care where the next one comes from," she declared 
 stoutly. "The way she takes care of those two Bon- 
 ners! And her kitchen floor so you could eat off it, 
 and always a pleasant word and a smile, and not a 
 hook or button off. Clean as ice she is and saving, 
 and smart. Susan can tell you. And if she has 
 pretty looks and a way with her, it's what the 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 229 
 
 Lord's given her. He wasn't thinking of our min- 
 ister when he gave them to her, and anyway you 
 don't need to be worrying. There'll be plenty of 
 men at her heels before she picks one, and it's my 
 opinion that young Burton isn't blind or deaf or 
 dumb, or mortal slow either." 
 
 Whereupon the Ladies' Aid Society transferred its 
 attention to Edward Burton, Junior. 
 
 As the local paper put it: "A very pleasant time 
 was had by all present at the meeting of the Ladies 5 
 Aid Society on Saturday." And after that meeting, 
 Jean and Teddy were public characters though they 
 did not realize it. 
 
 Peter Pease testified, early and late, to their 
 virtues, and though the neighbourhood condemned 
 Peter's philosophy of life, it respected his judgment 
 and information about the lives of others. 
 
 "Those two young folks at Bonners are stem 
 winders," he declared. "Yes, sir, stem winders. 
 They haven't got much experience, and I don't know 
 as they've got much learning, but they've got horse 
 sense and grit, and they're as lively and sassy as 
 chipmunks always laughing and joking and taking 
 care of the old gentleman and lady as if it was a 
 blessed privilege instead of hard work. Why, do you 
 know, I don't believe they're taking any wages at 
 all now? I overheard them talking one day. He was 
 
230 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 trying to make her take her wages out of some 
 money he'd got for hay, and she asked had he taken 
 his own wages and when he sort of hesitated a 
 minute, she said it was insulting of him to think she 
 was a horrid mercenary little toad, and the first 
 thing I knew she came tearing around the woodhouse 
 plump into me. Mad as a hornet she was, and tears 
 in her eyes. *#< 
 
 ' 'Mr. Pease,' she said, 'the ideas you men have 
 about women are outrageous perfectly outrageous. 
 I should think you'd be ashamed of yourselves not to 
 have more respect for your mothers ! ' And with that 
 she ran into the house and slammed the door. 
 
 "I went on around the woodhouse and there 
 was young Burton looking half tickled and hall 
 scared. 
 
 "'Son,' I says, 'wherever did you get your out- 
 rageous ideas about women?' He began to grin at 
 that, and he says: 
 
 "Mr. Pease, I haven't got any ideas about women 
 at all. When it comes to women I'm a dub. I'm 
 sailing without a chart, but I did have a sort of an 
 idea that when a girl worked like the dickens for 
 people she ought to have her wages. Seems I was 
 mistaken,' he says. No sir, I don't believe either of 
 those youngsters is drawing a cent. They're just 
 hustling to keep the Bonners wrapped in cotton wool 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 231 
 
 and I think they're an honour to the neighbourhood. 
 That's the way I feel about it." 
 
 The neighbourhood was inclined to feel the same 
 way and the church festival precipitated the friendli- 
 ness that was already in solution. 
 
 Jean had promised the young minister to "help," 
 so she went around to the church early and offered 
 her services with becoming meekness and modesty. 
 
 "Mr. Hanley thought maybe I could do something 
 for you," she said to Mrs. Pettingill, plump, gray- 
 haired, red-cheeked, executive. Mrs. Pettingill took 
 the new recruit's measure with her keen blue eyes. 
 
 "You can," she said promptly. "Go and sell to 
 the men everything you can lay hands on." 
 
 It was almost too easy. 
 
 This was Jean's first church festival, but if a church 
 festival was cousin no matter how many times re- 
 moved to a charity bazaar, her foot was on her 
 native heath. 
 
 She began on the young men but quickly worked up 
 to the older ones, leaving bankruptcy in her wake. 
 Elderly deacons who had come to spend ten cents on 
 a plate of ice cream found themselves recklessly, in- 
 explicably, treating groups of women to ice cream and 
 cake, buying candy and peanuts for children, putting 
 their names down as subscribers for the new church 
 carpet. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEA?w 
 
 The size of the cake slices and of the ice cream 
 portions shrunk shamelessly as the evening wore on. 
 
 "If only we'd ordered more of everything!" 
 groaned Mrs. Pettingill and her co-workers. 
 
 When the food supply ran low, Jean sold button- 
 hole bouquets, hastily requisitioned from neighbour- 
 ing yards. She took orders for Mrs. Bennet's dough- 
 nuts and Myra Anderby's chocolate fudge. She 
 rashly promised to have a church fair and supply 
 pink gingham rompers. She sang old English ballads 
 at fifty cents a ballad the purse made up among the 
 crowd. And when having auctioned off the only 
 cake left (a large, sticky one, iced in poisonous green) 
 to the stingiest man in Green Ridge, for a price that 
 was nothing short of highway robbery she looked 
 hopefully around for new worlds to conquer, nothing 
 seemed left for barter except the organ, the chairs, 
 and the framed texts. 
 
 Deacon Ezra Johnson, who in a moment of 
 hypnosis had bought the green cake, confided to Mr. 
 Hanley, the minister, that he had his misgivings 
 about auctions in the church. 
 
 "There's that matter of the money changers, you 
 know," he murmured, but the minister only laughed. 
 
 "This is giving to the Lord, Deacon," he said re- 
 assuringly. 
 
 The Ladies' Aid Society had no misgivings what- 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 233 
 
 soever only gnawing regret that it had not provided 
 more bountifully for the spoiling of the Egyptians. 
 
 As a unit, it kissed Jean Mackaye good-night when 
 she started home. 
 
 "Be sure and come to the meeting at Mrs. Pet- 
 tingiU's Saturday, so we can plan about a Fair," 
 the women chorused. 
 
 She was no longer Mrs. Bonner's city cook. She 
 was a Green Ridge institution. 
 
 "Aren't they darling?" she sighed happily to 
 Teddy as he started the car. "Aren't they per- 
 fectly darling?" 
 
 "Darling!" echoed the man. It was a very fer- 
 vent echo. Hearing it without the context one 
 might have taken it for a vocative. 
 
 Once taken to the heart of the neighbourhood, "the 
 Bonners' young folks," as they were usually called, 
 found themselves in demand. Teddy's church* 
 festival career, though not so meteoric as Jean's, had 
 been eventful. He had hung Japanese lanterns. 
 He had opened pop bottles, he had lifted ice-cream 
 freezers, he had carried heavy trays and tables and 
 chairs. 
 
 "You're the handiest young man I ever saw," 
 Mrs. Pettingill had commented admiringly. 
 
 "It's my profession," Teddy had reminded her 
 with modest pride. 
 
234 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 In the intervals of work he had promised to join 
 the Grange and to organize a baseball team and to 
 set off the fireworks at the Fourth of July picnic and 
 to help the Cemetery Association clean up the 
 neglected graveyard and to go to Hartford with the 
 Better Roads Committee. 
 
 In such a fine glow of neighbourly good feeling 
 was he that if somebody had asked him to lead the 
 next prayer meeting he would have agreed without 
 a moment's hesitation; but in the cold light of the 
 day after the festival, he took stock of his promises 
 and smiled ruefully. 
 
 "This get-together business is all very well," he 
 remarked to the cook, "but when do you and I go 
 fishing?" 
 
 She looked down at him from dizzy spiritual 
 heights. 
 
 "Ladies' Aiding is going to be my chosen sport, 
 after this, Edward. I have put away the milder 
 forms of dissipation." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 MRS. MORLEY'S first boarder arrived shortly after 
 the Fourth of July. 
 
 He had been heralded by a suave, quiet young man 
 who one day drove over from Taylorsville, the near- 
 est station, stopped at the little Green Ridge post- 
 office and told Mrs. Betts, the postmistress' that 
 he was looking for a boarding place for an elderly 
 gentleman who needed country air and quiet. Mrs. 
 Betts so he told Mrs. Morley later assured 
 him that Mrs. Morley's home was exactly what he 
 wanted. 
 
 Mrs. Morley looked gratified but modest and said 
 she always tried to make her boarders comfortable. 
 
 "Have you any boarders at the moment?" asked 
 the stranger. 
 
 "No'," she hadn't. 
 
 He nodded approvingly. "That's very nice, very 
 nice indeed. Mr. Brown was in hopes he might 
 find a place where he would be the only boarder." 
 
 "But there will be others later. The last of July 
 and August, there's always somebody." 
 
 235 
 
36 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Mrs. Morley could not bind herself to turn away 
 all comers because of an exclusive old gentlemen. 
 
 The visitor moved a careless hand. "Mr. Brown 
 will probably stay only a short time. While he is 
 here he will be glad to pay a price proportioned 
 to what you would make if all of your rooms were 
 full. How many boarders can you take?" 
 
 "Four." Mrs. Morley's voice was weak from 
 astonishment. 
 
 "Exactly. Then Mr. Brown will pay at the rate 
 for four persons." 
 
 The landlady's honest soul rebelled. "I really 
 couldn't," she began. 
 
 "We will consider that settled." He had a very 
 firm way with him. "You will find Mr. Brown a 
 very pleasant gentleman but, as I have said, he is 
 greatly in need of seclusion and complete rest. His 
 eyes and his nerves are very bad and he is quite 
 unequal to meeting strangers outside of your family 
 of course. You will excuse him, if he keeps himself 
 very much to himself, and realize that it is matter 
 of health, not crankiness. He will arrive on the 
 twelve-o'clock train Thursday, and I will make 
 arrangements in the village to have him brought 
 over, so he will be here for luncheon. He will find 
 everything very comfortable I am sure. Your rates 
 are you said?" 
 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 237 
 
 "Eight dollars a week." 
 
 "Exactly. Four times eight thirty-two." He 
 took out a roll of bills, and handed the overwhelmed 
 landlady thirty- two dollars. "A stranger you see, 
 and of course you couldn't know. Good-morning, 
 madam. A beautiful view you have here. Good- 
 morning." 
 
 He whisked out to the waiting motor car and was 
 off in a cloud of dust, leaving Mrs. Morley staring 
 speechlessly at the money in her hand. 
 
 "He was like machinery," she told Susan later. 
 "Clip, clip, clip not a minute wasted; comes, settles 
 things, goes. Clip, clip, clip!" 
 
 Mr. Brown arrived at twelve-thirty on Thursday, 
 according to schedule, and was greeted by a nervous 
 landlady whose anxious face relaxed perceptibly as 
 her new boarder shook hands with her and thanked 
 her for taking him in. 
 
 "He's not at all what I expected," she reported to 
 Susan when she had shown him his rooms and left 
 him to rest until dinner time. 
 
 "I'd been looking for something thin and snappy. 
 Nerves 'most always take them that way; but he's 
 real stout and he speaks as cheerful and friendly as 
 can be. It's a pity he has to wear those huge dark 
 glasses. You can't tell what he rightly looks like, 
 and I shouldn't wonder if he's a mighty pleasant- 
 
238 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 looking man when his eyes are well. Not so old, 
 either." 
 
 The appetite the boarder displayed at the 
 midday dinner completed his conquest of his 
 landlady. "And me figuring on gruel and soft 
 food!" she laughed as she gave him his second piece 
 of pie. 
 
 Mr. Brown's face, or at least the part of his face 
 not hidden by the big glasses, looked guilty but he 
 joined in the laugh. 
 
 "It's often that way with nervous cases," he ex- 
 plained. "They need feeding up. I believe your 
 cooking will do more than medicine for me, Mrs. 
 Morley." 
 
 The light of battle dawned in the landlady's eyes. 
 If what this afflicted man needed was feeding up, 
 she would see that he got what he needed. 
 
 "An old-fashioned boiled dinner, now," the invalid 
 suggested. "I dare say you can cook a boiled dinner 
 that tastes right. It's a thing I can't seem to get 
 in town." 
 
 Mrs. Morley smiled the smile of conscious power. 
 
 "It's pretty hearty," she warned; Mr. Brown 
 waved the warning aside. 
 
 "I like my food hearty. There's a thing I used to 
 have for breakfast when I was a boy : Salt pork, fried 
 crisp and brown, and some sort of white gravy 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 239 
 
 not a sauce you know, just an honest gravy lots 
 of it poured over the pork and then some. And 
 boiled potatoes." 
 
 Mrs. Morley's, thin, wrinkled face was all aglow. 
 
 "My land, man, it's going to be a treat a real 
 treat to cook for you." 
 
 "And doughnuts." The pleasant mouth below 
 the disfiguring glasses was smiling boyishly. "And 
 pie plenty of pie. This is a pie to put a soul under 
 the ribs of death, madam." 
 
 The flattered pie maker smoothed back her scant 
 blonde hair with both hands her habitual gesture 
 in moments of great excitement. The hair was 
 already skinned back from her forehead so tightly 
 that it drew her eyebrows upward. Everything 
 about Mrs. Morley was under more or less strain. 
 Life's demands upon her had always been just a 
 little more than she could meet easily, though they 
 had been met pluckily, and to the effort demanded 
 of her, she had added the free tribute of a generous 
 and unselfish heart 
 
 "Lucilla Morley," Mrs. Pettingill had once said 
 to her in a moment of friendly exasperation, "you're 
 good to everybody but yourself. You'll let anybody 
 on earth impose on you. It's all nonsense. I tell 
 you those that will, may." 
 
 And Mrs. Morley, quite missing the point, but 
 
240 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 catching at the last phrase, had smiled contentedly 
 into her friend's face. 
 
 "Yes; we can always help, if we want to. There's 
 always some way opened up, so's you can. Isn't it 
 splendid, Sarah?" 
 
 As for cooking boiled dinners and salt pork and 
 pie for a man whose nerves needed them and whose 
 appetite clamoured for them, and being paid gener- 
 ously for doing it, Mrs. Morley's cup of happiness 
 was full. Another drop, and it would have spilled 
 over. 
 
 "Susan," she said, when the boarder had retired to 
 his own room, "I'm a wicked woman doubting and 
 fussing and looking up my arrowroot- jelly recipe 
 and the Lord having a fine hearty eater picked out 
 for me all the time!" 
 
 Susan laid aside her sewing to help in clearing the 
 table. 
 
 "The boarder that wouldn't be satisfied with your 
 cooking 'd ought to choke to death on his first meal 
 here," she said vehemently, but Mrs. Morley shook 
 her head. 
 
 "A man's got a right to expect mighty good 
 victuals at thirty-two dollars a week. Seems as if a 
 boiled dinner wasn't hardly dressy enough. I'm 
 going to look through the old copies of the Ladies' 
 Companion for some of those trimmed-up dishes 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 241 
 
 with cut-out eggs and olives, and roses and paper 
 frills and things on them." 
 
 All through that first afternoon Mrs. Morley and 
 Susan tiptoed about the house and talked in hushed 
 voices. A boarder with frayed nerves needed 
 absolute quiet, undisturbed repose and they were 
 determined he should have them. 
 
 "It's lucky Molly is off with Jim or down at the 
 Bonners' most of the time," Molly's mother said, 
 thankfully. "She won't bother him, except on rainy 
 days." 
 
 "Jim can play in the hay-mow with her when it 
 rains," Mrs. Morley suggested. 
 
 "Yes she loves the hay-mow." 
 
 And while they planned Molly's suppression, that 
 quite irrepressible young person was introducing the 
 nervous Mr. Brown to the new calf, and the spotted 
 cow, and the chicken with the lame leg, and the pig 
 that "liked to be dirty," and Ebenezer the cat that 
 was "just so stubborn he wouldn't have kittens" 
 though "ve uwer old cat vat got lost used to have 
 lots and lots of lovely ones." 
 
 For a man with a passion for seclusion, the boarder 
 seemed wonderfully resigned to companionship. He 
 had found his room comfortable but lonely, and, 
 wandering down to the front porch, had been 
 
242 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 promptly annexed by Molly who had been preparing 
 to run away but suddenly discovered that home 
 was a place of absorbing interest. 
 
 "Are you ve new boarder," she asked, breathlessly. 
 
 He admitted that he was. 
 
 "Don't you want to see little girls eiver?" She 
 was not reproachful. She merely wanted to know 
 the length and breadth of his prejudices. 
 
 "Muwer said you didn't want to see peoples," she 
 explained, "but five going on six isn't a people, is it? " 
 
 " Five going on six is a splendid age." The boarder 
 was profoundly serious. "/ always want to see 
 fives-going-on-sixes." 
 
 She chuckled happily. 
 
 "Ven I'll show you. Come on." 
 
 She showed him, and when he had seen all of the 
 family except Jimmy, and the big toad that lived 
 under the stone well-curb and wouldn't come out for 
 all Molly's coaxing, she took him down to the garden 
 where Jimmy was hoeing corn. 
 
 "Jimmy ain't a people eiver," she announced cheer- 
 fully. "You'll like Jimmy awful much." 
 
 He did like Jimmy awful much; and Jimmy, after 
 the first few moments of painful embarrassment, 
 liked him. 
 
 "Have to hoe?" asked the boarder. 
 
 "Nope." 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 243 
 
 "Well then come along." 
 
 The three went down the lane and into the woods. 
 When they came back to the house through the long 
 shadows of the late afternoon, they were friends. 
 Even at a distance, Mrs. Morley, standing in the 
 kitchen doorway, could see that. It was in the way 
 Molly swung on the boarder's hand, in the way 
 Jimmy grinned up into the boarder's face, in the way 
 the boarder's lips were smiling below the disfiguring 
 brown glasses. 
 
 "Well for land's sake!" Mrs. Morley 's astonish- 
 ment brought Susan to her side. 
 
 "Muwer," Molly called joyfully, "ve boarder 
 knows about Indians. He tells us an' whistles 
 an' sling sots an' 'doodle bug, doodle bug' an' every- 
 fing- 
 
 "You children'd ought to be ashamed of your- 
 selves." Mrs. Morley tried to be severe but was only 
 helplessly reproachful. 
 
 "Mr. Brown, if I'd had any idea they were pester- 
 ing you 
 
 "They weren't," the boarder was emphatic about 
 it. For a nervous wreck, as Susan remarked to Jean 
 Mackaye when she strolled down later in the evening, 
 he had a very boyish way with him. 
 
 Jean was curious about the boarder. Everybody 
 in the neighbourhood was curious about the boarder. 
 
244 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 The story of his nerves and his distaste for society and 
 his thirty -two dollars a week had travelled to the re- 
 motest end of Green Ridge, and beyond. Taylors- 
 ville hummed with him. Even in Wilkesbury, ten 
 miles away, conversation began and ended with him. 
 The Ridge itself was not only curious about him but 
 proud of him. A man as rich and nervous as Mrs. 
 Morley's boarder conferred distinction upon the 
 neighbourhood . 
 
 Mrs. Morley herself became a storm centre of 
 gossip. Not that the good woman knowingly 
 gossiped. She did not, but wherever she went, 
 gossip swirled round about her. At the Ladies' Aid 
 meetings, at the sewing circle, in the church vestibule, 
 she was the centre of an interested and slightly 
 anxious group. Neighbours ran in to visit with 
 her, early and late. Invitations showered upon 
 her. 
 
 Being but human, she sunned herself in this sudden 
 popularity and, being the kindest of women, she 
 tried to do what was expected of her and supply new 
 data about her boarder from day to day. 
 
 Nothing that she told was ill-natured; ill nature 
 was not in Mrs. Morley. But Green Ridge knew 
 when Mr. Brown went to bed and when he got up, 
 how he liked his coffee, what he thought about city 
 shortcake, how many cans of water he used for his 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 245 
 
 morning bath, and how high he opened his bedroom 
 window at night. The colour of his pyjamas was no 
 secret from the Ladies' Aid Society, and the fact that 
 the pyjamas were of silk, shook the Ridge from Cedar 
 Brook to Cooper's Landing. 
 
 The number of Mrs. Morley's visitors swelled and 
 swelled. She had always been a hospitable soul and 
 neighbours had dropped in upon her whenever they 
 felt so inclined, sure of a welcome; but now they came 
 on every possible pretext and without any pretext. 
 Some of them, like Mrs. Pettingill, were perfectly 
 frank about the motive for frequent visits. 
 
 "It's a pity if I can't run into Lucilla Morley's for a 
 bit of gossip about her boarder without taking her a 
 batch of fresh-raised rolls, or borrowing her Indian- 
 pudding recipe, or pretending I've come to ask her 
 what she'd do if her chickens had pip," Mrs. Pettin- 
 gill said in high disgust with Ridge diplomacy. "I 
 go down and say: 'Well Lucilla, what's your Rocke- 
 feller sensitive plant been doing lately?' And we 
 have a good comfortable talk about him and then I 
 come away. He don't seem to do much but fool 
 around with those two young ones, though. Lucilla 
 says Jim and Molly are crazy about him, and he 
 wants them around all the time. Molly may be his 
 idea of a nerve quieter, but she isn't mine. Jim, now, 
 he's an understanding little chap. He can keep quiet 
 
246 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 when you want him to, but Molly she's about as 
 restful as a terrier pup, and as cute, too." 
 
 Mr. Brown was riot so interested in all the neigh- 
 bours as all the neighbours were in him; but he was al- 
 ways willing to listen to Jimmy's and Molly's graphic 
 descriptions of Ridge characters, Ridge happenings, 
 and Ridge ways; and, from the first, he showed a 
 curiosity about certain persons. 
 
 "No city summer folk around here, I suppose?" 
 he said to Jimmy, on the afternoon of their first meet- 
 ing. 
 
 "Nope." Jim was notching a willow whistle of a 
 very superior kind to which the boarder had intro- 
 duced him and was consequently absent-minded, but 
 when the tension relaxed he remembered the Bonners 
 and mentioned them. 
 
 "Bonners? Who are they?" Mr. Brown was 
 lazily indifferent but seemed to feel the necessity of 
 making conversation. 
 
 "Oh they're nuts." Jim liked the Bonners, but 
 youth is blithely irreverent. 
 
 "Nuts?" 
 
 "Yep sort of loony. Not crazy you know, but 
 writin' all the time and don't know anything's hap- 
 pened since year before last." 
 
 "Oh, I see literary folk. Any young people in 
 the family?" 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 247 
 
 "Nope. They're so absent-minded they forgot to 
 have any." 
 
 The boarder laughed. "And they're the only city 
 people around here? No other boarders like me? " 
 
 Jim tried the whistle with triumphant results. 
 
 "Nope. Ain't she a screecher though?" 
 
 Mr. Brown's nerves might, presumably, have pro- 
 tested against the shrill clamour, but he only ad- 
 mitted that she was a screecher. There was a 
 puzzled look in the eyes from which he had removed 
 the disfiguring spectacles. 
 
 "I wonder," he said, "if there is another Green 
 Ridge in Connecticut." 
 
 Jimmy did not know or care. He was practising 
 what he fondly believed to be "Tipperary" and ab- 
 sorbed in the effort. 
 
 Molly, who having finished burying a dead beetle 
 with appropriate ceremony was for the moment un- 
 occupied, relieved Mr. Brown of the conversational 
 burden. 
 
 " An' vere was a mouse in Mrs. Bonner's room," she 
 said, going back to the last word that had caught her 
 attention. If they were going to talk about the 
 Bonners why not tell dramatic things about them? 
 Molly's taste m to the dramatic. 
 
 "An' Jean was 'fraid of ve mouse, and Mrs. Bon- 
 ner went up on ve chair, an' I ran got Teddy an' '* 
 
248 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "Teddy? Teddy who?" 
 
 Mr. Brown sat up suddenly lively interest in 
 every line of his face. 
 
 Molly eyed him with disapproval. Her climax if 
 not spoiled, was marred; but she did her best in spite 
 of the interruption. 
 
 "An 5 ve mouse ran under ve table an' Teddy came 
 an' he took the poker, an' Jean said, * Oh, don't ! ' an' 
 Mrs. Bonner said, 'Oh, don't!' an' Teddy said, 'Well, 
 what d'you want me to do?' an' Jean said, 'It'd make 
 me sick,' an' Mrs. Bonner said, 'You'll have to 
 catch it'; an' ven Teddy laughed an' laughed, an' 
 he took ve table cover an' he ran round an' round, an' 
 ve mouse ran round an' round, an' Teddy froo ve 
 table cover over it, an' ven he picked it up, an' it 
 wiggled Jean said, 'Oh ve poor fing,' an' Mrs. Bonner 
 said, ' Put it out doors ' ; but Teddy took it out to ve 
 woods'ed an' drownded it only he said I mustn't 
 tell." 
 
 She came to a full stop and Mr. Brown repeated 
 his question. 
 
 "Who's Teddy?" he asked. This time Molly 
 was willing to answer. 
 
 "He's just Teddy," she explained helpfully. 
 
 The man turned to Jim who met the appeal by 
 putting the screecher carefully in his inside pocket 
 and settling down to the lesser joy of conversation. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 249 
 
 She means Mr. Burton. He's the Bonners' hired 
 
 man." 
 
 A wave of emotion passed over Mr. Brown's face. 
 He opened his mouth but no words came; so he closed 
 it again and, taking out his handkerchief, wiped his 
 brow carefully, then put on his goggles. 
 
 "Light hurt you?" Jimmy asked sympathetically. 
 
 "A little," admitted the Boarder. "This Burton 
 is hired man for the the nuts?" 
 
 "Yep. And say, he's the greatest you ever saw." 
 Jimmy was launched upon a favourite topic. "He's 
 got the finest garden, and he could make a car skip 
 rope if he wanted to, and he can mend anything, 
 and Peter Pease says he's the best natural hand with 
 cattle he ever knew. Never drove a yoke in his 
 life till he came here and now he can make those con- 
 trary big red ones of Mr. Pettingill's pull the whole 
 of Cedar Hill if he wanted to. And shoot! Say, 
 he can hit anything! He's got a rifle club down at 
 the old mill but I ain't old enough yet. He's goin' 
 to put me in a scrub ball team though left field. 
 It's a pity you wasn't here for the Fourth. Gee! 
 but we walloped the Wilkesbury team. Teddy he'd 
 been coachin' and he pitched for us. Some pitcher! 
 I tell you and he was tired at that, because he'd 
 been helpin' fix up Grange Hall for the meetin' and 
 doin' most of it himself made the best speech too. 
 
250 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 He said we was a punk bunch of Americans com- 
 pared to Washington and those guys and that we'd 
 better get up and hump ourselves, and that a good 
 way to start 'd be keepin' out the saloon that's tryin' 
 to come in." 
 
 "Good Lord!" exclaimed the listening Mr. Brown, 
 feebly. 
 
 "He cooked that saloon man's goose all right, all 
 right!" exulted Jimmy. "They got up a committee 
 and all the men was on it except some that wasn't 
 sober enough. Fourth of July and everything you 
 know. 
 
 "He's got 'em goin' about good roads, too. Mr. 
 Anderson he started it, but Teddy's whoopin' it up. 
 He's the greatest one at whoopin' things up." 
 
 A queer smile appeared below Mr. Brown's goggles 
 and spread. 
 
 "Yes, I can believe it. I can quite believe it. 
 As a whooper up, I shouldn't wonder if he's in the 
 front rank." 
 
 "Hungry!" announced Molly. Jim took a look 
 at the sky and jumped to his feet. 
 
 "Great Scott! it's past supper time!" 
 
 He grabbed Molly's hand and set off hastily to- 
 ward home, the Boarder following at a more lei- 
 surely pace and evidently deep in thought, but at 
 the end of the lane, Mr. Brown shook off his thought- 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 251 
 
 ful mood, overtook the two who were scampering 
 ahead of him and met Mrs. Morley and Susan with 
 imperturbable calm. 
 
 Not until the next afternoon did he again refer to 
 the Bonners' hired man. Then he strolled into the 
 kitchen where Mrs. Morley was puttering about 
 and dropped into the big rocking chair by the win- 
 dow. 
 
 "Smells so good, I couldn't keep away," he said 
 sniffing enjoyably. 
 
 " Ginger bread soft ginger bread. You sit right 
 there a few minutes and I'll give you some of it 
 hot with a glass of real rich milk. Mr. Morley 
 used to think there wasn't anything like hot ginger 
 bread and milk with the cream stirred in." 
 
 "Mr. Morley was a man of judgment." The man 
 by the window spoke in his usual cheerful way, and 
 rocked contentedly as he waited for his ginger bread 
 but if so much of his face had not been hidden even 
 Mrs. Morley might have noticed a shade of anxiety 
 in his expression. 
 
 "Jim tells me you've got some city neighbours," 
 he said. 
 
 Mrs. Morley opened the oven door, looked in, 
 shook her head and closed the door again. 
 
 "Not quite done. What were you saying? Oh 
 yes, the Bonners ! They're as nice people as you ever 
 
252 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 saw, but sort of queer and flighty you know. They 
 do say writing mostly always takes people that way. 
 It's lucky they've got somebody to take good care of 
 them." 
 
 The Boarder's chair stopped swaying. 
 
 "Yes; they're lucky, if they have somebody to 
 do that. Who does it?" 
 
 Mrs. Morley turned the stove damper and looked 
 at the clock. 
 
 "I'm afraid that ginger bread won't be as light 
 as usual. It's baking too slow." 
 
 "You were saying there was someone to look after 
 your literary neighbours," prompted Mr. Brown 
 gently. 
 
 "Oh, yes. Well they've got the best help I ever 
 saw I don't care where the next comes from. You 
 hear such a lot about the servant trouble nowadays 
 that you'd think there wasn't a decent one on earth, 
 but look at the Bonners! They've got a man that 
 can't be beat." 
 
 "Yes, Jim spoke of him." 
 
 "He's as fine a young fellow as ever stepped 
 and the way he works to keep things going down 
 there! Well, you wouldn't believe it. The Bonners 
 haven't got any money this summer, but bless you 
 they don't need any not with Edward and Jean 
 there." 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 253 
 
 The rocking chair creaked violently once and 
 steadied itself. 
 
 "Ah, yes; Jean?" 
 
 It was half exclamation, half question. Mrs. 
 Morley answered the question. 
 
 "Jean Mackaye. She's a perfect wonder. The 
 greatest worker and smart and sensible and pretty ! 
 My land, that girl's so pretty it's no wonder every 
 manbody from the minister down to Jim's crazy 
 about her." 
 
 "A relative of the Bonners?" 
 
 I "No; she's their cook." 
 The man in the rocking chair strangled a violent 
 exclamation; but Mrs. Morley did not notice it, for a 
 smell of burning had suddenly filled the air and she 
 hurried toward the stove, lamenting. 
 
 "That oven's bewitched to-day. First it won't 
 bake, and then it burns, and there's no knowing what 
 it'll do. I'll have to have the man over from Bor- 
 Ion's. Might have been worse though just scorched 
 a mite along one edge. I'll cut yours off the other 
 side." 
 
 The Boarder sat quietly looking out of the window 
 while she filled a glass with milk and cream, cut some 
 squares of ginger bread, and set the plate and glass 
 on the spotless kitchen table. His lips were closed 
 in a thin straight line and the knuckles of the hands 
 
254 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 that grasped the chair arms showed white, but th( 
 big dark goggles hid whatever was in his eyes. 
 
 "Maybe you'd rather take it out on the porch,' 
 Mrs. Morley suggested. 
 
 "No; I like a kitchen." He spoke pleasantly 
 smoothly, but the usual genial ring was not in his 
 voice. He ate the ginger bread, very deliberately 
 drank the milk. 
 
 "Wonderful ginger bread. You certainly are a 
 cook." 
 
 He winced a little on the last word, but smiled 
 at his flattered landlady and talked for a few mo- 
 ments before going to his room. 
 
 "I sort of feel as though that hot ginger bread 
 wasn't the thing for Mr. Brown's stomach," Mrs. 
 Morley confided to Susan that night when they were 
 locking up. "He didn't seem just like himself at 
 supper." 
 
 By the next morning, however, any ill effect of the 
 ginger bread seemed to have worn off. The Boarder 
 was himself again and he showed only an amiable 
 interest in the literary couple and their extraordinary 
 "help." 
 
 The Bonners' help, like everyone else on the 
 Ridge, took an interest in Mr. Brown. 
 
 "Funny about him," Jean explained to Edward. 
 "He's the original Boojum just 'silently vanishes 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 255 
 
 away r * whenever anybody goes near, and yet Mrs. 
 Morley and Susan say he's the nicest friendliest soul 
 imaginable and Jim and Molly are wild about him." 
 
 "Never laid eyes on the chap myself." Edward 
 was training tomato vines and not free to give his 
 entire attention to gossip but he lent a willing ear. 
 "But from what Jimmy tells me, the old gentle- 
 man's a good sort even if his nerves are jumpy." 
 
 "Yes, they're all devoted to him up there. Susan 
 says he's jolly as a boy and Mrs. Morley says he's 
 the heartiest eater she's ever boarded. Doesn't 
 sound like jumpy nerves, does it?" 
 
 She stood and watched the tomato pruning for a 
 while in silence. 
 
 "Do you know," she said finally, "I think there's 
 something awfully queer about that man seeming 
 so well, but being afraid to meet anybody, and wear- 
 ing goggles, and pulling his hat brim down and his 
 coat collar up whenever he goes out and " 
 
 Teddy turned from his work to grin at her. 
 
 "Well, Miss Sherlock?" 
 
 She blushed guiltily, but stood to her guns. 
 
 "I don't care. It is funny; and Jim says he 
 always takes off his goggles as soon as they get away 
 from the house and the road and doesn't seem to 
 need them at all." 
 
 " He's probably Jack the Ripper." Having thrown 
 
256 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 out this helpful suggestion, Edward went back to his 
 tomatoes. 
 
 Men, Jean reflected, had no imaginations. They 
 always refused to take a thing seriously until after it 
 had happened and this particular man seldom took 
 it seriously even then. Still she had an idea that 
 he could be serious. If he cared enormously about 
 anything he'd probably be as obstinate and as des- 
 perately in earnest as any one. He didn't have that 
 chin of his for nothing, even if his eyes did smile most 
 of the time. 
 
 All the same there was something queer about Mrs. 
 Morley's boarder and Edward had not shown proper 
 respect for her opinion; so she let him severely alone 
 for a day or two, and he, poor owlish mole that he 
 was, wondered helplessly what he had done to be, as 
 he classically put it, "in Dutch with the Queen.'* 
 
 Whatever the modern young man may feel, 
 when fathoms deep in love, it does not run to Attic 
 prose. 
 
 Not only at the Bonners, but all up and down the 
 Ridge, Mr. Brown, unknowingly, brought about a 
 pronounced sex cleavage. The women having found 
 out all that his landlady knew about him, resented 
 the blank wall that rose before their curiosity. Not 
 able to secure facts they tried to satisfy themselves 
 with fancy and the gossip that had at first been 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 257 
 
 spirited but kindly rapidly veered round to dark 
 suspicion. 
 
 "Nerves nothing!" Mrs. Pettingill said flatly. 
 "He eats like a horse and he's fat and he tramps all 
 over the woods with the children and he's cheerful and 
 good natured and he likes to visit with Mrs. Morley 
 and Susan and Molly and Jim when there aren't any 
 strangers around. Far as I can see, all his nerves run 
 to is wearing outrageous big dark glasses and turning 
 up his coat collar and running away from company. 
 If you ask me, I'd say that looks more like guilt than 
 like nerves. You mark my words. That man's done 
 something" 
 
 The women all marked her words and believed 
 them. Lucilla Morley's boarder had done something. 
 They agreed upon that but opinions varied as to what 
 he had done. Even Mrs. Pettingill, sturdy soul that 
 she was, did not go so far as murder. Robbery, 
 arson, kidnapping, and other popular forms of crime 
 were brought up and discussed, but the consensus of 
 opinion leaned toward something less crude, some- 
 thing high class "the sort of thing a gentleman 
 might do, if he was pushed too far," as Mrs. Rollins 
 put it. "Of course I've never seen him close to," 
 she added, "but he's shaped a good deal like a bank 
 president." 
 
 At first the men rallied to the defence of one who 
 
258 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 was a fellow man, albeit a stranger. There's a sex 
 solidarity among men that women lack. Masculine 
 Green Ridge laughed at feminine Green Ridge anc 
 talked about gossip and mare's nests and the 
 righteousness and good sense of minding one's own 
 business; but no one in the neighbourhood had 
 any really interesting business of his own to mind, and 
 the average man loves gossip as well as the average 
 woman does, though he seldom has the initiative to 
 start it and usually saves his face by allowing his wife 
 to collect it for him. 
 
 So the men listened even while they laughed, and 
 gradually began to listen without laughing. 
 
 Things did look suspicious, they admitted to each 
 other. The stranger acted mighty queer. It wasn't 
 natural to pay thirty-two dollars for board you could 
 get at eight not if you came by your money honestly 
 and weren't afraid to have other boarders in the house 
 watching you. He must be hiding for some reason or 
 other. You couldn't figure it out any other way, and 
 the Ridge was a first-rate place for hiding away six 
 miles off the railroad and not even a main highway 
 running through. A fellow'd have been safer right 
 there than in Canada, if only he'd had the sense not 
 to go disguising himself and dodging around and set- 
 ting folks to wondering. 
 
 At the end of two weeks any Green Ridge jury 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 259 
 
 would have sentenced the mysterious Mr. Brown to 
 at least ten years without even listening to the 
 prosecuting attorney. 
 
 And in the meantime, Mr. Brown, unconscious of 
 the futility of his disguise and seclusion went on eat- 
 ing more than was good for him and wandering about 
 the woods and fields with Jim and Molly, and rocking 
 lazily in the big chair by the kitchen window, or in its 
 twin on the side porch, and visiting sociably with Mrs. 
 Morley and Susan. 
 
 Once in a while he went for a walk alone. One 
 of these solitary walks led him past a field where 
 Teddy Burton was hauling stone for wall mending 
 and he stopped in the shade, at half a field's distance 
 from the scene of action, to watch the work. He 
 knew that the man who was handling Farmer Pettin- 
 gill's "contrary red steers" and a stone drag and a 
 fine assortment of Connecticut granite must be Teddy 
 Burton, because Jim had mentioned, at the dinner 
 table, that Teddy was working down in the lot by 
 the brook; and he evidently approved of the way 
 the Bonners' hired man was doing his job, for he 
 smiled and swore softly over each point scored 
 against the steers and grunted sympathetically every 
 time Teddy heaved a heavy stone into place in the 
 wall. 
 
 "Well the damned young scoundrel!" he said, as he 
 
260 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 turned at last toward home. "The damned young 
 scoundrel!" The words were not highly flattering 
 but the tone in which they were uttered and the grin 
 that accompanied them smacked loudly of approval. 
 j Whatever his criminal record, he seemed to be a man 
 who appreciated honest work and youthful en- 
 thusiasm. 
 
 After that he made rather a point of watching 
 Teddy work when opportunity offered. He even 
 overcame his dislike for the public road sufficiently 
 to walk down past the Bonners' house now and then 
 and turn keen, observing eyes upon the garden and 
 lawn and outbuildings. 
 
 " Hinge off the barn door. Shiftless ! Shiftless ! " 
 he commented one day; but, when, the next afternoon 
 he strolled that way again and saw a new hinge in 
 place, he chuckled, rammed his hands deeper into his 
 pockets, and swore once more cheerfully, proudly. 
 Mr. Brown was a profane man but what can one 
 expect from the criminal classes? 
 
 There was considerable talk of the Bonners' handy 
 man in Mrs. Morley's family circle during those days. 
 In one way or another the conversation usually 
 drifted around to him and the boarder showed a 
 lively interest in the subject. 
 
 "Like to hear of a young man who takes hold like 
 that," he would say beamingly, and Mrs. Morley and 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 261 
 
 Susan would bear down more heavily on the loud 
 pedal. 
 
 "For you can't tell," Mrs. Morley said to Susan, 
 "Mr. Brown's a rich man, and they take notions, and 
 Edward'll be out of a job when the Bonners go back 
 to town. It won't do any harm to praise him up, 
 even if nothing comes of it." 
 
 They praised up Jean too, but feminine virtues 
 appeared to leave Mr. Brown cold, even irritated 
 him. 
 
 "A very remarkable young woman, I've no doubt." 
 
 That was the highest pitch of enthusiasm to which 
 their tales of Jean could move him, and ice tinkled in 
 his voice. 
 
 "Seems as if he had a scunner against women." 
 Mrs. Morley was grieved over the flaw in an other- 
 wise admirable boarder, and eager to find excuse for 
 it. She was always eager to find excuses for human 
 failings. "Like as not it's a woman that upset his 
 
 nerves." 
 
 Upon second thought she did not quite like the 
 sound of that and hastened to amend it. "His wife 
 you know. Maybe she's left him. They're always 
 doing it in cities." 
 
 " You don't have to leave a man to upset his nerves. 
 Lots of women do it by staying right at home." 
 **Hisan spoke with authority. A general house 
 
262 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 worker has opportunity to study the ways of wives 
 and husbands. "But I don't believe Mr. Brown's 
 set against women," she went on. "He's nice as can 
 be to you and me and he's interested about the other 
 women folks in the neighbourhood. Don't you re- 
 member how he laughed when you told him about 
 Mrs. Meyers having every disease she reads about in 
 the papers, and about Mrs. Pettingill forgetting to 
 take her crimps out of the curlers and going to church 
 that way? It's just Jean he don't like to hear about. 
 Maybe he thinks working-out girls aren't worth 
 noticing." 
 
 Mrs. Morley rushed to her boarder's defence. 
 
 "Now, Susan, he isn't a bit that kind. You know 
 he isn't. It's just that he hasn't seen Jean, and 
 thinks she's only a pretty flighty young thing. If he 
 could meet her once, he'd be interested fast enough, 
 but she won't come near since he's here. She says 
 dodging visitors won't help frazzled nerves." 
 
 It was not altogether consideration for Mr. 
 Brown's nerves that kept Jean away. She was busy 
 at home. 
 
 Running a house and family on a system of rigid 
 economy was, she found, a very different thing from 
 doing it on a liberal allowance. One had to make up 
 in time and thought and effort what one saved in 
 money. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 263 
 
 There was a fascination about it, for a while. 
 When one was young and strong, and the scrimping 
 and working were only an interlude between a joyous 
 past and a glorious future, one could make a game of 
 the thing. One summer of hard work and economy 
 was rather a lark, but she often wondered about the 
 women who summered and wintered so, all through 
 their lives. 
 
 How could they endure it? How could they pos- 
 sibly endure it? There must be thousands of them, 
 hundreds of thousands. Most of the women on the 
 Ridge were living that way. How could they be 
 satisfied and cheerful as most of them seemed to be? 
 
 She did not want to be idle again not for long at a 
 time. She would work and be useful, but she wanted 
 to choose her work and to be useful in an interesting 
 and dramatic way, against a satisfactory background. 
 
 After all, money was frightfully important. Life 
 was grubby without it; and yet those cheerful, happy, 
 hard-working, home-bound women? What was the 
 secret of their content? 
 
 She was thinking about them one afternoon as she 
 skimmed milk for churning. Milk always made her 
 think about them, because she hated it and yet was 
 everlastingly fussing with it. Never in her wildest 
 imaginings had she glimpsed the upheaval that one 
 cow could cause in the routine of a well ordered 
 
264 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 household. There were moments when it seemed 
 incredible, impossible that she had ever longed to 
 take a cow into the family, but she had. She had 
 been crazy for a cow had prodded Edward into 
 getting Gladys but how could she have known that 
 that mild-eyed, ruminating Jersey would be reck- 
 lessly prodigal in her contribution to the family 
 support? 
 
 Probably the creature had a generous impulsive 
 nature and wanted to help in the family's financial 
 crisis but she was overdoing the thing. No family 
 could use as much milk as Gladys gave and yet one 
 couldn't with a clear conscience waste any of it. 
 
 When the cook came downstairs in the morning, a 
 foaming pail of milk was on the kitchen table to greet 
 her. All day long she was skimming and cooking 
 custards and trying recipes that called for sour milk, 
 and cleaning milk pans and making Dutch cheese 
 and puttering over butter and feeding clabber to the 
 chickens and, in the evening Teddy came in with 
 more milk. There was no sense in a cow's giving 
 milk twice a day, absolutely no sense in it. 
 
 "And if it isn't milk it's something else," she said, 
 viciously slapping a ladelful of sour cream into the 
 churn. "How do they stand it for ever and ever? 
 How can they?" 
 
 "Ready for me?" 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 265 
 
 Jean looked up at the handy man, standing in the 
 doorway between pantry and kitchen. He was 
 smiling at her and, as she met the smile, a curious 
 thing happened. From deep down in the soul of her 
 welled up a feeling that drove doubt and question 
 from her fumbling thoughts that brought swift, sure 
 understanding of the secret at the heart of content. 
 It passed as swiftly as it came but it left a flush on her 
 face and a glow in her heart. 
 
 "Almost ready," she answered, bending over her 
 work and trying to steady her voice. What had 
 happened? Nothing, she told herself; nothing at all. 
 She was tired and her nerves were on edge and Teddy 
 had startled her. 
 
 She called him Teddy now. Everybody called him 
 Teddy. He wasn't at all an Edwardish person. 
 
 He came over and stood beside her, as she closed 
 the lid of the churn, but what had that to do with the 
 queer tightening of her throat? He almost always 
 churned for her, and there was no reason in the world 
 why she should fumble nervously with the churn top 
 instead of clapping it down briskly and uncon- 
 cernedly. 
 
 " Something wrong? " 
 
 He leaned forward, shoulder touching her shoulder, 
 face close to her face. His big, capable hands 
 touched hers, as he took the churn top from her, and 
 
266 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 again the quivering flash of illumination ran through 
 her nerves. 
 
 She drew back hastily, gathered up some empty 
 milk pans and carried them to the kitchen, but, as she 
 washed them, her thrilling pulses mocked at her de- 
 fiant brain. 
 
 From the pantry came the sound of the churn 
 dasher splashing in time to a whistled tune. She 
 could not see the man who was handling it, but she 
 knew exactly how he looked as he stood working the 
 dasher up and down, with a checked gingham apron 
 tied around him; his collar off, his shirtsleeves rolled 
 up. Not a heroic figure. 
 
 Splashing and whistling were syncopated now, 
 broken in upon by pauses and thumpings. 
 
 In a little while he would call her. She knew what 
 he would say. Funny how well she knew his ways. 
 
 Working together brought people close closer and 
 closer if they could come close at all. Playing to- 
 gether wouldn't do it, but working and planning and 
 
 accomplishing together Those other women! 
 
 Her thoughts swung back to them. Perhaps some 
 one had helped them churn. Perhaps they could 
 stand life's everlasting churning because 
 
 "Butter's come!" Teddy called proudly. He 
 never got over feeling that the butter's coming was a 
 tribute to his superior masculine method of splashing. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 267 
 
 Churning made him prodigiously pleased with him- 
 self and violently hungry. When he had turned 
 the churn over to Jean he always sat on the end of the 
 pantry table, where he could reach the cookie jar, 
 talking lightly, consuming innumerable spice cookies, 
 and watching the butter-making until the last pat 
 was stamped with an imposing "B" and set in the 
 refrigerator. 
 
 On this day, conversation flagged. Jean was irre- 
 sponsive, absorbed in her task, but still he lingered. 
 
 The pantry was a pleasant place big, cool, white- 
 shelved, white-cupboarded, immaculate. He liked 
 being there. He liked spice cookies too. That was 
 why there was always a supply of them in the jar be- 
 hind the cupboard door, though the cook would have 
 resented the suggestion that they were there because 
 he liked them. 
 
 Most of all, he liked watching the butter-maker. 
 Small wonder, he told himself, that dairy maids had 
 figured largely in poetry and fiction. There was 
 something about a pretty girl making butter that 
 
 ; well, there certainly was something. 
 
 Jean's blue chambray sleeves were pushed up 
 above her elbows. Her collar was rolled widely 
 away from her throat. The elbows and the throat 
 were excuse enough for a young man's lingering in 
 the pantry, even without the spice cookies; and 
 
268 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 there was more, much more. For instance, there 
 was the chin above the throat a rounded chin that 
 was browner than the throat; and, just where the 
 brown melted into the white, there was a place- 
 Teddy reached hastily for another cookie. Occupa- 
 tion is an aid to resisting temptation; but even 
 though he munched vigorously, it seemed wiser to 
 stop looking at that place just under her chin, on the 
 right hand side. 
 
 So he transferred his gaze to the back of her head, 
 but gained no repose of spirit by the change. Her 
 hair was lovely, thick and soft, and gathered up into 
 a most engaging knot; but he could stand the knot 
 and the waving locks above her ears. It was a soft, 
 moist little curl at the nape of her neck that was too 
 much for him. 
 
 A most tantalizing, bewitching, provocative little 
 curl and near, invitingly near. 
 
 He leaned swiftly forward and kissed it. 
 
 A butter bowl broke into pieces on the pantry 
 floor. A girl whirled quickly round, with anger 
 flaming in her face. The sinner braced himself for 
 the wrath to come. 
 
 And then, to her own amazement as to his, Jean 
 laughed laughed helplessly, half hysterically, with 
 tears of rage in her eyes and with a tempest in her 
 heart. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 269 
 
 "You 1-1-ook s-so id-didiotic in that ap-p-pron!" 
 she gasped, wiping her eyes. 
 
 It was no way to meet an insult. She realized 
 that perfectly. It reflected neither what she ought 
 to have felt nor much of what she really felt, but it 
 cleared the air of sentiment, as no anger or scorn 
 could have cleared it. 
 
 What girl with a sense of humour could take 
 seriously the digressions of a large young man in a 
 checked gingham apron? What large young man 
 in a checked gingham apron could follow up a kiss 
 as a kiss should be followed up according to the 
 rules of the game? 
 
 "I'd forgotten it." Teddy took off the apron, 
 folded it carefully, laid it on the shelf where it be- 
 longed. 
 
 "Sure I don't know whether it's spoiled my life 
 or saved it," he said with a rueful grin; but inwardly 
 he cursed that apron and the mill that wove it and 
 the machine that spun it and the cotton plant that 
 bore it. 
 
 A young woman, no longer amused but preter- 
 naturally calm, turned her back upon him and 
 went on with her interrupted butter-making. 
 
 "You might pick up those pieces of crockery and 
 throw them away," she said briskly. 
 
 He picked them up, hesitated a moment, and 
 
270 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 -went toward the kitchen. Jean looked back at him 
 Across her shoulder. 
 
 "And please remember," her voice was as quiet as 
 it -was cold, "that another such occurrence would 
 make it impossible for me to stay with Mrs. Bonner." 
 
 "I'm sorry," he began. "No, I'll be hanged if I 
 
 am." 
 
 The outside door slammed behind him. 
 
 Jean finished her butter, put it away, rolled down 
 her sleeves, took a wide-brimmed straw hat from 
 its hook behind the kitchen door, and went away 
 down the path to the pasture lots. She wanted to 
 think, and she could always think better in the open. 
 She wanted to be alone, and the rough hill pastures 
 running down to Green River were lonely. Per- 
 haps she wanted to feel too, and the hill pastures 
 were lovesome as well as lonely. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 GREEN RIDGE folk always spoke of the fields and 
 woods running from the Bonner farm down to Green 
 River as the Back Lots a prosaic name for an en- 
 chanted place, but only the children knew that the 
 Back Lots were enchanted. 
 
 Just at first the land sloped gently. Sumach and 
 juniper rose in clumps, above a sea of sweet fern 
 and bayberry and low huckleberry bushes. Small 
 cedars, erect and trim, rebuked the straggling untidy 
 bushes. Groups of white birch wavered delicately 
 against the sky line. Here and there a larger tree, 
 spared by the wood choppers, flung a wide spreading 
 shade. 
 
 There were well-worn, narrow trails through the 
 thick crowding bush growth paths made by lei- 
 surely roaming cattle, and, occasionally, an old 
 wood road offered a broader trail. 
 
 Nearer the river, the ground pitched steeply 
 downward and the woods began second-growth 
 woods but thick and shadowy and cool and full of 
 glamour, with dusky paths wandering through a 
 
 271 
 
272 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 green, sun-sifted gloaming and coming out now and 
 then into open glades, flower-strewn and fern- 
 fringed. 
 
 Jean had never been able to decide which she liked 
 the better, fields or woods, but the day was warm and 
 she was tired, and the woods meant climbing a very 
 steep hill on her homeward way; so she threw herself 
 down among the sweet fern, where a sycamore tree 
 offered shade and a group of junipers shut her away 
 from the trail. The bruised fern beneath her poured 
 out fragrance, aromatic, delicious. Little warm, 
 vagrant, sweet-scented breezes drifted over her. A 
 drowzy hum and buzz of insect life was in the air, 
 and up through the white-blotched boughs of the 
 old sycamore was infinite blueness, cloud-flecked. 
 
 The girl nestled more comfortably into her sweet 
 fern nest and gave herself up to the spell of the place 
 and the summer day. 
 
 She had come away from the house to think; but 
 serious thinking would have been easier in her own 
 room. The out-of-doors world was distracting and 
 things that, within four walls, had seemed enor- 
 mously important, refused to loom horrific down in 
 the Back Lots. 
 
 A young man had kissed a girl. Well, what of it? 
 The Back Lots made nothing of it, nothing at all. 
 
 "A most natural and delightful proceeding," 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 273 
 
 crooned the summer world, and, though Jean clutched 
 at her standards of propriety, her dignity, her pride, 
 they all wilted in her grasp. Yes; the Back Lots 
 were enchanted. 
 
 She tried to fix her mind upon the offence and 
 work up a glow of indignation, but a devil's darning 
 needle alighted on a fern frond that swayed just 
 above her head and prevented her giving her atten- 
 tion to minor matters. Then a rabbit hopped out 
 from a thicket and, before it had disappeared down 
 the trail, a meadow lark left its nest for the tip-top 
 twig of an alder bush and swung there for a moment 
 or two. 
 
 When the bird had taken flight, Jean came back to 
 the matter of being kissed by a young man in a 
 checked apron. She smiled drowsily. He really 
 had looked ridiculous in that apron; no, not exactly 
 ridiculous. Funny, but not ridiculous. She couldn't 
 quite imagine him looking ridiculous. 
 
 She tried to realize that he had spoiled things 
 spoiled the comradeship, the working together and 
 planning together, the taking care of the Bonners 
 together but things absolutely refused to seem 
 spoiled. The Back Lots would not have it. 
 
 Of course she would be very severe. He must 
 be made to feel the enormity of his offence. 
 
 "Enormity? Offence? " smiled the Back Lots. 
 
274 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "Certainly," the girl insisted. "Enormity! Of- 
 fence ! " but she tried in vain to feel offended. Such 
 a swift, fugitive kiss! One could not take it seri- 
 ously; but odd little shivering thrills went through 
 her, at the memory of it. She had never felt that 
 way before when she had been kissed by a man. 
 Oh yes, she had been kissed before. Not that she 
 had made a habit of it; but few girls reach the age 
 of twenty-two without having been kissed by a 
 young man or two on one provocation or another. 
 She did not feel ashamed of those past kisses. There 
 had been very few of them, and they had not meant 
 anything; but this last kiss ; perhaps the hot- 
 ness of her cheeks and the tingling of her blood meant 
 that she was ashamed of it. But why be ashamed? 
 He had not even touched her, save for that soft 
 touch against her hair. If he had put his arms around 
 her and kissed her on the lips 
 
 She began the supposition calmly enough but 
 
 abandoned it in panic. If he had Every pulse 
 
 in her body began a sudden throbbing. Her throat 
 tightened chokingly. If he had if he had 
 
 She was faint with the thought of it, dizzy, drown- 
 ing in the sweetness of the thing that had not been; 
 and, lying so with every nerve aquiver, she was 
 honest with herself for the first time in many a day. 
 
 Love had come to her and had laughed at her 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 275 
 
 denials. Ever since that far-off dusk when she 
 had sat by the kitchen window with Molly in her* 
 arms and the .syringa scents drifting past her, and 
 Teddy Burton had come in through the low, open- 
 door Love had been waiting, close beside her, 
 patient, insistent, not to be driven away by any 
 mood of hers. There had been times when she had 
 known, but she had never admitted to herself that 
 she knew. 
 
 Even now, she was up in arms against the intruder. 
 If she was in love she would get over it; and it 
 couldn't be the biggest kind of love, the kind she had 
 dreamed of, the kind every girl dreams of. 
 
 In love that way with Teddy Burton? Absurd, 
 preposterous ! 
 
 But even his name as she said it to herself made 
 waves of feeling run up to the brain that was denying 
 love, and play havoc there. She could not remember 
 how absurd and preposterous the idea of loving 
 Teddy was. She could only remember the light in his 
 gray eyes whenever she came upon him unawares; 
 the smile, out of all his jolly smiles, that was espe- 
 cially for her; the strength and resourcefulness that 
 went so oddly with the light-hearted, slangy boyish- 
 ness of him; his gentleness, the gentleness he had for 
 Molly and for Mrs. Bonner for all women and 
 most of all for her. He was dear dear dear. And 
 
276 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 what a scurvy trick fate had played her! To hold 
 Love out to her and ask a price she could not pay! 
 Why couldn't she have fallen in love with a man of 
 her own class, a man she could marry? Love wasn't 
 enough. In spite of all the poets said, it wasn't 
 enough. She would have been willing to give up 
 wealth and luxury for it but marry a man who had 
 evidently had an education, a chance, yet, at twenty- 
 five was contented to do farm chores at thirty-five 
 dollars a month? A sensible girl could not do it, could 
 not possibly do it, and yet 
 
 She had had such hopes, ambitions, ideals. She 
 had planned such a wonderful future for herself. She 
 had set out on her adventure so confidently, so gaily, 
 and now 
 
 She sat up suddenly, pushed her hair back out of 
 her eyes, dabbed ineffectually at the tears that were 
 running down her flushed cheeks and hurled the 
 shameful truth into the lovely mocking face of the 
 Back Lots. 
 
 "I'm in love with a hired man!" 
 
 "Why, God bless my soul!" gasped a pink and 
 portly old gentleman who rounded the juniper bush at 
 that moment and received the full force of the shock. 
 
 He rallied valiantly. 
 
 "That's very nice for the hired man," he said, 
 twinkling down at her. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 277 
 
 Something curiously familiar about the twinkle dis- 
 tracted Jean's attention from her grievance and her 
 embarrassment and before she could swing back to 
 them, the stranger had seated himself on the ground 
 beside her and was wiping the perspiration from his 
 face and his bald head. 
 
 " What are you going to do about it? " he asked in a 
 pleasant, conversational way. He was not excited 
 by the topic, but he was politely interested; and, 
 someway or other, it seemed quite natural and right 
 for him to sit down and talk it over. 
 
 Going over the episode, in her own room later, Jean 
 wondered why she had not resented his familiarity, 
 why she had not risen, as a properly trained young 
 woman should have risen, and walked haughtily 
 away; but at the moment the idea of rising and walk- 
 ing haughtily away simply did not occur to her. 
 
 He was evidently such a nice, amiable old gentle- 
 man, and he took things so amazingly for granted, and 
 there was something about him that made her feel as 
 if she had known him and trusted him for a long 
 time, and it was a topsy-turvy upsetting afternoon 
 anyway. 
 
 "I'm going to get over it," she answered with great 
 firmness. 
 
 The old gentleman laughed, but not offensively. 
 When she came to look at him more closely he was not 
 
278 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 so terribly old elderly rather and with something 
 pleasantly youthful about him in spite of his bald 
 head and his fatherly ways. 
 
 "But why get over it? Isn't it enjoyable?" 
 
 He had her there. Of course there were imperative 
 reasons for getting over it, but she couldn't make up 
 her mind whether it was enjoyable or not and stopped 
 to think it over. 
 
 For a moment or two she sat looking out across 
 the sun-soaked hill slope, with queer expressions play- 
 ing over her face. Being in love was wonderful. 
 Even when one wasn't happy over it and must get out 
 of love at once, there was something breathlessly 
 glorious about it and if one could only give oneself up 
 to the wonder and the glory 
 
 "You see," the old gentleman went on, in a cheer- 
 ful, impersonal way that seemed to take all the em- 
 barrassment out of the discussion, "there are very 
 few things as agonizingly enjoyable as being gen- 
 uinely in love. 
 
 "It would be a pity to lose one's chance at the en- 
 joyment and the agony. I can specially recom- 
 mend the agony. Why, even the German measles 
 form of love couldn't very well be spared. I re- 
 member when I was seventeen she was twenty-four. 
 It was terrific while it lasted, and I was sure it would 
 last forever. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 279 
 
 "Now that's what impresses me about your ex- 
 perience. It's my observation that one is always sure 
 he'll die of German measles. You are so morally 
 certain you'll get over this attack of yours that I'm 
 wondering whether you haven't picked up the real 
 thing." 
 
 "Real or German, I'm going to get over it." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 It was none of his business but he was so elderly, 
 and fatherly, and he had such a nice voice and such 
 kind eyes, and such a reassuring air of serenity. 
 And, besides, he already knew the worst. She had 
 shouted it at him as he came round the juniper 
 bush. 
 
 "Do you think" (Jean looked at him seriously as 
 she put the question), "do you think that an able- 
 bodied, intelligent young man of twenty-five who has 
 evidently had a fair education and been out in the 
 world, would take a hired man's position, at thirty- 
 five dollars a month, in the bad: country, if he had 
 any backbone or ambition?" 
 
 Her listener's serenity showed signs of disturbance 
 as she spoke. Keenness replaced kindliness in his 
 eyes and he leaned forward to study the girl's face 
 more closely. 
 
 "That depends," he said slowly, "on his reasons 
 for accepting the position." 
 
280 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "But what could have influenced him except the 
 wages?" She could not deal in abstractions any 
 longer. This was a definite "he." "Mrs. Bonner 
 advertised and he just answered the advertisement." 
 
 "I see and you are " 
 
 "Mrs. Bonner's cook." 
 
 There was a hint of defiance in her voice and the 
 eyes that met his held a challenge, but he gave no 
 sign of a prejudice against cooks. 
 
 "Of course you had known him before he came to 
 the Bonners?" 
 
 She looked surprised. 
 
 "Oh, no, I hadn't. I'd never seen him until we 
 came up here and I thought I'd loathe him; but I 
 couldn't." 
 
 " H'm ! " The old gentleman cleared his throat and 
 looked regretful. The kindness came slowly creeping 
 back into his eyes, but he was disturbed, puzzled. 
 
 Jean smiled at him gratefully. It was nice of him 
 to take such an interest. 
 
 "Behaved himself since he came?" The voice 
 was gruff but there was an anxious note in it. 
 
 "Beautifully." 
 
 " Hasn't bothered you made things uncom- 
 fortable for you?" 
 
 "Not a bit ever; until to-day." 
 
 "Eh? What's that? What did he say to-day?" 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 281 
 
 It was splendid of him, Jean felt, to be so excited 
 about her being made uncomfortable, but she wished 
 she hadn't said anything about to-day. 
 
 "It wasn't that he said anything," she explained. 
 
 "He well, he " Her face crimsoned slowly, 
 
 deeply, under the watching eyes. "You see I was 
 churning and he had been helping and but it wasn't 
 really He just " 
 
 "Small blame to him!" asserted the old gentleman 
 stoutly. "He'd have been less than a man or more 
 than one, which is just as bad for practical purposes 
 if he hadn't." 
 
 He was a most surprising person with his sudden 
 gusts of anxiety and fierceness, and his sudden toler- 
 ance. 
 
 "Your young hired man doesn't sound like a bad 
 sort," he went on, "but, of course, as you say, he's 
 only a hired man and " 
 
 "That wasn't what I said," Jean interrupted. "I 
 said a man like him wouldn't be a hired man unless 
 there was something radically wrong with him." 
 
 "Then you wouldn't mind his being a hired man, if 
 there wasn't anything radically wrong with him?" 
 
 She hesitated, threw back her head and looked him 
 frankly in the eyes. 
 
 "Yes, I'd mind. I'd mind a lot but I'd be 
 ashamed of minding." 
 
282 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "Of course he hasn't any money." 
 
 " Oh, that ! " She dismissed that objection lightly. 
 
 " We could make money." There was honest pride 
 in her voice. She could be a helpmate now. She had 
 proved herself. 
 
 "I'd like money," she admitted. "You see, I al- 
 ways had such a lot of it before Uncle John lost mine 
 along with his." 
 
 She realized suddenly what she was telling him and 
 stopped short in utter dismay. 
 
 "Nobody knows I didn't mean it would be so 
 impossible, you see I couldn't sponge and I didn't 
 know how to do anything except cook. It was silly to 
 care but people talk so and it seemed easier, only 
 oh, please!" 
 
 It wasn't lucid but he got her idea through all the 
 stammered confusion and it seemed to appeal to him 
 amazingly, 
 
 "Don't worry, little girl. I'm not one of the talk- 
 ing people. Tell me all about it." 
 
 She gulped down a little sob. He was the father- 
 liest man! The sob refused to stay down and sud- 
 denly she found herself smothering it against a tweed 
 shoulder, while a gentle hand patted her back. It 
 was a most shocking exhibition but the man did not 
 seem shocked. 
 
 "There, there, daughter!" he said consolinglyc 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 283 
 
 "It's all right." "The daughter" really did make 
 things seem right. Of course, if he took it that way; 
 and he did, he undoubtedly did. 
 
 "I'm n-not p-p-erfectly horrid," she insisted. 
 "I d-do like money and I hate g-g-g-rubby things, 
 and I don't believe I'd be happy if I had to live my 
 whole life out among them, but there'd be something 
 nice about helping to make the money." 
 
 Her voice was steady now. She raised a scarlet, 
 tear-stained face from the comfortable shoulder and 
 moved a little farther away from the fatherly man, 
 but she did not feel ashamed, only tremendously re- 
 lieved. She had been needing a good cry and a 
 shoulder for months and months and months. 
 
 "Working isn't bad," she explained. "I haven't 
 minded working. I've liked it. I could work like 
 fury, with some one for some one but I'd want to 
 be sure the man had the thing in him that would 
 make him win out. That's it you know. It's not 
 the winning that's important. It's the thing that 
 makes it possible to put up the fight. That's what 
 I want to find in a man. If it were there, I don't 
 (believe I'd care how long or hard our fight was. 
 I don't believe I'd even care if we didn't get the 
 material things we worked for. I could stand by a 
 man who fell fighting, but a man who wouldn't make 
 the try, who wouldn't do his part, didn't care 
 
284 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 The fatherly man beamed encouragement. Even 
 self-absorbed as she was, she noticed that he looked 
 as though relieved about something looked extraor- 
 dinarily cheerful. 
 
 "My dear" [he wasn't so very old but she was past 
 wondering at being called "my dear" by a perfectly 
 strange man; such things happened in the Back 
 Lots], "My dear, fine, little girl, I've an idea that 
 that young hired man you've been telling me about 
 would measure up all riglit if you knew all about him. 
 Give him the benefit of the daubt. You women have 
 to give any man the benet of all the doubts and 
 then forgive him a lot there's no doubt about." 
 
 There was a crashing of bushes, a series of shrill 
 halloos, an excited squeal or two. A small girl and 
 a boy carrying berry pails broke into the trail from 
 out of the scrub growth, and, looking searchingly 
 around, spied the two seated figures under the syca- 
 more tree. 
 
 The squeals were repeated Crescendo, altissimo. 
 
 "Jean, Jean!" shouted Molly, racing down the 
 path to throw herself into Jean's arms. 
 
 "Vere was a big sheep an' his nose was all black 
 and I wanted to feel would the black rub off an' he 
 knocked me down, ven he knocked me some more 
 an' I never knew sheep did an' Jimmy he made ve 
 sheep run after him an' he yelled ' Get over ve f ence* 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 285 
 
 Molly,' an' I did. An' I don't know was his nose 
 dirty or was it made vat way." 
 
 "Well, for the love of Mike, let it go at that!" 
 urged Jimmy. 
 
 "She got over into the lot where Pettingill's big 
 ram is," he explained. "I can't handle him so I 
 just had to get him mad at me while she ran and 
 then I dodged and beat it. Where'd you find Jean, 
 Mr. Brown?" 
 
 " Right here. We've had a fine visit. I was taken 
 berrying," he explained to Jean, "but I struck." 
 
 She was looking at him wonderingly. So this was 
 Mrs. Morley's boarder! She might have guessed it. 
 There was no other stranger in the neighbourhood, 
 but he wasn't at all what she had expected. 
 
 "I'm up here for my health," he explained, "and 
 I felt sure that over-berrying on a day like this would 
 be ruinous to the health, and by the way, one of my 
 worst symptoms is loss of memory total loss of 
 memory. It's utterly impossible for me to remem- 
 ber anything that is told to me for more than five 
 minutes after I hear it." 
 
 "How frightfully distressing!" Jean dimpled at 
 him gratefully. He was such a duck of an old gentle- 
 man. Anybody would tell him a fatal secret on 
 sight, and would feel astonishingly more comfort- 
 able for having told him. 
 
286 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "Yes, isn't it," he assented, showing marked ap- 
 preciation of the dimpling. "Still life has its com- 
 pensations. On the whole, I should say, life is fairly 
 kind to us. It holds pleasant surprises. One never 
 knows what one may find around the next juniper 
 bush." 
 
 They climbed the hill together and, when they 
 came to the parting of the trails, the man stood and 
 watched the girl going away toward a white house 
 on the hilltop. 
 
 "Lucky young rascal," he said, smiling, but he was 
 not talking about the girl. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 TEDDY BURTON knew that the episode of the pantry 
 should have been followed up promptly, undaunt- 
 edly. By all the rules of warfare, heavy artillery 
 should have supported the infantry. He had re- 
 treated after his first daring skirmish; but that was 
 because the skirmish had been as much of a surprise 
 to him as to the enemy had been so unpremeditated, 
 so totally a thing of impulse that it had left him be- 
 wildered and reft of strategy. 
 
 When his bewilderment wore off he saw clearly 
 that he had lost an advantage. She had been angry, 
 but the time to face anger is when one's fighting 
 spirit is up and the anger is also up. Watching 
 anger rise is the blood-curdling, nerve-paralyzing 
 thing. 
 
 He should have told her, then and there, that he 
 adored her that he intended to marry her. Shej 
 couldn't have resented that much more than she had 
 resented the kiss nor have ridiculed it more effec- 
 tively and it would have been a great relief to him 
 to get the statement on record. As matters stood, 
 
 287 
 
288 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 he had offended her, put her on guard, and had little 
 to show for it only the tingling touch of soft brown 
 hair against his lips and the memory of a warm, 
 fleeting nearness that made his blood run swiftly, in 
 retrospect. 
 
 Slight as this harvest of his rashness was, he spent 
 a good deal of time thinking about it; but at last 
 he rose from the nail keg on which he had dropped 
 when he had reached sanctuary in the barn, and 
 screwed his courage to the sticking point. 
 
 He would go to her and tell her how he loved her, 
 make her listen. Heaven grant that she was still 
 angry. It would be appalling to find her indifferent. 
 
 He did not find her at all. She had disappeared, 
 gone away somewhere so that she wouldn't have 
 to be on the premises with him, he told himself de- 
 jectedly. 
 
 When he next saw her she was cooking supper and 
 Mrs. Bonner was in the kitchen. While he ate his 
 own supper she went back and forth to the dining 
 room. She was not disagreeable to him, showed no 
 signs of anger, was merely busy unceasingly, ab- 
 sorbingly busy. How could a man stop a girl on 
 her way to the dining room with steaming hot dishes 
 in her hands and tell her that he adored her, that 
 he was going to marry her? 
 
 No; he had bungled the thing and, anyway, a 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 289 
 
 kitchen was no place for a propitious wooing. There 
 was something so deadly utilitarian about the aspect 
 of the place. The rows of shining pots and pans 
 frowned down romance. He would need moonlight 
 or dusk, woodland or hilltop magic, all the adven- 
 titious aid he could get, when he tried to make this 
 very competent, practical young person believe that 
 she was going to marry him. 
 
 So he filled the water pails and brought the wood 
 and flung out into the night. 
 
 The cook suddenly and completely lost interest in 
 her work and went over to the window where, dish- 
 cloth in hand, she watched the long, sturdy figure 
 go swinging down the walk, through the gate, and up 
 the road. 
 
 She flushed a little and frowned a little and smiled 
 a little, then frowned again. 
 
 "Coward!" she said scornfully. 
 
 Once more a smile came on the heels of the frown. 
 
 "Poor lamb," she murmured. 
 
 One epithet might have seemed to the unprej- 
 udiced as bad as the other; but the tone there was 
 a vast difference in the tone. 
 
 For a week or so life in the Bonner family moved 
 along much as it had moved before the handy man's 
 fall from grace. After a slight interval of frost, the 
 cook relaxed into guarded amiability, but Teddy 
 
290 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 had no more long hours alone with her and they 
 treated each other with what a Correct Letter Writer 
 would call "distinguished consideration." 
 
 So polite were they to each other that Molly, 
 paying an afternoon visit and insisting that both her 
 Jean and her Teddy should be on the entertainment 
 committee, watched them and listened to them for a 
 while with growing disapproval and then entered 
 protest. 
 
 "Now let's not play it's a party any more," she 
 insisted. "Let's play we're just us and we've got 
 firteen children and ve littlest one's got ve mumps, 
 an' I'm it." 
 
 Half of the entertainment committee fell back on 
 the grass and whooped for joy. The other half, 
 though dimply about the mouth, gravely tied a 
 handkerchief around the afflicted infant's jaw and 
 stuffed grass inside it to produce an adequate swell- 
 ing. 
 
 "We aren't going to play party any more?" 
 
 The man had stopped laughing and asked the ques- 
 tion eagerly but cautiously. 
 
 "Thirteen children and mumps would break up 
 any family's company manners," he urged. 
 
 Jean laughed. How could one be dignified and 
 play with Molly? 
 
 She took the child home later, while Teddy went 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 291 
 
 back to his gardening, and Mrs. Morley's boarder 
 left his hammock in the shady backyard to open 
 the gate for her. 
 
 It was not the first time they had met since the 
 afternoon in the Back Lots. She had found him on 
 Cedar Hill one evening when she had gone there 
 alone to watch the sunset; and they had sat on the 
 edge of the cliff together, until the last flecks of 
 amethyst and rose were gone and the stars had come 
 out, talking of many things, but not of hired men. 
 Evidently Mr. Brown had been as good as his word. 
 He had forgotten all that she had said to him beside 
 the juniper bush. 
 
 Yet their talk kept the curiously intimate key it 
 had struck at that first meeting. It seemed impos- 
 sible not to confide in Mrs. Morley's boarder. He 
 understood so perfectly even when the i's were not 
 dotted nor the t's crossed. 
 
 He seemed very glad to see her when he opened 
 Mrs. Morley's gate for Molly and her, and he carried 
 her off to the hammock, where Susan joined them and 
 where Mrs. Morley came later bringing the inevitable 
 fresh cookies and a pot of tea. 
 
 "All here but Jim," the Boarder said contentedly. 
 " Where is Jim?" 
 
 "Down at Sarah Middleton's, helping," Mrs. Mor- 
 ley's voice had a note of apology in it. 
 
292 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "Not hard work, you know just redding up. I 
 never let him go anywheres for heavy work; but you 
 see Sarah's brother George came unexpected, the 
 other day first time he's been here in six years and 
 Sarah didn't want to be doing chores all the time 
 he was here, so she asked about Jim. 'Twon't hurt 
 him, and he can have the money for himself." 
 
 " What's the matter with brother George doing the 
 chores?" Mr. Brown asked idly. 
 
 Mrs. Morley laughed. 
 
 "Well, they never was able to make him do them 
 when he lived at home always reading dime novels 
 up in the hay-mow. I reckon Sarah wouldn't be 
 likely to get much work out of him now. They say 
 he's done real well, though travelling around ped- 
 dling something needle books 'tis I think." 
 
 Jim was still away when Jean went home at five 
 o'clock; but as she opened her kitchen door a small 
 figure came to meet her. 
 
 " Why, Jim ! ' ' she cried in cheerful welcome. Then, 
 after a look at his face, "Why, Jim dear!" 
 
 "I've been waitin'," he said. "I had to see you." 
 He was flushed, big-eyed, choking from nervousness 
 or fright. Jean slipped an arm around his shoulders. 
 
 "Come on up to my room, Jim. There's no hurry 
 about supper." 
 
 Up in the quiet room, with the door closed against 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 293 
 
 the world and the friendly arm still around him, the 
 boy stammered out his story. 
 
 "It's George Middleton. He's got the sheriff. I 
 heard them when I was working outside the window. 
 He suspected right away, and he had some news- 
 papers with pictures in, and all about the bank and 
 everybody thinks they look like him, but I'd like to 
 know how they could tell. I bet there ain't one of 
 them ever saw him with his glasses off." 
 
 " Oh !" A gleam of understanding shot through the 
 bewilderment in the listener's face. 
 
 "Wait a minute, Jim. Let's begin at the beginning. 
 What was that about a bank?" 
 
 " In New London. The cashier stole fifty thousand 
 dollars. Got away as slick as a whistle Mr. Middle- 
 ton said. Seemed as if he'd just faded off the map, 
 and some of the detectives was sure he was staying 
 somewheres close by, but they couldn't get any trace. 
 
 "So then Mr. Middleton came up here and folks 
 told him about Mr. Brown and how he didn't want to 
 meet folks, and wore goggles, and paid such a lot for 
 board so's there wouldn't be any other boarders. 
 And Mr. Middleton he got to thinkin' and asked 
 when Mr. Brown came here. Miss Middleton said 
 'twas the 18th of July, 'cause she sold her cow on the 
 17th and he came the next day. 
 
 "And Mr. Middleton said that was funny because 
 
294 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 the bank cashier skipped on the 17th of July. Then 
 they got out the pictures. He'd kept them 'cause he 
 thought travelling around the way he does maybe 
 he'd spot the fellow somewheres and there's a re- 
 ward. 
 
 "Everybody says the pictures look like Mr. Brown. 
 They're dead sure it's him. There was Mr. Pettin- 
 gill and Mrs. Pettingill and the Rollins down there 
 and they sent for the sheriff from New London. 
 He's comin' to-night. They're all comin' up with 
 him. Anyway, the men are. I wisht they'd fall in 
 the old quarry and break their necks. I do so. The 
 old pie-faced snoopers! 
 
 "He never did and anyway he's better 'n the 
 whole bunch. I don't care if he did. I'm goin' to 
 tell him. I run all the way up the hill and then I 
 thought I'd tell you first 'cause you like him and 
 you'd know what to do. How'll he get away? 
 Would Teddy take him in the car? Do you s'pose 
 Teddy would?" 
 
 "I don't know maybe," Jean's face was serious. 
 /'But if he isn't the man they think he is, he won't 
 (want to go, Jim." 
 
 Jim nodded. 
 
 " Yes, I know; but if he wants to go we've got to fix 
 it. Don't you guess Teddy would?" 
 
 She looked doubtful. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 295 
 
 "I'm afraid you see Teddy doesn't know Mr. 
 Brown, Jim, and men think a lot of their old silly 
 laws, except when they're breaking them for their 
 own benefit. I don't believe Teddy would want to 
 do it." 
 
 "Well, you would, wouldn't you? You said you 
 thought he was fine, and he likes you a lot. He told 
 me so. You'd help, wouldn't you?" 
 
 She realized that she ought not to promise, that 
 she was pledging herself to lawless adventure; but 
 she could not see Mrs. Morley's boarder robbing a 
 bank. She simply could not see it. And, ft he had 
 robbed the bank well, she felt just as Jim did about 
 it. 
 
 "He's a dear old thing," she said defiantly, "and if 
 he wants to get away, he shall. I'll take the car and 
 drive him, myself. Now run along home and tell 
 him, Jim, and then let me know what he's going to 
 do." 
 
 Jim wriggled miserably. 
 
 "It's an awful thing to go and poke right at him." 
 
 "Yes," she agreed, "but it's the only way to help 
 him." 
 
 "Yep: I suppose you wouldn't want to do it in- 
 stead of me." 
 
 "It's your job, Jim, and you're wasting time." 
 
 He went away homeward, dragging his bare feet 
 
296 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 laggingly, but with a comforted heart. Jean had 
 promised and Jean was very wonderful. She could 
 do 'most anything, he assured himself. Mr. Brown 
 was as good as saved. 
 
 Still, the actual saving was trying business. Supper 
 was ready when the boy reached home but he could 
 not eat. There was a large lump in his throat and an- 
 other in his stomach, and he felt queer and all- 
 overish. 
 
 Mrs. Morley eyed him sharply. 
 
 "Jim Wells, you ain't sickening with something, 
 are you?" 
 
 "No'm." 
 
 It seemed to him that supper lasted for hours. 
 When it was over, he went to his evening work but he 
 scrambled through it recklessly, watching the side 
 yard as he worked. Mr. Brown usually walked out 
 there after supper. 
 
 At last the boarder came out through the side door, 
 down the steps. 
 
 Jim hurried to him. 
 
 "Let's walk down to the orchard, Mr. Brown," he 
 proposed. * 'Tain't wet. P'r'aps there's deer down 
 there. There were tracks Sunday. Come on, let's 
 go see." 
 
 The words tumbled out breathlessly. His eyes im- 
 plored. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 297 
 
 The boarder began a humorous remark, looked 
 into the pleading, unhappy little face and left his joke 
 hanging in the air. 
 
 "All right, son. Come along," he said quietly. 
 
 In the orchard there were no deer but there was 
 solitude. Mr. Brown talked lightly about clover and 
 tent caterpillars and various familiar, commonplace 
 things while his companion struggled for breath and 
 courage; but finally, realizing that more than time 
 was needed, he put a friendly hand on each of the 
 boy's shoulders and smiled down at him. 
 
 "Well, Jim, out with it. Don't worry. I'll see 
 you through." 
 
 His voice was kind. His eyes were even more kind. 
 Jim was in trouble of some sort, and boys in trouble 
 needed fathering. 
 
 "What's happened, my boy, what have you 
 done?" 
 
 Jim made a desperate effort. 
 
 "I ain't," he said wretchedly. "It's you." 
 
 "Eh? What's that?" 
 
 "It's you," Jim repeated, "about the bank." 
 
 "Bank? What bank?" 
 
 "The bank in New London. They think you're 
 the cashier that took the money. George Middle- 
 ton's got a newspaper picture of him." 
 
 " God bless my soul." Mr. Brown was startled but 
 
298 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Jim saw, with an upward swoop of spirits, that he was 
 not alarmed that he even seemed amused. 
 
 "They was talking about it down at Middleton's 
 where I've been workin'. It's on account of your 
 wearin' goggles and acting funny about people seeing 
 you, and coming the morning after the bank was 
 robbed, and being sort of fat and bald, like the pic- 
 ture." 
 
 The story was running freely now. 
 
 "I didn't take any stock in it all but I thought 
 maybe well, anyway, I thought you'd ought to 
 know before the sheriff comes." 
 
 "What?" The word exploded noisily on the still 
 evening air. 
 
 "The sheriff from New London. They wrote to 
 him and he's coming to-night. They got a tele- 
 gram." 
 
 Mr. Brown turned from the boy and stared out 
 through the orchard boughs at the afterglow in the 
 western sky. His lips were set in a straight line and 
 there was a furrow between his eyes. Once he 
 smiled sheepishly, but the frown quickly followed the 
 smile. When he spoke, his voice was curt and crisp., 
 a business-like voice. 
 
 "When's the sheriff coming?" 
 
 "'Bout eleven or half past. He's going to motor 
 up from Saybrook." 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 299 
 
 "Is there a train out of here before then?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Where could I get one?" 
 
 "I don't know Meriden maybe, or Hartford." 
 
 " Hartford ! That's it. How far is it to Hartford? " 
 4 'Bout twenty-five miles." 
 
 "Whom could I get to run me over there and keep 
 quiet about it?" 
 
 Jim's lips were trembling again and his faith was 
 ebbing, but his loyalty stood firm. 
 
 " There ain't anybody except Jean." 
 
 "Jean?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. I told her. I thought maybe Teddy'd 
 help, but she says we'd better not ask him, 'cause 
 men are sort of silly about their old laws when they 
 ain't breakin' them for theirselves." 
 
 Mr. Brown made a peculiar noise that might have 
 been a laugh and might have been a sneeze. "She's 
 quite right. The hired man mustn't know any- 
 thing about it not on any account. We don't 
 want him. Isn't there anybody else anybody 
 who'd do it for good big pay?" 
 
 "Jean said she'd take the car and drive you her- 
 self." 
 
 "Oh, she did! Then she isn't down on me?" 
 
 "Well, she said she didn't believe you did it and, 
 if you did, you were an old dear anyway." 
 
300 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 ' * Women ! Women ! ' ' murmured the fugitive from 
 justice. "What would the criminal life be without 
 them ! Jim, Miss Mackaye is a brick." 
 
 "Yes, sir," agreed Jim. "Shall I go down and tell 
 her?" 
 
 The man hesitated. 
 
 "It might make trouble for her." 
 
 "We'd be back by half -past ten." 
 
 "And she isn't afraid to drive?" 
 
 " Traid nothin'! Jean ain't the 'fraid kind." 
 
 "No, I guess not. I guess not. She'd always 
 stand by if she cared about a man. See here, 
 Jim. I'm going to tell you something. It's the 
 gospel truth and some day this fall I'll prove it to 
 you; but until then I want you to take my word for 
 it. 
 
 "I'm not that bank cashier. I don't know any- 
 thing about that bank robbery. I'm not hiding on 
 account of anything wrong I've done, but there's a 
 reason why it would be very embarrassing and in- 
 convenient for me to get mixed up in a thing of this 
 sort. I could prove that I'm not the man the sheriff 
 wants but I'd have to do it by proving who I really 
 am and it would make a lot of talk get into the 
 papers probably. I'd hate that. I had a good 
 reason for coming up here, and I've had a fine time, 
 and some day I'm coming back; but, just now, I'm 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 301 
 
 going to cut and run. Think you can believe in me 
 even if I do run away?" 
 
 "Betcherlife!" 
 
 Jim's face was shining. Doubt had melted away 
 and unhappiness had gone with it. Only a glorious 
 excitement remained. Never in his wildest dreams 
 had he planned a better adventure than this. 
 
 " I'll go tell Jean." 
 
 ,Mr. Brown nodded assent. 
 
 "Tell her just what I've told you, Jim. And tell 
 her that if she thinks taking me to Hartford will 
 make trouble for her, she mustn't do it. I'd much 
 rather face the music; but, if she can manage it 
 and is willing well, I'll be very greatly in her 
 debt. 
 
 "I won't take my trunk; nothing in it I care about. 
 I'll just pack my bag, leave a note for Mrs. Morley, 
 and go down to the school-house corner where it's 
 so dark under the trees, you know. Miss Mackaye 
 and you can pick me up there; but see here, my boy, 
 how are you going to explain your being away? I 
 don't want to get you into trouble, either." 
 
 "Nobody '11 care, if they think I'm down at the 
 Bonners'." 
 
 "Sure?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "All right. Cut along." 
 
302 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "Do you believe him, Jim?" Jean asked, when the 
 boy had given her his message. 
 
 The homely, sensitive boy face turned up to hers 
 brimmed with confidence. 
 
 "I wouldn't believe he'd robbed that bank if I'd 
 seen him doin' it." 
 
 The girl tossed her doubts aside with a reckless 
 gesture of both hands. 
 
 "All right. Here goes; Teddy's up at the min- 
 ister's planning about the men's club. That's luck. 
 I told Mrs. Bonner I was going to take the car out. 
 She's forgotten it by this time but I didn't like to 
 take it without telling her. 
 
 "Jimmy, this is going to be fun. This is going to 
 be great fun only I wish I had a racing car. A 
 Ford's not the thing for a career of crime." 
 
 She was gay, given over to the adventure; and 
 when, a little later, she ran the car into the dense 
 shade at the school-house corner, her spirits were on 
 tiptoe and her face was sparkling. 
 
 Mr. Brown looked at her appreciatively as he 
 climbed into the seat beside her. 
 
 "Do you always twinkle-twinkle so, when you 
 are rescuing bank robbers from sheriffs?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Always." 
 
 "If I were a younger man I would acquire the 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 303 
 
 bank robbery habit. I suppose you think you are 
 rescuing a criminal?" 
 
 "No such luck; but it is rather larky, isn't it?" 
 
 She was driving the car skilfully, daringly, getting 
 a surprising speed out of it, even over the hilly road. 
 
 It was rather larky. Mr. Brown admitted as 
 much to himself. He was stout and elderly; but 
 flying through the twilight, dashing into inky woods, 
 darting out upon open stretches where shreds of 
 daylight lingered, coasting downhill, scrambling up- 
 hill, with a face like Jean's beside him and danger 
 spurring him on really the criminal life had its 
 thrills. 
 
 "We are taking the back road," the driver ex- 
 plained. "It's rough and corkscrewy. We can't 
 make as good time, but we won't meet any one. All 
 right back there, Jim?" 
 
 "Fine! Let 'er rip!" 
 
 The voice from the back seat was full of thrill such 
 as the stout and elderly, even if criminal, cannot know. 
 
 Jim was having the time of his life. Every noise 
 was the sound of a car in pursuit. Every shadow in 
 the road ahead was an ambush. Around every cor- 
 ner, the sheriff was coming to meet them. 
 
 He prickled with gooseflesh. There was a squeam- 
 ish uneasiness about his middle; but he was glor- 
 iously happy. 
 
304 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 After eight miles of back country road they ran 
 into the turnpike and began passing other cars, but 
 the dusk had closed in and there was no chance of 
 recognition. 
 
 Jean drove less dashingly now, but steadily and 
 fast. 
 
 No one talked much. The driver was busy with 
 her task, Mr. Brown with his thoughts, Jimmy with 
 his imagination; but when the street lights of Hart- 
 ford swung into marching lines Jean turned to her. 
 passenger with a laugh that held a tremolo admis- 
 sion of relaxed tension. 
 
 "How's that?" she asked with pride. 
 
 Mr. Brown laid a palm gently on one of the gloved 
 hands that held the wheel. 
 
 "Jean," he said. "You're the daughter I've al- 
 ways wanted. I couldn't say more than that, could 
 I? But I will say more some day, when I explain 
 all this foolishness. Now, I'm going to say good- 
 bye. There's a car line over there at the next corner. 
 I'll take a car into town and spend the night with 
 friends. After I'm with them it doesn't matter who 
 sees me or recognizes me; but I'll worry until I know 
 you are safe at home. I wouldn't have let you come 
 if I'd known what the roads were. 
 
 "When you get home, will you call up George 
 Allan in Hartford and ask him to send your order 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 305 
 
 to-morrow? He will understand and the others on 
 the party wire can't make anything out of that. 
 But if anything's wrong, if there's the slightest un- 
 pleasantness for you, just tell Allan so, and he and 
 I will run down to your rescue." 
 
 Jean nodded. To her surprise she felt choked and 
 miserable. She did not want to say good-bye to 
 him. But she stopped the car and he climbed out, 
 set his bag on the ground, and held out a hand to Jim. 
 
 " Good-bye, Jim. I'll be back in the fall ; and when 
 I come, things are going to happen to you. I think 
 you'll like them. I know you will. You've been 
 a mighty good comrade, my boy." 
 
 "It'll be poison lonesome." Jim's excitement was 
 temporarily submerged in gloom. 
 
 "Yes, but think about the fall, and the things that 
 are going to happen and nobody can be really 
 lonesome with Jean around." 
 
 He turned to the girl at the wheel and the friend- 
 liness that had been in his eyes for Jim glowed more 
 warmly. 
 
 "Good-bye, little woman," he said, and his voice 
 was as tender as though she had really been the 
 daughter he had always wanted. 
 
 "I like owing you a debt. Good-bye till fall. 
 You aren't afraid of many things, child. Don't be 
 afraid of your own heart." 
 
306 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 She sat watching him as he walked away and swung 
 himself on a car. 
 
 "He's coming back," Jim sniffed audibly, but 
 spoke with conviction. 
 
 "Yes, I wonder if I'll be here." She did not sniff 
 but she sounded forlorn. "Come on over into the 
 front seat, Jim. It's lonesome. Now for home." 
 
 They ran the car into the barn at half -past ten 
 and no one marked their coming. Teddy was still 
 working over club plans. The Boimers were fast 
 asleep. The coast was clear. 
 
 Jim chuckled happily. 
 
 "The folks said they was goin' to bed early 'cause 
 they'd been puttin' up jam, and Mr. Brown was in 
 his room. They was goin' to leave the key under the 
 mat for me. There won't a soul know when I get 
 
 in." 
 
 He spoke in a conspirator's whisper, with furtive 
 looks into the shadowy places. 
 
 "It's a shame you can't be there when the sheriff 
 comes, Jean, but I'll tell you in the morning." 
 
 He told her in the morning. So did Mrs. Morley 
 and Susan and Molly, Molly's account making up in 
 dramatic quality what it lacked in clearness. Every- 
 body on Green Ridge told everybody else. 
 
 It was a wonderful day for the Ridge. 
 
 "Beats all how he got away," Ezra Pettingill 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 307 
 
 told a group at the post office. " Rollins and Middle- 
 ton and I went up there with Sheriff Day, but there 
 wasn't anything doing. He'd left his trunk full of 
 silk pyjamas and such things and a note for Lucilla 
 saying he'd been called away suddenly and would be 
 back for his things in the fall. Like Hell he will! 
 Left board money up to the end of the week. He 
 could afford it. Easy come, easy go." 
 
 "And will you believe it," the postmistress added. 
 "Those silly women won't hear to a word about his 
 robbing the bank. Lucilla says nothing could make 
 her believe he's a bad man and that she hopes the 
 late peaches won't all be gone when he comes, be- 
 cause he's so fond of cobbler. Susan's just as bad. 
 It's a mercy they weren't murdered in their beds. 
 The sheriff suspicioned them some at first, but he 
 soon saw they were as surprised as he was. Jim said 
 he left the man down in the orchard long about seven 
 when he went down to Miss Mackaye's and the folks 
 heard him come into his room. That's the last they 
 know." 
 
 For a week or so excitement raged; then the de- 
 tectives who had come to the sheriff's help went 
 away, and Ridge life lapsed into uneventfulness. 
 
 But one person knew who had spirited Mr. Brown 
 from the Ridge. 
 
 The morning after the bank robber's flight Teddy 
 
308 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Burton came into the Bonner kitchen with a puzzled 
 frown on his face. 
 
 " Somebody had the car out last night. You didn't 
 hear any noise about the barn, did you, Jean?" 
 
 The cook put a pan of rolls into the oven carefully 
 before she answered. 
 
 "I had the car out myself," she said after the oven 
 door was closed. 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 She went about her work humming. 
 
 "Must have taken a long drive!" 
 
 She coloured hotly. The gasolene! Stupid not to 
 have had the tank partly filled somewhere; but, after 
 all, the length of her drives was no affair of his. 
 
 "Yes, we did Jim and I." 
 
 "I see." 
 
 He did see. That was the distressing part of it. 
 For a moment he stood looking at her thoughtfully. 
 Then comprehension dawned in his eyes, and the line 
 of his lips straightened. 
 
 "You mustn't do that sort of thing, Jean." 
 
 ffis tone was crisp, authoritative, and the slave that 
 is in every woman, however deeply buried under 
 militancy, thrilled to the masterfulness; but, as a mat- 
 ter of principle, the authority was swiftly challenged. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 She might have asked, "What sort of thing?" but 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 309 
 
 scorned the evasion and met him flatly on the main 
 issue. A bomb-laden suffragette, defying the House 
 of Commons would have seemed humble, pro- 
 pitiatory beside her; but Teddy did not quail. The 
 pasha that is in every man, however deeply hidden 
 under indulgence, was outraged. 
 
 "Because I won't have you taking such chances." 
 
 She gasped at the temerity of him. 
 
 "You might have got into all kinds of a mess," lie 
 went on. "Suppose something had gone wrong with 
 the car; suppose you'd had an accident! Suppose 
 some one had seen you and recognized you. Suppose 
 the sheriff had run foul of you and held you up ! Nice 
 story it would have made for the papers, wouldn't it? 
 A young woman motoring a bank robber all over Con- 
 necticut in the night, helping him to make a get- 
 away ! Scare heads and pictures and nasty scandal, 
 and the Bonners dragged in!" 
 
 "Teddy Burton!" 
 
 She tried to make it scathing but it was only sur- 
 prised. He was so amazingly big and mannish when 
 he was angry and he wouldn't be so angry if he didn't 
 care. She liked it. She rather hoped he would beat 
 her before he got through. 
 
 "I thought you had more sense, Jean." It was a 
 new experience to have a young man disapproving of 
 her in that uncompromising fashion and telling her so. 
 
310 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "If somebody had to interfere with the la wand keep 
 a thug out of jail, why didn't you ask me to do it?" 
 
 Suddenly his face flushed more deeply and a wave 
 of suspicion swept over it. 
 
 "How old is that man, anyway?" There was a 
 sharp edge on his voice. 
 
 Jean drew a long breath and pulled herself to- 
 gether. She was on familiar ground when jealousy 
 showed its head. It was only being well scolded 
 and liking it, liking it enormously that was new 
 and upsetting. 
 
 "Oh, not old." 
 
 "I thought he was an old gentleman." 
 
 "Well, of course he's not a boy" her voice ex- 
 pressed immeasurable distaste for boys "but not 
 old. One could never think of him as old. He's so 
 fine and splendid. And he didn't rob the bank, 
 you know. He couldn't. Nothing would make me 
 believe anything against him. I'm glad I did it. I'd 
 do it again for him to-night." 
 
 She meant it; but she knew that she was giving a 
 false impression and impish enjoyment danced in her 
 downcast eyes, though her face was all demureness. 
 
 He did not beat her. 
 
 He did something far more disconcerting. He 
 gathered her into his arms and kissed her full on the 
 lips. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 311 
 
 All that she had dreamed down among the sweet 
 fern and bayberry of the Back Lots came true and 
 more, much more that she could never have dreamed. 
 
 Protest, resistance they could have made no head- 
 way against the flood of strange, sweet feeling 
 that was sweeping through her, drowning anger and 
 doubts and fears, carrying away old landmarks, 
 sending her familiar everyday world whirling round 
 and round and crashing off into oblivion, creating a 
 new heaven and a new earth for her. 
 
 No; she could never have dreamed it. It was be- 
 yond the reach of a girl's dreams. 
 
 He freed her lips, but still held her close, 'looking 
 down exultantly into her wonder-filled face. 
 
 ' ' My girl ! ' ' There were heart throbs in the homely 
 words. "My girl!" 
 
 Even passion could not give him eloquence. He 
 was no poet, just an ordinary young modern, but 
 fathoms deep in love and so, for the moment, at one in 
 heart with poets back to the earliest rhymester of 
 them all. 
 
 And the girl in his arms was not in critical mood. 
 For her his "my girl," was poetry, rhythmic, rapt, 
 inspired. 
 
 "Tell me," the man commanded. 
 
 If he had begged, she might have refused. It is the 
 masterful lover that has his way. 
 
312 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "Tell me." 
 
 Every line of her face told him. Every quick, 
 sobbing breath told him. Her eyes were full of it, 
 her cheeks were aglow with it, her lips were quivering 
 with it; but he was not content. 
 
 " Tell me, Jean. Do you love me?" 
 
 She nodded shyly, all the calm assurance gone out 
 of her. 
 
 "Say it." 
 
 She said it and he kissed her again. 
 
 As he lifted his head, he saw the rows of shining 
 pots and pans glaring at him from the wall and 
 laughed at them triumphantly. Why had he ever 
 thought that a kitchen was not the place for love- 
 making? Why had he ever thought that the every- 
 day world of work and its commonplaces were outside 
 the gates of paradise! 
 
 "You darling, you blessed little darling!" he mur- 
 mured to the back of a brown head whose face was 
 hidden now against his shoulder. 
 
 "How I'll love you, and work for you, and " 
 
 "Bully me," said a small, choked voice. "Don't 
 forget to bully me. It's so terribly good for 
 
 me." 
 
 "Why, my dears, my dears!" 
 
 The voice came from the pantry doorway where 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 313 
 
 Mrs. Bonner stood looking in a bewildered way at her 
 cook and her handy man. 
 
 "I'm so glad," she said, smiling, but the smile was a 
 wavering white-lipped one; and Jean, who, blushing 
 rosily, had fled from Teddy's arms to the opposite side 
 of the kitchen, forgot her embarrassment in swift 
 alarm. 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked, running forward. " What 
 is it, dear?" 
 
 Mrs. Bonner clung to her, trembling. 
 
 "Rufus! There's something wrong. He can't 
 breathe. He doesn't know me. I'm frightened, 
 Jean." 
 
 The doctor came an hour later; but long before 
 that Teddy had carried the sick man to his room, put 
 him to bed, given him a heart stimulant, done all that 
 could be done, skillfully, wisely. 
 
 Mrs. Bonner, still clinging fast to Jean, watched 
 him with grateful eyes. ~ 
 
 "I thought he was just a boy," she said, "just a 
 nice, jolly, capable boy; but he's a man, isn't he? I 
 never realized he could be like this, so strong and 
 gentle and quiet, did you, Jean?" 
 
 The girl shook her head. She could not trust her 
 voice. Loving did such queer things to one's voice. 
 
 "Pleuro pneumonia," the doctor said, when he had 
 made his examination, "and very low vitality. Too 
 
314 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 much work and too little red blood. It's going to be 
 a fight. We'd better have a nurse at once." 
 
 The sick man's cook shot a startled glance at his 
 handy man. A nurse ! Twenty-five dollars a week ! 
 
 "Yes, we'll need a nurse. Will you be kind enough 
 to telephone for one, Doctor?" 
 
 Teddy recognized the financial problem involved, 
 but spoke as though twenty-five dollars grew on every 
 bush. He would borrow the money from Coles. 
 Borrowing to get out of work and borrowing in an 
 emergency like this were two very different things. 
 
 "How can we, Teddy?" Jean whispered to him in 
 the hall later, as they turned from seeing the doctor 
 off. 
 
 "There's always a way of getting what one ab- 
 solutely has to have," he answered sturdily. "I can 
 get the money. When will you marry me, Jean?" 
 
 The sequence of thought was obvious, but the 
 proposal was extraordinarily off hand. She would 
 probably have resented its calm assurance if the 
 real things of life had not been crowding in upon her. 
 With the glory of love and the shadow of death in 
 the house, coquetry and quibbing seemed poor sense- 
 less things. 
 
 Still marrying ! 
 
 "We can't leave the Bonners now," she protested 
 hastily. "He may be ill a long time; and, if any- 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 315 
 
 thing should happen, she'd be Oh, we mustn't 
 
 think about it. Teddy not yet." 
 
 He smiled into her startled eyes. 
 
 "No, of course, not just yet, not until things are 
 straightened out and we can turn the blessed infants 
 over to other foster parents; but just as soon as things 
 are right for them? September, October. Surely 
 by October." 
 
 "We can't, Teddy. We can't possibly. He's 
 
 dreadfully ill, and this is August and I Oh, no; 
 
 not October." 
 
 There was panic in her voice. She had travelled 
 far and fast that day and the country to whose 
 border she had come seemed wide and strange and 
 full of mystery. 
 
 "Are you afraid, dear?" 
 
 She met the challenge honestly. 
 
 "A little." 
 
 "Of me?" 
 
 "Of Life." 
 
 "With me?" 
 
 She nodded slowly. 
 
 "Yes but I'd be more afraid of life without 
 you now." 
 
 So he had his way again. They would be married 
 just as soon as the Bonners could spare them. In 
 the meanwhile, they would stand by. 
 
316 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Miss Potter, the nurse, came with the twilight, a 
 brusque, starchy autocrat, who turned every one 
 out of the sick room and took the campaign into 
 her own hands. 
 
 "I can't like her, but she makes me feel much 
 safer much," Mrs. Bonner told Jean, when they 
 found themselves on the outside of the sick-room 
 door. 
 
 "Of course, if it's better for Rufus not to have me 
 
 there but it does seem as if I Oh, Jean, begin 
 
 early, begin as early as you can. A lifetime isn't 
 long enough for being together. Rufus and I began 
 so late and we were always so busy. Everybody 
 needs work, but the years go by very fast. Don't 
 be too desperately busy, Jean. Take plenty of time 
 for realizing that you are happy. There's too much 
 taking for granted and there are days and days that 
 might count but don't. Then some day one or the 
 other is alone and grudges those days. I'm grudging 
 them now, and if Rufus " Her voice broke. 
 
 "But he won't. He won't," Jean declared stoutly. 
 "Teddy says he won't." 
 
 She knew it was foolish when she said it; but it 
 had comforted her and Mrs. Bonner seemed to find 
 it comforting, too. Teddy was such a reliable per- 
 son. 
 
 But the shaken little woman came back to the 
 
HOW COULD you, JEAN? 317 
 
 regret again when, hours after, Jean had tucked her 
 into bed and was saying good-night. 
 
 "I'm glad about Teddy and you, child, very glad 
 though I don't know what we will do without you. 
 You mustn't think about us though. Don't keep 
 him waiting. Rufus and I waited a year so that 
 I could go back to the Faroes. I can't see why I 
 thought the Faroes were important. A whole year! 
 Good-night, dear." 
 
 Jean lay awake long that night. 
 
 She was happy, very happy and very miserable. 
 Friends out of the old life came trooping to her, and 
 made her look at marriage with Teddy through their 
 eyes. Old dreams, old plans, old ideals clutched at 
 her. Old prejudices asserted themselves. 
 
 She thought of the women who drudged their way 
 through life, tired women with the youth and joy 
 and hope crushed out of them by weariness and 
 monotony. She shuddered at the ugliness of poverty 
 and counted over the beautiful things that money 
 could buy. And she cried a little, there in the dark- 
 ness, because she must choose between the things 
 she loved and the man she loved, instead of having 
 both. 
 
 But when the harvest moon came around the 
 corner of the house and looked in through her win- 
 dow, she could not remember about the friends and 
 
318 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 the money and the things money could buy. The 
 moon has no patience with heart searchings of that 
 kind, none whatever. 
 
 A flood of silver light came drifting through the 
 windows and across the floor. It found the bed and 
 crept up over the counterpane to a face that smiled 
 mistily. 
 
 Lying there in the moonlight, Jean could remem- 
 ber nothing but the strength of a man's arms, the 
 touch of his lips, the sound of his voice, the love-light 
 in his eyes. All of the questions and warnings and 
 threats that had come stealing up out of the darkness 
 went back to the darkness, were clean forgot in a 
 world where there was only love and more love and 
 love past all telling, with service for the handmaid of 
 love. 
 
 October w.as not too soon. Jean admitted it to 
 herself, happily, drowsily. Mrs. Bonner had been 
 right. A lifetime of being together was not enough. 
 
 Just on the edge of the borderland of sleep, mem- 
 ory caught at her. 
 
 What was it she had written to Babs, long ago, 
 before Teddy had come? 
 
 "All my pains are growing pains. Some day, God 
 willing, I'm going to be a woman /" 
 
 "Well, now" the thought was mixed with moon- 
 shine and dreams and remembered kisses but she 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 319 
 
 held fast to it "well, now, thank God, I am a 
 
 woman." 
 
 The doctor had been right when he foretold a 
 fight, and, for a while, the fight seemed to be a losing 
 one. 
 
 Mr. Bonner drifted swiftly, steadily on the ebb 
 tide and a queer hush held the house. Mrs. Bonner 
 sat in her own room, white and still and very gentle. 
 Jean was with her whenever work allowed. They 
 did not talk much, only sat there together and waited 
 for the doctor to come, waited for the doctor to go, 
 waited for him to come again. It was Teddy who 
 relieved the nurse when she needed rest. She had 
 arranged that. 
 
 "He is steady and quiet and dependable," she had 
 said in her curt way. "I will feel safe with him in 
 charge." 
 
 Even Mrs. Bonner did not resent the choice. 
 Every one leaned on Teddy. 
 
 The doctor was less and less encouraging as the 
 days went by, and Teddy shook his head gravely 
 when Jean's eyes questioned him, but the nurse's face 
 only set in more stubborn lines and her few words 
 snapped more and more like whip lashes. 
 
 There came a night when that hush in the house 
 deepened, when the doctor came and stayed, when 
 
320 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Teddy sat with Mrs. Bonner and Jean in the little 
 study and all three listened breathlessly for sounds 
 beyond the door behind which Science was fighting 
 Death to the last ditch. 
 
 Outside the window the darkness grew less dark. 
 A little breeze stirred shadowy tumult in the trees. 
 Off somewhere in the graying gloom a whippoorwill 
 gave strident warning of the dawn. 
 
 There was a sound of steps in the sick room and 
 Jean's hand tightened round Mrs. Bonner's. 
 
 The door opened and the doctor came out. Just 
 for a second Mrs. Bonner closed her eyes. She was 
 afraid to see his face; but when she opened them, he 
 was smiling at her. 
 
 "Mr. Bonner is sleeping," he said. "He will do 
 very well now with care." 
 
 Mr. Bonner did do very well with care; but 
 September was half gone before he was like himself 
 once more. Even then, he did not go back to work 
 but lay contentedly in the hammock or wandered 
 about the farm with Mrs. Bonner always beside him, 
 a smile on her lips and a curious look of youth in her 
 face. 
 
 "When are you and Teddy going to be married?" 
 she asked Jean, on the day when the doctor made his 
 last call. "You've both been so good. I don't 
 know what we would have done without you. Ruf us 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 321 
 
 and I both realize and we dread your leaving, but 
 we don't want to be selfish. We wouldn't have you 
 miss a day together because of us not a day. I've 
 been thinking that Susan would come to us. She's 
 well now and kind and capable, and Molly would keep 
 us young. There's no one like you, Jean, but you 
 must take your happiness quickly. Don't think of 
 
 us." 
 
 "The dear soul hasn't the faintest idea that they 
 haven't money enough to get along without us," 
 Jean told Teddy, half laughing, half crying. "She 
 doesn't remember how much she gave you to put 
 in the bank. I don't suppose she even knew how 
 much it was when she gave it to you. I don't see 
 how we can ever leave them." 
 
 There was a hint of impatience in Teddy's laugh. 
 "If only those dividends would come rolling in 
 again! They don't need us for anything except 
 financial props. Don't flatter yourself they do. 
 They don't need anybody. They're so blamed glad 
 to be alive and together that the rest of the world 
 simply doesn't count. Jean, I wonder if, when I'm 
 old and bald and stooped in the shoulders and a bit 
 groggy in the legs- 
 She did not allow him to finish. There was e 
 long and foolish interval. 
 
 "And I don't see how you can even smile at them," 
 
322 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Jean reproached, considerably later. "I think they 
 are adorable perfectly adorable." 
 
 The postman came late that day. The Bonners 
 had finished their luncheon when Teddy brought in 
 the mail, but were still at the table, and Mr. Bonner 
 balanced a spoon carefully on the edge of his glass 
 while his wife ran through the letters. He had 
 fallen out of the way of bothering with his own mail, 
 bothered very little about anything, since his jour- 
 ney to the edge of Beyond. 
 
 "Why, Rufus," Mrs. Bonner exclaimed suddenly. 
 "Why, Rufus!" 
 
 "Yes, my dear." He was vaguely polite. 
 
 "This is very interesting. It's from Mr. Pryor." 
 
 Jean, carrying dishes from the table, stopped by 
 the sideboard and busied herself there, listening 
 shamelessly. History seemed to be repeating itself. 
 Perhaps those dividends 
 
 "It's about a mine, Rufus, a lead mine only 
 there isn't any lead in it." 
 
 "Yes." Mr. Bonner nodded understanding. It 
 was his experience that there was never lead in lead 
 mines, nor silver in silver mines, nor gold in gold 
 mines. 
 
 "Still," he remarked cheerfully, "mines are inter- 
 esting. I've always considered them extremely in- 
 teresting." 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 323 
 
 "This one has oil in it," Mrs. Bonner explained. 
 
 Over by the sideboard, Jean held her breath but 
 Mr. Bonner was not impressed. 
 
 "Curious," he commented, "but that's why mines 
 are interesting, I suppose. They are so uncertain. 
 One never knows; but oil in a lead mine I should 
 think that is quite unusual." 
 
 "It seems an oil mine is very valuable only Mr. 
 Pryor calls it a well. He says we are most fortunate, 
 that we will be rich; in fact, that we are rich already. 
 That's pleasant, isn't it?" 
 
 She might have been discussing an invitation to 
 afternoon tea. 
 
 A cup fell and smashed, the door of the pantry 
 swung open and shut, the kitchen door slammed, and 
 an excited young woman confronted a serene young 
 man who was splitting kindling in the woodshed. 
 
 "They've struck oil," she announced dramatically. 
 
 Teddy put down the axe and eyed her with con- 
 cern. 
 
 "Oil?" he echoed. 
 
 "Yes, in a lead mine." 
 
 "Jean, my child, you're raving." 
 
 "It's true. They have. One of those silly mines 
 of Mr. Bonner's. They're rich. Mr. Pryor says so." 
 
 For one brief moment he stood staring at her, al- 
 lowing the news to sink in. 
 
324 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Then he caught her to him. 
 
 "When, Jean? When? To-morrow? Monday? 
 Monday at the latest!" 
 
 But this time he did not have his way. They 
 waited two weeks. A woman must assert herself 
 occasionally. 
 
 There was much to be done in the two weeks. 
 Susan had to be trained to the ways of the household. 
 The town apartment was made ready. The farm- 
 house was put in order for the winter, though not en- 
 tirely dismantled. 
 
 "It must look pretty for the wedding," Mrs. Bon- 
 ner insisted. " Yes, I know it's to be a quiet wedding 
 but it's to be a pretty one. My heart's set on that." 
 
 She was in her element now, buying from cata- 
 logues, running down to New York in search of more 
 to buy, brushing aside Jean's protests, spending with 
 both hands. 
 
 "There's something very stimulating about an oil 
 well," she explained happily, "It gushes, you know. 
 Mr. Pryor says ours is a gusher. I feel that I 
 have to gush, too; but no matter how fast I gush I 
 can't seem to keep up with it. Mr. Pryor and Teddy 
 are investing most of the money where we can only 
 get the interest. That seems a dull way to use a 
 gusher, doesn't it? But I dare say it's wise, and at 
 least I can have a beautiful time getting you ready t 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 325 
 
 Don't spoil my fun, Jean. Please don't spoil my 
 fun." 
 
 So after all there was a trousseau but things 
 seemed astonishingly unimportant to Jean in those 
 last days. She did not even know what kind of a 
 home she was to have. Teddy had said it would be in 
 Buffalo and that they would see about it after they 
 reached there. His salary would be enough to make 
 them comfortable. That was all he had told her and 
 she was not curious. She had made her choice and 
 was contented oddly, restfully contented. 
 
 Just what their circumstances would be Teddy him- 
 self did not know; but he could support his wife. Of 
 that he was sure. He had written to his father telling 
 him the bald facts. He was going to be married. 
 The girl was poor, had been working as a servant. 
 She was too good for him, worlds too good for him, 
 and the truest gentlewoman he had ever known. He 
 hoped his father would come to the wedding. 
 
 "You'll love her, Dad." It was the world-old 
 formula of fatuous lovers for disapproving parents. 
 "You can't help it. Everybody loves her. Is the 
 job in the factory still open to me? I hope so; but, if 
 it isn't, I've a chance with the Marbury people 
 through Carter. Don't think I'm going to lie back 
 on you, Dad. I've grown up since I fell in love with 
 Jean." 
 
326 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 Mr. Burton, Senior, answered by wire. 
 
 "Congratulations. Will be there. Job waiting for 
 you." 
 
 Not effusive but satisfactory, Teddy told himself. 
 His father was coming, would meet Jean. The rest 
 was sure to be clear sailing. 
 
 Jean, too, had written a letter a letter that was a 
 feminized version of Teddy's. She, too, stated the 
 facts but she did not leave them bald. She adorned 
 them with luxuriant tresses and marcelled the 
 tresses. 
 
 How could a girl write bald facts about the only 
 man in the world to her dearest friend, particularly 
 when the dearest friend would be sure to think some 
 of the facts damning to the man? 
 
 Of course Teddy was the only man in the world, 
 whatever friends might think or say; but it would be a 
 great comfort to have Barbara Herrick thoroughly 
 understand his superlative excellence, so she tried to 
 give her some slight idea of it and, at the bottom of 
 the twentieth page, abandoned the undertaking. 
 
 "There's no use writing, Babs," she admitted. 
 "You'll have to know him to understand. Maybe 
 you won't understand even then. I don't. I 
 wouldn't have believed I could give up all the 'half 
 gods.' They seemed so terribly important when I 
 was putting flowers on their altars; but now well, 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 327 
 
 it's quite true that 'when the gods arrive the half gods 
 go.' 
 
 "I'd like some of the old luxuries, I wish we were 
 going to have money and social position, and I know, 
 as well as you do, that most of the women who have 
 gone in for the 'all for love'and the world well lost' 
 stakes have come dreadful croppers; but, all the 
 same, I haven't any misgivings. I buried them all 
 under a juniper bush. 
 
 "I'm the happiest girl in the world, Babs, and it's 
 fast colour. Just come and see. Do please come, 
 dear. You and Tom are all of the old life I really 
 must take with me into the new; and you'll both fee! 
 much better after you meet Teddy and the Bon- 
 ners. The Bonners diffuse an atmosphere that 
 would make the maddest of doings appear alto- 
 gether normal and they've been heavenly good to 
 me. 
 
 "But, Babs, I haven't told Teddy about my crim- 
 inal past. He thinks I was born to the kitchen bless 
 him! 
 
 "I don't believe he'd throw me over if he knew the 
 worst; but it might make him unhappy and doubtful 
 about his ability to make me happy; so I'm going to 
 wait until it's too late for him to be noble and over- 
 modest. I'm counting on you and Tom, remember. 
 There's no one else. Don't fail me JEAN." 
 
328 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "She's inad, stark staring mad," little Mrs. Her- 
 rick sobbed when she had read the letter and told the 
 news to her husband. 
 
 "A hired man and our Jean! How could she? 
 She mustn't. She shan't." 
 
 Tom Herrick grinned cheerfully across the break- 
 fast table. 
 
 "She's as sane a girl as I ever knew," he said en- 
 couragingly; "and she's a dead game sport. No use 
 arguing with her, Honey. Let's just see her through 
 with a whoop and not spoil the mad tea party." 
 
 Mrs. Herrick' s whoop, sent by post, was tremulous 
 but bravely optimistic, and the prospective bride 
 cried a little over it happily. 
 
 "Such dears," she said to herself. "Such loyal 
 dears ! So absolutely sure I'm making a mistake but 
 standing by, just the same." 
 
 The wedding day came after a night of rain a 
 glorious, fresh- washed, breeze-swept day, with a tang 
 of frost in the air, a dash of red in the maples, a glint 
 of gold in the birches, and a wonderful blue on the dis- 
 tant hills. 
 
 Through the shouting joy of it the Herricks 
 motored up from New York; and, long before their 
 car stopped in front of the white house under the 
 maples, at noon, they were converted to rashness, in 
 tune with romance, ready to believe in miracles. 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 32D 
 
 "After all, if they're frightfully in love with each 
 other," Barbara murmured indulgently. 
 
 Her husband stopped the car on a hilltop and the 
 two foolish married folk kissed each other, while a 
 group of cows looked over a stone wall with mild 
 approval. 
 
 Then the car coasted down the hill, climbed an- 
 other hill, and Babs was in Jean's arms while two men 
 took each other's measure and waited for the first, 
 fine frenzy to subside. 
 
 "He seems like the real thing," Tom confided to his 
 wife, later, "but what in thunder is a chap like that 
 doing here?" 
 
 "He's marrying Jean, and he's a blessed angel," 
 Mrs. Herrick stated with profound conviction and 
 rapturous relief. 
 
 "But, Babs " 
 
 "She's crazy about him." 
 
 "Yes, Iknow;but- 
 
 "I'm crazy about him myself."' 
 
 She fled brideward and her husband, shaking his 
 head doubtfully, strolled out into the yard. 
 
 There Teddy joined him and once more the two 
 studied each other, under cover of desultory talk. 
 
 "You've known Jean a long time?" Teddy said at 
 last. 
 
 "Yes; a long time." 
 
330 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN' 
 
 "She thinks a lot of you." 
 "We think a lot of her," 
 
 Teddy squared his shoulders and drew a long 
 breath. 
 
 "There's something I think I'd better tell you," he 
 began shamefacedly. Tom Herrick's genial face 
 hardened. There was something wrong, after all. 
 
 "Suppose we walk out through the garden." 
 Teddy cast an apprehensive glance toward the house 
 windows as he spoke. 
 
 "You see I ought to have told Jean," he went on, 
 "but I hated to spoil things. It was all so perfect 
 and I didn't know what foolish idea she might take 
 into her head, if she knew, and I well, I put it off." 
 
 Guilt sat heavily upon him and the listener's heart 
 sank. Poor Jean! But it was better to know now. 
 Maybe things weren't so hopelessly rotten. Perhaps 
 there was nothing worse than a divorce or 
 
 "Better get it out of your system," he advised 
 curtly. 
 
 A moment later Jean and Barbara, dressing in the 
 bride's room, were interrupted in serious talk by a 
 howl of mirth. 
 
 "That's Tom," Tom's wife said positively. "No- 
 body e/se in the world ever laughs like a Calliope. I 
 wonder what's so funny; but really, Jean, I think you 
 ought to do it. Tom thinks so, too. Of course if it 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 331 
 
 were something bad you might keep it to your- 
 self." 
 
 "Well, of all the immoral sentiments," protested 
 the bride. 
 
 "But this sort of thing can't make any real differ- 
 ence," Babs continued severely, "and it does look as 
 if you hadn't much confidence in him. I'd tell him 
 beforehand, Jean. Truly I would. Tom says it 
 isn't playing the game not to that a man would hate 
 not being told." 
 
 The girl before the mirror studied her own re- 
 flection anxiously. 
 
 "He'll hate it but he likes me in white. Perhaps 
 you're right. I'll go and tell him now. Pat me on 
 the back, Babs. I feel as though I were going to con- 
 fess that I'd been married three times and had two 
 husbands living." 
 
 " Jean ! " It was Tom Herrick's voice from the foot 
 of the stairs and it sounded oddly choked and very 
 solemn. 
 
 "Come down a minute. Burton wants to see you. 
 It's important. He's in the library." 
 
 She went slowly down the stairs, slim and sweet 
 and girlish in her simple white frock, but hesitating, 
 all her blithe self-confidence gone, a mute appeal in 
 her eyes. 
 
 The slimness and sweetness tugged at Teddy's 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 heart but he missed the appeal. He had troubles of 
 his own. Any ordinary girl would be glad to hear 
 that her lover had a rich father, but Jean was different 
 so frank, so honest. She hated deceit. Per- 
 haps 
 
 "Herrick said I ought to tell you," he began 
 bravely. " I would have told you before only I wasn't 
 sure how you'd take it. You see I was mad about you 
 the moment I saw you. I'd have done anything to 
 get you and it didn't seem I meant to tell you but- 
 well, you won't let it make any difference will you, 
 dear?" 
 
 The girl's face was as white as her frock now, and 
 fright had replaced the appeal in her eyes. 
 
 She had not dreamed of this; had tossed all her 
 early suspicions away; and now 
 
 "Tell me," she said. Her voice was quiet, but she 
 put a hand upon a high-backed chair to steady herself. 
 
 " Well, you know, I saw you on the street. It was 
 all over but the shouting right then, so far as I was 
 concerned." The man was stumbling through his 
 confession desperately. "But there wasn't any way. 
 I had to meet you and I saw the advertisement. It 
 was a way, you know and I took a chance and then 
 I was worse hit than ever; and I liked the work, too. 
 and took on the Bonners and you were 
 Oh, Jean! Jean, darling!" 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 333 
 
 He came toward her, arms outstretched, but the 
 look on her face stopped him. 
 
 "What was it ? " she asked. " What had you done? " 
 
 "Done?" He stared at her in bewilderment. 
 Hadn't he just explained? "Done? Why, chucked 
 the fishing trip, you know, and signed on as hired 
 man, and kept it dark that Dad had money to burn 
 and I'd been burning it; but I didn't take a cent from 
 him after I met you. Word of honour! I went on my 
 own like a shot. Going to stay on my own; but of 
 
 course if Dad Oh, I say, don't take it that way, 
 
 Jean! Don't!" 
 
 She had dropped into the high-backed chair and 
 was crying or was she laughing? Doing both; that 
 was it and he couldn't stand it. 
 
 "Darling," he pleaded, on his knees beside her, his 
 arms close round her. "Darling! Don't! I'll never 
 deceive you again. It was only that I couldn't see 
 any other way and it seemed harmless enough and 
 you had me shot all to pieces and then it was all so 
 blamed sweet the way it was. I'd been plumb fed up 
 with loafing and I've loved working with you. I'll 
 work like a wop for you, Jean, and I've been a decent 
 sort aside from being a silly idle young ass. Truly I 
 have." 
 
 The girl was still sobbing a little, laughing a little, 
 but clinging to him in a way that was vastly reassuring. 
 
334 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 "Tell me you forgive me," he begged. 
 
 "We we're partners in crime." 
 
 The voice was very small and shaky and muffled by 
 his coat lapel. "I've a horrible past of my own, Ted. 
 You see I not money. It was all lost but I did 
 and I butterflied around and then I cut loose to 
 prove I could earn my own living; but I wanted to go 
 back. I've got a grubby little soul. And then you 
 came and I wouldn't at first; but afterward I 
 didn't care. I was satisfied. I knew nothing else 
 mattered." 
 
 "My darling! My blessed, plucky darling!" 
 
 His voice was shaky now; but his face was radiant 
 and in the face Jean at last lifted to his there was 
 utter content. 
 
 A succession of blood-curdling shrieks broke in 
 upon their good moment and sent them hurrying out 
 of doors with the rest of the household. 
 
 A big motor car was standing before the gate. A 
 liveried chauffeur sat like a graven image at the wheel 
 and Molly, squealing with excitement, was swarming 
 over some one on the back seat. 
 
 " Jimmy ! " she called. "Jimmy, come see ! Come 
 quick!" 
 
 A man climbed out of the car with the small girl 
 in his arms and came up the walk. 
 
 "Dad!" Teddy shouted, running to meet him; 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 335 
 
 but, at his heels, Jean and Jimmy and Mrs. Morley and 
 Susan were calling out glad greetings to Mr. Brown. 
 
 He was a wonderful wedding guest, was Mr. 
 Brown, after he had gripped his boy's hand and 
 looked into his eyes and knew that all was well be- 
 tween them. 
 
 " Don't be angry, Ted," he said. "I didn't in- 
 tend to interfere and I didn't suspect anything shady, 
 but you had me guessing. I wanted to know what 
 was up and be ready to haul you out if you were 
 wading in over your depth. Then when I found you 
 were in head over ears already, and when I met 
 Jean Ted, if you aren't good to that girl, I'll 
 well, never mind, but you needn't grin like a 
 demented chimpanzee. She's worth ten of you. 
 
 "I had the house done over when I went home. 
 You won't mind coming in there, will you, Jean? 
 It's so confounded big and lonely and it needs a 
 mistress." 
 
 "I'll love it." Jean's voice was humble. She 
 was being invited to fill a place long vacant and she 
 realized all it meant. 
 
 "But we'll buy a farm for summers. You said 
 you wanted a farm, Jean. There's an old one five 
 miles out on a hilltop. You specified a hilltop. 
 Lilacs, too, but elms instead of maples. I believe 
 you'll like it." 
 
336 HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 
 
 He patted her hand gently and looked around hhn 
 with satisfied eyes. 
 
 "Then you'll all come to visit us. I'd like a farm 
 here on Green Ridge if it weren't so far from the 
 factory. Great place. I came for a week and 
 stayed until the sheriff chased me out. 
 
 "By the way, I went over to New London yester- 
 day and saw that sheriff. Nice fellow. 
 
 "You see it was this touchy boy of mine I didn't 
 want to meet afraid he'd think I wasn't playing 
 fair, but I stirred up a hullabaloo, didn't I?" 
 
 "My stars, wait till I get a chance at the Ladies' 
 Aid Society!" There was triumph in Mrs. Morley's 
 voice. 
 
 "Invite the Ladies' Aid down," Mr. Brown urged 
 genially. "Invite all the neighbours down, es- 
 pecially the Middleton man. I'd like to apologize 
 to him for his disappointment about that reward. 
 I'm going to spend a week with you, Mrs Morley, 
 and turn the car over to these youngsters. You can 
 murder the chauffeur or send him back to town if 
 he's a crowd, Ted. You won't need him. Jean 
 can drive. I'll swear to that. How's the pie supply, 
 Mrs. Morley?" 
 
 Mrs. Morley was fidgeting restlessly on the edge 
 of her chair. The light of battle was in her eyes. 
 
 "Well, just as soon as this wedding's over " 
 
HOW COULD YOU, JEAN? 337 
 
 "Don't hurry them. I can wait for my pie." 
 
 "Jim, remember those things that were going to 
 happen to you? They're going to begin. New 
 York next week with me, then school and college, 
 and after that you'll have to come out and help 
 Ted run the factory. It'll be a two-man job to 
 keep Jean and me in funds." 
 
 Molly was on his knee. Jim stood shy but ecstatic 
 in the circle of his arm. He reached out his free 
 hand and drew Jean to him. 
 
 "That boy of mine has his living to earn," he said, 
 smiling proudly up at her, "but you and I, daughter 
 we're going to play around a bit." 
 
 Then the minister came and the Bonners' young 
 folk were married. 
 
 They went away in the car from which the chauf- 
 feur had been eliminated; but Jean was not driving. 
 She was throwing kisses back to the group at the 
 door of the white house under the maples. 
 
 " The lambs ! " she said chokingly. " The lambs ! " 
 
 "You aren't crying?" 
 
 Her husband could drive an eight-cylinder car with 
 one hand and he proved it. 
 
 "I am," the bride sobbed. "I'm wailing! Why 
 shouldn't I cry, Teddy Burton? This is the funeral 
 of the best friend I ever had. She was a cook lady ! " 
 
 THE END 
 
STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY 
 
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 destruction of Jerusalem. 
 
 The book, as a story, is replete with Oriental charm and richness, 
 and the character drawing is marvelous. No other novel ever written 
 has portrayed with such vividness the events that convulsed Rome 
 and destroyed Jerusalem in the early days of Christanity. 
 
 Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction 
 
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NOVELS OF SOUTHERN LIFE 
 
 By THOMAS DIXON, JR. 
 
 May b tad whrevtr bote art sold. Ask far Srosset & Dunlap's list 
 
 THE LEOPARD'S SPOTS; A Story of the White Man'a 
 Burden, 1865-1900. With illustrations by C. D. Williams. 
 
 A tale of the South about the dramatic events of Destruction. 
 Reconstruction and Upbuilding. The work is able and eloquent and 
 the verifiable events of history are followed closely in the develop* 
 ment of a story full of struggle. 
 
 THE CLANSMAN. With illustrations by Arthur L Keller. 
 
 While not connected with it in any way, this is a companion voT* 
 time to the author's "epoch-making" story Thg Leopard's Spats. It 
 is a novel with a great deal to it, and which very properly is going to 
 interest many thousands of readers. * * * It is, first of all, a forceful, 
 dramatic, absorbing love story, with a sequence of events so surprising 
 that one is prepared for the fact that much of it is fouuded on actual 
 happenings; but Mr. Dixon has, as before, a deeper purpose he has 
 aimed to show that the original formers of th Ku Klux Klan were 
 modern knights errant taking the only means at hand to right 
 intolerable wrongs. 
 
 THE TRAITOR. A Story of the Fall of the 2nvi?'Ne Empire. 
 Illustrations by C. D. Williams. 
 
 The third and last book in this remarkable trilogy of novels relat- 
 ing to Southern Reconstruction. It is a thrilling story of love, ad- 
 venture, treason, and the United States Secret Service dealing with 
 the decline and fall of the Ku Klux Klan. 
 
 COMRADES. Illustrations by C. D. Williams. 
 
 A novel dealing with the establishment of a Socialistic Colony 
 upon a deserted island off the coast of California. Tiie way of dis- 
 illusionment is the course over which Mr. Dixon conducts the reader. 
 
 THE ONE WOMAN. A Story of Modern Utopia. 
 
 A lore story and character study of three strong men and two fas- 
 cinating women. In swift, unified, and dramatic action, we see So- 
 cialism a deadly force, in the hour of the eclipse of Faith, destroying 
 the home life and weakening the fiber of Anglo Saxon manhood. 
 
 Ask for a complete fret list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK 
 
CHARMING BOOKS FOR GIRLS 
 
 May be bad wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset ft Donlap's list 
 
 WHEN PATTY WENT TO COLLEGE, By Jean Webster. 
 Illustrated by C. D. Williams. 
 
 One of the best stories of life in a girl's college that has ever been 
 written. It is bright, whimsical and entertaining, lifelike, laughable 
 and thoroughly human. 
 
 JUST PATTY. By Jean Webster. 1 ) 
 Illustrated by C. M. Relyea.1 
 
 Patty is full of the joy of living, fun-loving, given to ingenious 
 mischief for its own sake, with a disregard for pretty convention which 
 is an unfailing source of joy to her fellows. , 
 
 THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL, By Eleanor Gates.) 
 With four full page illustrations. 
 
 This story relates the experience of one of those unfortunate chil- 
 dren whose early days are passed in the companionship of a governess, 
 seldom seeing either parent, and famishing for natural love and tender- 
 ness. A charming play as dramatized by the author. 
 
 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM, By Kate Douglas 
 Wiggin. 
 
 One of the most beautiful studies of childhood Rebecca's artistic, 
 unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle of 
 austere New Englanders. The stage version is m^Ujjpg a pheaominal 
 dramatic record. 
 
 NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA, By Kate Douglas Wiggin. 
 Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. ' 
 
 Additional episodes in the girlhood of this delightful heroine that 
 carry Rebecca through various stages to her eighteenth birthday. 
 
 REBECCA IfARY, By Annie Hamilton DonnelL ^ 
 Illustrated by Elizabeth Shippen Green. 
 
 This author possesses the rare gift of portraying all the grotesque 
 little joys and sorrows and scruples of this very Rmall girl with a pa- 
 thos that is peculiarly genuine and appealing. 
 
 EMMY LOU; Her Book and Heart, By George Madden Martin. 
 'Illustrated by Charles Louis Hintoru 
 
 Emmy Lou is irresistibly lovable, because she is so absolutely real. 
 She is just a bewitchingly innocent, hugable little maid. The book is 
 wonderfully human. 
 
 Ask for comtfct* free fat of G. & D. Popular Coj>yrigked Fiction 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST. NEW YORK 
 
been taken to England, but spurns conventional life for the sake 
 the untamed West and a girl's pretty face. 
 
 TITLES SELECTED FROM 
 
 GROSSET 8c DUNLAPS LIST 
 
 May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset ft Dunlap's list 
 
 THE SILENT CALL. By Edwin Milton Royle. Illustrated 
 with scenes from the play. 
 
 The hero of this story is the Squaw Man's son. He has 
 n 
 of 
 
 JOHN MARCH, SOUTHERNER. By George W. Cable. 
 
 A story of the pretty women and spirited men of the South. 
 As fragrant in sentiment as a sprig of magnolia, and as full of 
 mystery and racial troubles as any romance of "after the war" 
 days. 
 
 MR. JUSTICE RAFFLES. By E. W. Hornung. 
 
 This engaging rascal is found helping a young cricket player 
 out of the toils of a money shark. Novel in plot, thrilling and 
 amusing. 
 
 FORTY MINUTES LATE. By F. Hopkinson Smith. Hlstrated 
 by S. M. Chase. 
 
 Delightfully human stories of every day happenings; of a 
 lecturer's laughable experience because he's late, a young woman's 
 excursion into the stock market, etc. 
 
 OLD LADY NUMBER 31. By Louise Forsslund. 
 
 A heart- warming story of American rural life, telling of the 
 adventures of an old couple in an old folk's home, their sunny, 
 philosophical acceptance of misfortune and ultimate prosperity. 
 
 THE HUSBAND'S STORY. By David Graham Phillips. 
 
 A story that has given all Europe as well as all America much 
 food for thought. A young couple begin life in humble circum- 
 stances and rise in worldly matters until the husband is enormously 
 rich the wife in the most aristocratic European society but at the 
 price of their happiness. 
 
 THE TRATL OF NINETY -EIGHT. By Robert W. Service 
 Illustrated by Maynard Dixon. 
 
 One of the best stories of "Vagabondia" ever writtem, and 
 one of the most accurate and picturesque descriptions of the stam- 
 pede of gold seekers to the Yukon. The love story embedded in 
 the narrative is strikingly original. 
 
 Ask for compete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK 
 
YB 73! 1 '8