AND-CW5TOR
 
 .
 
 ftp eii?a rne SMIjttc. 
 
 WINTERBOROUGH. A Novel. i6mo, $1.25; 
 paper, 50 cents. 
 
 THE COMING OF THEODORA. A Novel. 
 i6mo, $1.25. 
 
 WHEN MOLLY WAS SIX. A Book for Chil- 
 dren. With Colored Cover Design and other 
 Illustrations. Square i2mo, $1.00. 
 
 A LITTLE GIRL OF LONG AGO. A Book for 
 Children. With Colored Cover Design and 
 other Illustrations. Square i2mo, $1.00. 
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP AND OTHER 
 STORIES. i6mo, 1.25. 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK.
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 ttjer 
 
 BY 
 
 ELIZA ORNE WHITE 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 IKU'iiHTOX, MIKFI.IX AXD COMI'ANV 
 
 (Cbe fitocrsibc press, Cambnb0c 
 
 1897
 
 COPYRIGHT 1897 BY ELIZA OKNE WHITE 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
 
 TO 
 
 MY FATHER
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 FAOB 
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 1 
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 51 
 
 A BISMARCK DINNER 102 
 
 A HAMERTON TYPE-WRITER 119 
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 142 
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 190 
 
 THE FATTED CALF 217 
 
 Two AUTHORS 248 
 
 "Commonplace Carrie" and "AHamerton Type- 
 Writer ' ' are reprinted from The New England Maga- 
 zine, and " The Fatted Calf " from Harper's Bazar, 
 by permission of the publishers.
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 MAY 25. I am twenty years old to- 
 day ! I used to think that the first fresh 
 bloom of one's youth was over at twenty ; 
 but I have reached that advanced period 
 without even beginning to have any fun. 
 I don't see what use there is in my being 
 young and pretty, when there is nobody 
 any more exciting than Miss Niles to tell 
 me that I am so. I wish I knew some 
 young men ! I am fully aware how heter- 
 odox this sentiment is considered, but I 
 repeat it boldly, and even underline it, 
 / should like to know some interesting 
 men ! 
 
 Just at this point mamma called to me 
 from below, " May, dear, don't you want 
 to cut the asparagus for me ? " In order 
 to live up to the standard of truth that my 
 mother advocates, I should have replied 
 promptly, "No, dear, I don't;" but I 
 1
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 have all my life disguised my real senti- 
 ments beneath a veil of apparent cheerful- 
 ness and amiability ; so I took the basket 
 and knife, and descended to the garden. 
 Mamma little knows how rebellious I am 
 at heart, and how I hate this dull, quiet 
 life. I should like to know whether the 
 society in all small New England towns 
 consists chiefly of maiden ladies, of all 
 varieties and ages. The Northbridge 
 maiden ladies are very nice, but they all 
 have a more or less resigned expression. 
 I wonder at what period they definitely 
 gave up the hope of knowing any inter- 
 esting men. 
 
 Miss Niles was in her garden cutting 
 asparagus, too. She bobbed her long pale 
 face forward, so that she could see me 
 through the hole in the hedge. She looks 
 queerer than ever since she has taken to 
 wearing that green sun-bonnet ; but she 
 is so good that I ought not to make fun 
 of her. 
 
 " Good-morning, May," she said in her 
 
 slow, sentimental way. " How fresh and 
 
 beautiful you look, and like the sweet 
 
 month for which you are named ! Do you 
 
 2
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 remember those lines of Browning ? " and 
 she began a quotation, brandishing the 
 asparagus knife in the air. 
 
 I never remember any poetry, and 
 Browning is my especial aversion, but 
 I smiled and said, " How lovely ! " in 
 the proper places. 
 
 " I am glad you care so intensely for 
 Browning, dearest May," Miss Niles said ; 
 " you are a great satisfaction to my soul. 
 You too feel the charm and depth of 
 meaning in his lightest words. I recol- 
 lect how deeply you enjoyed ' Childe Ro- 
 land ' and ' Paracelsus,' and I am going to 
 read you ' The Red Cotton Night-Cap 
 Country.' ' 
 
 I contrived to hide the feelings caused 
 by this announcement, and said politely, 
 " You are very kind, and I shall be glad 
 to hear anything that you choose to read, 
 only I don't think I wholly understand 
 Browning yet." 
 
 "No one comprehends him at first, 
 dear ; the knowledge comes later, after 
 much hard work and perseverance, like 
 the love of olives." 
 
 Miss Niles never knows how she is 
 3
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 going to end a sentence when she begins 
 it, and the result is sometimes startling. 
 
 There was a pause, during which we 
 both cut asparagus assiduously, and then 
 she began again : 
 
 " You have such a true appreciation of 
 the spirit of Browning's poetry that we 
 have voted you into our club, although 
 you are so much younger than the other 
 members. Think what an honor! " 
 
 Just then I could not but admit that 
 there was something to be said on the side 
 of those persons who advocate perfect 
 truth in all the relations of life, but it 
 was too late to retreat. Had n't I sat for 
 the whole of a long spring afternoon, in 
 apparent rapt contemplation, as she read 
 me page after page, each more incompre- 
 hensible than the last ; while my thoughts 
 refused to conform to any effort of my 
 will, but flew vaguely from one inappro- 
 priate theme to another ? And all be- 
 cause I could not bear to hurt her feel- 
 ings ! 
 
 " I suppose you have heard of our won- 
 derful good fortune," said Miss Niles, 
 leaning forward, and once more peeping 
 4
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 at me through the hedge. " Paul Brown, 
 the distinguished P. K. Brown, who is 
 such a great Browning scholar, is coming 
 to spend the summer here, and we hope 
 to persuade him to conduct our study 
 class." 
 
 " Indeed ! " I exclaimed. " How de- 
 lightful ! " and my unworthy mind imme- 
 diately busied itself in conjectures as to 
 the age of Mr. P. K. Brown. 
 
 " He is a young man of great talent," 
 Miss Niles continued. " They say the 
 amount of knowledge that he has on the 
 subject is really wonderful, considering 
 that he is n't more than four or five and 
 twenty. There comes the butter-man ; 
 how provoking! But we will talk this 
 matter over another time." 
 
 Miss Niles kissed her hand to me and 
 departed, trailing her black wrapper 
 along the gravel path, and making the 
 transition from Browning to butter with 
 preternatural dignity. 
 
 I was left to my own reflections, which 
 were of a mixed nature. 
 
 When the gods grant the requests of 
 mortals, do they always hamper the ful- 
 5
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 fillment with some condition that sends 
 leanness into their souls ? I asked myself. 
 Only ten minutes before I had been wish- 
 ing that I knew some young men, and 
 now this P. K. Brown, of four or five and 
 twenty, was about to descend among us, 
 but, as if by the irony of fate, devoted to 
 his odious Browning, and consequently 
 talking and thinking in a jargon with 
 which I have not the smallest sympathy. 
 
 May 30. I have seen him go by the 
 house, and he has one of the most charm- 
 ing faces imaginable : not handsome, pre- 
 cisely, but intellectual, with dark eyes full 
 of expression, and an adorable brown 
 mustache. I have decided to join the 
 Browning Class. 
 
 June 3. Heaven forgive me for my 
 sins ! I have told Mr. P. K. Brown that 
 I am an enthusiast over Browning"! It 
 would be possible to extenuate my con- 
 duct by saying that I was driven into it, 
 but I scorn to take refuge in such a subter- 
 fuge. I will at least be wholly sincere 
 with myself. This is how it happened : 
 
 Miss Niles had an evening reception 
 for Piquet (I can't resist calling him so, 
 6
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 and making one word of it), and all the 
 aristocracy of Northbridge was present, 
 numbering fifty ladies and six gentlemen. 
 Miss Niles was so busy that she forgot to 
 introduce Mr. Brown to me, and he was 
 immediately seized upon by Mrs. Janseu. 
 I could catch a glimpse of his poetical 
 face over her broad shoulders, and I won- 
 dered whether she would keep him to her- 
 self all the evening. 
 
 I don't like receptions. The wrong 
 people always stick to you like burrs, and 
 the right ones have only time to say a 
 word in passing. For instance, I really 
 love Annie Fairchild, but she would 
 hardly speak to me, for she was bent 
 upon a missionary tour, as usual, and so 
 departed to make herself agreeable to 
 some forlorn person. By the way, why 
 is n't it just as untruthful to pretend to 
 enjoy stupid people as it is to appear to 
 care for poetry that you dislike ? I told 
 Annie that I thought her very insincere, 
 but she only laughed and went her mis- 
 taken way, not minding in the least that 
 she left me to the tender mercies of Colo- 
 nel Parminter, who is without exception 
 7
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 the greatest bore I know. There is a 
 limit to endurance, and this limit was 
 reached when the colonel began to tell me 
 for the fiftieth time his tale about the 
 narrow escape he had at the battle of Bull 
 Run. 
 
 " I am afraid I have perhaps told you 
 this story before, my dear young friend," 
 he observed, " but you are so sympa- 
 thetic." 
 
 " A good story is always worth hearing 
 a second time," I said, blandly ; " but if 
 you will pardon me, I suppose I ought to 
 go and help Miss Niles pass the cake and 
 lemonade." 
 
 "Certainly, certainly, my dear young 
 friend," said the colonel, nodding his sil- 
 very head with antiquated courtesy. 
 
 I went the rounds of the room. Most 
 of the people selected their cake with as 
 much deliberation as if it were a solemn 
 duty. Annie took some caraway-seed 
 cookies, for fear there would not be 
 enough cake to go around. Colonel Par- 
 minter, on the contrary, picked out some 
 cocoanut cakes and macaroons, with con- 
 sequential gravity. I prefer his plan to 
 8
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 Annie's, for I do not believe that you will 
 benefit the world any more than yourself 
 by being self -sacrificing. For it is quite 
 probable that, after fasting virtuously on 
 caraway-seed cookies, you will discover 
 that your neighbor has been secretly long- 
 ing to feast on them, whereas, owing to 
 your unnecessary self-immolation, there 
 are none left. As with caraway-seed 
 cookies, so with life. 
 
 Annie might avoid Mr. P. K. Brown 
 as much as she liked, but I was not made 
 in that mould. I proceeded' to pass him 
 the cake. He was very animated, and 
 apparently much interested in talking 
 with Miss Anderson. He put out his 
 hand to make some explanatory motion, 
 and hit the cake-basket, sending three 
 cookies flying in different directions. 
 Then he looked up. Our eyes met. I 
 shall never forget how his face changed 
 when he saw me. He glanced at me first 
 with glad surprise, probably because I 
 was the youngest person in the room ; but 
 afterwards he gave me a curious, satis- 
 fied look, as if he had been expecting me 
 always, and found me at last. I flushed 
 9
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 under his keen scrutiny. The mutual 
 embarrassment lasted only a moment, for 
 he almost instantly stooped to pick up the 
 cookies. 
 
 "What shall I do with them?" he 
 asked helplessly. 
 
 " We will eat them," I replied auda- 
 ciously. " Miss Niles's floor is always as 
 clean as a plate. Won't you have one, 
 Miss Anderson ? " I added wickedly. 
 
 "No, thank you," she said, seeming 
 greatly shocked. " To return to the Old 
 Pictures in Florence, Mr. Brown. I shall 
 be pleased to have you come and inspect 
 my collection, and select those that are 
 necessary for the illustration and elucida- 
 tion of our first study lesson." 
 
 Miss Anderson always talks like a dic- 
 tionary. I really cannot do her justice. 
 
 She surveyed me critically. I was sure 
 she noticed that my bang did not curl as 
 well as usual, and that my pink cashmere 
 gown was my old white one dyed. I 
 smiled back at her in my sweetest man- 
 ner, yet in my heart I thought how gladly 
 she would give her maroon satin in ex- 
 change for my dyed cashmere, if only she 
 10
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 could throw her extra fifteen years in to 
 balance the account. I don't like Har- 
 riet Anderson. Just then Miss Niles 
 came up. " Talking about the Florentine 
 pictures ? How delightful ! " she said. 
 "Mr. Brown, have you been presented 
 to my dear young friend, Miss Che- 
 ney? She is one of the most hopeful and 
 promising of our Browning enthusiasts." 
 At this point Miss Anderson raised her 
 eyebrows. She looked at me coldly and 
 most disagreeably. Her glance decided 
 me. 
 
 " Yes," I said, " I am very fond of 
 Browning's poetry, only I do not pretend 
 to know much about him." 
 
 " No ? " said Miss Anderson. " I am 
 glad you make no pretenses." 
 
 This insulting speech roused me to 
 fresh untruths. "I know very little 
 about him," I reiterated, "but I care so 
 much for some of his things that I am 
 anxious to read as much of him as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 I felt so virtuous while I was saying 
 this, so truthful and innocent, and as if I 
 really were the appreciative young person 
 11
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 that I knew Mr. Brown thought me, my 
 words were so modest and my tones so 
 truly convincing, that even Miss Ander- 
 son looked baffled. 
 
 " Do you belong to the Browning Class, 
 Miss Cheney ? " asked the hero. 
 
 What a pleasant voice he has ! I 
 thought. He will be sure to read well. 
 Perhaps I shall really get to like Brown- 
 ing. 
 
 " Yes," I replied with enthusiasm, for 
 Miss Anderson's eye was still upon me, 
 " I am happy to say that I have just had 
 the good fortune to be chosen a member." 
 
 Now I have told the whole disgraceful 
 truth, and I have no doubt that Mr. 
 Brown will begin the study lessons 
 cheered by the thought that there is one 
 congenial spirit in the class, who is as 
 wildly devoted to Browning as he is him- 
 self. Well, it 's too late for regrets. I 
 am in for it now. 
 
 June 7. The Browning Club met for 
 the first time last night. The subject 
 was Old Pictures in Florence, but we only 
 got through the first verse. 
 
 Mr. Brown began : 
 12
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 " ' The morn when first it thunders in March, 
 The eel in the pond gives a leap, they say ' " 
 
 but at this point he was interrupted by 
 Colonel Parminter, who wanted to know 
 the reason why. He was very serious 
 about it, and to look at him you would 
 have said that the fate of nations de- 
 pended upon the correct solution of the 
 problem. 
 
 " That is n't what I call poetry," said 
 little Miss Perkins in her high-pitched 
 voice. " The lines are very unmusical, 
 and then who cares to know whether the 
 eel leaps in the pond or not ? " But she 
 was instantly frowned down. 
 
 " My dear madam, it is a matter of the 
 utmost importance that we understand 
 each line perfectly before we proceed to 
 the next," observed the colonel. 
 
 " Yes," assented Miss Niles. " Do you 
 consider that passage allegorical, Mr. 
 Brown ? Does the leaping of the eel in 
 the pond symbolize the struggles of Italy 
 for liberty?" 
 
 " I will get the encyclopaedia and look 
 up eels," said Mrs. Ellis. " I should like 
 to know whether all eels leap in all ponds 
 13
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 when' it first thunders, or whether this 
 habit is peculiar to Italy." 
 
 " Don't you think it is just a local su- 
 perstition," suggested Annie mildly, " and 
 had n't we better go on to the more im- 
 portant part of the poem ? " 
 
 " It is all equally important," said Colo- 
 nel Parminter gravely. " Each word that 
 Browning ever wrote is of equal impor- 
 tance with every other word." 
 
 Just then Mrs. Ellis came back with the 
 encyclopaedia, opened at Ichthyology. 
 
 " My dear friends," she exclaimed en- 
 thusiastically, " I had no idea that fishes 
 were so interesting! Come and look at 
 this picture of a trigger fish, and at this 
 queer creature with a fluted collar. See, 
 Grace, its eyes are stilted out from its 
 head on a cartilaginous stem ! How con- 
 venient it would be to have that arrange- 
 ment of eyes when we are driving with 
 your father, and he wants us to look at all 
 the things that are just behind us ! " and 
 Mrs. Ellis laughed gayly. 
 
 We all joined in ; it was a relief to find 
 something that we were expected to laugh 
 at. 
 
 14
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 Then Grace asked, " Had n't you bet- 
 ter skip the cuttle fishes and their rela- 
 tions, mother, and proceed to eels ? It is 
 very interesting, but we did n't form the 
 class to study fishes." 
 
 Mrs. Ellis followed her suggestion 
 obediently. 
 
 " See here, girls," she said, looking 
 abstractedly at Colonel Parminter ; " the 
 town of Ely, in England, is said to be so 
 named from the rents having been for- 
 merly paid in eels, and Elmore " 
 
 "Does it say anything about the eel 
 leaping in the pond, Mrs. Ellis?" asked 
 the colonel. He spoke with that severe 
 air of superiority which even the least 
 wise of the opposite sex feels it incum- 
 bent upon him to assume over ours, if we 
 chance to wander from the subject when 
 he would like the floor himself. 
 
 " Electrical eels ! " continued Mrs. 
 Ellis. " They are so interesting. Lis- 
 ten to this : ' These eels are captured by 
 driving horses and mules into the water, 
 the electric powers of the fish being first 
 exhausted and ' " 
 
 "I have it!" cried Miss Niles sud- 
 15
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 denly. " The explanation of the eel leap- 
 ing in the thunder-storm has come to me 
 in an electric flash. They are electric 
 eels, and so when there is electricity in 
 the air they rise to meet it, as the magnet 
 seek the iron. Isn't this conformable 
 with the laws of electricity, Mr. Brown ? " 
 
 Piquet kept a straight face. "It is 
 a very ingenious explanation," he said 
 politely, " but, unfortunately, I believe 
 the electric eels are found only in South 
 America." 
 
 " Supposing we proceed to the next 
 line," suggested Colonel Parminter (even 
 his patience was giving way, it seemed), 
 " and appoint a committee to look up the 
 subject of eels for our next meeting." 
 
 His motion was cheerfully carried, and 
 Mr. Brown began again : 
 
 " ' The morn when first it thunders in March, 
 The eel in the pond gives a leap, they say. 
 As I leaned and looked over the aloed arch 
 Of the villa gate this warm March day, 
 No flash snapt, no dum thunder rolled ' " 
 
 " What on earth is dumb thunder ? " 
 broke in Miss Perkins, who had n't seen 
 the spelling of the word. " Of all out- 
 16
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 landish expressions, that is the queerest. 
 I should think even Browning would 
 have more sense than that. Dumb thun- 
 der ! Dumb lightning might be allowed, 
 although peculiar ; but dumb thunder ! " 
 
 Mrs. Ellis flew to the dictionary, only 
 to find that "d-u-m" was not in it, and 
 Colonel Parminter began a vivid descrip- 
 tion of a battle, telling us how the roar of 
 the artillery sounded like a severe thun- 
 der-storm. This reminded Miss Niles of 
 a time in her youth when the house next 
 to her own was struck by lightning. At 
 this point Mrs. Jansen pounded on the 
 table to call us to order, as Mr. Brown 
 was too polite to interfere with us. 
 
 The last line of the first verse of our 
 choice poem is : 
 
 " Florence lay out on the mountain side ; " 
 
 and so we were put through a series of 
 tedious photographs, and made familiar 
 with the map of Florence. I begin to 
 wish that I had not joined the Browning 
 Class. 
 
 June 15. Last night the club met 
 again. After the lesson was over, Mr. 
 17
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 Brown came up to me, while I was put- 
 ting on my things, and asked if he might 
 have the pleasure of walking home with 
 me. 
 
 " You may," I replied, smiling. " It 
 is the one object of my life to give plea- 
 sure." 
 
 " Then you certainly attain your ideal, 
 which is more than most of us can say." 
 
 As he spoke he gave me a grave, flat- 
 tering glance of approval. 
 
 The moon was shining brightly, and 
 the scent of roses was in the air as we 
 passed through Mrs. Jansen's porch. 
 We could hear the sound of loud voices 
 and laughter from the house behind us, 
 where the club were putting on their 
 wraps and overshoes ; but in front of us 
 was quite a different world, silver, and 
 mysterious in its perfumed beauty. Even 
 I was impressed by it. 
 
 " What a night ! " exclaimed Mr. 
 Brown, as if sure of my sympathy. 
 
 We had barely reached the gate when 
 
 we heard voices behind us, and presently 
 
 Miss Niles's slow soprano. " Where is 
 
 May Cheney?" she inquired. "I pro- 
 
 18
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 mised I would see her home, and I can't 
 find her, and I am afraid to go alone." 
 
 " I had forgotten all about Miss Niles," 
 I said, pausing, conscience-stricken. " I 
 must go back for her." 
 
 I was full of apologies, and Mr. Brown 
 offered his arm to her with the same quiet 
 charm of manner that he had shown me. 
 
 " Exquisite moon ! " exclaimed Miss 
 Niles. " I am glad the rain is over. A 
 truly poetic moon, is it not, Mr. Brown ? 
 I should n't have been so long, only I 
 could n't find one of my rubbers." 
 
 Poor Miss Niles ! In spite of my long 
 acquaintance with her, I never cease to 
 be surprised by her abrupt changes of 
 subject. 
 
 July 5. We have Browning two even- 
 ings a week now. The more frivolous 
 members of the club have begged for 
 some of the lighter selections ; so there is 
 the study class, which is still upon Old 
 Pictures, every Tuesday night, and on 
 Thursday evening Piquet gives us what 
 he chooses. Annie enjoys everything he 
 reads, intensely, and does not show it ; 
 and I don't enjoy everything, and don't 
 19
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 show it. Voila the difference. We are 
 each deceitful after our own fashion. If 
 Mr. Brown knew what was good for him, 
 he would fall in love with her, even al- 
 though she is twenty-seven and he only 
 twenty-four ; but he has been indiscreet 
 enough to I am not sure of it, so I 
 won't write it down, but it is pleasant. 
 Not that I especially care about him, for 
 he is too serious and conscientious to suit 
 my taste, and then Browning will always 
 be his absorbing passion. 
 
 July 25. Miss Niles is indefatigable. 
 She proposes that we shall act " Colombo's 
 Birthday," I to be Colombe. I should 
 die of it, there is so much to learn ; and I 
 never could commit poetry, even when at 
 school. Besides, there are seven men in 
 the play, and we can muster only Mr. 
 Brown, Colonel Parminter, and Mr. Sea- 
 bury. 
 
 August 5. The hot wave has merci- 
 fully come, and we are all too limp to 
 think of acting, but are to read "Co- 
 lombe's Birthday " instead. 
 
 September 1. It is very provoking. 
 I am never at home when Mr. Brown 
 20
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 calls ; this is the third time 1 have missed 
 him. On the contrary, I am invariably 
 in when Miss Niles or the colonel ap- 
 pears. Such is the contrariness of fate ! 
 
 To-night, after the class, Piquet com- 
 plained that he never sees me now. 
 
 "You have that pleasure every Tues- 
 day and Thursday evening. I should 
 think that was enough for any reasonable 
 being," I observed. 
 
 " Perhaps I am not a reasonable being," 
 he said in a low tone. 
 
 " Well, I am," I returned lightly. 
 
 " Then, what satisfaction is there in see- 
 ing you among a crowd of people ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 But, as might have been expected, just 
 then two of the crowd interrupted us. 
 They were full of " Sordello," which Miss 
 Anderson is determined we shall study 
 next. 
 
 October 1. Mr. P. K. Brown is going 
 into uncle John's office, so he will stay 
 here indefinitely ; certainly all winter, and 
 longer if they like each other. 
 
 October 5. I have begun to make a 
 Browning Calendar for a Christmas pre- 
 21
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 sent for Mr. Brown. I think there could 
 not be a greater proof of friendly regard 
 than that, and he seems to want proofs. 
 Of course I like him ! If I did n't, would 
 I write out three hundred and sixty-five 
 deep quotations, each more stupid than 
 the last ? I wish he did not like Brown- 
 ing so well ; but he shall have a portion 
 of him for every day in the year. 
 
 December 25. Paul Kent Brown has 
 given me a whole set of Browning bound 
 in white vellum ! What reckless extra- 
 vagance ! And for the same amount of 
 money he might have given me a gold 
 bangle and a silver-headed umbrella, and 
 ever so many other things I want ! 
 
 January 8. It has come at last. I 
 do not understand why men are such 
 fools ! Why could not Paul Brown have 
 gone on quietly with our pleasant, peace- 
 ful friendship? For it was pleasant, a 
 very, very pleasant flirtation ? Well, 
 malevolent beings like Miss Anderson 
 may say that I flirted, if they choose. I 
 wonder just what a flirtation is. I should 
 like to fly to Mrs. Ellis's encyclopaedia 
 and look it up. I do not see why they 
 22
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 never put interesting articles in the en- 
 cyclopaedia. The dictionary says, " Play- 
 ing at courtship," and I certainly never 
 did " play at courtship," never, never! 
 I defy Miss Anderson, and Mrs. Jansen, 
 and all the rest of them, to say that I did. 
 If I made Paul Brown think I liked him 
 better than I really did, as he says, why, 
 one never expects to be taken so seriously. 
 Of course I like him, and do now, in spite 
 of his having been such an idiot, only 
 But I will write out the whole scene, that 
 I may see clearly how I have not been 
 in the least to blame. If Miss Ander- 
 son had not told him that I was a flirt, 
 it would not have happened ; and her ac- 
 cusation was absurd, as I have never had 
 any one to flirt with. 
 
 I was skating with Annie, and we were 
 trying to teach Miss Niles, who used to 
 skate a little when she was a girl, which 
 was so long ago that she has forgotten 
 how. Miss Niles looks more gaunt and 
 grim on the ice than anywhere else, poor 
 dear. Paul Brown soon joined us, and 
 asked us if we did not want to go up the 
 river a mile or two, and see the huge fire 
 '23
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 that the boys had made on the ice. Miss 
 Niles could n't, and Annie, with her mis- 
 taken idea of self-sacrifice, stayed with 
 her, although I was dying to have her 
 come with me, and cast beseeching glances 
 at her. 
 
 Paul and I skated on for some moments 
 in silence. Paul skates delightfully, and 
 his fine figure shows off to especial advan- 
 tage on the ice. At last he said abruptly, 
 "I cannot stand this sort of thing any 
 longer." 
 
 " Can't you ? " I asked, instantly turn- 
 ing and facing the other way. " Then we 
 will go back to Miss Niles." 
 
 " May," he said, in a certain masculine 
 fashion of his own that is not to be with- 
 stood, " I won't be played with any longer. 
 You must know that I, at least, am in 
 earnest." 
 
 My heart beat very fast, and I did not 
 reply at first. Then I answered, " I don't 
 know what more you want. I 'm sure I 
 like you very much, almost as well as I 
 like Annie Fairchild ; and I, at least, am 
 in earnest," I added, imitating his tones 
 and skating rapidly on. 
 24
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 He caught up with me ill a moment. 
 I should think he might have taken these 
 hints, and been satisfied to let the matter 
 pass off lightly ; but he was n't, and there 
 was not the slightest use in trying to stop 
 him. 
 
 " I wish you would skate on as fast as 
 you can," I said, " for I want to get to 
 the fire. I am cold." 
 
 " You never spoke a truer word," he 
 rejoined ; " you are cold," and then he 
 began to quote Browning. 
 
 I have verified the quotation in my 
 white-vellumed edition, and, although it 
 is not especially flattering, I will put it 
 in : 
 
 ' ' But for loving, why you would not, sweet, 
 Though we prayed you, 
 Paid you, brayed you in a mortar, 
 For you could not, sweet.' " 
 
 He said this verse between his teeth, in 
 rather a savage fashion ; and then oh, 
 dear ! I can't remember all that hap- 
 pened, and if I could I would not write 
 it down ; only he was not satisfied, even 
 after I had turned serious and talked 
 sensibly. 
 
 25
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 I don't see why men want to have 
 things so definite ! It is one thing to 
 have a man nice to you, and quite another 
 thing to promise to marry him. Why, I 
 don't want to be married for ten years, 
 at least. I don't know that I ever want 
 to be married. I merely wished to know 
 some interesting men, and now now 
 Of course we shall be just as good friends 
 as ever. 
 
 January 15. Paul Brown never seems 
 to see me at the Browning Class. When 
 he reads, he looks over in the corner 
 where Annie Fairchild and Grace Ellis 
 are sitting, and when I bow to him and 
 try to say something pleasant, he merely 
 nods coldly. I don't see why a man need 
 be rude to a girl, just because she does 
 not want to be engaged to him ! There 
 are plenty of men in the world a great 
 deal nicer than Mr. Paul Kent Brown, 
 and some day I shall know them. 
 
 January 28. I do not pretend to un- 
 derstand men. I am sure, if I had been 
 as foolishly in love as Paul Brown gave 
 me to understand that he was, I should n't 
 26
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 get all over it iu three weeks, and be so 
 uncivil that everybody notices it. Not 
 that he does anything ; he just does n't 
 do anything. Only he used to look at me 
 as if and now he looks at me as IF 
 that 's all ; but there is sometimes a vast 
 difference in an " if." Well, I 'm glad I 
 don't care about him. 
 
 February 1. Paul Brown is just as 
 nice to Annie as he can be, and lovely to 
 Grace, perfectly devoted to her. To be 
 sure, she is thirty-three, but one some- 
 times hears of such marriages. Oh, dear ! 
 not that I care ; only I wish there were 
 somebody that I could be devoted to, I 
 should like to see how he would enjoy 
 that ; but there is nobody except Colonel 
 Parminter, and as he is sixty years old he 
 does n't count. 
 
 March 1. I wish Miss Anderson would 
 not say such hateful things. She was 
 talking to Mr. Brown at the post-office, 
 the other day, when I went to get my mail, 
 and as I passed she stopped me. 
 
 " Good morning, May," she said. " How 
 are you ? I was sorry that you were 
 27
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 unable to attend the Browning Class the 
 other night. You are looking wretchedly ; 
 you 've lost all your roses." 
 
 This speech was meant for Paul Brown's 
 ears, and he showed such interest that it 
 brought all ray roses back. It vexes me 
 that I have not got over my school-girl 
 trick of blushing. 
 
 I turned and faced the two. "I am 
 very well, thank you. I stayed away 
 entirely out of consideration for the class, 
 and not on my own account, for I had 
 such a troublesome cough that I knew it 
 would annoy you all." 
 
 Miss Anderson looked at me as if she 
 believed that my cough was a fiction, but 
 it was n't. I don't see why she is always 
 suspecting me of being untruthful. I 
 should think Paul Brown might have 
 walked home with me, but he didn't. I 
 do not like " interesting men." 
 
 March 9. I wonder, if my cough were 
 to get very much worse, and I should go 
 into consumption, whether Paul Brown 
 would be a little sorry. I think the whole 
 Browning Club would feel just a trifle 
 sad. They would undoubtedly erect a 
 28
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 beautiful marble monument over my 
 grave, with the inscription : 
 
 " Fretless and free, soul, clap thy pinion, 
 Earth have dominion, body, o'er thee.' 1 
 
 There is a little poem of Browning's that 
 persistently haunts me. This verse keeps 
 running in my head : 
 
 ' ' Was it something said, 
 
 Something done, 
 Vexed him ? was it touch of hand, 
 
 Turn of head ? 
 Strange ! that very way 
 
 Love begun. 
 I as little understand love's decay." 
 
 March 25. I cannot stand this sort of 
 thing any longer. I am going to aunt 
 Ruth's to make a visit. Is it possible 
 that Paul felt as I do, when he used those 
 same words, and I laughed at him ? 
 
 I told them at the club that I should 
 be absent from five meetings, and every 
 one seemed to be very sorry except Mr. 
 Brown. After the class was over, he 
 said coldly that he regretted to hear that 
 I was going away, for he should probably 
 leave Northbridge before my return. 
 
 March 26. I did not know that the 
 cocks crowed at such an unearthly hour. 
 29
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 They begin at three o'clock, and keep it 
 up steadily until daylight. There are 
 only three hours in the night when there 
 is absolute silence. I never stayed awake 
 all night before. 
 
 I am glad that I was so frigid and icy 
 to Mr. Brown yesterday, so that he will 
 never suspect how much I care, for I do 
 care, there is no use in trying to dis- 
 guise the fact from myself. What a fool 
 I have been ! 
 
 March 30. That very afternoon, as I 
 was sitting by the window, who should 
 drive up to the door but Paul Brown ! 
 He had a little colloquy with mamma, 
 who was just going out of the house ; and 
 she came back and told me to put on my 
 fur-lined circular, as it would be so cold 
 in driving, as if it were a matter of 
 course that I should drive about the coun- 
 try with Paul, when I have never done 
 such a thing in my life. I opened the 
 window. 
 
 " I am very busy," I said, " and I don't 
 see how I can go." 
 
 "What are you so busy about?" he 
 asked. 
 
 30
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 I held up a doll's dress that I was mak- 
 ing for little Ruth. 
 
 " It is of the utmost importance that I 
 should finish this garment to take away 
 with me," I said gravely. 
 
 "Won't you come?" he asked be- 
 seechingly. " I may not see you for such 
 a very long time." 
 
 Of course I " came." I had in fact 
 meant to come, all along. He said no- 
 thing at first, and then he began to quote 
 softly to himself from " The Last Ride 
 Together: " 
 
 " ' Take back the hope you gave I claim 
 Only a memory of the same, 
 And this beside, if you will not blame, 
 Your leave for one more last ride with me.' " 
 
 "Drive," I corrected, as flippantly as 
 I could ; but my heart was heavy with a 
 foreboding that he considered everything 
 at an end between us. 
 
 He did not quote any more, and for 
 some time we talked on indifferent sub- 
 jects. At last he said : " I wanted to see 
 you this once, Miss Cheney, to tell you of 
 my plans, and how I happen to be leaving 
 Northbridge in this sudden fashion. I 
 31
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 have had a good business opening offered 
 me in Texas " 
 
 " In Texas ! " I exclaimed involunta- 
 rily. 
 
 "Yes. Under the circumstances, I 
 prefer to make an entire change, and I 
 expect to start in a week." 
 
 I had a choking sensation, and felt the 
 tears coming to my eyes. I never was in 
 such physical misery in my life. I was 
 determined that my face should show 
 nothing, and so I resolutely drove back 
 the tears, all but a little one, which might 
 have passed for a raindrop ; for, as if in 
 sympathy with the general dreariness, it 
 was beginning to rain. I said nothing. 
 I could not speak. At last Paul broke 
 the silence. 
 
 " I wanted to say good-by to you alone, 
 and not in the presence of Miss Niles and 
 her phalanx," he said, with the suggestion 
 of a smile. 
 
 " Good-by is a very little word ; it does 
 not take long to say it," I observed, as 
 carelessly as I could. "Do you mean 
 that you are never coming back ? " 
 
 I tried so hard not to show what I felt 
 32
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 that I could hear my own words sounding 
 strangely cold and formal, and as if it 
 were a matter of entire indifference to ine 
 whether he came back or not. 
 
 "Yes, that is what I mean," he an- 
 swered. 
 
 Then a sudden sense of desolation 
 swept over me. I turned my face and 
 looked at the big raindrops. The strain 
 had been too much for me, and I began 
 to shiver and tremble like an aspen leaf. 
 
 " Are you cold ? " Paul asked. " You 
 ought to have worn that fur - lined cir- 
 cular," and taking off his overcoat he 
 enveloped me in it. 
 
 " Will he have no mercy ? " I thought ; 
 for his kindness was harder to bear than 
 his coldness had been. 
 
 "Yes, I am cold," I replied. "You 
 yourself have told me so. Please take me 
 home." 
 
 We had come to a dreary stretch 
 through the leafless woods, and the deso- 
 late picture was completed by pools of 
 dark water on either side of the road, and 
 mounds of smirched and water-soaked 
 snow. 
 
 33
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 "There is just one thing more that I 
 want to say to you," Paul began. " I am 
 going away ; you know very well why. 
 Well, there is nothing more to be said, 
 only only that I have loved you, and 
 cannot help loving you." These words he 
 uttered in quite a matter-of-fact tone. 
 " I did not mean to tell you this when 
 I brought you here," he continued abrupt- 
 ly, after a moment's pause. " I meant 
 merely to bid you good-by. I have 
 always vowed that I would never annoy 
 a woman in this way but once, and 
 Why, May, dear May ! " 
 
 I was crying. I could not help it. 
 The tears that I had struggled against 
 before came now, at the first suggestion 
 of happiness, in an overwhelming, uncon- 
 trollable rush. 
 
 ... I am very, very happy. Too 
 happy to write, too happy to eat, too 
 happy to sleep. As might have been 
 expected, Miss Niles saw us driving back, 
 and we looked so radiant that she spread 
 the news of our engagement at once. So 
 all Northbridge knows it, and they all say 
 they are not surprised, which is n't possi- 
 34
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 ble, and all are pleased except Miss An- 
 derson. It is a pleasure to make so many 
 people happy. 
 
 May 5. My bliss would be complete 
 if it were not for one little black cloud. 
 Paul himself is so sincere that he will 
 never be able to understand how I could 
 pretend to care for Browning when I did 
 not. I ought to confess the whole thing, 
 but I have not the moral courage. If I 
 could deceive him on such a vital point, 
 won't he naturally conclude that I may 
 deceive him in everything? Still, I am 
 not wholly insincere, for I do want to like 
 what he likes. 
 
 When Paul and I are driving, or walk- 
 ing, or sitting together, suddenly this 
 apparition of Browning will pop up in my 
 mind like a Jack-in-the-box. How easy 
 it ought to be to make a confession ! It 
 could be done in five words, " I do not 
 like Browning ; " or even in three, "I 
 detest Browning." Then I try to say this 
 sentence aloud, but when I picture the 
 pained look on Paul's face I have not 
 the strength to utter it. I stay awake at 
 night constructing little scenes, in which 
 35
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 he is angry and grieved at first, but always 
 forgiving in the end. I must be in a very 
 nervous condition, or I should not make 
 a serious matter out of such a trifle. But 
 is it a trifle ? I have let Paul think that 
 I share his greatest enthusiasm. He still 
 believes a love of Browning to be the 
 strongest bond of sympathy between us. 
 Then, in addition, I am haunted by the 
 thought that if I had not been such a 
 hypocrite he might have cared for Annie, 
 in spite of her twenty-seven years, for she 
 really loves Browning. The full enormity 
 of my transgression never came to me 
 until now. 
 
 " I detest Browning," nothing easier 
 to say in theory, nothing more difficult in 
 practice. 
 
 May 20. I have spent such a wake- 
 ful night! Yesterday, at last, I screwed 
 up my courage to speak of my secret. It 
 was one of the first warm days, and we 
 were in the orchard. Paul had taken out 
 my little sewing-chair for me, and we sat 
 under the apple blossoms, which every 
 gust of wind sent in a pink shower all 
 over niy hair and my pale blue gown. 
 36
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 Paul was very happy, and unusually 
 pleased with me. 
 
 " Yes, I will be brave and tell him," I 
 resolved. 
 
 But just then he began to quote : 
 
 ' ' Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge 
 Leans to the field, and scatters on the clover 
 Blossoms and dew-drops at the bent spray's edge.' " 
 
 " I cannot tell him now," I thought. 
 He had thrown himself on the grass by 
 my side, and was lazily watching me with 
 half-closed eyes, as I drew my needle 
 swiftly in and out of my work. 
 
 I don't remember just how it began, 
 but somehow or other he chose to talk of 
 affectation, and how much he disliked it, 
 and what a comfort it was that I was so 
 absolutely genuine, so simple, and so un- 
 like other women. I felt the color steal- 
 ing into my cheeks at this undeserved 
 praise. 
 
 " Paul," I began pleadingly, " suppose 
 suppose that you found that I was not 
 as genuine as I seemed ; suppose sup- 
 pose, in fact, that I were so like other 
 women : would you still care for me, do 
 you think ? " 
 
 37
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 " I don't know," he answered, fixing his 
 eyes on me with such an expression of 
 love and confidence that I felt at once 
 triumphant and humbled. " Why should 
 we talk of what does not concern us? 
 You are what you are, the sweetest, the 
 truest " 
 
 " But, Paul," I persisted, " I am really 
 a different person from what you think, 
 not as good, not as simple. There is a 
 secret that I could tell you ; and yet I am 
 afraid, for you are so absolutely truthful, 
 so thoroughly honest " 
 
 " I ! good heavens ! " 
 
 " Paul, what do you mean ? " I cried, 
 frightened by his tones. 
 
 "Nothing," he returned, vainly try- 
 ing to reassure me, " only you cannot 
 have the. monopoly of secrets. I too have 
 one." 
 
 But alas ! at this critical moment Miss 
 Niles, in her green sunbonnet, indiscreetly 
 came through the gap in the hedge, and, 
 settling herself in the hammock, began 
 to ask one question after another about 
 Browning, and quoted him until she drove 
 me into the house. For a thoroughly kind 
 38
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 woman, Miss Niles is the most inconsider- 
 ate person I know. 
 
 I have not seen Paul alone since, and I 
 stayed awake half the night torturing my- 
 self with theories about his secret. 
 
 May 21. Paul and I took a long drive 
 this afternoon, it is the only way in 
 which we are sure to be free from inter- 
 ruptions, and I tried unsuccessfully to 
 worm his secret out of him. 
 
 " Paul," I began, " I think I know what 
 it is that you are concealing from me. I 
 feel sure that you have been in love with 
 some charming but insincere girl, and are 
 afraid to confess it to me. But that will 
 make no difference ; it won't trouble me 
 if you have loved twenty girls, if only you 
 care last and most for me." 
 
 Paul laughed softly to himself. 
 
 " You can set your mind at ease upon 
 that point," he said. "My secret is some- 
 thing quite different. It has nothing to 
 do with any woman." 
 
 " Has it to do with a man ? " I in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Yes, it has to do with a man." 
 
 " I suppose it is some money difficulty," 
 39
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 I suggested. " Dearest, I beg you to tell 
 me all about it." 
 
 " No," said Paul, " it is nothing of that 
 sort ; it is not anything that will affect 
 your happiness, if you do not know it. It 
 will only make life a little harder for me, 
 which is a just retribution. Do not think 
 of it again. I ought never to have men- 
 tioned it." 
 
 It is very mysterious. However, I 
 mean to put it out of my head, and go 
 on as if nothing had happened ; but if 
 Paul will not tell me his secret, he cer- 
 tainly shall not learn mine ; that is quite 
 fair. 
 
 July 1. Uncle John, bless him, has 
 decided to go abroad in the autumn for a 
 year, and so Paul is to take all his prac- 
 tice, or clients, or whatever the proper 
 term is. I shall have to study up legal 
 phrases now, and there is a dear little 
 house to be rented, just big enough for 
 two people to begin housekeeping in. So 
 we are to be married in November. I sup- 
 pose we shall furnish our house chiefly 
 with our wedding presents, for it is so 
 many years since there has been a wed- 
 40
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 ding among the elite of Northbridge that 
 I am sure everybody will give us nice 
 things. 
 
 October 2. Our presents have begun 
 to flow in. There are two boxes waiting 
 in the hall now, because I won't open them 
 until Paul comes. One is from Mrs. Jan- 
 sen, and I think it contains a silver tea- 
 service, like the one she gave Lucy Fuller, 
 because years ago she jokingly promised 
 me one. 
 
 Evening. We have unpacked Mrs. 
 Jansen's box. I saw almost immediately 
 that it was full of books, exquisitely bound 
 in white vellum. "Probably a set of 
 Shakespeare," I thought; "they will be 
 a great ornament to the book-case." I 
 took up one volume, and found to my 
 horror that the title was " The Red Cotton 
 Night-Cap Country." 
 
 "Paul," I gasped, "it is a set of 
 Browning, almost exactly like the one 
 you gave me. Don't you suppose we 
 can exchange Mrs. Jansen's present for 
 silver ? " 
 
 Paul opened one of the books, and 
 found my name inscribed on the fly-leaf ; 
 41
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 and alas ! each volume had an appropriate 
 quotation written in it, in Mrs. Jansen's 
 exquisitely neat hand. 
 
 The other present was from Grace. 
 
 " This will be something worth hav- 
 ing," I thought, as I eagerly opened it. 
 It contained " Colombe's Birthday," illus- 
 trated with sketches that she made her- 
 self, the dear girl. It is lovely to have 
 it, only I wish I liked Browning bet- 
 ter. Paul is very much pleased. He has 
 a soul above spoons, and forks, and tea- 
 pots. 
 
 October 5. It is very provoking. The 
 whole Browning Class have run riot on 
 the subject of their master, and each mem- 
 ber has vied with the others in trying to 
 find a delicate and original expression of 
 her regard. 
 
 Miss Niles has had a picture painted on 
 purpose for us, by a New York artist of 
 sixth-rate ability. The subject is a scene 
 from " In a Balcony." Constance and Nor- 
 bert, in purple and green costumes, stand 
 haranguing each other, and exchanging 
 most sentimental glances ; while just be- 
 hind them is the queen in funereal black, 
 42
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 stiff, stern, and implacable. The motto is, 
 " I love once, as I live but once." 
 
 Dear Miss Niles ! her intentions were 
 good, but it is such a hideous picture that 
 we shall have to banish it to the spare- 
 room. 
 
 Miss Anderson has given us two of 
 her Old Pictures in Florence, handsomely 
 framed. I am glad Paul likes them so 
 much. / think them hideous. They are 
 photographs taken from the original paint- 
 ings, and show all the imperfections. I 
 can't see any beauty in a Madonna with a 
 crack directly across her eyes, as if she 
 wore spectacles. However, I bear up for 
 Paul's sake. I am careful not to let him 
 suspect my disappointment. 
 
 October 13. Colonel Parminter is a 
 trump. He has sent us a huge square box. 
 It is too big to contain Browning's works, 
 and besides, I have taken pains to show 
 Mrs. Jansen's edition to every one. Dear 
 old Colonel Parminter ! I begin to feel 
 very remorseful for ever having made fun 
 of him. 
 
 October 14. When Paul came he 
 opened the box for me, while I stood by, 
 43
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 indulging in speculations concerning the 
 delightful contents. 
 
 " Do you know, Paul, I think it is one 
 of those beautiful bronze lamps like Mrs. 
 Ellis's ! " I exclaimed eagerly, having 
 caught a glimpse of something bronze. 
 
 " It is too heavy for a lamp," he re- 
 turned. " I think it is Why, it 's a 
 bust ! " and pushing away the excelsior, 
 he raised it on end, and the countenance 
 gazed at me with a genial, kindly expres- 
 sion, and yet with a merry twinkle in the 
 eye, as much as to say, " Well, my dear 
 young lady, how do you feel now ? " 
 
 It is needless to add that it was a life- 
 sized bust of Robert Browning. I could 
 have cried with vexation, if Paul had not 
 been there. 
 
 I have gone back to my former opinion 
 of Colonel Parminter. 
 
 October 20. It is the same old story 
 repeated in different forms. Even the 
 beautiful clock that Annie Fairchild has 
 given us has a Browning motto engraved 
 upon it : 
 
 " Time's wheel runs back or stops, 
 Potter and clay endure." 
 44
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 Time's wheel won't stop long enough 
 for me to tell of all the ingenious devices 
 the club have resorted to, to vary their 
 gifts, and yet have them connected with 
 R. B. 
 
 Little Miss Perkins is the only member 
 who has given me a wholly commonplace 
 present. She handed me some silver 
 sugar-tongs, with a somewhat abject air. 
 " My dear," she said, " you know how I 
 dislike Browning. I felt it would be an 
 affectation in me to give you a present 
 associated with him, so I 've brought these 
 sugar-tongs, and I hope you won't mind 
 very much." I embraced her on the spot. 
 The tongs are lovely, and just what I 
 wanted. 
 
 October 25. It seems that Mrs. Ellis 
 is going to send us a china tea-set. So 
 " there is some light on the dark river." 
 
 October 26. The tea-set has come, 
 and each cup and saucer has a Browning 
 quotation around the edge ! The way of 
 the transgressor is hard ! 
 
 We have just received a huge box from 
 Paul's brother in England. I am very 
 much excited about it, for as his brother 
 45
 
 Philip is the rich member of the family, 
 it is undoubtedly something delightful. . . . 
 
 My curiosity was so great that I could 
 not possibly wait until Paul came, so 
 Bridget and I together managed to open 
 the box. I saw the present was something 
 marble, and fancied all sorts of things. 
 In another moment I discovered that it 
 was merely a bust. This was disappoint- 
 ing, as I have never been fond of busts ; 
 but I rather like the head of Clytie, and 
 hoped it might be that. 
 
 Bridget, with great difficulty, raised it 
 and set it on the floor. 
 
 " Shure and it looks enough like that 
 other gintleman to be his twin brother," 
 she said, " barring that one is as black 
 as the ace of spades, and the other white 
 as the driven snow." 
 
 I looked at it with a sickening feeling 
 at my heart. It was (there was no mis- 
 take about it ; by this time the mas- 
 ter's features were well imprinted upon 
 my mind), it was a bust of Robert 
 Browning ! 
 
 I had been trying on gowns all day 
 and was tired out ; so as soon as Bridget 
 46
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 had left the room, I threw myself down 
 on the floor, and, leaning against R. B. 
 for support, I wept bitterly. I laid my 
 head against his marble head, and my 
 tears coursed down his face. They might 
 have melted a heart of stone, but pro- 
 duced no impression upon the unsympa- 
 thetic countenance of Robert Browning. 
 
 Presently I heard a distressed voice 
 say. " Why, May, darling, what is the 
 matter ? " 
 
 I sprang up and faced Paul. The hour 
 had come, and I no longer faltered. 
 
 " That is the matter," I said, with the 
 gesture of a tragedy queen. " Look at 
 your brother's present." 
 
 " But I do not understand," Paul said, 
 bewildered. " I thought you could not 
 have too much Browning." 
 
 " I have never liked Browning, never 
 from the first moment that I saw you, 
 never through all these long months." 
 
 I did not dare to look at Paul to see 
 how he bore this announcement, but I 
 heard him exclaim under his breath, " Is 
 it possible ! " 
 
 " Yes," I said, " it is, unfortunately, 
 47
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 too true. I have been a hypocrite, and 
 willfully deceived you. You know my 
 secret now. Break our engagement, if 
 you choose. Whatever happens, I can 
 endure this life of deceit no longer. I 
 shall die of too much Browning." 
 
 I was terribly excited, and flung my- 
 self, trembling, on the sofa. 
 
 In a moment Paul was at my side. 
 " Dearest May " he entreated. 
 
 I pushed his hand away. 
 
 " I am not worthy to touch you," I 
 cried, " you who care so much for 
 Browning ; you who " 
 
 " May," said Paul contritely, " I once 
 told you that I had concealed something 
 from you. I also have had ' too much 
 Browning : ' that is my secret." . . . 
 
 October 27. This morning a note came 
 from Paul's brother Philip for me. I 
 will copy it here : 
 
 MY DEAR NEW SISTER, I am de- 
 lighted to learn, through Paul, that you 
 are as great an admirer of Browning as 
 I am myself. I am glad, also, to hear 
 that you have been a sufficiently power- 
 48
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 ful advocate to convert him. He used 
 to be only a half-hearted admirer, in the 
 old days, but he tells me that he has been 
 thriving on my reputation, and conduct- 
 ing a Browning Class for your sweet 
 sake. I have been trying to think what 
 I could give you for a wedding present 
 that you will not have a score of already, 
 and I have decided to send you a bust 
 of Browning, to put as a genial house- 
 hold god above your hearthstone. 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 PHILIP KENT BKOWN. 
 
 I looked at Paul, and he looked at me, 
 and then we both laughed. 
 
 " I can't get over my surprise that you 
 should carry on this long course of de- 
 ceit," I observed. 
 
 " Really, I was not so much to blame 
 
 as you think," he said, " for I told Miss 
 
 Niles squarely, in the beginning, that it 
 
 was my brother who was the distinguished 
 
 P. K. Brown. I did not mean to join 
 
 the class at first, but after I had seen you 
 
 well, it was all over with me then, for 
 
 I fell in love with you at first sight. I 
 
 49
 
 A BROWNING COURTSHIP 
 
 felt it was my best chance of pleasing 
 you," he added, with a smile ; " and I 
 liked Browning well enough to begin 
 with, but Miss Niles and the colonel were 
 too many for me." 
 
 " Paul," I said pensively, after a mo- 
 ment given to retrospection, " we can 
 never tell our kind friends what hypo- 
 crites we have been ; it would give them 
 too much pain. We shall have to bear 
 the consequences of our deceit for all 
 time. Do you know that even our wed- 
 ding is to be different from other peo- 
 ple's ? Miss Niles revealed to me, in a 
 burst of confidence, that the organist is to 
 play, what do you suppose, as we come 
 out of church ? A Toccata, by Galuppi ! . 
 Miss Niles says she hopes that we shall 
 march through life to Browning music." 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! " said Paul. 
 50
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 THE spring sunshine was coming in at 
 the west window of Professor Bainbridge's 
 room, and making a painful glare across 
 the papers which were scattered on the 
 table that was drawn up to the slippery 
 horsehair sofa upon which he was lying. 
 The room was ugly and commonplace, and 
 the professor had an insuperable objection 
 to both of these characteristics. He sighed 
 as he glanced at the impossible brick-col- 
 ored roses with arsenic-green leaves, that 
 formed the pattern of the wall-paper, 
 which, to make it still more unendurable, 
 was divided into diamond-shaped com- 
 partments by heavy black lines supposed 
 to indicate a lattice. There were six roses 
 and three buds in each diamond ; how 
 many times he had counted them ! The 
 walls were adorned with uninteresting en- 
 gravings and portraits of the class that 
 51
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 are banished to the attic in houses where 
 respect for art outweighs respect for fam- 
 ily. The professor sighed once more when 
 he thought of the dreary weeks that he 
 must pass in these uncongenial surround- 
 ings. But at this point his attention was 
 arrested by the sound of voices in the 
 porch below him ; one was the familiar 
 treble of the daughter of the house, while 
 the other was that of an elderly neigh- 
 bor. 
 
 " Do tell me something about your new 
 boarder, Professor Bainbridge," she was 
 asking. " Hannah Harwood says that he 
 has written learned books and clever short 
 stories that have made a great stir. Is 
 that a fact ? " 
 
 Fame is sweet, no matter from how 
 humble a source it is awarded. The pro- 
 fessor smiled complacently. 
 
 "Mr. Bainbridge is a professor at a 
 Western college," the younger voice an- 
 swered indifferently, "and I believe he 
 has written some stories." 
 
 " So Hannah was right," Mrs. Brown 
 responded. " I thought she must be mis- 
 taken, for I caught a glimpse of him the 
 52
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 day he came to town as he drove past our 
 house, and I thought he looked very insig- 
 nificant." 
 
 At this juncture, the professor began to 
 be troubled by doubts as to whether he 
 ought to listen to a conversation which 
 evidently had not been designed for his 
 amusement. 
 
 " What 's the matter with him ? " in- 
 quired Mrs. Brown. 
 
 " He has overworked, and had a low, 
 nervous fever, which has left him out 
 of spirits, to put it mildly. You know he 
 came here to be under Uncle Frank's care, 
 but the Sanitarium is full, so we have 
 taken him in." 
 
 " What does he say and do ? Tell me 
 everything; it is so interesting to hear 
 about nervous patients." 
 
 " He does n't say anything ; that is just 
 the trouble," Carrie Swift replied. " He 
 sat perfectly silent at table for the first 
 four days after he came, when, to the re- 
 lief of the family, he took to his room with 
 water on the knee." 
 
 " The poor man must have melancholia. 
 Does he literally never speak ? " 
 53
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 " He can talk enough to ask for fifty 
 things he wants, and to send me up and 
 down stairs twenty times a day to get 
 them, but not enough to be polite. 1 
 don't see any excuse for his looking like 
 a funeral ; I believe people can be cheerful 
 if they choose ; but Uncle Frank says " 
 here the speaker's voice was lowered, and 
 the professor became doubly sure that it 
 was dishonorable to listen any longer. 
 He tortured himself with vain specula- 
 tions as to the revelations that followed, 
 which he knew only too well must be inim- 
 ical to himself. The thoughts thus sug- 
 gested followed him into the night, and 
 banished sleep effectually from his eye- 
 lids. 
 
 The next morning he awaited Miss 
 Swift's arrival with feverish impatience. 
 She came at last, bringing him his break- 
 fast, as usual. 
 
 " I hope you had a good night," she 
 said, as she deposited the tray on the table 
 by his side. 
 
 " Thank you, I did not sleep at all," he 
 replied coldly. 
 
 Carrie Swift gave him a glance at once 
 54
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 compassionate and contemptuous. She 
 was a little creature, with a slight, unde- 
 veloped figure, and a careworn expression 
 that seemed unsuited to her nineteen 
 years. 
 
 " Sit down," said the professor in a 
 peremptory tone. "There is something 
 that I wish to say to you." 
 
 Carrie obeyed. 
 
 " I could not help overhearing a part 
 of your conversation with your friend last 
 evening," he went on swiftly, " and I re- 
 gret exceedingly to have given you so 
 much trouble. I beg you to believe that 
 I shall be more considerate in future ; but 
 in return I will request you to abstain 
 from talking me over." 
 
 His manner was haughty, even stern, 
 for there was nothing about the sharp- 
 featured, freckled young person before 
 him to arouse either his interest or consid- 
 eration. He thought her face one of the 
 plainest that he had ever seen, and its 
 lack of physical attraction was not atoned 
 for by any charm of expression. 
 
 As she listened to his words a painful 
 flush mounted to her cheeks. "I I
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 am sorry that you heard me," she stam- 
 mered. 
 
 " I am glad that, as such observations 
 were made, I overheard them." 
 
 " After all," and she faced him with a 
 look half appealing, half defiant, " it was 
 the truth." 
 
 " Did that justify you in gossiping 
 about me ? Put yourself in my place. 
 Imagine yourself confined to your room, 
 with your nervous system in a shattered 
 condition, and little occupation but your 
 morbid fancies, and ask yourself if, under 
 these conditions, it would be easy to re- 
 tain your cheerfulness ? If you became 
 depressed and silent, would you enjoy 
 being held up for ridicule to the whole 
 neighborhood ? " Professor Bainbridge 
 had grown angry under the recapitulation 
 of his wrongs. " Will you promise to 
 desist from discussing me in future ? " he 
 concluded in an authoritative and supe- 
 rior tone that roused his companion, who 
 would gladly have agreed to anything had 
 he been more considerate. 
 
 " I will promise nothing," she said, with 
 a flash from her gray eyes. " Do you 
 56
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 think you have a harder time than the 
 rest of us? Put yourself in my place. 
 Imagine yourself washing dishes and 
 sweeping rooms until you were ready to 
 drop, and having to stay at home from 
 drives and sewing-circles in the afternoon 
 because somebody might want to have the 
 window open, and then find that there was 
 a draught and want it shut again. Some- 
 body who never spoke to you except to say 
 4 thank you,' shortly, as if he thought he 
 should die if he said anything more. Do 
 you suppose / find it easy to be cheerful ? 
 And yet I manage it." 
 
 Greatly to Carrie's surprise, the pro- 
 fessor laughed softly. 
 
 " Poor girl, you do have a hard time," 
 he said pleasantly. " Suppose we each try 
 to do what we can toward the amelioration 
 of the conditions of the other?" 
 
 His genial manner recalled her to her- 
 self. 
 
 " Oh, what have I said ! " she exclaimed 
 ruefully. " How rude I have been to talk 
 in this way to you, who are a professor, 
 and so old! Please forgive me. Ethel 
 is always telling me that I must not say 
 57
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 whatever comes into my head, without 
 stopping to think. Ethel Sanford is my 
 most intimate friend. She used to live 
 in Longfield. Ethel is not a bit like me. 
 She is lovely to everybody, even to Mrs. 
 Brown, whom she hates. I will never say 
 another word to Mrs. Brown about you, 
 although it will be hard, for she asks so 
 many questions. It must be dreadful to 
 be shut up in one's room all day. When 
 you have had your breakfast, and I have 
 done the housework, perhaps there is 
 something that I could do to amuse you ? " 
 
 " Would you read to me ? " he asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Yes. Mother says that I read aw- 
 fully, but as she has a cold I will do the 
 best I can." 
 
 Mr. Bainbridge awaited her return with 
 actual impatience. Her flash of anger 
 had done what her fortnight of patient 
 toil on his behalf had failed to do. It had 
 given him an interest in the study of her 
 character. To be sure, it was not of a type 
 that would have attracted him under other 
 circumstances ; but the inveterate student 
 of character is grateful for the slightest 
 58
 
 COMMONPPACE CARRIE 
 
 indication of variety where he has expected 
 monotony. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon before Car- 
 rie was able to comply with her promise. 
 She found the professor with an open 
 book by his side. 
 
 " It seems, Miss Carrie, that I am to be 
 followed by one misfortune after another 
 for the rest of my life," he said testily. 
 " After cutting me down to using my eyes 
 only one hour a day, your uncle has now 
 forbidden my using them at all. If I am 
 to be lame and blind, I might far better 
 have given up my existence when I had 
 my fever." 
 
 Patience had not been one of Profes- 
 sor Bainbridge's most conspicuous virtues 
 in the days of his prosperity, but in his 
 adversity it deserted him entirely, as 
 the long - suffering Carrie discovered in 
 the weeks which followed. He, on his 
 side, found that Mrs. Swift had but a too 
 well-grounded opinion of her daughter's 
 elocutionary powers. His patience was 
 sorely tried by the way in which she 
 spoiled the rhythm of poetry ; but on the 
 other hand, her views concerning novels 
 59
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 were an unfailing source of entertainment 
 to him. He amused himself by trying a 
 series of experiments in the course of 
 which he and his young friend wandered 
 in a somewhat vagrant manner through 
 the fields of English literature. 
 
 One afternoon Mr. Bainbridge handed 
 " Sartor Resartus " to Carrie. " Will 
 you be so kind as to read me this chapter 
 on ' The Everlasting Yea ' ? " he asked. 
 " I like to read it when I wish to put 
 myself into * good tune,' if I may be al- 
 lowed the expression. Carlyle always 
 raises one's groveling spirit to a higher 
 mood." 
 
 It gave him great pleasure to say things 
 of this kind to Miss Swift. 
 
 She took the book and began to read, 
 stumbling over the unfamiliar words, and 
 treating her auditor to a running com- 
 mentary on the text. After half an hour 
 spent in this way she laid down the vol- 
 ume and said : 
 
 " What queer stuff. What is it all 
 about, any way ? " 
 
 The professor gave her a brief account 
 of Teufelsdrockh's life. " He was an un- 
 60
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 happy man," he said in conclusion. " Like 
 the rest of us he was fighting his way 
 through doubt to truth, through tempta- 
 tion and suffering to more abundant life. 
 ' Name it as we choose,' he quoted, ' with 
 or without visible devil ; whether in the 
 natural desert of rocks and sands, or in 
 the populous moral desert of selfishness 
 and baseness, to such temptation are we 
 all called.' Do you feel as if you were 
 in a moral desert of selfishness and base- 
 ness, Miss Carrie ? " he inquired, with 
 the half-amused, half-kindly smile that 
 she had grown to know so well. 
 
 " Sometimes, when you are cross with 
 me because your knee does n't improve 
 any faster." 
 
 " What a base slanderer you are ! Go 
 on, please." 
 
 She obeyed, and read without comment 
 until she reached the end of the following 
 sentence : " Beautiful it was to sit there, 
 as in my skyey tent, musing and meditat- 
 ing ; on the high table - land, in front 
 of the mountains ; over me, as roof, the 
 azure dome, and around me, for walls, 
 four azure, flowing curtains, namely, 
 61
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 the four azure winds, on whose bottom 
 fringes also I have seen gilding." 
 
 At this point Carrie looked up from 
 her book. " I hope the poor man had 
 his overcoat on, and a shawl too," she 
 observed ; " for if he was blown upon by 
 all four winds at once he would need to 
 be well wrapped up, especially as he seems 
 to have been a sickly individual." 
 
 " You wretch ! " the professor ex- 
 claimed, trying not to yield to *his desire 
 to laugh. " Have you no soul ? You 
 have spoiled one of the most beautiful 
 passages in the English language for me. 
 I can never read it again without fancy- 
 ing Herr Teufelsdrockh wrapped up in a 
 blanket shawl." 
 
 " But he did n't wear one, so don't dis- 
 turb yourself ; he was just the kind of 
 man to be imprudent, and he had n't 
 Uncle Frank, and mother, and me to look 
 after him." 
 
 " No, poor fellow ! " 
 
 Carrie began to read again, and her 
 criticisms continued in the same vein. 
 
 " Oceans of Hockheimer," she said at 
 last. " A throat like Op some kind of 
 62
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 a cuss ; you can pronounce that word, Mr. 
 Bainbridge." 
 
 " Ophiuchus." 
 
 " Thank you. ' Speak not of them.' 
 (I am sure that is the last thing / want 
 to do.) ' To the infinite shoeblack they 
 are as nothing ! ' Well, that shoeblack 
 is the only sensible person I 've come 
 across." 
 
 " Look here," cried the professor, los- 
 ing all patience, and snatching the volume 
 from her. " You shall not murder Car- 
 lyle any longer." 
 
 " I suppose this is the ' higher mood ' 
 that you wanted him to get you into," she 
 said, as she rose to leave the room. 
 
 " Don't go ; stay and talk to me, or let 
 me teach you chess ; you promised that 
 I might some day." 
 
 " I 've got to clear out a closet this 
 afternoon, and do heaps of sewing on the 
 machine, and trim a hat for Fanny, and I 
 ought to make some calls." 
 
 The professor reflected for a moment. 
 "What a useful life you lead," he re- 
 marked at last. " I don't know what this ' 
 family would do without you." 
 63
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 " One expects to be useful in one's 
 family." 
 
 " You do, at all events. Does it not 
 bring a sense of thorough satisfaction to 
 be so indispensable ? " 
 
 " I never thought about it." 
 
 " You rarely occupy your mind with 
 yourself, I fancy." 
 
 " What 's the use," she said briskly, 
 " when everything else is so much more 
 interesting ? " 
 
 This remark evidently opened a wide 
 field of speculation to the professor, for 
 he meditated upon it for some time in 
 silence. At last Carrie renewed her at- 
 tempt to go. 
 
 " When you are alone, what do you 
 think about ? " Mr. Bainbridge asked, 
 as she stood opposite him with her hand 
 on the door-knob. 
 
 " That depends upon the time of day ; 
 early in the morning I think about house- 
 work, and the rest of the time I divide 
 my thoughts between you and mother, 
 and the sewing-machine, until evening, 
 when I think of my small sisters ; it is 
 64
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 strange, but 1 think of them regularly 
 every night at eight o'clock." 
 
 " You enviably busy creature ! But 
 when your work is over, how do you oc- 
 cupy your mind then ? " 
 
 " When my work is over, I go to 
 sleep." 
 
 " Happy girl ! I wish I could go to 
 sleep with such ease. When you chance 
 to lie awake, however, do you never worry 
 over your shortcomings? are you never 
 beset by the cruel problems of life ? " 
 
 " No ; I wish I had n't taken a cup of 
 coffee. That is always my first and last 
 thought when I lie awake at night." 
 
 Certainly this young girl was amusing ; 
 so much the professor conceded as she 
 glanced back at him mischievously when 
 she left the room. He was growing to 
 have a kindly feeling for her, apart from 
 his interest in her as a study. Her un- 
 consciousness and simplicity pleased him, 
 and she piqued his curiosity. 
 
 At length he grew bold enough to give 
 her a short tale of his own to read. The 
 scene was laid in Florence five centuries 
 65
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 ago, and the little romance had attracted 
 far more attention than his " Historical 
 Sketches," which covered the same period. 
 He was aware that the story had received 
 greater praise than it deserved, and he 
 was anxious to learn the opinion of an 
 unprejudiced mind which would be alike 
 unaffected by fashion and regard for him- 
 self. 
 
 When Carrie finished reading " A 
 Mosaic of the Thirteenth Century," she 
 gave it to her mother to return to the 
 professor, a circumstance which that ob- 
 servant man did not fail to note. 
 
 He would not let Miss Swift off thus 
 easily. The next time he saw her, he de- 
 manded her opinion. " How do you like 
 my romance ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Since you ask me, I am sorry " 
 she began, then hesitated. 
 
 " Don't be afraid to say just what you 
 think." 
 
 " Well, then, / hate it." 
 
 " Thank you ; most people who find the 
 plot and characters disagreeable, praise 
 the local color, and what they term ' the 
 atmosphere of the thirteenth century.' ' 
 66
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 " I never lived in the thirteenth century, 
 so I don't know anything about its atmo- 
 sphere." 
 
 " Do you think my sketch artistic ? " he 
 asked, with his accustomed smile. 
 
 " I suppose so," she said doubtfully. 
 " All the disagreeable stories that Ethel 
 admires are artistic, she says. 1 never 
 know whether books are artistic or not " 
 and she raised her eyes with a child- 
 like candor that ought to have disarmed 
 her tormentor. 
 
 "You take no pleasure then in art, 
 apart from subject, nor in form and 
 color?" he went on. "You have, I fear, 
 no sesthestic taste." 
 
 Her face grew crimson. If he chose 
 to amuse himself at her expense she need 
 not spare him. 
 
 " I hate your story from beginning to 
 end," she said with a certain fierceness. 
 " I can't see what good there is in writing 
 about such horrid things and wicked peo- 
 ple. I should be ashamed to have such 
 ideas come into my head. I don't won- 
 der you had nervous prostration after- 
 wards." 
 
 67
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 The professor lay back on the sofa and 
 laughed heartily, notwithstanding that 
 Carrie looked perturbed as she left the 
 room. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when Mr. 
 Bainbridge next saw her. He had been 
 expecting her for some time before he 
 heard her business-like knock on the door. 
 She came in, bringing him his tea on an 
 ugly black waiter adorned by a gilt land- 
 scape that had been dimmed by age ; the 
 china which held his repast was brown 
 and white, and Carrie wore a blue and 
 white checked apron over a dark green 
 dress. 
 
 " Here is a case illustrating my point," 
 said the professor, reverting to the subject 
 of their former interview. " Had you any 
 of the aesthetic passion, you would have 
 put on your pretty white apron, and 
 brought me my tea in those Faience 
 dishes on the red waiter, in which case 
 you would have made a harmonious pic- 
 ture." 
 
 The poor child was tired and out of 
 spirits, and this was a little too much to 
 bear in silence. "I guess you wouldn't 
 68
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 have any time to think about the aesthetic 
 passion if you were as busy as I am," 
 she returned, " or to stop and think what 
 colors looked best together." She rushed 
 out of the room to hide her tears. When 
 the professor next saw her her eyelids 
 were red and swollen. 
 
 " My dear Miss Carrie," he said peni- 
 tently, " I have been both rude and un- 
 grateful to my faithful little nurse, who is 
 so much better to a crusty old fellow than 
 he deserves. Will you forgive me ? " and 
 he held out his hand with a pleading mo- 
 tion. Carrie did not take it. She looked 
 at him wearily. His face had grown un- 
 usually gentle. 
 
 " It is n't so much that I am angry at 
 what you have said," she explained, in a 
 burst of confidence. " It is that some- 
 times I feel as if I never did anything to 
 suit anybody, and then I get cross and 
 hate myself. I can't ever make a pretty 
 picture, because I am so hideous. I wish 
 Ethel were here ; perhaps she may come 
 for a visit before you go ; she is lovely, 
 and has such pretty clothes ; but after all, 
 it is n't my fault that I am plain and stu- 
 69
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 pid, and can't find time to make any more 
 white aprons." 
 
 The professor gave one of his provoking 
 laughs, but instantly grew grave. The 
 pathos of the girl's life had suddenly and 
 powerfully appealed to his sympathies. 
 How young she was to have so much care ! 
 He saw the dull years stretching on for 
 her in endless succession, filled with hum- 
 drum duties, and unillumined by any of 
 the light which an imaginative person 
 throws around the future, to make the 
 dreary present more endurable. The un- 
 selfishness of her character struck him as 
 it had never done before. 
 
 " Come," he said, in his most persuasive 
 manner, " you have not forgiven me yet ; 
 pray do, and let us be better friends in the 
 future." 
 
 " I don't know that I want to be better 
 friends. The more you knew me, the more 
 you would laugh at me. I don't believe 
 you ever like people for themselves alone. 
 I will take your waiter now, please," and 
 she held out her hand for it. 
 
 He took her hand and clasped it firmly 
 in his. "You do me an injustice," he 
 70
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 said. " I like you now for yourself alone, 
 and I want you to like me for myself 
 alone, and not because I have some repu- 
 tation as an author, or " 
 
 " I certainly shall not like you on ac- 
 count of your books," she interrupted 
 playfully. She was almost charming when 
 her face lighted up in that unexpected 
 way. The professor still kept her hand. 
 "Will you forgive me?" he reiterated. 
 
 " I will forgive you, but we are not the 
 kind to be friends." 
 
 " You mean we are not ' sympaticaj as 
 the Italians say; but that is not neces- 
 sary." 
 
 " If Ethel were only here ! " and she 
 gently withdrew her hand ; " she is intel- 
 lectual and sympathetic, and" 
 
 " I am thankful she is not here," he 
 broke in impatiently. It piqued him to 
 have his unusual advances met with such 
 indifference. " I am sorry that you dis- 
 like me," he added coldly. 
 
 " How foolish you are ! I don't dis- 
 like you, but there is a long way between 
 not disliking a person and wishing to be 
 friends with him. How I hate all this 
 71
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 talk about one's feelings," she said vehe- 
 mently. She had risen and was standing 
 opposite the window, and her face sud- 
 denly became radiant. 
 
 " Uncle Frank has come back from Bos- 
 ton," she announced in great excitement. 
 She left the room precipitately, and pre- 
 sently the professor saw her run down the 
 street and greet her uncle with outstretched 
 arms. " She is a good lover," he reflected ; 
 " how she would worship a husband ! " 
 No man with a spark of sentiment or 
 imagination could fall in love with her, he 
 told himself, but her friendship would be 
 something worth having. 
 
 For those of us who remain in this 
 world, spring always ends in summer, 
 ultimately, no matter how lengthened the 
 process may be. It was greatly protracted 
 in Longfield, not only from climatic causes, 
 but likewise for internal and domestic 
 reasons. It seemed to Professor Bain- 
 bridge, who had never before experienced 
 a New England spring, as if house-clean- 
 ing were the chief event of the season, 
 and the delicious carols of the thrushes 
 and catbirds, the dim, feathery sheen of 
 72
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 the opening leaves, and the fields starred 
 with anemones or dotted with dandelions 
 were so many impertinent interruptions to 
 the one important business in life. He 
 was well enough to take long drives into 
 the country with Carrie's uncle, the doc- 
 tor, and sometimes she herself was his 
 companion ; but her mind on these occa- 
 sions was apt to revert to the best method 
 for killing moths, or to an infallible means 
 of exterminating Buffalo beetles. In spite 
 of her limitations, however, his friendship 
 with Carrie grew as the weeks passed. 
 When summer at last took the place of 
 spring, its advent was marked by unusual 
 festivity in the little town. The professor 
 concluded that the industrious housewives 
 were eager to exhibit the fruits of their 
 labors, for they gave a series of tea-drink- 
 ings in their immaculate houses, at which 
 all their best china figured, as well as the 
 new gowns which had been as important 
 a feature in the spring of the younger 
 portion of the community, as the sweep- 
 ing and garnishing of their dwellings had 
 been with their elders. 
 
 The professor was not a social man ; or 
 73
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 rather, to be accurate, he never thought 
 it worth his while to be civil to persons 
 who bored him, and the society in Long- 
 field was such as to elicit nothing but 
 monosyllables from him. Genius has this 
 privilege, it may be rude without losing 
 any of its prestige ; and whatever his 
 reputation might be in the world at large, 
 in Longfield Professor Bainbridge stood 
 for Genius (spelled with a capital G). 
 
 Carrie, who knew how delightful the 
 professor could be when he chose, was 
 not satisfied with his behavior when in 
 company. One evening she took him 
 to task. 
 
 " If you go to the Petersons' lawn party 
 to-morrow," she said, "you must be just 
 as agreeable as you can ; of course you 
 don't find Longfield people pleasant when 
 you are disagreeable to them." 
 
 " I consider it a breach of truthfulness 
 to appear to like persons whom I in real- 
 ity detest," Mr. Bainbridge returned, with 
 the air of supporting a valuable moral 
 principle. 
 
 "Really," Carrie said, throwing back 
 her head, and putting all the sarcasm of 
 74
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 which she was capable into her voice. 
 " When Fanny does as you do, we say 
 she is a very naughty little girl. That is 
 just the difference between a little girl 
 and a great man," she mused, " a really 
 famous man. Mrs. Peterson asked me 
 the other day if I did not feel it a privi- 
 lege to be under the same roof with so 
 much greatness. At first I thought she 
 meant the new parlor curtains." 
 
 " ' Greatness ' feels contemptibly small 
 this evening, Miss Carrie, so please don't 
 take him down any more than is neces- 
 sary." 
 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 " I have a furious headache. The 
 whole top of my head seems to be coming 
 off." He flung himself down on the par- 
 lor sofa as he spoke. " I have no doubt 
 I am in for another fever." 
 
 " Men always think they are on the 
 brink of the grave when they have a head- 
 ache," Carrie remarked. " Mother has 
 one nearly every week, but she has never 
 had a fever." 
 
 In spite of these unsympathetic words 
 she was truly sorry for him. Suffering of 
 75
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 body appealed to her as suffering of mind 
 did not ; it was something tangible and 
 comprehensible : it was beyond the con- 
 trol of the patient, and within the pro- 
 vince of the nurse. 
 
 " I can sometimes drive away mother's 
 headaches by stroking her forehead," she 
 said. " Perhaps I can cure you ; may 
 I try?" 
 
 " Indeed you may." 
 
 Carrie's touch was firm, yet gentle. It 
 soothed the professor and carried him 
 back, with a skip of thirty years, to the 
 days of his childhood, when another hand 
 with a motion as firm and gentle had put 
 him to sleep night after night. He had 
 been rather a pathetic little boy, with a 
 tendency to sleeplessness even in those 
 early days. He thought of his mother's 
 premature death, and of his lonely life ; 
 while Carrie's hand traveled across his 
 forehead, making a running accompani- 
 ment to his reveries. 
 
 " You must tell me if you do not like 
 this," she said anxiously. 
 
 " I do like it ; I cannot tell you how 
 much good it is doing me." 
 76
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 The fine side of Carrie's nature ap- 
 pealed to him irresistibly. He was lost 
 in admiration of her utter unconscious- 
 ness of self. She was trying to help him 
 as simply and unaffectedly as if she were 
 a sister of charity and he a hospital pa- 
 tient. 
 
 He forgot that he had ever been vexed 
 by her lack of appreciation and that he 
 had once thought her commonplace. He 
 longed to seize her hand and tell her how 
 great a blessing her friendship might be 
 to him. He wanted to say that her 
 strength and unconsciousness humbled 
 him ; but he judged rightly that at the 
 first hint of these things her hand would 
 be withdrawn and the growing peace of 
 their intercourse troubled. 
 
 At length there was the sound of the 
 opening of the long French window op- 
 posite them. The professor moved un- 
 easily, while the color mounted to his 
 face. Carrie remained undisturbed. She 
 put up her hand with a warning gesture, 
 as her mother, accompanied by the ubi- 
 quitous Mrs. Brown and her friend Miss 
 Harwood, entered the room. 
 77
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 " Hush ! " she said, " he is just going 
 to sleep ; he has a bad headache." 
 
 Mrs. Brown and Miss Harwood ex- 
 changed significant glances. The pro- 
 fessor treacherously kept silent. 
 
 " Carrie," said Mrs. Swift gently, 
 " will you please take my bonnet upstairs, 
 and bring down my eyeglasses ? " 
 
 II 
 
 The afternoon of Mrs. Peterson's lawn 
 party was bright, but insufferably hot, a 
 fortunate combination, as the weather en- 
 abled the guests to be present, and fur- 
 nished them with an unfailing topic of 
 conversation. Carrie and the professor 
 arrived upon the scene in due season, and 
 were instantly separated by Miss Har- 
 wood, who kept Mr. Bainbridge's elo- 
 quence to herself for half an hour, much 
 to the regret of Kitty Peterson. 
 
 After a lengthy comparison between 
 New England in the present day and Italy 
 in the thirteenth century, Miss Harwood 
 touched upon the women of both coun- 
 tries. 
 
 78
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 " You would not say what you do about 
 the loss of beauty in New England if you 
 could see Ethel Sandford," she said at 
 last. " She is of the golden-haired Ti- 
 tian type, and a fascinating creature be- 
 sides." 
 
 " Miss Sandford appears to be not only 
 the most beautiful of her sex, but a para- 
 gon of all the virtues and intellectual 
 graces also," the professor returned. " I 
 confess I am tired of hearing Aristides 
 called 4 The Just.' " 
 
 " Still harping upon the great men of 
 the thirteenth century ? " asked Mrs. 
 Peterson, who had caught the last clause 
 of this sentence. " They were all giants, 
 those men of that fertile period," she 
 added in a tone of deep conviction, " but 
 I myself don't think Aristides quite equal 
 to Dante ; Dante now seems to me a 
 grand poet." 
 
 It was almost tea time before the pro- 
 fessor could make his way to Carrie. " It 
 is comfortable to get back to you," he 
 said, sinking lazily on the bench by her 
 side, with a sigh of relief. " I have been 
 bored to death between discussions of the 
 79
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 state of the weather and the state of Italy 
 in the thirteenth century. Every one in 
 Longfield has been studying up on the 
 subject. People fancy that it is niy one 
 interest. I have returned to you for rest, 
 after the incessant flow of witty and wise 
 conversation." 
 
 " Because I am stupid and silent. 
 Thank you." 
 
 " You are very perverse, and always 
 will twist my compliments into reproaches. 
 I mean that you are a most restful little 
 person." He had some roses in his hand. 
 " The prettiest Miss Peterson gave me 
 these," he said, as he offered them to her ; 
 " do put them in your belt, they contrast 
 so well with your blue dress." 
 
 " I can't take them ; Kitty would n't 
 like it." 
 
 "/cannot wear them," he said. 
 
 " You have no sentiment ; when a 
 young lady gives you flowers you must 
 treasure them carefully, at least until 
 you are out of her sight." 
 
 " It is you who have no sentiment," 
 observed her companion. 
 
 " I really must n't take them," Carrie 
 80
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 said, but there was a shade of doubt in 
 her tone. 
 
 "Just these two, they will never be 
 missed," he urged. Carrie succumbed 
 with a thrill of pleasure, realizing for the 
 first time what it was to be young and 
 a woman. The professor smiled down 
 upon her. 
 
 " This is enjoyment," said he. " What 
 is needed to complete our perfect content- 
 ment ? " 
 
 " A back to this seat, and cooler 
 weather." 
 
 " You prosaic and ungrateful girl ! Do 
 you mean to say that the devotion of 
 ' greatness ' is not sufficient to make you 
 forget these little drawbacks ? " 
 
 " But you are not devoted to me ; if 
 you were you would fan me. Everybody 
 fans Ethel, always." 
 
 The professor took her fleecy white 
 fan. " It looks like a pile of snow- 
 flakes," said he. " Is it swan's down ? " 
 
 " No, it is made of goose-feathers. I 
 pasted them all on cardboard myself. 
 Don't you admire my ingenuity? " 
 
 " All my swans are your geese," he 
 81
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 murmured, as he slowly moved her fan 
 back and forth. 
 
 " How little breeze you make ! I '11 
 show you how," and she took posses- 
 sion of her fan. " There, see the differ- 
 ence," she added, as she briskly set the 
 air in motion. 
 
 " You always do everything well ; what 
 will become of me when I no longer have 
 my little friend to act as guide and care- 
 taker ? You cannot be so cruel as to say 
 that we are not the ' kind ' to be friends 
 now ? " he persisted. " I want you for 
 my friend. At least we are better friends 
 than we were at first ? " he demanded, 
 spurred on by her silence. 
 
 " I should hope so ; at first you were 
 detestable." 
 
 He joined in her laugh. " I wish this 
 pleasant summer was not to end so soon," 
 he proceeded. " I am sorry that I rashly 
 promised to go to the Rangeley Lakes 
 week after next ; and in a month or two 
 I shall be back in my dull routine in the 
 West. I wish we lived nearer each other. 
 I wish " He stopped abruptly, for he 
 had caught sight of a face and figure that 
 82
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 he had never seen before. He was sure 
 that the slender girl who was coming 
 slowly toward them down the garden path 
 was, like himself, a stranger in Long-field. 
 She was not unusually pretty, but she 
 was extremely graceful, and her white 
 dress fitted her to perfection, and was 
 a marvel of simplicity and taste. She 
 wore a hat with rather a broad brim, 
 and a wreath of pink sweetbrier around 
 it. It threw a shadow over her face, and 
 made the waves of golden-brown hair on 
 her forehead seem remote and mysteri- 
 ous. 
 
 Carrie was waiting for the end of the 
 professor's sentence. At last she looked 
 up. " Ethel ! " she cried in excitement. 
 " My dear, when did you come ? Kitty 
 did n't tell me she expected you this week. 
 You must come to us as soon as you 
 can. How lovely, how altogether charming 
 this is," and she flung her arms around 
 her friend with utter disregard of specta- 
 tors. 
 
 Mr. Bainbridge lingered in the vicinity, 
 but it was some moments before Carrie 
 remembered to present him to Ethel. 
 83
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 " I already know Miss Sandf ord well by 
 reputation," he said after the introduction 
 had been accomplished, " and I need not 
 add that her reputation has not suffered 
 at the hands of her friend." 
 
 Carrie moved away to help pass the 
 salad, and Ethel took the half of the 
 bench which she had left, while the pro- 
 fessor dropped into his old seat. He was 
 more animated than Carrie had ever seen 
 him. "What a contrast to the way in 
 which he talks to me," she thought, as 
 she glanced at them from time to time. 
 " There he goes to get her a comfortable 
 chair, but I might have broken my back 
 on that bench until the day of judgment 
 and he would n't have done anything about 
 it. He is fanning her, I knew he would, 
 and he is doing it as if he had been used 
 to it all his life, and with what an air of 
 devotion ! If a girl is plain and has n't 
 any intellect, a man stops liking her just 
 as soon as a pretty, bright girl appears, 
 although instead of doing things for him, 
 she makes him wait on her. It is n't very 
 fair, but it 's natural ; I should like a pretty 
 girl better than a plain one if I were a 
 84
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 man. He has taken the advice I gave 
 him last evening," she thought with a lit- 
 tle smile, in spite of her heartache ; " for 
 once he is making himself as agreeable as 
 he can." 
 
 Some of the petals from one of her roses 
 fell at her feet. She took them both out 
 of her belt, and after looking at them re- 
 gretfully she tore them to pieces. Her 
 brief hour of triumph was over. 
 
 Love is often accused of blindness, but 
 the most virulent detractors of the little 
 god have never charged him with being 
 lame. Friendship, on the contrary, is 
 clearer sighted, but her approach is sel- 
 dom swift. She stumbles on with many 
 a halt, but her eyes are sharp, if her feet 
 are clumsy ; and when she has made sure 
 that there are no more brambles and pit- 
 falls in the way, she reaches her goal at 
 last. Love, because of his blindness, takes 
 no heed of obstructions, but rushes to his 
 destination with feverish haste and out- 
 strips the laggard friendship. 
 
 Mr. Bainbridge was in love ; he had a 
 friendly feeling for Carrie Swift, but he 
 loved Ethel Sandford. He had known 
 85
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 Carrie intimately for the past three 
 months, and he had talked for three 
 hours with Ethel. 
 
 The week after the lawn party, Miss 
 Sandford came to the Swifts' to make a 
 visit. The professor had thought it im- 
 possible to cancel his engagement to go 
 to the Rangeley Lakes, but he contrived 
 to do it with apparent ease, and stayed on 
 in Longfield. 
 
 One evening after Ethel had been for 
 two or three weeks at the Swifts' house, 
 the professor came back from a drive, 
 having left her and Mrs. Swift at the other 
 end of the town, where they wanted to 
 make a call, to find Carrie sitting on 
 the front porch with her knitting. He 
 seated himself by her side, partly through 
 remorse, for he had forgotten her exist- 
 ence of late, and partly for want of a bet- 
 ter occupation. 
 
 " Have you had a pleasant drive ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 "Very," he said, with a sudden con- 
 sciousness of how much greater the plea- 
 sure had been than when she was his 
 companion. 
 
 86
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 'Whom did you see?" Carrie in- 
 quired. 
 
 "No one." 
 
 " And you actually went all the way 
 to South Swanset without seeing a liv- 
 ing soul?" she demanded playfully. "I 
 suppose you were too much absorbed in 
 philosophy to notice such trifles as peo- 
 ple." 
 
 " We were absorbed in wondering who 
 lived in the different houses, and what 
 sort of lives they led," said the professor 
 with asperity. 
 
 " If I had been there I could have told 
 you," said Carrie. " What especial houses 
 were you interested in ? " 
 
 He described one. 
 
 " Abijah Patten, who used to be our 
 butterman, has just moved there. Mother 
 ought to have known that. His sister is 
 a bony old maid of fifty, I know I shall 
 look like her some day, and she is as 
 sharp as vinegar, but she makes good 
 butter. That is a nice old farmhouse, 
 though ; if we were very poor I would n't 
 mind living there." 
 
 " Would n't you ? Miss Sandford won- 
 87
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 dered how any one could endure life in 
 such a lonely place." 
 
 " I could be happy anywhere with father 
 and mother and the children, and work 
 enough to keep me busy." 
 
 " I really believe you could," said the 
 professor, with a smile. " You agree with 
 me in thinking that place makes little dif- 
 ference in happiness. I could be happy 
 anywhere with one or two chosen friends 
 and plenty of books." 
 
 " Yes," she responded, " if you had a 
 few cartloads of books and some one whose 
 character you could study, I believe you 
 would be happy at the north pole ; only 
 the person would have to be changed for a 
 new one as soon as you had made out his 
 character." 
 
 " You are unfair, Miss Carrie ; whatever 
 my attitude may be to the world at large, 
 I am capable of strong attachments, as my 
 friends can testify." 
 
 " I should like to see your friends," she 
 mused. " One of them is the gentleman 
 you have had so many letters from, I sup- 
 pose?" 
 
 " Yes. The others are out of my reach 
 88
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 at present ; one is in California, the other 
 in Japan." 
 
 " Have n't you but three friends ? " 
 
 " Not according to the best definition of 
 the word. Are there so many persons for 
 whom you would be willing to make any 
 sacrifice, and whom you can depend upon 
 in return, that you think three friends 
 such a small number ? " 
 
 "There is a great difference between 
 being willing to do things for people, and 
 having them ready to do things for you," 
 she said slowly, bending her head over her 
 knitting. 
 
 " In a perfect friendship each must be 
 equally willing to help." 
 
 Carrie was silent ; she wondered if, when 
 the professor had asked her to be his 
 friend, he had meant anything so great 
 as this ; but her common sense told her 
 directly that he must have had in mind 
 only the usual definition of the word, 
 or he could not have forgotten that con- 
 versation. Why had Ethel come just as 
 the professor had begun to be so kind? 
 Ethel had such hosts of friends that one 
 more or less could make little difference 
 89
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 in her life. Carrie's eyes filled with tears 
 as she reflected that there was not a per- 
 son who would think of making any sac- 
 rifice for her outside of her own family 
 circle, whereas there were many people 
 for whom she would be willing to do the 
 smallest thing, or the greatest, and Mr. 
 Bainbridge was among them. She thought 
 that if she had planned the world she 
 would have made the plain, uninterest- 
 ing people without any heart, and then 
 they would not have minded having no 
 friends. 
 
 " Suppose we walk to the other end of 
 the village to meet your mother and Miss 
 Sandford ? " suggested the professor. 
 Carrie was silent. 
 " Won't you come ? " he persisted. 
 She shook her head and went quickly 
 into the house ; he followed her and the 
 sound of a suppressed sob met his ear. 
 
 "Miss Carrie, what is the matter ? " he 
 asked stupidly. 
 
 "I have a bad headache, and am too 
 tired to go to walk, so I will say good- 
 night." 
 
 He took her hand kindly, and said in 
 90
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 soothing tones : "You must take care of 
 yourself or you will break down, and then 
 what should we all do ? " 
 
 Carrie snatched away her hand and 
 impatiently turned to go upstairs. 
 
 " You must come to drive with us to- 
 morrow night," he continued. " You 
 shall sit on the front seat with me and 
 point out all the people we meet, and give 
 me their family histories, and tell me who 
 lives in all the different houses." 
 
 This speech exasperated her past en- 
 durance. " You are very good," she 
 said in an icy tone, " but has it never 
 occurred to you that even your society 
 may not satisfy every one at all times as 
 completely as you think ? " 
 
 She disappeared into the house, leav- 
 ing Mr. Bainbridge deeply aggrieved ; yet 
 strange to say, what pained him most was 
 the fear that she might be echoing Miss 
 Sandford's sentiments, for Carrie had 
 been very friendly with him once. He 
 asked himself why he should be thus 
 cruelly pained at the thought that Miss 
 Sandford did not like him ; for it was not 
 a new one, he had often felt sure that 
 91
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 she was merely amusing herself with him 
 as she had done with a score of others. 
 It is all very well to study character, 
 but it is not so agreeable to encounter a 
 fellow-student in that branch of sociology, 
 who is bent upon remorselessly dissecting 
 one's own traits. " I have no doubt that 
 she makes the same satirical, lazy com- 
 ments about me which she treats me to 
 whenever her Longfield friends come up 
 for discussion," he thought. 
 
 Spring had lingered in Longfield, but 
 as if to make up for loss of time, summer 
 departed with uncompromising swiftness. 
 Autumn had come, and was flaunting its 
 badges on every hillside and in all the 
 valleys. The world was yellow and red 
 and russet brown with the changing 
 leaves. The little town was transformed, 
 and every roadside, however insignificant, 
 was a garden for a brief season. The 
 fringed - gentian lifted its modest head 
 and caught the hue of the sky, and the 
 purple aster subdued the otherwise too 
 brilliant coloring of the sumach bushes 
 and the omnipresent goldenrod. 
 
 Mr. Bainbridge's departure came with 
 92
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 that of the summer; his last day had 
 actually arrived. 
 
 Longfield, as it may be imagined, had 
 been in a state of suspense throughout 
 the past two months with regard to the 
 professor's " intentions ; " and on this 
 evening as Mrs. Brown and Miss Har- 
 wood wended their way to Mrs. Swift's 
 house, he was under discussion. 
 
 " The little heart he has," said Mrs. 
 Brown, " is evidently at Ethel Sandford's 
 disposal. If I were in his place I should 
 marry Carrie Swift. Ethel is a very 
 good sort of girl to be in love with, but 
 for daily home comfort, give me honest, 
 simple little Carrie." 
 
 " Mr. Bainbridge would be quite will- 
 ing to let you have her, Sophie," Miss 
 Harwood returned. " What would he do 
 with a wife who could not sympathize 
 with his intellectual tastes sufficiently to 
 treat the thirteenth century with anything 
 but levity ? " 
 
 " A man has other tastes besides intel- 
 lectual ones, and he cannot dine on the 
 thirteenth century," Mrs. Brown retorted. 
 
 They had reached the Swifts' gate ; 
 93
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 when they entered the house a moment 
 later, they found the professor sitting with 
 Ethel and Carrie in the front parlor. 
 The girls were sewing, and he was read- 
 ing aloud to them. 
 
 Mrs. Brown had come to beg clothes 
 for a certain poor family for whose needs 
 she had so much practical sympathy that 
 the just professor was forced to admit 
 that even she had her virtues. He was 
 unreasonably angry with Ethel, however, 
 for treating her with distinguished cor- 
 diality, when she had joined with him the 
 moment before her entrance in an unspar- 
 ing dissection of her faults. 
 
 Ethel was making some buttonholes in 
 a pink cashmere waist, which she pre- 
 sently handed to Carrie, saying that she 
 would accept her offer gratefully, as she 
 hated to make buttonholes. 
 
 " It is convenient to have a friend al- 
 ways ready to do the disagreeable things 
 for one," Mrs. Brown said. 
 
 " But I like to make buttonholes," pro- 
 tested Carrie. 
 
 " Nevertheless, we cannot always escape 
 unpleasant things," Mrs. Brown continued 
 94
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 remorselessly, " good - bys, for instance. 
 We shall all miss you, Professor Bain- 
 bridge," and she extended her hand to 
 him, " but these young ladies will feel 
 your loss greatly." She spoke collectively, 
 but she looked at Ethel. 
 
 "Yes," Ethel returned indifferently, 
 but with heightened color, " we shall miss 
 Professor Bainbridge ; it is always a pity 
 to end a pleasant acquaintance. I sup- 
 pose you know that I am to stay with the 
 Swifts until Christmas, and that two pa- 
 tients are coming here from the Sanita- 
 rium next week ? So the house will be 
 fuller than ever." 
 
 " And you are here to speed the part- 
 ing and welcome the coming guest, Miss 
 Ethel," Mrs. Brown said, by way of a 
 gracious farewell, as she and Miss Har- 
 wood took their leave. 
 
 Carrie saw a pained expression on the 
 professor's face, and hastened to observe 
 with warmth, " We shall all miss you 
 dreadfully, Mr. Bainbridge, and the new 
 people won't in the least take your place." 
 
 He gave her a grateful look ; in a mo- 
 ment he had conjured up a vision of the 
 95
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 ideal woman who should have Carrie's 
 transparent sincerity, unswerving loyalty, 
 and unselfishness, joined to Ethel's beauty 
 and fascination. But alas ! in this im- 
 perfect world the man with keen insight 
 into character never comes across those 
 perfect combinations which his vivid im- 
 agination invents, and his less discern- 
 ing brethren think that they have found ; 
 and there are moments when the com- 
 pensation of being able to see the good 
 points in a Mrs. Brown cannot make up 
 to him for feeling the flaws in those he 
 loves. 
 
 After their guests had departed, Ethel 
 rose quickly and, seating herself at the 
 piano, she played one piece after another 
 at the professor's request. There was a 
 minor strain in them all. Carrie grew 
 more and more restless and sad as she lis- 
 tened, until she could bear it no longer ; 
 she did not know what troubled her, but 
 she had suddenly become aware of the 
 misery in the world. How could Ethel 
 help loving him? And since she did 
 not, why must she increase his pain by 
 playing this heart-breaking music, and by 
 96
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 looking so wonderfully lovely in her white 
 gown, with the candlelight shining on her 
 golden - brown hair, and the deepening 
 color in her cheeks. 
 
 u Have I played all your favorites to 
 you now ? " Ethel asked after a time. 
 " It is your last chance." She cast down 
 her eyes, and added in a lower tone, " I 
 hope we shall not lose sight of you for- 
 ever." 
 
 " Forever ! " exclaimed the professor 
 impetuously, his resentment and doubts 
 alike forgotten. 
 
 It was at this moment that Carrie left 
 the room. She waited in the dark, up- 
 stairs, for a long time. At length Ethel 
 came. 
 
 She moved softly, for she thought that 
 Carrie was asleep. 
 
 " You can light the candle, Ethel ; I 
 have not gone to bed, I am over here on 
 the sofa," Carrie said. Ethel crossed the 
 room, and taking a seat by her friend's 
 side, she felt for her hand. This unusual 
 demonstration gave Carrie a sudden pang. 
 
 " Carrie, how do you like Mr. Bain- 
 bridge ? " Ethel asked abruptly. 
 97
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 " Very much, but it would be more to 
 the purpose if I were to ask you how you 
 like him." 
 
 Ethel was silent a moment ; then she 
 said, with a thrill in her voice that Carrie 
 never forgot, " How do I like him ? Very 
 well, that is, to-night- I am en- 
 gaged to him." 
 
 There was a dull pain at Carrie's heart 
 all the next day, which grew more in- 
 tense as the hour for Mr. Bainbridge's 
 departure approached. She was too busy 
 all the morning to allow herself the luxury 
 of thought. In the afternoon the house 
 was overrun with people ; there were vis- 
 itors in the parlor and children every- 
 where else. She went into the garden, 
 but retreated quickly, for Ethel and the 
 professor were in the summer - house. 
 Then she wended her way to the barn to 
 tell Jerry to be sure to harness the horse 
 in time for Mr. Bainbridge, who was to 
 leave on the five o'clock train. Yielding 
 to a sudden impulse she climbed up into 
 the loft and settled herself comfortably in 
 the hay as she used to do when she was 
 a little girl. She wished she were a little 
 98
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 girl now ; life was hard for grown-up 
 people. 
 
 Why was it she did not rejoice in 
 Ethel's engagement ? she asked herself. 
 What did these strange feelings mean ? 
 Surely she had never fancied in her 
 wildest dreams that Mr. Bainbridge might 
 love herself. Her face grew hot at the 
 thought. Then why was she not glad 
 that he was to marry her friend ? She 
 was a selfish, jealous girl, for she would 
 have liked to keep his friendship exclu- 
 sively. For a moment she let herself im- 
 agine what it would be to have his love 
 when she had found the crumbs of kind- 
 liness which had fallen to her share so 
 pleasant ; for a moment she felt how she 
 might have loved him ; then she dismissed 
 such reflections as useless. He and Ethel 
 were happy, and it was right that they 
 should be so, for he loved her, and she 
 was beautiful and good. " Much better 
 than I am," thought poor Carrie. " I am 
 not only plain and tiresome, but horrid 
 too." 
 
 Through the open doors of the barn she 
 could see Mrs. Brown and Miss Harwood 
 99
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 walking down the village street and paus- 
 ing to talk to her uncle, the doctor, who 
 was just going into the sanitarium. It 
 was what had happened a hundred times 
 before, and it had seemed sufficiently 
 interesting once ; but now it was inexpres- 
 sibly dreary to think of the days stretch- 
 ing on interminably with only such events 
 in them for her. 
 
 " I wonder what I was put into the 
 world for ? " she thought. " And the worst 
 of it is, I am not the only one ; I could 
 bear it better if I were. There must be 
 thousands of commonplace people like me, 
 who are not interesting enough to be 
 fallen in love with, but who have hearts 
 of their own just the same. Of course 
 they can't get what they want, and all 
 they can do is to try to be glad that some 
 people can. After all it is true, what Mr. 
 Bainbridge said the other night when I 
 got so angry, that I am of use in this 
 family. I suppose some people are needed 
 just to fill up gaps and make it easier for 
 the others. That idea ought to content 
 me, but somehow it doesn't. Well, any 
 way, I am glad for them." 
 100
 
 COMMONPLACE CARRIE 
 
 When she reached the house, the car- 
 riage that was to take Mr. Bainbridge to 
 the depot was standing at the door, and 
 he was about to help in Ethel, who was 
 to drive him to the station. Carrie went 
 up to them and extended both her hands 
 impulsively. 
 
 " I have not had a chance to congratu- 
 late you together before," she said, " but 
 I am so very, very glad." 
 
 They took her sympathy as a matter 
 of course, and were too much absorbed 
 in their happiness to notice the expres- 
 sion that for a moment glorified her plain 
 face. 
 
 " Fortunate people ! " Carrie thought as 
 they drove away. " It can't be very hard 
 for them to part, for they belong to each 
 other." 
 
 She stood watching them until they 
 were out of sight, and then she went into 
 the house, to mend and put away the 
 clean clothes. 
 
 101
 
 A BISMAECK DINNER 
 
 THE celebrated historian, Julius Frank- 
 lin, was to deliver his lecture on Bis- 
 marck, in the Town Hall at Eastville, on 
 the twenty-third of January, and he was to 
 spend the night with the Frank Morses. 
 
 Mrs. Morse was a pretty little thing, 
 who won from her serious neighbors when 
 she came as a bride to Eastville, first, an 
 amused tolerance, and later, a sincere af- 
 fection ; for despite the general opinion, a 
 pretty woman, if she is also good-natured, 
 makes her way more readily than a plain 
 one with her own sex as well as with men. 
 As Jjlastville was a New England town it 
 is hardly necessary to add that it was pop- 
 ulated chiefly with Mrs. Morse's sex. The 
 women were for the most part studious 
 and thoughtful, taking life seriously, as if 
 they felt it incumbent upon them to culti- 
 vate their minds to the utmost, that the 
 usual ill effects of the scarcity of the mas- 
 102
 
 A BISMARCK DINNER 
 
 culine element might be reduced to their 
 minimum. The work done in the Ladies' 
 Literary Guild was therefore of a thor- 
 ough quality. Every winter the researches 
 of this society were supplemented with a 
 course of lectures given by literary lights 
 from the outer world, but Julius Franklin's 
 fame as surely eclipsed that of his predeces- 
 sors as sunlight eclipses candlelight. It 
 was therefore small wonder that the usu- 
 ally dauntless Edith Morse was frightened 
 when she thought of the rapidly approach- 
 ing twenty-third of January. 
 
 One morning she entered the library 
 where her husband was. comfortably en- 
 sconced in his leathern armchair before 
 the open fire, with a pile of law books on 
 a table near at hand. 
 
 " Frank," she began, " I am sorry to 
 interrupt you, but you must help me, for 
 Bismarck is more important than law." 
 
 " That is certainly his own opinion, my 
 dear," Mr. Morse returned, putting down, 
 not Blackstone, but one of Gaboriau's 
 novels. 
 
 " I want you to tell me what to have 
 for dinner on the twenty-third," Edith 
 103
 
 A BISMAKCK DINNER 
 
 proceeded. " The dreadful day will be 
 here in a week. What do you suppose 
 a lecturer on Bismarck would like for 
 dinner ? " 
 
 " You might give him the Diet of 
 Frankfort ; he would be sure to feel at 
 home then." 
 
 "Frank, it is cruel of you to joke in 
 this way," she remonstrated; "this is a 
 serious matter." 
 
 " Happily everything is a serious mat- 
 ter with you, Edith, my love. It is an 
 immense comfort to me that I have mar- 
 ried a woman who takes life thoughtfully. 
 I must confess, however, that your pretty 
 clothes and your beauty are a drawback ; 
 they create a false impression at the start, 
 making one feel that you are only a but- 
 terfly." 
 
 " Frank," she continued, ignoring this 
 remark, " don't you think that it will be 
 best to have dinner at half-past four, as 
 Mr. Franklin is coming on the half-past 
 three train ? If we had a six o'clock din- 
 ner he would be almost famished by that 
 time ; and as everybody dines at one 
 o'clock here, it won't be any queerer to 
 104
 
 A BISMARCK DINNER 
 
 have dinner at half-past four than at six. 
 I wish I could think of something original 
 to eat." 
 
 " Why not have it a Bismarck dinner ? 
 Pink teas are all the rage, but a Bismarck 
 dinner in Bismarck-brown would be some- 
 thing new." 
 
 " The very thing ! " Edith exclaimed, 
 and she kissed her husband with raptur- 
 ous effusion. " Who but you would have 
 thought of such a lovely idea ! After all, 
 in spite of Miss Elliott, I do believe that 
 men have more brain than women." 
 
 Frank Morse had thrown out his sug- 
 gestion by way of the wildest joke ; but if 
 a man has married a woman who regards 
 his lightest word with veneration he must 
 take the consequences. 
 
 " A Bismarck dinner will be perfectly 
 charming," said Edith. "I can have 
 black bean soup for the first course 
 that is n't just the shade, but it is near 
 enough to pass and some kind of fried 
 fish afterwards ; then grouse and potato 
 balls, I shall have to omit the jelly and 
 the salad too, and then chocolate ice- 
 cream, and after that, fruit. What fruit 
 105
 
 A BISMARCK DINNER 
 
 is there that is brown? Oh, yes, nuts, 
 nuts and I can't have raisins well, 
 nuts, all by themselves, and to wind up 
 with coffee. Who could help liking- 
 such a menu? Then to make the table 
 look pretty I will paint dinner-cards with 
 appropriate designs." 
 
 " The Battle of Kbniggratz would be an 
 easy illustration to begin with," her hus- 
 band suggested. 
 
 " Frank, how can you propose such im- 
 possible things ! How many people ought 
 we to ask, do you think ? I can't invite 
 the whole guild, because there are twenty 
 of them ; and besides, I should like for 
 once to have an even number of ladies 
 and gentlemen." 
 
 " Then your dinner-party will limit it- 
 self." 
 
 " I think ten people will be enough," 
 she said, as she flitted away to look 
 through the Life of Bismarck for ideas 
 for her dinner-cards. 
 
 Mrs. Morse was supposed to have read 
 
 two lives of her hero, besides several 
 
 magazine articles on the subject ; but as 
 
 she believed in judicious skipping, the 
 
 106
 
 A BISMARCK DINNER 
 
 chief events in Bismarck's life were some- 
 what vague in her mind. She wanted an 
 allusion to each of these on the dinner- 
 cards. She knew that the acquisition of 
 Schleswig and Holstein was one of the 
 important facts in his career, but how the 
 annexation of that territory came about 
 was not clear to her. Her impression was 
 briefly this : Bismarck wanted the pro- 
 vinces, and somehow or other he obtained 
 them ; and it is possible that this con- 
 densed summary of the facts was not so 
 unlike the knowledge of her superiors 
 in quality as in quantity. She was also 
 aware that there had been a war between 
 Prussia and Austria, but she had not the 
 smallest idea what it was about or which 
 side was victorious, and neither could she 
 tell the direct cause of the Franco-Prus- 
 sian war, although she had an indistinct 
 idea that either Spain or Italy was mixed 
 up with it. 
 
 If Edith Morse's information concern- 
 ing the principal events in her favorite's 
 career was slight, on the other hand she 
 had an intimate acquaintance with him 
 on the personal side. She thought him a 
 107
 
 A BISMARCK DINNER 
 
 charming brother and a delightful hus- 
 band, and she wished that Frank would 
 take pattern by him and present his wife 
 with an opal heart. It was also firmly 
 impressed upon her mind that once when 
 the Ex-Chancellor was a student, he 
 taught punctuality to his shoemaker by 
 sending a commissionnaire, at six o'clock 
 in the morning of the day when his boots 
 were promised him, to inquire if they 
 were done, and when he found, according 
 to his expectations, that this was not the 
 case, that he sent messenger after mes- 
 senger at intervals of half an hour, until 
 the frantic shoemaker finished the boots 
 in season to be worn to a party that even- 
 ing. Unfortunately these facts did not 
 lend themselves kindly to decorative pur- 
 poses. An opal heart on a dinner-card 
 might be subject to misinterpretation, and 
 a pair of boots could not be made artistic. 
 At last, in despair, Edith implored her 
 husband to design the dinner-cards. 
 
 He promptly suggested, as a motto for 
 
 the first course, " Bismarck is in the 
 
 soup," but his wife frowned upon him, 
 
 and, gathering her books of reference to- 
 
 108
 
 A BISMARCK DINNER 
 
 gether, she placed them in a pile before 
 him. 
 
 "' You must not stir from this spot un- 
 til you have found me suitable mottoes," 
 she commanded. 
 
 " Here is a good motto for your course 
 of nuts, which, it must be owned, seems 
 rather slender without raisins," he said 
 presently in triumph. " You will only 
 have to quote Bismarck's memorable 
 words, ' Far from sufficient.' " 
 
 At this juncture Miss Elliott was op- 
 portunely announced, and Edith went into 
 the parlor to relate her trials to her. She 
 was a clever, sarcastic woman, whose chief 
 ambition was to know distinguished peo- 
 ple, and who was consequently much 
 gratified at receiving an invitation to 
 dine with the illustrious Mr. Franklin. 
 
 " It will be a rare treat, my dear," she 
 said. " And it was very sweet of you to 
 think of including me." 
 
 Edith proceeded to confide her plans 
 for the dinner-cards to her friend, who at 
 once solved her difficulties by suggesting 
 that she should paint the trefoil and the 
 oak-leaves on the Bismarck coat-of-arms, 
 109
 
 A BISMARCK DINNER 
 
 in sepia, in the right-hand corner of each 
 card, and tie a bow of Bismarck-brown 
 ribbon in the left-hand corner. 
 
 " Dear Miss Elliott," cried Edith with 
 enthusiasm, " you are an angel. You 
 shall sit next to Mr. Franklin at dinner, 
 and ask him questions on every subject." 
 
 She thought it safest to generalize. 
 
 " I have heard from my friends the 
 Ainsworths that Mr. Franklin is a bril- 
 liant talker, and a mine of information," 
 said her visitor. " I am impatient for 
 next Friday to arrive." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Morse did not share this 
 impatience, but trembled more and more 
 as the dreaded day approached. 
 
 It came at last, bringing the distin- 
 guished stranger with it. 
 
 Mr. Franklin was an angular little 
 man of about fifty-five, with grizzled hair 
 and small gray eyes which looked irritably 
 at the world through a pair of gold-bowed 
 spectacles. 
 
 As Mrs. Morse showed him to his room 
 she remarked that dinner would be ready 
 in half an hour. 
 
 The guests arrived with commendable 
 110
 
 promptness and began at once to adapt 
 their conversation to the great occasion. 
 
 " I understand that you have made a 
 thorough study of Bismarck, Mrs. Morse," 
 said Mr. Parke, a young man who was 
 deeply interested in German history. 
 
 Edith glanced at the clock. It was 
 time to send the maid to let Mr. Franklin 
 know that dinner was ready. 
 
 " Bismarck seems to me a remarkably 
 charming person," she said, with a pretty 
 little air of authority. " It was a sur- 
 prise to me to find that he was so lovable 
 in his family." 
 
 " I was not thinking of him as an in- 
 dividual, but as a factor in history," Mr. 
 Parke rejoined. " It would be interest- 
 ing to look ahead fifty years to see 
 whether Germany's progress was retarded 
 or advanced by his measures. What is 
 your opinion of his course with regard 
 to the May Laws ? " 
 
 Edith groped vainly in her memory for 
 some facts concerning these laws. " I 
 think his connection with the Franco- 
 Prussian war was more noteworthy," she 
 said, with one of her charming smiles. 
 Ill
 
 A BISMAKCK DINNER 
 
 " Of course. Have you been reading 
 Busch and Lowe ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then you must remember the ac- 
 count of the battle of Sedan, and the 
 interview between Napoleon and Bis- 
 marck afterwards. Is it not exceedingly 
 vivid?" 
 
 " Very vivid," she said fervently, al- 
 though all that she could remember about 
 it was that the Emperor wore white kid 
 gloves and was smoking a cigarette. 
 " Excuse me for a moment," she added 
 hastily, as she went to tell Agatha to 
 summon Mr. Franklin. 
 
 Upon her return to the parlor she 
 seated herself at the other side of the 
 room from the terrifying Mr. Parke, but 
 he crossed over and continued the in- 
 terrupted conversation. Fortunately for 
 those people whose aim it is to go through 
 life without exposing their ignorance there 
 is an equally large class of persons whose 
 chief desire is to show their knowledge. 
 
 Mr. Parke was a member of this fra- 
 ternity, and his companion's interest was 
 sufficient to encourage him to expound 
 112
 
 A BISMARCK DINNER 
 
 his views on State Socialism at great 
 length. 
 
 " Bismarck is a wonderful man," she 
 said sapiently, in a pause which demanded 
 some remark from her. 
 
 " It is a pity that he should have grown 
 so garrulous in his old age," Mr. Parke 
 observed. 
 
 Edith knew nothing about the latter 
 part of Bismarck's career, for the " lives " 
 had stopped short of this period, but, 
 given the smallest cue, this young woman 
 could improvise her part. 
 
 " Don't you think that elderly people 
 almost always become garrulous ? " she 
 asked, with a confiding smile. 
 
 " Yes, it is the tendency of old age. 
 What do you think of Bismarck's attitude 
 toward State Socialism ? I should like 
 to know what an intelligent woman, un- 
 biased by party prejudice and untram- 
 meled by previous views, would make of 
 it." 
 
 " I fear I am not unbiased," Edith 
 
 said hurriedly, being also afraid that she 
 
 was not an intelligent woman. It was 
 
 quarter of five. What had become of 
 
 113
 
 A BISMARCK DINNER 
 
 Agatha? Here she was at the parlor 
 door now. 
 
 " You must have some opinion of Bis- 
 marck's high-handed course," Mr. Parke 
 urged. 
 
 " It was, as you say, high handed, very 
 high handed," she said, as she abruptly 
 left the room. 
 
 " Please, ma'am," began Agatha, " Mr. 
 Franklin is a little deaf, and I could n't 
 make him understand at first, but as soon 
 as he see what I was driving at he said 
 he did n't want any dinner." 
 
 Mrs. Morse looked aghast. " What 
 did you say then ? " she asked faintly. 
 
 " ' There 's ladies and gentlemen to 
 meet you,' says I, ' and they '11 be ter- 
 rible disappointed.' ' I can't help that,' 
 says he, ' I want to read over my lec- 
 ture.' " 
 
 Mrs. Morse returned to the parlor in a 
 subdued frame of mind, and sent her 
 husband to cope with the recreant his- 
 torian. He returned, after a brief ab- 
 sence, unattended. She met him in the 
 entry. 
 
 " Frank," she said reproachfully, " I 
 114
 
 A BISMARCK DINNER 
 
 told you to be sure to bring Mr. Frank- 
 lin." 
 
 " I know it, my dear, but there is a 
 limit to human strength, and although he 
 is small he must weigh at least a hundred 
 and thirty-five pounds." 
 
 " This is no time for joking," she ex- 
 postulated in tragic tones. " Won't he 
 come down ? " 
 
 " Not for me. You had better try your 
 powers of persuasion." 
 
 They ascended the stairs together, and 
 Edith knocked boldly on the historian's 
 door. 
 
 " Who is there ? " he asked gruffly. 
 
 "Mrs. Morse. Mr. Franklin," she 
 added in her blandest tones, as he opened 
 the door, " I know how kind you are and 
 that you are always ready to do a good 
 turn for people. Please put yourself in 
 my place. I had dinner at this strange 
 hour on purpose for you because I thought 
 you would be hungry, and I have asked 
 several friends to meet you. They have 
 heard how delightful you are and they 
 will never forgive me if they don't see 
 you. Fancy dining at half-past four 
 115
 
 A BISMARCK DINNER 
 
 when we all dine at one generally and 
 without you. It is worse than the play 
 of Hamlet with the ghost left out. What 
 are you laughing at, Frank ? Besides, I 
 have arranged a little surprise for you ; 
 it is a Bismarck dinner." 
 
 " The only article of the kind, going 
 going," her husband murmured sotto 
 voce. 
 
 " Madam," Mr. Franklin returned, " I 
 am sorry to disappoint you, but I had a 
 hearty lunch on the train at my usual 
 dinner-hour. I have to be very careful in 
 my diet, and therefore I can't eat any- 
 thing now ; but if you will give me a glass 
 of milk and some toast, crisp brown toast, 
 and a couple of baked apples at half-past 
 six o'clock, I shall be greatly obliged to 
 
 you." 
 
 " But,' Mr. Franklin, even if you don't 
 feel like eating anything, won't you sit 
 at the table and talk to us while we are 
 at dinner ? " 
 
 " My dear madam, it is impossible, for 
 I must read over my lecture." 
 
 "Miss Elliott is here," said Edith, 
 playing her last card ; " she is a friend of 
 116
 
 A BISMARCK DINNER 
 
 your friends the Ainsworths. Won't you 
 come down just for a few minutes ? " she 
 begged. 
 
 " My dear madam, my nerves are in a 
 sensitive condition, and it is imperative 
 for me to have utter quiet until it is time 
 for my lecture." 
 
 There was nothing more to be said, and 
 Mrs. Morse took her place at the head of 
 the dinner-table in an unusually chastened 
 frame of mind, opposite her husband, who 
 was ostentatiously merry, while the seven 
 guests sipped their black bean soup, and 
 tried to look as if they dined at half-past 
 four every day. 
 
 After the tedious meal was over Edith 
 had to give the historian his meagre re- 
 past. When she rejoined her guests in 
 the parlor she was besieged with a flow 
 of questions. 
 
 " What did he say ? Was he very in- 
 teresting ? Do tell us the whole conver- 
 sation? " her friends demanded eagerly. 
 
 Edith looked up demurely. " I will 
 tell you all about it," she said gravely. 
 
 She waited until the faces of her audi- 
 tors had assumed the requisite amount of 
 117
 
 A BISMARCK DINNER 
 
 rapt attention, and then she began her 
 narrative. " He said first, ' These apples 
 are very good, Mrs. Morse, only I prefer 
 them cold.' " 
 
 " Never mind these irrelevant details," 
 said Miss Elliott impatiently. " Go on to 
 the interesting part." 
 
 " But there was n't any interesting 
 part ; it was all about what he could eat, 
 and what he could n't eat, and what he 
 would like to eat to-morrow." 
 
 " What did he say about Bismarck ? " 
 asked Mr. Parke. 
 
 " Not one word. It was heartless of 
 him to stay in his room and spoil my 
 dinner," poor Edith added plaintively. 
 
 " My dear, what better could he have 
 done ? " her husband inquired. " By 
 reading over his lecture he was more in 
 harmony with the occasion than he could 
 have been in any other way." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because he was in a Bismarck-brown- 
 study." 
 
 118
 
 A HAMERTON TYPE-WRITER. 
 
 RICHARD COPLEY ARMSTRONG, the 
 rising young novelist, was sitting in his 
 study in an attitude of profound thought. 
 So absorbed was he, as he bent over his 
 type-writer, that he did not hear the an- 
 nouncement of his maid-of -all- work that 
 dinner was ready. This appellation, by 
 the way, is scarcely the right one to apply 
 to the buxom matron of fifty who stood in 
 the doorway with her arms akimbo and 
 shouted, " Dinner, dinner, Mr. Richard ! " 
 
 The young man raised his head at last, 
 and said thoughtfully, "U, I, O, P, - 
 that stands for ' You I owe ; patience.' ' 
 
 " He 's gone clean daft over that little 
 machine of his'n," said the unsympathetic 
 Mrs. Bassett. " Patience ! that is certainly 
 just what is needed in this house ; but as 
 for owing me, you don't ; you paid me 
 every stiver of my wages last Saturday 
 night." 
 
 119
 
 A HAMERTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 Mr. Armstrong bent his head over the 
 type-writer again, and murmured, " D, F, 
 G, H ; or, ' darned fool, go home.' Oh, 
 
 1 had forgotten that you were here, Mrs. 
 Bassett," he said good-naturedly. He 
 had not been addressing her, he was 
 merely trying to learn the alphabet of his 
 type-writer, by associating words with the 
 letters. 
 
 That evening he struggled for a long 
 time over a note to his friend, John Law- 
 son. It was written on the type-writer, 
 and ran as follows : 
 
 Dear Hack, 
 
 i am in despaor/my eyes have guvem out 
 utterly/ the oxxulist says i must not writ one 
 word, i infested in this type-writer at his sug- 
 gestion bevause i am in the niddle of my novel 
 
 2 AN Experiment in CHArity ? " and the 
 2Metroopolis Maxagine 2is awaiting the next 
 chapter, i am not allowed even too look at 
 what i writ or at the type ) writer ketters then- 
 selves, but am lerning to use the mavine as the 
 blinddo. so if there are one or two mistakes in 
 this epistel forgibe them. MRs. BAssett is 
 too illiter ate to help me. i have learned the 
 letters from a man from the oggice of the 2Ham- 
 
 120
 
 erton type )write2 so alii need is a little prac- 
 tise ? vut it has taken me || hours to accom- 
 plish this brief note, for the love of heavem 
 come and stay with me and be my ammen- 
 nuensus until iget the nest number of my novek 
 finixhed/ 
 
 your devoted fiend , 
 
 richard COpley armstrong/ 
 
 december $th, 1 ' ' (/ 
 
 He received the following answer by 
 return of mail : 
 
 Dear richard : 
 
 I adopt the small " r " since you 
 so evidently prefer it. I am very, very sorry, 
 my poor, devoted " fiend," but your dear old 
 " literary ? " hack is too deep in his own work 
 to be able to spare any time for you. I wish 
 he could. I will suggest that you get a pro- 
 fessional type-writer to come to you every day 
 until your novel is finished. Don't delude 
 yourself, my dear boy, into thinking that you 
 will be able to do work fit for the press, on 
 your type-writer, alone and unassisted. 
 Regretfully yours, 
 
 JACK. 
 
 P. S. The date of your letter is charmingly 
 mysterious, and suggests that you have been 
 sojourning in eternity rather than time. 
 121
 
 A HAMERTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 As the outgrowth of the proposition 
 made by John Lawson, a young lady 
 caine every morning at ten o'clock to the 
 study of Richard Armstrong, and worked 
 there patiently for three hours. I say 
 patiently advisedly ; for although Richard 
 was generally a charming companion and 
 was thought fascinating by all women, fas- 
 cination is not a quality that tells in a 
 man when he has a rooted dislike to dic- 
 tation and a nervous temperament. 
 
 After a week of progress in company 
 with the amanuensis, Richard received a 
 letter from his friend containing these in- 
 quiries : 
 
 Why do you never mention the type- 
 writer ? Is she satisfactory ? 
 
 In answer, the exasperated Richard 
 wrote the following note : 
 
 Dear Jack :) 
 
 Will you be so hood as to remember in fu- 
 ture that i am not allowed to use my eyes at 
 all, and so canSt read my motes. Your letters 
 have to be fead to me either by the type-write 
 herself, or by my AUNT Hainmah whose 
 house i am manning at presemt. This excel- 
 122
 
 A HAMERTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 lent lady read your last epidle and was hoffi- 
 foed. AS she is going away for two months 
 miss grey will read the others, miss GRey is 
 not pretty. She is nothing but a machine, a 
 verry usef ull skilful ? and caluable Hamerton 
 type-write, but no more. i think o of her as 
 a part of the mavhine she works. It is a sig- 
 nitidant fact that both have the same appella- 
 ttion ? both are type-writes. 
 
 Yours in great haste, 
 
 dick/ 
 
 p/s/ Have i not improved greatly 
 in my type-writing ? 
 
 DEcemberi&th. 
 
 It was true that Miss Grey was not 
 pretty, but she had a charming face and 
 simple, unobtrusive manners. She came 
 day after day and took her place quietly 
 in Richard's study, never talking unless 
 she were addressed, but when she was 
 consulted always suggesting some way of 
 disentangling the knotty problem under 
 discussion. Her voice was low and agree- 
 able, and she was altogether a pleasant 
 feature in Richard's solitary life. After 
 a time he grew to look forward to her 
 daily appearance, and to take a certain 
 123
 
 A HAMERTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 interest in her personality. He could not 
 help himself ; every woman interested him 
 more or less, from his great-aunt down 
 to the little girl who brought him his 
 weekly washing. Miss Grey was far 
 from being the contemporary of his aunt ; 
 she could not be more than twenty-five or 
 six. 
 
 At the end of a fortnight Miss Grey 
 and Mr. Armstrong had accomplished the 
 number of his novel for which the " Metro- 
 polis Magazine " had been waiting so im- 
 patiently. 
 
 " I suppose you will not want me any 
 longer," she said, as she put on her jacket 
 and gloves preparatory to taking her de- 
 parture. 
 
 " Indeed I shall ; I am not going to get 
 myself into such another tight box with my 
 next number. I shall want you straight 
 on until the end of the chapter the 
 novel, I mean." 
 
 " Monday is Christmas," she reminded 
 him, "so you probably will not care to 
 have me come again for some days. I 
 wish you a very merry Christmas," she 
 added, as she extended her hand to him. 
 124
 
 A HAMERTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 "I am not going home," he rejoined, 
 keeping her hand absently in his for a 
 moment, and then dropping it with a sigh ; 
 " and I shall not have a merry Christmas, 
 but on the contrary a signally dismal one. 
 Come on Christmas and help me to get 
 through with the day," he went on rapidly. 
 He could see that her eyes were beautiful 
 as well as kind, as she raised them to his 
 with a questioning glance. 
 
 " I am sorry that you cannot go home," 
 she said. 
 
 "I do not wish to go home," he re- 
 turned quickly ; " I don't want to be 
 reminded of last Christmas." 
 
 Had Miss Grey expressed a keen inter- 
 est in his revelations, it is probable that 
 the young man would have stopped mak- 
 ing them ; but she said nothing more, and 
 yet he knew that she was sorry for him, 
 and because of this fact, and for the reason 
 that he had received no sympathy for a 
 long time, he felt impelled to proceed. 
 
 "Last Christmas I was engaged," he 
 said, " but the girl whom I was to marry 
 has married another man." 
 
 Afterward he thought what a fool he 
 125
 
 A HAMERTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 had been to tell this fact in his history to 
 his amanuensis; and why, at least, could 
 he not have accomplished the feat grace- 
 fully, instead of blurting it out in that 
 school-boy fashion ? He attacked his type- 
 writer with virulence. D, F, stood em- 
 phatically for what he was himself, and it 
 was with peculiar satisfaction that he said 
 over and over again, " Darned fool, darned 
 fool, go home." 
 
 His studies were interrupted at this 
 point by Mrs. Bassett, who had thrust 
 her bulky person into the range of his 
 vision. 
 
 " Yes, sir," she said ; " you 've called 
 me a ' darned fool ' once too often ; I 'm 
 taking of your advice, sir ; I 'm ' going 
 home.' " 
 
 " Mrs. Bassett ! " he cried, aghast, " I 
 can't get along without you. I was not 
 speaking to you ; I was merely addressing 
 the type-writer." 
 
 " It 's all the same thing, sir. There is 
 one ' fool ' in this house, that 's sure. If 
 it 's me, I 'd better leave ; but if it 's you, 
 why, I never calculated to get along 
 with folly. Since that machine come, 
 126
 
 A HAHERTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 you 've ben clean crazy. Take your choice. 
 Keep your Hamerton type-writer, or keep 
 me. Give it up, or give me up. I won't 
 live in the same house with the uncanny 
 thing any longer." 
 
 He took his choice, and as a conse- 
 quence Mrs. Bassett departed, and the 
 Hamerton type-writer remained. 
 
 On Christmas morning Richard Arm- 
 strong was almost too ill to get up. He 
 managed, however, to stagger downstairs 
 to his study. He laid his wretched feel- 
 ings to the poorly cooked food which had 
 followed upon Mrs. Bassett's departure. 
 When Miss Grey came in the afternoon, 
 she found him flushed and feverish, and 
 in great pain. 
 
 " You must not try to work," she said, 
 " and you must let me go for a doctor. I 
 am afraid you have the grippe." 
 
 Richard, however, insisted upon dictat- 
 ing, as he said his brain had never been so 
 full of ideas. He grew more and more ex- 
 cited as they worked, until Frances Grey 
 became seriously alarmed. Finally, she 
 heard a dull thud, and upon looking in 
 his direction she saw that he had fallen 
 127
 
 A HAMEKTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 to the floor in a dead faint. She was now 
 thoroughly frightened. She was a suffi- 
 ciently good nurse to succeed in restoring 
 her patient to partial consciousness, but 
 almost as soon as he came out of his faint 
 turn he grew delirious. 
 
 Mr. Armstrong and Miss Grey were 
 alone in the house, and therefore she could 
 not leave him to go for a doctor. What 
 should she do ? How could she obtain 
 aid ? She glanced at the tall, old-fashioned 
 clock, whose hands were pointing to five 
 minutes of four. She had not realized 
 that they had worked so long, but twilight 
 was in fact fast approaching, and she ought 
 to be starting for home. 
 
 She ran to the front window, and 
 shouted " Help ! help ! " at the top of her 
 voice. No response came, for Richard 
 Armstrong lived in a house with as much 
 land around it as if it were not situated in 
 one of the nearest suburbs of a great city. 
 She rang a bell which she found in the 
 dining-room, but even its insistent peals 
 produced no effect. After this she went 
 back into the study to look at her patient, 
 who was moaning and tossing restlessly 
 128
 
 A HAMEKTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 on the sofa. At last she ran down the 
 long avenue at full speed, crying, " Help, 
 help ! " 
 
 A little boy was sauntering past on the 
 other side of the street. He eyed her with 
 interest. 
 
 " Is it a fire or a murder, Missis? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " A gentleman is very ill," she said. " I 
 will give you this half-dollar if you will go 
 for the nearest doctor, and tell him to 
 come here immediately, to this house, 
 you understand ? to see Mr. Richard 
 Armstrong." 
 
 Half an hour passed, then another 
 half-hour, and still another ; yet neither 
 boy nor doctor appeared. The tall old 
 mahogany clock in the corner was strik- 
 ing six in its silvery voice. A clock 
 seems so alive and companionable, that 
 it is a disappointment to find it strikes 
 in the same bland unvarying way when 
 we ourselves are racked with anxiety. 
 Frances Grey was tempted to stop the 
 timepiece, that its measured, dignified tick- 
 ing and its imperturbable striking might 
 cease. 
 
 129
 
 A HAMERTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 It was now as dark as if it were mid- 
 night. Miss Grey realized that there was 
 little chance of her being rescued by her 
 friends ; for her landlady would think that 
 she had gone directly to the house of Mrs. 
 Grant, where she had promised to assist at 
 some Christmas festivities. Laura Grant, 
 on the other hand, wotdd imagine that 
 she was belated in some way, and would 
 not feel anxious about her. Self-reliance 
 was not an inborn quality with Frances, 
 but an acquired one ; and she felt very 
 lonely and helpless as she sat in Mr. Arm- 
 strong's study, watching his irregular 
 breathing, and wondering whether the 
 simple remedies at her command had been 
 the right ones. 
 
 Half-past six, and still no doctor ! She 
 would make one more effort to secure a 
 messenger. She was about putting on her 
 fur cape when she heard a stifled voice 
 from the sofa. 
 
 " Don't go," Richard begged. " Q, W, 
 E, R, T, Y, Queen, worthy, that 's how 
 I remember the letters, worthy Queen, 
 my Queen, don't go. U, I, O, P, patience. 
 A, S, darned fool, go, no, that is not 
 130
 
 A HAHERTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 so good as the other ; what is the other?" 
 He pressed his hand wearily to his head. 
 " I have it now," he said at last : " Dear 
 Frances Grey, heavenly jabberer, or was 
 it jackknife? Don't go, heavenly jab- 
 berer." 
 
 Frances sank into an armchair and 
 laughed hysterically. 
 
 " I am coming back," she said gently, 
 when she had recovered her voice. 
 
 Richard, however, seized her hand, and 
 would not let her go. Throughout all his 
 delirious wanderings it seemed to comfort 
 him to feel her presence. 
 
 The moments were like hours to Frances, 
 and the hours like days. It was now 
 eight o'clock, and she began to wonder if 
 she would have to spend a long night 
 alone with her charge. Could the boy 
 have proved faithless? He had an honest 
 face. 
 
 At length, just before nine o'clock, she 
 heard the welcome sound of wheels on the 
 gravel outside, and presently the doctor 
 entered the room. He had been too busy 
 with cases of grippe to come any earlier 
 in the day. He was a bluff and burly old 
 131
 
 A HAMERTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 gentleman, with a kind face, but a rough 
 manner. He examined the patient care- 
 fully and listened to a description of his 
 symptoms given by Miss Grey. 
 
 " It is a case of grippe," he said ; "a 
 very extreme case, aggravated by some 
 mental trouble. What has he on his 
 mind?" 
 
 "The Hamerton type-writer," the pa- 
 tient moaned ; " the best in the market, 
 the most easily mastered by those who 
 cannot see. Only one set of letters, but 
 you must be careful to press the stop for 
 the capitals Z, X, C, V, ' Zealous Xerxes 
 collects violins ; ' that 's how I remember 
 them ; but the question-marks and the pe- 
 riods are the hardest." 
 
 The doctor left the usual prescriptions 
 for grippe, and promised to call again on 
 the following morning. 
 
 " I think your brother is not going to 
 be very ill," he said kindly. 
 
 " He is no relation of mine," said Miss 
 Grey, " and not even a friend. I am 
 merely his amanuensis, and I am alone 
 in the house with him. You must send 
 a nurse." 
 
 132
 
 A HAMERTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 " It is impossible," the doctor rejoined. 
 " All the nurses are engaged. I have not 
 been able to get hold of one all day." 
 
 Frances implored him to at least find 
 some woman to keep her company, that 
 she might not have to bear the strain of a 
 solitary, anxious night. " We ought to 
 telegraph to his mother," she suggested. 
 
 " Yes," Dr. Marston agreed, " and I 
 will send the telegram if you will write it 
 out for me." 
 
 Frances sank helplessly into a chair. 
 " I do not know in what part of the world 
 she lives," she explained. " We will ask 
 him ; perhaps he may tell us, in a moment 
 of intelligence." 
 
 The doctor approached Richard, and 
 said distinctly, " Where does your mother 
 live?" 
 
 The young man looked at him blandly, 
 and murmured, with a beaming smile, 
 his favorite refrain, " Darned fool, go 
 home." 
 
 " Look here," said the doctor, " I won't 
 be insulted." 
 
 " He is wandering in his mind, poor 
 fellow ! " Frances said. " I will ask him." 
 133
 
 A HAMERTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 She came close to him, and said gently, 
 " Mr. Armstrong, it is I, Miss Grey, the 
 type-writer." 
 
 "Best machine in the market," he mut- 
 tered. 
 
 " Yes, the Hamerton is the best," she 
 said soothingly ; " but we are talking of 
 your mother, Mrs. Armstrong. Where 
 does she live ? " 
 
 " Be sure to press your interrogations, 
 or you will get a figure 2," he observed in 
 a confiding tone ; " a figure 2 looks badly 
 in the manuscript." 
 
 " It is of no use," Frances said, with 
 a sigh ; " we must find out his mother's 
 address in some other way." 
 
 "J, K, L stands for John Kingsley 
 Lawson," Richard murmured. 
 
 " That is true. We can send the mes- 
 sage through his friend, Mr. Lawson," 
 she suggested, "and ask him to forward 
 the news to Mrs. Armstrong." 
 
 That was the longest night that Frances 
 ever spent. The doctor sent one of his 
 own servants to stay with her, but the 
 woman was too frightened and inexperi- 
 enced to be of any assistance. Mr. Arm- 
 134
 
 A HAMERTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 strong was delirious the greater part of 
 the night, but at length he fell into a trou- 
 bled sleep, from which he would awake 
 every few moments, to mutter crazy ejacu- 
 lations, or to seize Miss Grey's hand and 
 beg her not to leave him. " Please stay, 
 dear fool, until the end of the chapter," 
 he said over and over again. 
 
 " Of course I will stay," Frances an- 
 swered kindly, " as long as you want me ; 
 to the very last of the book, and it is 
 going to be a great novel." 
 
 Toward morning he awoke again, and 
 his mind seemed clearer. " Have I been 
 very ill ? " he asked. " My head is a trifle 
 confused. I hope I was quite polite." 
 
 "You were most considerate," Fran- 
 ces replied in reassuring tones. It was 
 a small matter to have been addressed in 
 uncivil language by a man whose heart 
 was in the right place, if his head were in 
 the wrong one. 
 
 He sighed. " I am glad ; I am very 
 glad. I thought I might possibly have 
 
 called you a ' darn ' but it 's all right 
 
 since I did n't." 
 
 A sharp spasm of pain seized him. He 
 135
 
 A HAMERTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 looked up with a wan smile. " You pro- 
 mised to stay with me to the end of the 
 chapter," he said faintly. " Perhaps it is 
 nearer being finished than we thought ; 
 perhaps it is time to write THE END now." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Frances, bending over 
 him with a tearful face ; " you will be bet- 
 ter, and your novel will be finished, and 
 your mother is coming to-morrow." 
 
 He did get better. There were many 
 weary days first, during which his mother 
 and the doctor and Miss Grey had anxious 
 hearts, although they tried to keep cheer- 
 ful faces ; but at last he grew well enough 
 to take his place again in the study, and 
 to begin to work on his novel. 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong was a fragile little 
 woman, with too much sentiment for the 
 comfort of her friends, and with the cer- 
 tainty that her son was the only really 
 great American novelist. She was so 
 fond of him that she was jealous of any 
 other influence, and was morally certain 
 that she could be his amanuensis quite 
 as satisfactorily as his new friend. She 
 had overpowered Frances by her gratitude 
 and affection so long as Richard's life 
 136
 
 A HAMERTOX TYPE-WRITER 
 
 hung in the balance ; but when he was 
 well on the way to recovery, she dismissed 
 her in a somewhat cavalier fashion. 
 
 Richard had inherited his nervous tem- 
 perament from his mother, and under the 
 joint management of the mother and son 
 the book remained at a standstill, and 
 Mrs. Armstrong was at last forced reluc- 
 tantly to admit that it might be best to 
 send for the " type- writer," as otherwise 
 the public would have to wait indefinitely 
 for the completion of " the most glorious 
 American novel." Miss Grey therefore 
 was at last summoned, and she came at 
 once, with no apparent feeling of ill-will, 
 and took her place as quietly in the cor- 
 ner of the study as if she had never left 
 it. She found Richard sitting in the large 
 easy-chair, " himself again," although a 
 little pale and thin. 
 
 " How good it is to get you back 
 again ! " he said, with one of his bright 
 smiles. " I have missed you more than 
 you would believe possible." 
 
 He watched her every motion with the 
 same deep satisfaction with which a little 
 boy bends his gaze on his good mamma 
 137
 
 A HAMERTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 who has chanced to be absent for a time. 
 What attractive ways she had, and what 
 a charming face ! She was a woman 
 whom any man might be proud to call his 
 mother, or his sister ; for she would be 
 ideal in either relation. Only a very 
 exceptional man would fall in love with 
 her, Richard thought ; for his sex in gen- 
 eral is captivated by external charm, or 
 a lively, fascinating manner. To love this 
 woman, one must be on the farther side 
 of an experience which had shown one 
 the deceitfulness of mere personal charm. 
 Richard felt himself to be the one uncom- 
 mon man who appreciated her. 
 
 He began to dictate. They had reached 
 a somewhat dry part of the story, or at 
 least a portion which depended for its 
 interest on delicacy of touch rather than 
 startling incident. The hero, Miles Gre- 
 court, had come to a critical point in his 
 experiment in charity. He had set up a 
 small ragamuffin in the trade of boot- 
 blacking, notwithstanding the urchin's 
 frequently expressed preference for an- 
 other way of life, and he was now being 
 rewarded by ingratitude. 
 138
 
 A HAMERTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 " ' You 're an old humbug,' said the 
 quasi-bootblack," Richard dictated, " ' go- 
 in' around the world thiukin' to do f olkses 
 such a pile of good by niakin' 'em happy 
 in your way rather than their own. Now, 
 as I told you, I 've always had the dream 
 of bein' a newspaper boy, but you insisted 
 upon my bein' a bootblack ' " Richard 
 paused to give Miss Grey time to finish 
 this sentence. " It is of no use," he 
 went on ; "I love you in spite of every- 
 thing. I may say to myself that it is only 
 that I am dependent on you, but I cheat 
 myself with words ; I love you, I love 
 you!" 
 
 Miss Grey's fingers flew rapidly over 
 the keys, but she said, " Do you think 
 that last sentence in character ? " 
 
 " In character ! " Richard repeated sav- 
 agely ; " and pray why is it not in charac- 
 ter?" 
 
 " Because I do not see why the boot- 
 black changed his mind so suddenly." 
 
 " The bootblack ! Hang the boot- 
 black ! I am talking of myself and of 
 you." 
 
 " And I am waiting for you to dictate 
 139
 
 A HAMERTON TYPE-WRITER 
 
 the next paragraph," Frances said in icy 
 tones. Her hands were on the keyboard 
 of the type-writer. Richard seized the 
 one that was nearest him. 
 
 " Look here, Miss Grey, will you listen 
 quietly to what I have to say, and let 
 that confounded machine alone ? " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Armstrong, if you, on your 
 side, will remember that I am 'only a 
 type- writer.' ' 
 
 His very words, but how could she 
 have heard them? He must have said 
 them in his delirium. 
 
 " Miss Grey," he went on, with a little 
 break in his voice, " whatever I may have 
 said when I was not myself, the fact re- 
 mains that I love you ; I have had dreary 
 days without you ; I cannot tell " 
 
 " No, you cannot, you must not tell me 
 any more. Believe me, I never dreamed 
 of this. I have liked you as a brother 
 from the very first, because, I could 
 not tell you then, for it was a secret, 
 and afterwards Jack sent me a part of 
 your letter, and as you thought of me as 
 ' only a type-writer,' it seemed simpler 
 to go on as we had begun. Do you 
 140
 
 A HAMEKTON TYPE-WKITER 
 
 understand now? It was through Mr. 
 Lawson that I came to you." 
 
 " So you are a friend of Jack's. He 
 might have had the grace to tell me so in 
 the beginning ; but my dearest " 
 
 " You do not understand. I am en- 
 gaged to Jack Lawson." 
 
 One ray of hope was still left to Rich- 
 ard. 
 
 " You are engaged to be his amanu- 
 ensis, his type-writer ? " he inquired. 
 
 " I am engaged to be married to him ; 
 I have promised to stay with him ' to the 
 end of the chapter.' ' 
 141
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 THE journey from New York to Ham- 
 ilton, New Hampshire, can be made in 
 seven hours, a period of time which may or 
 may not be long to the passengers, accord- 
 ing to circumstances. To Maurice Went- 
 worth, a man of nearly forty, who was 
 traveling over the road for the first time 
 in many years, the journey seemed inter- 
 minable, for he occupied himself in review- 
 ing the events that had taken place since 
 he and his brother were boys in Hamilton, 
 and this exercise of mind was not condu- 
 cive to cheerful thoughts. How often, as 
 a lad, he had watched the train steam 
 away from the Hamilton station into an 
 unknown world, with the determination 
 strong within him to win a distinguished 
 place in that world ! And now it was 
 bringing him back as poor and unknown 
 as he had been when it had taken him 
 away ! " I am nothing bvit ' a faithful 
 142
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 failure,' ' he said to himself bitterly, 
 borrowing a phrase from Stevenson. 
 
 His brother, on the other hand, was 
 unusually prosperous, and Maurice asked 
 himself if Robert's apparent selfishness 
 had not 'been justified by results. If he 
 had pushed his fortunes with little regard 
 to the rights of others, he was now in a 
 position to hold out a helping hand to the 
 less favored, for he was rich, influential, 
 and happily married ; while he, the elder 
 brother, was alone in the world, and com- 
 ing, at Robert's invitation, to spend the 
 summer with him in the old homestead, 
 while waiting for some opening by which 
 he could earn his living. 
 
 " East Hamilton ! " called the conduc- 
 tor, breaking in upon his reflections. 
 
 Hamilton was the next station, and 
 Went worth looked out of the open win- 
 dow at the familiar scenery, and saw that 
 here, at least, nothing had changed while 
 the fortunes of men were being made 
 or marred. As he glanced at the half- 
 wooded hills that encircled the horizon, 
 and at the river rushing tumultuously 
 over its rocky channel, now hidden in 
 143
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 the woods, only to flash into life again 
 when there was a gap in the forest, it 
 seemed but yesterday since he had gone 
 over this same road, an eager, hopeful 
 boy. 
 
 Meanwhile, Robert Wentworth and his 
 wife, who were driving down to the sta- 
 tion to meet their relative, reviewed his 
 career after their own fashion. 
 
 " Maurice is such a good fellow that it 
 is a pity he has n't a little more push," 
 said Mrs. Wentworth. 
 
 " A little more ? " her husband re- 
 turned. " I should be devoutly grateful 
 if he had any." 
 
 " Robert, I can't bear to have you say 
 such things about your brother, for he is 
 so nice to the children." 
 
 " Yes, taking care of children is his 
 forte. If he were a woman, he could 
 earn his living as a nursery-maid." 
 
 " How unkind of you ! He is a very 
 bright man, and would have made a 
 brilliant lawyer, I have no doubt, if it 
 hadn't been for the trouble with his 
 eyes." 
 
 " Charlotte, a man who is bound to 
 144
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 succeed will succeed, even if the Lord 
 and the devil are both against him, and 
 a man who is bound to fail will fail. I 
 believe in predestination to that extent. 
 The trouble with Maurice's eyes need n't 
 have made his ranch life a failure. Do 
 you suppose I should make a failure of 
 ranch life if I were obliged to try it ? " 
 
 " No dear," his wife said soothingly. 
 " I don't think you could fail at any- 
 thing." 
 
 They reached the Hamilton station as 
 she spoke, and the next moment the 
 brother who owned that he had failed 
 was in the presence of the brother who 
 owned that he had succeeded. 
 
 Robert saw a tall man come forward 
 to meet him, with an air of gentlemanly 
 shabbiness, and a face full of careworn 
 lines, which, together with his gray hair, 
 made him look ten years older than his 
 actual age. It irritated him to find that 
 Maurice showed so plainly the marks 
 of having passed a cheerless and unpro- 
 sperous life, and his vexation was in- 
 creased by the fact that he bore a strong 
 family likeness to himself. Maurice, on 
 145
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 the other hand, was struck by the fact 
 that his brother had scarcely changed in 
 the last ten years. He was as handsome 
 as ever, and showed unmistakably that 
 the world had lavished its best gifts upon 
 him. Maurice saw, too, a vivacious little 
 woman, with sparkling black eyes, spar- 
 kling diamond earrings, a wealth of red 
 roses on her leghorn hat, a rainbow of 
 colors in her gown, and a cascade of flut- 
 tering ribbons. 
 
 " I am so glad to see you, Maurice," 
 she said with a cordiality that was very 
 grateful to the lonely man. " The chil- 
 dren have talked of nothing but your 
 coming for days. They enjoyed your 
 visit in New York so much. It was a 
 pity that Robert lost it ! And to think 
 that you boys have n't seen each other for 
 ten years ! " 
 
 Their way led through the town of 
 Hamilton, with its long, elm-lined main 
 street and its straggling group of shops 
 and wooden churches, and then uphill for 
 two miles until they reached the Went- 
 worth farm. 
 
 Here Maurice and his brother had lived 
 146
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 when they were boys, and here Robert 
 spent his summers, having remodeled the 
 old homestead, and turned it into a com- 
 fortable modern dwelling. As they ap- 
 proached the red house under the elm- 
 trees, a bevy of small girls, headed by a 
 little boy, ran down the road and pre- 
 sently surrounded the carriage. 
 
 " Uncle Maurice ! How perfectly splen- 
 did that you have come ! " exclaimed Bea- 
 trice, the eldest of the children. 
 
 " Guess what we have got in a barrel, 
 uncle Maurice ! " said Eleanor. " There 
 are three of them, and their eyes have n't 
 opened yet." 
 
 " They must be chickens," he observed 
 solemnly. 
 
 " Chickens in a barrel ! How funny 
 you are, uncle Maurice ! " 
 
 By this time their uncle had descended 
 from the wagon and was going along the 
 gravel path toward the porch, his left hand 
 seized by Eleanor, and his valise borne 
 away in a determined manner by Beatrice 
 and Bobby, while three little girls strug- 
 gled to get possession of his disengaged 
 
 hand. 
 
 147
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 " Don't quarrel so ; leave your uncle in 
 peace," their father said sternly. 
 
 The children, however, who had inher- 
 ited their parent's determination, paid no 
 heed to this remark, but dragged their 
 guest into the house and out on the piazza. 
 Here they deposited him in a cane-seated 
 rocking-chair with broad arms ; and the 
 next moment he was buried beneath an 
 avalanche of white gowns and streaming 
 yellow hair. Marion, Carlotta, and Elea- 
 nor, the three younger children, contrived 
 to climb into his lap, while Beatrice and 
 Bobby perched on the arms of his chair, 
 and the demure little Hester was forced 
 to content herself with a chair drawn as 
 close to her uncle as possible. 
 
 " Where is aunt Ellen ? Go and find 
 her, Hester," Beatrice commanded. 
 
 Hester, the only obedient child in this 
 domineering and strong - willed family, 
 slipped down from her chair and went 
 in search of her aunt. 
 
 " It is so funny that you and aunt Ellen 
 are n't any relation, when you are our un- 
 cle Maurice, and she is our aunt Ellen," 
 mused Carlotta. 
 
 148
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 " Goosie, uncle Maurice can't be brother 
 to papa and mamma both ! " explained the 
 superior Beatrice. "Aunt Ellen is aw- 
 fully nice. Did you ever see her, uncle 
 Maurice ? " 
 
 " Not since she was about your size, 
 Beatrice." 
 
 " She is grown up now." 
 
 " Not so awfully grown up," added 
 Bobby. "Not so grown up as mamma." 
 
 " I am sorry she is grown up," Maurice 
 owned, with a sigh. He could always 
 count upon the affection of children, but 
 he was not so sure of the approval of their 
 elders. 
 
 " She is taller than mamma," Marion 
 stated, " but I don't think she is so grown 
 up in her mind, for she likes to make 
 mud-pies." 
 
 He heard a pleasant, gentle laugh as his 
 niece made this remark, and upon looking 
 up he saw Ellen standing before him. He 
 had a vivid impression of a personality 
 that was altogether charming. He was 
 sensitive to atmosphere, and he felt at 
 once that this girl was uncritical, even 
 shy and humble. 
 
 149
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 *' I believe I don't mind so very much 
 to find that you are grown up, Ellen," he 
 said, as he shook hands with her. 
 
 In the days that followed, Maurice 
 sometimes wished again that Ellen were 
 a child, as in that case he could have had 
 more chances to see her ; for his time was 
 spent chiefly with his nieces and nephew. 
 In the minds of their parents the world 
 was divided into two classes, those per- 
 sons who were fond of children and those 
 who were not. They did not recognize 
 any subtler distinctions, and realize that 
 there are people who are fond of children 
 for six hours, but not for sixteen, out of 
 the twenty-four. 
 
 Maurice was sorry to find that Ellen 
 had grown more reserved with her added 
 years. He was especially struck with her 
 shyness one evening when the Aliens, a 
 rich family in the neighborhood, were bid- 
 den to tea. The guests were taken out on 
 the piazza until supper should be ready, 
 for the day had been sultry. Mrs. Allen, 
 fat, pompous, and dull, plied a palm-leaf 
 fan, and listened to Mrs. Wentworth's 
 vivacious chatter ; her husband, fatter, 
 150
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 more pompous, and duller, talked of farm- 
 ing with Robert ; while their son, a slender 
 blase youth of twenty, adjusted his eye- 
 glasses and patronized Ellen and the sun- 
 set. The poor girl devoutly hoped that 
 she would be placed next to Maurice 
 Wentworth at the tea-table, for he was 
 the only one of the men with whom she 
 felt she had anything in common. No 
 such happy fate was hers, however. She 
 was seated, as befitted her youth, next to 
 Frank Allen, while her position as sister 
 in the household gave her his father for 
 her other neighbor. The old gentleman 
 ignored her, and concentrated his attention 
 upon his entertaining hostess. The younger 
 man, pleased at first by her charming face, 
 vouchsafed a few remarks, but soon made 
 up his mind that she was as dull as her 
 narrow life, in spite of her beautiful eyes. 
 He presently relapsed into silence, which 
 was broken only when Ellen, catching a 
 disapproving glance from her brother-in- 
 law, gathered courage to ask her neighbor 
 some trivial question, which he answered 
 by a monosyllable. 
 
 When the long-drawn agony was at last 
 151
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 over, and the guests had adjourned to the 
 parlor, Robert captured Ellen as she was 
 leaving the dining-room. 
 
 " Why did n't you talk to young Allen, 
 instead of holding your tongue like a silly 
 schoolgirl ? " he demanded. 
 
 " I tried to talk to Mr. Allen," she an- 
 swered humbly, " but he did not care for 
 what I had to say," and she cast a hurried 
 glance after Maurice, and wondered, in 
 her self-abasement, if he had heard his 
 brother's question. 
 
 " How can you expect any man to be 
 interested in what you have to say when 
 you are so doubtful about it yourself ? " 
 Robert inquired. " Dash in, Ellen. Say 
 whatever comes into your head, as Char- 
 lotte does. That 's the way to do it. Say 
 it as if it were important, and every one 
 will think it is important ; but above 
 all never look bored. Draw out the 
 bores, Ellen, that 's the way to get on. 
 You are pretty enough to succeed, if you 
 will only take the trouble. I shall ex- 
 pect to hear you talking all the evening, 
 whether you have anything to say or 
 not." 
 
 152
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 When Robert left her, Ellen took refuge 
 on the piazza to dry her eyes under shelter 
 of the friendly darkness. She sat deject- 
 edly in a corner, her depression extending 
 itself even to the lines of her limp pink 
 mull gown. Presently she heard a step, 
 and before she could escape she saw Mau- 
 rice at her elbow. 
 
 " Suppose we take a turn out here be- 
 fore we go into the parlor," he suggested. 
 " We shall never be missed." 
 
 Ellen hastily tucked her handkerchief 
 into her belt, and tried to steady her voice 
 as she said, u It does n't matter about me, 
 but you will be missed. You ought to go 
 in." 
 
 " I missed ! " He gave a short laugh. 
 " Ellen," he asked, as they began to walk 
 up and down the piazza, " what has my 
 brother been saying to you ? You look as 
 forlorn as a rose that has been trodden 
 underfoot." 
 
 " He wants me to be more like Char- 
 lotte. I wish I could be." 
 
 " It must be a comfort to be an average, 
 conventional person," he assented, " ready 
 at a moment's notice to adjust one's self 
 153
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 to fashion and circumstance. That is what 
 it means to be successful." 
 
 " I should like to be successful," she 
 admitted, " but I never can be, because I 
 cannot talk. I am a great disappointment 
 to Kobert. He likes lively, bright people. 
 I wish I could please him, for he has been 
 so good to me. You know my home has 
 been with him ever since aunt Martha 
 went to live with aunt Ellen, when her 
 husband died ? " 
 
 " You were with your aunt Ellen the 
 last time I saw you. What a quaint little 
 girl you were ! You could talk fast enough 
 then." 
 
 " We really ought to go in," said the 
 conscientious Ellen. " Robert will be dis- 
 pleased if we stay away." 
 
 " If you say so, we will ; but we must 
 sit together, Ellen, and then we need not 
 talk unless we have something to say." 
 
 " Robert won't like it if I don't talk." 
 
 " Very well ; then I will say to you at 
 intervals, 'It is a pleasant evening,' a 
 great deal pleasanter out here, by the way, 
 than in the house. Look at the mist on 
 the mountains, and at that little crescent 
 154
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 moon so clear-cut against the sky. It is 
 a shame to go into the hot parlor when 
 you and I could have such a nice time 
 out here by ourselves. Society seems to 
 be a device for making people uncomfort- 
 able." 
 
 " But we owe something to society, and 
 we must go in," Ellen said firmly. 
 
 " We will go in, and whenever Robert's 
 eye is upon us I will reiterate that it is a 
 pleasant evening. He will be satisfied if 
 he sees us talking, and you will merely 
 have to say, ' Yes, it is a pleasant evening. 
 I always did like hot drawing-rooms in 
 summer weather.' " 
 
 Before the evening was over Ellen and 
 Maurice had confided a number of things 
 to each other, and they were soon laugh- 
 ing merrily ; for whenever Robert looked 
 that way, Maurice, true to his promise, no 
 matter what subject they chanced to be 
 discussing, broke off abruptly, and said 
 with an excess of gravity to Ellen, " It is 
 a pleasant evening." 
 
 That evening was the precursor of many 
 that were equally delightful. The weeks 
 slipped away, and Maurice ceased to think 
 155
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 of his unhappy past and his precarious 
 future, but gave himself up to the joys of 
 a satisfying present. He had never known 
 before the pleasure of easy and familiar 
 intercourse with a young girl. It did not 
 occur to him that he, middle-aged and 
 penniless, might fall in love with Ellen ; 
 still less that she, beautiful and young, 
 might grow to care for him ; but he felt 
 an unreasonable envy when he saw the 
 comforts with which his brother had sur- 
 rounded himself, and material things as- 
 sumed the exaggerated value in his eyes 
 which they often have for those of few 
 possessions, who, because of their poverty, 
 are erroneously supposed to despise com- 
 forts and luxuries. Had he been success- 
 ful, he reasoned, he too might have had 
 a happy home ; a wife, not unlike Ellen, 
 older, less charming, plainer, but a sym- 
 pathetic companion who would understand 
 him and love him. He too might have 
 had naughty, willful, but very dear and 
 engaging children. 
 
 At last an evening came which was plea- 
 santer than all the others. It chanced one 
 morning that Mrs. Wentworth proposed 
 156
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 to her brother-in-law that he and Ellen 
 and some of the children should have an 
 early lunch, and then drive over to An- 
 nersley, a large town ten miles away, 
 where she wanted some important errands 
 done. Mrs. Allen and several New York 
 friends were to come to lunch, and it would 
 be a comfort to be freed. from some of the 
 turbulent and omnipresent children. So 
 it happened that a wagonful of happy 
 people drove " over the hills and far 
 away," that August afternoon. Ellen was 
 on the back seat with Marion and Car- 
 lotta, while Beatrice and Bobby proudly 
 shared the front seat with their uncle 
 Maurice. Unhappily, the carriage was 
 not sufficiently elastic to hold all the 
 children, and poor Hester had the doubt- 
 ful reward of the good, and was left be- 
 hind because she was no trouble to her 
 mother, while Eleanor was compelled to 
 stay at home because she was so very 
 young. 
 
 They drove through patches of dense 
 
 woods and up long stretches of dusty 
 
 road, with a tangle of blackberry bushes 
 
 and early goldenrod on either side of the 
 
 157
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 rough stone walls. Sometimes they passed 
 deserted farmhouses with their blinds for- 
 lornly closed, and again they went by pro- 
 sperous farms that had been reclaimed by 
 summer visitors ; and all the way was 
 brightened by a summer sun, except when 
 the sun was obscured by summer clouds. 
 Once they came suddenly, after a bend 
 in the road, upon an old farmhouse, un- 
 painted, and turned by stress of weather 
 to a picturesque gray. Over its walls 
 gay morning-glories were climbing, and 
 in its straggling, unkempt garden was a 
 profusion of hollyhocks ; while on the 
 very upper edge of the hillside, silhouet- 
 ted against the sky, was a flock of white 
 geese. 
 
 " That is like one of Vedder's pictures," 
 said Maurice. 
 
 " What ! those ugly geese, craning their 
 necks in that stupid way?" asked Bea- 
 trice. 
 
 " You are a true child of your father," 
 he rejoined. 
 
 " Does n't papa like geese, uncle Mau- 
 rice?" 
 
 " No, my dear, he does not." 
 158
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 But if his niece was unsympathetic, no 
 shade of the picturesque landscape was 
 lost upon Ellen. On this enchanting 
 afternoon, even prosaic errands in ugly 
 Annersley caught a little of the glamour 
 that enveloped everything. Ellen lin- 
 gered unnecessarily in the shops from a 
 willful determination to make this happy 
 day last a brief hour longer. She hailed 
 with pleasure Beatrice's proposition that 
 they should get soda water at the corner 
 drug store, where their uncle Maurice 
 treated them all, from Beatrice, who with 
 difficulty could be dissuaded from having 
 sarsaparilla, vanilla, and chocolate mixed, 
 down to the small Carlotta. Ellen lav- 
 ishly provided them with crackers, pep- 
 permint drops, and gum drops. When 
 they started to drive home at last, and 
 saw that the summer clouds were fast get- 
 ting the better of the summer sun, Ellen 
 recklessly hoped that they might be caught 
 in a drenching rain, and have to take re- 
 fuge in the weather-beaten farmhouse. It 
 was such a humble wish that it was granted 
 her by fate. The shower was upon them 
 almost before they knew it, and Maurice 
 159
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 had just time to get the open wagon under 
 shelter of the barn that was near the 
 farmhouse, when the clouds descended in 
 a blinding sheet of rain. It was five 
 o'clock already, and there were eight miles 
 still before them to travel. 
 
 " Uncle Maurice," said Beatrice, as she 
 climbed up into the hayloft, "wouldn't 
 it be jolly fun if we had to stay here all 
 night?" 
 
 " I wish it would rain, and rain, and 
 rain, for forty days and forty nights, and 
 that we could have this barn for our 
 ark," added the more imaginative Car- 
 lotta. 
 
 As the minutes passed, it became evi- 
 dent that a fraction of this wish was to be 
 fulfilled, and Maurice presently proposed 
 that they should adjourn to the farmhouse, 
 and seek shelter there for the night. They 
 were greeted at the kitchen door by the 
 farmer's wife, a cheery, elderly woman. 
 
 " Come right in and make yourselves to 
 home," she said hospitably, before Maurice 
 had finished accounting for their sudden 
 appearance. 
 
 " I am Maurice Wentworth, from the 
 160
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 Went worth farm," he said, raising his 
 voice, for the woman was deaf. 
 
 " Du tell ! I want ter know ! I 've often 
 seen the farm as I 've drove by. And so 
 these are your children?" (she included 
 Ellen in the number) " four girls and , 
 a boy ; quite a little family. I guess the 
 boy is a prime favorite with his pa ? " 
 
 " He is n't our father ; he is our uncle 
 Maurice," Bobby and Beatrice explained. 
 But the woman did not hear them, and 
 proceeded to open the parlor door with a 
 flourish. 
 
 " Walk right in, girls ; don't be bashful. 
 You and your sisters can have the spare 
 room upstairs," she said, addressing Ellen, 
 " and I have a nice little corner room for 
 your father and brother." 
 
 " He is n't her father, and she is n't my 
 sister. She 's our aunt Ellen, and he 's 
 our uncle Maurice," said Bobby. 
 
 " I '11 get tea for you directly," the 
 woman continued, "for I know little 
 folks is always hungry, and maybe your 
 father " 
 
 " He is not our father ; he is our uncle 
 Maurice ! " shouted the children. 
 161
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 " I want ter know ! Well, your uncle, 
 maybe, will like a bit of steak." 
 
 Before Maurice would have his supper, 
 he insisted upon driving back to Annersley 
 to let Charlotte and Robert know by tele- 
 phone the whereabouts of their children. 
 
 "It's no use going out again in this 
 dreadful rain," said Beatrice, " for papa 
 and mamma never worry about us. They 
 '11 know we are safe somewhere." 
 
 Maurice, however, was not to be dis- 
 suaded from his purpose, but took the 
 solitary drive in the teeth of the storm. 
 
 When he returned, Ellen met him in 
 the entry. " How wet you are ! " she said. 
 " I am very sorry ! The children were so 
 hungry that I let them have their supper, 
 but I have waited for you. I hope Robert 
 was properly grateful ! " 
 
 " Grateful ! " exclaimed Maurice, with 
 a little laugh. " When I told him that 
 you and the children were safe at Farmer 
 Brown's, and that we were going to spend 
 the night there, he said, ' Hang it, Mau- 
 rice, did you drive all the way back to An- 
 nersley to tell me that ? I did n't suppose 
 you were picnicking in the middle of the 
 162
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 road.' And then I heard him say to some 
 one near at hand, presumably Charlotte, 
 ' What a fool my brother Maurice is ! ' " 
 He suppressed the epithet which had ac- 
 companied the words. 
 
 " How unkind of him ! " exclaimed 
 Ellen indignantly. 
 
 " Oh, no," Maurice returned dispassion- 
 ately, as he divested himself of his drip- 
 ping overcoat. " After an acquaintance 
 of nearly forty years with his brother 
 Maurice, I have come to the conclusion 
 that Robert is about right." 
 
 To take supper in the old-fashioned 
 kitchen, with Ellen at the other end of 
 the table, pouring out tea for him, and a 
 little boy and three small girls for his 
 butler and maids, was a new experience 
 for Maurice, but one that was still more 
 delightful was in store for him. When 
 Ellen started to go upstairs to put the 
 children to bed, she was uncertain as to 
 whether she ought to come down again. 
 Anything so charming as a whole evening 
 alone with Mr. Wentworth her New Eng- 
 land conscience viewed with doubt. Mrs. 
 Brown helped to dissipate her scruples 
 163
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 when she opejied the door into the parlor 
 and said, " I hope you and your father 
 Lord ! I forget that he is your uncle 
 well, I hope you and your uncle will make 
 yourselves entirely to home." 
 
 " I shall see you again, Ellen?" Mau- 
 rice said, as he bade the children good- 
 night. 
 
 " I was just wondering whether it was 
 worth while to come down," she replied, 
 with hesitation. 
 
 "Worth while?" His face clouded 
 with disappointment. " That is for you 
 to judge. But I will promise not to make 
 you talk if you wish to be silent," he went 
 on, wholly misunderstanding her. " I will 
 read to you whatever you like." 
 
 When she came downstairs, half an hour 
 later, Maurice was obliged to retract this 
 statement. " I made a rash promise," he 
 remarked. " I can't read whatever you 
 like, Ellen, for Mrs. Brown's library con- 
 sists of but three volumes. Which shall 
 it be ? A chapter from the Bible, extracts 
 from Pilgrim's Progress, or a play of 
 Shakespeare's?" He held the bulky 
 Shakespeare in his hand as he spoke. 
 164
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 " I won't disappoint you by insisting on 
 The Pilgrim's Progress," she answered, 
 with a smile. " Let it be one of Shake- 
 speare's plays." 
 
 " Which one ? You shall choose your 
 favorite." 
 
 " If it is to be my favorite play, it will 
 be Romeo and Juliet." 
 
 " Good heavens, child ! not that ghastly 
 tragedy ! Ellen, you show how young you 
 are by making such a choice. Let me 
 read As You Like It." 
 
 "The tragedies are so much more ro- 
 mantic," observed Ellen. 
 
 "And you really prefer tragedy to 
 mirth-provoking humor ? " 
 
 " Yes. Humor is so commonplace. Be- 
 sides, I can't help going on with the plays, 
 and thinking of the matter-of-fact lives 
 that the heroes and heroines lived after- 
 wards. I am sure Orlando scolded Rosa- 
 lind when his beefsteak was not cooked to 
 a turn, and that he held her responsible 
 for all the faults of their children. I shall 
 never forget the wild state your brother 
 was in when my sister was making up her 
 mind whether she would marry him. And 
 165
 
 A FAITHFUL FATLUKE 
 
 look how comfortably prosaic they are 
 now; how he criticises her gowns, and 
 how he finds fault every morning with 
 the coffee ! " 
 
 " And how he loves her ! " added Mau- 
 rice. " I can hardly imagine his life apart 
 from hers." 
 
 " But the romance is gone," persisted 
 Ellen. " Now with Romeo and Juliet 
 everything is so complete ! " 
 
 " I suppose you will despise me, Ellen, 
 as an old fellow without any sentiment, 
 when I tell you that my ideal of happiness 
 is a handsome house with all the modern 
 improvements, and a wife, who may be 
 plain and unamiable, but who must know 
 how to make me comfortable ! " 
 
 "Mr. Wentworth!" 
 
 " I have not knocked about the world 
 for fifteen years without having gained a 
 realizing sense of the importance of good, 
 matter-of-fact, unromantic prose. Give 
 me a creature not too bright and good to 
 cook human nature's daily food ! " 
 
 " Mr. Wentworth, I know you are not 
 in earnest. I have always supposed you 
 were too " she hesitated "I have al- 
 166
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 ways supposed you were indifferent to such 
 things." 
 
 "Then you have supposed wrong. It 
 is not the men who have had poor coffee 
 all their lives who are indifferent to good 
 coffee." 
 
 Ellen laughed. 
 
 " It is not the men who have been un- 
 prosperous all their lives who are indif- 
 ferent to prosperity," he went on more 
 seriously. 
 
 " Why have you been unprosperous ? " 
 she asked impulsively. 
 
 " Ah ! ' That is another story,' as Kip- 
 ling would say. It is not a tragedy exactly 
 after Shakespeare's manner, and yet it is 
 not a comedy." 
 
 " Tell me all about your life, from be- 
 ginning to end," she entreated. 
 
 " It is not an interesting story, Ellen ; 
 and you, with your love of romance, will 
 be disturbed because it is not more com- 
 plete. To finish it off neatly, I ought to 
 have died half a dozen years ago." 
 
 " Oh, no," she said, with a little shiver. 
 "Please go on," she added, after a mo- 
 ment of silence. 
 
 167
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 "It is a story briefly told. I have 
 failed at everything, and when I had the 
 typhoid fever, six years ago, I even failed 
 to die." 
 
 " Were you very ill ? " 
 
 " Yes. I had as narrow a squeak as 
 any man ever has who lives. Forgive 
 me, Ellen ; ' squeak,' I realize, is not the 
 language of Shakespeare." 
 
 "Were you on the ranch when you 
 were ill ? " she inquired in a subdued 
 voice. 
 
 "Yes. I was alone for days, until a 
 neighbor happened to drive over and found 
 me half unconscious. But here I am, you 
 see," he ended cheerfully, " all ready to 
 read aloud Romeo and Juliet." 
 
 " I want to hear everything about your- 
 self first, from the very beginning. Why 
 was it that Robert went to college before 
 you, when you were the older brother ? " 
 
 " Because he was stronger and brighter 
 and more determined than I. Father could 
 only afford to send one of us ; so Robert 
 went, and I stayed at home and earned the 
 money to go later." 
 
 168
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 " It was selfish of Robert to let you do 
 it ! " she cried indignantly. 
 
 " No, it was weak of me. If I were to 
 live uiy life over again, I should fight for 
 my rights at every point." 
 
 " You would not be half so nice if you 
 did." 
 
 " Thank you, perhaps not ; but I 
 should be a great deal happier." 
 
 " Are n't you happy now ? " asked 
 Ellen, with a great concern in her brown 
 eyes. 
 
 "Just at this moment I am very 
 happy." 
 
 " You know I did n't mean that. You 
 ought to be happier than Robert," she 
 proceeded thoughtfully, " for you make 
 everybody happy." 
 
 " Well, I am not so happy as Robert, 
 all the same. I would change places with 
 him in a minute, if I had the chance. At 
 least, I would if I could go back a dozen 
 years." 
 
 " You would n't change places with him 
 if you could. You would want to keep 
 your individuality." 
 
 169
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 "Think what he has accomplished," 
 said Maurice, with enthusiasm. " He is 
 not only happy himself, but he has made 
 a great many other people happy." 
 
 " Yes. I certainly ought to be grateful 
 to him, for he has supported me ever since 
 I was twelve years old. Only perhaps 
 I can't explain myself it sometimes 
 seems to me as if it were better to fail 
 than to succeed. Prosperous people are 
 apt to lose their sympathy for the forlorn 
 and unsuccessful, but those who have not 
 succeeded are in touch with all sorrow and 
 failure and misery ; and the unsuccessful 
 class is such a large one that to belong to 
 it implies a freemasonry with nine tenths 
 of the world." 
 
 " Ellen, you almost make me deter- 
 mine to go on failing to the end of the 
 chapter." 
 
 He saw by the quick change in her re- 
 sponsive face that she was pained because 
 he treated her words lightly. In reality he 
 was not unappreciative. On the contrary, 
 it was because he was afraid of expressing 
 too much that he expressed nothing. He 
 looked at the young girl in her inharmo- 
 170
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 nious surroundings, and the stiff haircloth 
 chair in which she sat and the ugly yel- 
 low-and-green sprigged paper on the walls 
 instantly became dear and homelike. 
 Even the scarlet worsted mat under the 
 kerosene lamp was faithfully photographed 
 upon his mental retina. These things 
 were part of an enchanting present which 
 would all too soon be only an enchanting 
 past. Ellen wore the summer uniform of 
 her sex, a plain dark blue serge skirt and 
 a blue silk shirt waist dotted with white, 
 but it seemed to him that she wore them 
 with a grace and distinction that were all 
 her own. He was glad that she was look- 
 ing away from him, as he could rest his 
 eyes upon her with greater confidence. 
 He would not have altered a detail of her 
 appearance. The soft brown hair coiled 
 in the knot that Robert thought too sim- 
 ple, the complexion which Robert thought 
 too pale, the large dark eyes with the 
 long lashes, the sweet mouth which Rob- 
 ert thought too grave, were all a part of 
 Ellen, and to change a single feature, 
 even to its advantage, would be to make 
 her less completely Ellen. Suppose she 
 171
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 were really his daughter, as their hostess 
 had fancied? In this case his life and 
 hers would be inextricably joined. But 
 no, some lover would ruthlessly claim her, 
 he felt a righteous indignation toward 
 the intruder, and the next moment his 
 wayward imagination was picturing how 
 it would seem to be Ellen's lover. 
 
 "Hear the rain beat against the win- 
 dow ! " she said. " It is a fearful night. 
 When I was a little girl I used to be 
 afraid of the wind when it shrieked like 
 that." 
 
 " Suppose I read King Lear, since you 
 like tragedy? That play is in harmony 
 with the storm." 
 
 " I wish you had your essays here, and 
 then you could read those." 
 
 " They are as unsuccessful as the rest of 
 my career. Sometimes the magazines and 
 newspapers take them, but oftener they 
 refuse them. They are not essays, by the 
 way, but merely articles about the woods 
 and fields and the Western country." 
 
 " Please give me a little sketch of one." 
 
 " Ellen, you are an apt pupil of my bro- 
 ther. Don't start me on that subject, or I 
 172
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 shall feel sure that you are taking; his ad- 
 vice and trying to draw out a bore." 
 
 Whatever her motive might have been, 
 it is certain that she succeeded in making 
 him talk more freely about himself than 
 he had ever done, and the hours sped by 
 only too quickly. 
 
 " What time is it?" she asked at last, 
 reluctantly. 
 
 He took out his watch. " I would ra- 
 ther not tell you," he owned. 
 
 Ellen glanced over his shoulder. 
 
 " Eleven o'clock ! " she exclaimed in 
 horrified accents. " And I thought it was 
 n't more than half -past nine ! " 
 
 " Good-night, Ellen." 
 
 He clasped her slender hand in his, and 
 wished again that he were her father, that 
 he might claim a father's privilege. In 
 the watches of the night he admitted that 
 he had been dishonest with himself : he 
 did not wish that he were Ellen's father. 
 
 That night, as Ellen lay awake, she felt 
 that she had said all she ought not to have 
 said, and left unsaid all that she ought to 
 have said. Why had her tongue refused 
 to translate the message of her heart, and 
 173
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 to tell Mr. Wentworth the stimulus that 
 his friendship was to her ? Why had she 
 not said : 
 
 " When I was a little girl, you showed 
 me all the treasures of the woods and the 
 fields. You taught me to love nature, and 
 to feel as if nothing really mattered so 
 long as one had God's blue sky overhead 
 and a world of beauty at one's feet. You 
 taught me to care for books, and to feel 
 that one never could be dull or friendless 
 with these good comrades at hand. Rob- 
 ert has given me an outwardly prosper- 
 ous life, but he would have left my mind 
 cramped. And so, I believe that to fail 
 so far as the world is concerned, but to 
 succeed in making one human being inde- 
 pendent of the world, is better than to 
 succeed, as the world calls it, but to fail 
 in regard to spiritual things. ' For is not 
 the life more than meat ? ' : 
 
 Why had she not said this ? It was 
 because of her miserable shyness and self- 
 consciousness. Instead of this (oh, morti- 
 fying thought ! her cheeks burned at the 
 recollection), she had told him that to fail 
 was better than to succeed, thereby imply- 
 174
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 ing that his life had been a failure. Why 
 had she not urged him to try for mere ma- 
 terial, worldly success, since he craved it ? 
 It was because no one had ever really cared 
 for him or believed in his powers that he, 
 with his humble estimate of himself, had 
 failed. A part of this she would get cour- 
 age to tell him in the morning, for Ellen 
 was still young enough to believe in " to- 
 morrow." 
 
 Yet alas ! when to-morrow came it 
 brought altered conditions. Poor Ellen 
 could not determine what subtle change 
 had come over Maurice Wentworth, and 
 she was too sensitive and shrinking to force 
 her mood upon him. It was a glorious 
 morning, and there was no excuse for lin- 
 gering at the Browns' farm after breakfast : 
 and indeed, she no longer cared to linger, 
 for the charm had departed. 
 
 When they reached home, and Ellen 
 saw Charlotte standing in the doorway, 
 she felt a premonition that some bad 
 news was in store for her. 
 
 " Dear Ellen," her sister said, " I want 
 to prepare you for something very sad." 
 
 Ellen's heart sank still lower as a sud- 
 175
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 den memory of awful sorrow years ago 
 swept over her ; then it gave a bound 
 again when she saw Robert, Hester, and 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Charlotte held a telegram in her hand. 
 " Aunt Martha has died," she announced. 
 " The funeral is to-morrow. Robert thinks 
 that all three of us had better go down to 
 it, as Maurice can stay with the children. 
 I am so sorry for poor aunt Ellen. How 
 lonely she will be ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Ellen the younger, " poor, 
 poor aunt Ellen ! " 
 
 Her mind, however, refused to feel a 
 realizing sense of her aunt's sorrow. She 
 was conscious instead of a passionate re- 
 gret that this journey was to come now, 
 and lessen her time, already too short, 
 under the same roof with Maurice Went- 
 worth. She was ashamed of her lack of 
 sympathy, and would fain have cried be- 
 cause she had no tears to shed. 
 
 Maurice drove them to the station the 
 next day, in the same wagon that had so 
 recently gone on a happier errand, and he 
 watched the train wistfully as it moved 
 out of sight. 
 
 176
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 When the travelers came home, four 
 days later, they found a great fire of fir 
 cones and pine-balsam burning in the par- 
 lor fireplace, while the room was decorated 
 with cardinal flowers and goldenrod, in 
 honor of their return. 
 
 Bobby flew to greet his papa, while the 
 younger children clung joyfully to their 
 mamma, and Beatrice and Hester put 
 their arms around their aunt. 
 
 " It is awfully nice to get you back," 
 said Beatrice. 
 
 "Did you have a good time?" asked 
 Hester timidly. 
 
 " Hester," Beatrice remarked severely, 
 " people don't have a good time at fu- 
 nerals." 
 
 Poor Hester, who had meant to say 
 something quite different, and was more 
 sympathetic in her heart than any of the 
 children, retired, crushed and humiliated, 
 to the other end of the room, where she 
 was joined by her uncle. 
 
 " Hester," he began, " I believe you 
 
 and I are really fonder of your aunt than 
 
 the other children are, but for that very 
 
 reason we often fail to say the right thing. 
 
 177
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 Suppose we go now and tell her how sorry 
 we are that she has had this long, sad 
 journey." 
 
 He took Hester's hand, alike uncon- 
 scious of the passionate love and grati- 
 tude in the child's heart and of the strong 
 influence he was already exerting over her 
 life, and they crossed the room to where 
 Ellen sat in the window-seat, with Bea- 
 trice and Carlotta in their white gowns 
 making a sharp contrast against the som- 
 bre folds of her black dress. 
 
 " We have come to tell you how glad 
 we are to get you back, and how sorry we 
 are for your sorrow," said Maurice. 
 
 Ellen raised her clear eyes to his. It 
 seemed dishonest to let him think she had 
 suffered. 
 
 " I never knew aunt Martha well enough 
 to love her," she explained, " and so I did 
 not grieve for myself, but merely kept 
 thinking in a vague, outside way, 'How 
 hard it must be to lose the sister with 
 whom one has lived so many years ! ' Yet 
 the thought did not touch me. It only 
 saddened me, as one is saddened by sad 
 music, or by the first bleak, gray days of 
 178
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 winter. It was a mood, not a reality; 
 yet now I have come away, the mood still 
 stays, and it seems as if I could never be 
 glad any more." 
 
 " How funny ! " said Beatrice. " I 
 should think the time to be sad was at 
 the funeral, and that you 'd be awfully 
 glad now to think it was over. Mamma 
 and papa aren't sad. They are laughing. 
 Goodness ! Bobby has put on my shade 
 hat. What a scamp that boy is ! " and 
 she slid down from her aunt's lap and 
 proceeded to chastise the erring Bobby. 
 
 " Robert was so kind and sympathetic 
 through everything," Ellen said to Mau- 
 rice. " He is the best fellow in the world 
 when one has a real sorrow. No son 
 could have been kinder than he was to 
 aunt Ellen. He felt her grief much more 
 keenly than I did." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; yet you will feel it 
 longer." 
 
 " I shall have a chance to feel it for 
 a long, long time," said Ellen in a low 
 voice, "for I am going to live with my 
 aunt Ellen." 
 
 179
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 "Robert," Charlotte asked that night 
 after they had gone upstairs, " has it ever 
 occurred to you that Maurice is in love 
 with Ellen?" 
 
 " Great Scott ! What put that absurd 
 idea into your head ? " 
 
 " I have suspected it for some time, 
 but I was sure of it to-night by the way 
 he took the news of her going to live 
 with aunt Ellen. Do you suppose, if you 
 get that position for him at Torrey and 
 Brown's, that he will offer himself to 
 her?" 
 
 " Charlotte, the men of our family may 
 be fools, but they are not knaves. We 
 don't marry when we have n't money 
 enough to eke out a decent living." 
 
 "But Maurice has always supported 
 himself, after a fashion." 
 
 " He has contrived to starve with phi- 
 losophy, but he is not the man to drag a 
 woman into starvation." 
 
 " It seems a pity, Robert, that such a 
 good fellow should be so weak in some 
 ways." 
 
 "It is a pity. There is hope for the 
 drunkard, the gambler, or the libertine, 
 180
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 for the very qualities that dragged him 
 down may raise him up, if turned to good 
 account ; but there is no reforming your 
 conscientious, self-distrustful, and conse- 
 quently inefficient man. Lord ! what a 
 conscience that fellow has ! I can't think 
 of any place that he could fill with en- 
 tire satisfaction to himself, unless it were 
 matron of an Orphans' Home. He never 
 could get rich in any line. He is the 
 kind of man who always puts the largest 
 strawberries in the bottom of the box. 
 He won't make a good salesman if he 
 gets in at Torrey and Brown's, for he will 
 point out to his customers every flaw in 
 each article. By the way, he told me, 
 characteristically, to be sure to tell Tor- 
 rey and Brown that he had had no expe- 
 rience as a salesman." 
 
 " If his eyes were only stronger, he 
 could be editor of some newspaper," 
 Charlotte suggested, "for he is clever 
 with his pen." 
 
 " My dear child, he would not stay on 
 
 the staff of a paper a week, for he would 
 
 insist upon telling the truth, the whole 
 
 truth, and nothing but the truth. It is 
 
 181
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 pleasant to look forward to a future 
 world for such men. Maurice is very 
 well fitted for the kingdom of heaven ; 
 only he would want to change places with 
 some fellow who was writhing in the 
 other kingdom before he could be quite 
 easy in his mind." 
 
 " Robert, what troubles me more than 
 the fact that Maurice is in love with Ellen 
 is the fear that she cares for him. If 
 she had a suspicion of his feelings, I 
 am afraid she would be only too glad to 
 * starve ' with him * with philosophy.' As 
 she can't go to aunt Ellen for a month, I 
 wish we could send Maurice away now. 
 Couldn't Torrey and Brown make room 
 for him at once ? " 
 
 " I will write to them this moment and 
 find out. But, my dear, I can't believe 
 that your sister would be such an idiot as 
 to marry a man who could earn perhaps 
 six hundred dollars a year." 
 
 " She is a child about money matters, 
 and she will reason that the five thou- 
 sand dollars aunt Martha left her will 
 give her " 
 
 " Two hundred and fifty dollars a 
 182
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 year," said Robert promptly. " At aunt 
 Ellen's she will have comforts and lux- 
 uries, and be the cherished daughter of 
 the house, a much more important per- 
 son than she could ever be in our large 
 family. She will make a good match in 
 time, when she has learned her own value, 
 for she is a pretty girl, and a sweet-tem- 
 pered girl, and I suppose, if she lives 
 with your aunt Ellen, she will eventually 
 have all her money. Great Scott ! Fancy 
 a girl's throwing away all these chances 
 to live with Maurice Wentworth in an 
 attic ! " 
 
 " She is young and romantic," said 
 Charlotte, " and she has no conception of 
 the wear and tear of poverty. If we can 
 only get Maurice away at once, however, 
 no great harm will have been done." 
 
 "He shall go this week, if I have to 
 drag him away by main force." 
 
 Robert, who had never failed in any 
 undertaking, did not fail now, and conse- 
 quently Maurice found himself, at the end 
 of the week, about to start for New York, 
 to be a clerk in the wholesale firm of Tor- 
 183
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 rey and Brown, at a salary of fifty dollars 
 a month. Small as the sum was, he was 
 afraid it was more than his services were 
 worth. He knew that he ought to be 
 grateful to Robert, instead of feeling a 
 smouldering anger at the irritating way in 
 which the chance was offered him, as if 
 Robert were his master, and he a faithful 
 hound, who was expected to take a cuff 
 without a murmur, because it was accom- 
 panied by a bone ; he knew that he was in 
 no position to rebel at the distastefulness 
 of the work, and that he ought to be glad 
 it was to begin at once ; but every other 
 feeling was merged in blank, dumb despair 
 at the prospect of the immediate parting 
 from Ellen. 
 
 Maurice spent his last afternoon on 
 the piazza, with a book in his hand ; but 
 his eyes frequently wandered toward the 
 court where Ellen was playing tennis with 
 Frank Allen. The mellow sunlight fil- 
 tered through the green leaves of the oak- 
 tree and fell on her slender figure in the 
 accustomed blue skirt and silk waist that 
 seemed so much more a part of her than 
 her black dress. As he saw her swiftly 
 184
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 sending- the balls over the net, with appar- 
 ently no thought in her mind beyond the 
 game, he felt that she had entered a young 
 world, full of gayety and sunshine, in 
 which he had no part. Only the other 
 day there had seemed so close an affinity 
 between them that he had forgotten the 
 barriers of poverty and age ; but now her 
 youth and beauty resumed their old posi- 
 tion in his thoughts. At the end of the 
 game the two young people sat down on 
 the bench under the oak-tree, and Maurice 
 saw that Ellen had learned her lesson 
 well, for there was the same expression of 
 attentive gravity on her face which only 
 the other night she had given to himself. 
 A blind feeling of jealousy seized him, as, 
 in fancy, he saw her, in the days to come, 
 surrounded by a throng of young fellows, 
 and won at last by some fortunate man 
 with good looks and wealth for his allies. 
 He had been a fool to think that this 
 friendship was without danger for him. 
 He knew now that he loved her with his 
 whole strength ; that in fact he had loved 
 her throughout this brief, bright summer. 
 Perhaps some day he might be grateful 
 185
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 for this taste of happiness, but at the 
 moment his heart was full of bitterness 
 against society, and the miserable limita- 
 tions of his own nature. Why was he 
 doomed to loneliness and failure, when 
 others were blessed with love and with 
 success ? Was not his heart overflowing 
 with affection ? And could he not make a 
 woman happy ? 
 
 When Ellen and Frank Allen came up 
 the piazza steps, on their way into the 
 house, Maurice fixed his eyes aggressively 
 on his book. Ellen opened the door into 
 the hall. 
 
 " Mr. Allen, you will find my sister 
 inside," she said. " She will amuse you 
 while I go to make myself presentable for 
 tea." 
 
 Nevertheless she did not follow him into 
 the house. She came over to the corner 
 where Maurice was sitting. He did not 
 raise his eyes from his book. 
 
 " I have come to say my own especial 
 good-by to you now," she began in a low 
 tone, " because when you go away to-night 
 it will be a general good-by." 
 
 " What difference does it make when 
 186
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 the good-by is said ? " he responded almost 
 roughly. 
 
 She turned quickly to hide her tears. 
 She had hoped for something different, for 
 some farewell words of regret that their 
 happy summer was over, perhaps for a 
 request that she would write to him some- 
 times. In that moment, her past, present, 
 and future came before her with pano- 
 ramic clearness, and Maurice was every- 
 where the central figure. She remembered 
 a day of hopeless misery after he had gone 
 away when she was a little girl, and the 
 nights which followed, when she had cried 
 herself to sleep. She recollected how she 
 had waited and watched for a letter, that 
 came at last, for he never disappointed 
 children, although he could be cruel to 
 older people, it seemed. Now her whole 
 life was full of him, when he was present 
 and when he was absent ; and he was to 
 be absent again, and perhaps absent al- 
 ways ! Well, be it so ! And since she 
 was nothing to him, her pride would save 
 her from ever letting him know how weak 
 she had been. He should not claim a 
 fraction of her regard whenever he saw 
 187
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 fit to ask for it. She would bid him a 
 final good-by. As she turned towards 
 him he was struck by something in her 
 expression. 
 
 " Ellen, you expect to be happy with 
 your aunt Ellen, do you not ? " he ques- 
 tioned. 
 
 "Yes, but just now I am feeling un- 
 happy at the idea of leaving my sister 
 and the children." 
 
 " That is perfectly natural ; but you 
 will enjoy life as soon as you get there. 
 They tell me that you are to have more 
 freedom, and that you will know a great 
 many young people ; that will be pleasant 
 for you. It is a life much more suited 
 to a girl of your age. You are sure to 
 like it." 
 
 Ellen turned her head away again 
 abruptly. " Oh, of course, I shall like 
 it," she said quickly. " Children are 
 always pleased with a new toy." And 
 she went into the house without another 
 word. 
 
 " After all, I was mistaken about Ellen," 
 Charlotte said to Robert that night. " It 
 
 188
 
 A FAITHFUL FAILURE 
 
 is evident that she is not in love with 
 Maurice, for she was so friendly when she 
 bade him good-by. If she cared for him, 
 she would have been colder, or else less at 
 her ease. I am glad that you sent him 
 away in time." 
 
 " Of course she is n't in love with him," 
 her husband returned. " I told you so all 
 along. He is n't the kind of man that 
 girls fancy. Poor fellow ! He is destined 
 to be a failure in everything." 
 189
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 THEEE are eighteen clubs and classes 
 in Riverside, and my sister Eleanor was 
 asked to join thirteen of them, but com- 
 promised on eight. I am glad that I am 
 still a schoolgirl, for I am sure that I 
 should die if I had to go to eight clubs. 
 In addition to these festive gatherings 
 among the rich she spends one evening 
 in the week at a Girls' Club for the poor. 
 I always supposed that one of the advan- 
 tages of poverty was that you did not have 
 to belong to clubs, but it seems that even 
 the poor cannot escape the weight of their 
 environment. 
 
 Eleanor's clubs differ in importance : 
 there is one glory of the sun, and another 
 of the moon, while besides these lumina- 
 ries there are some small stars and one or 
 two unimportant fireflies. There is in es- 
 pecial a club that meets in Boston every 
 190
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 Saturday morning that might be called 
 the sun. 
 
 Well, as I remarked before, I am glad 
 that I am only seventeen. My sister 
 Eleanor is twenty-eight, but nobody would 
 ever imagine it. I am sometimes mistaken 
 for her, which makes me furious ; but I 
 ought to feel flattered, I suppose, for she 
 is prettier than I am. Although she is so 
 much quieter than I, she is a great favorite. 
 I should like to be such a favorite, except 
 that it means making one's self agreeable 
 to so many stupid people, and eight 
 clubs ! If I were a man, J should fall in 
 love with Eleanor ; not that it would do 
 the smallest good, only I could not help it, 
 for she is so sweet. I know that is what 
 Mr. Morris thinks ; and he would agree 
 with me in being certain that it did not 
 do any good. Indeed, I should suppose 
 he would feel that it did a great deal of 
 harm, poor fellow. I am sure that he has 
 been in love with her for six years ever 
 since she has lived with aunt Esther, in 
 fact ; and six years make a great deal of 
 difference, at his age. He never was very 
 young, that is, since I have known him ; 
 191
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 but now he is really old, forty-one, with 
 gray hair, and a face that looks as if it 
 had seen better days. I mean in the way 
 of looks; it could never have been any 
 more amiable than it is now. I know 
 Eleanor would like him if she lived in less 
 of a whirl, but she has not any time to 
 fall in love. 
 
 Lord Byron said : 
 
 " Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 
 'T is woman's whole existence." 
 
 Poor antiquated Lord Byron ! It is plain 
 to see that he did not live in the present 
 day in Massachusetts ! What time has 
 Eleanor to think of love as she eats a hur- 
 ried breakfast, and flies no, not flies, 
 for Eleanor is always dignified, but strolls 
 down town rather fast on a Monday morn- 
 ing, to do her marketing early, so that 
 she may not be late for the Musical Club ? 
 That Musical Club is the one thing I envy 
 her, for I can play pretty well, and I have 
 quite a good voice. I am not musical 
 enough for the club, however, for the 
 members have to play and sing uncom- 
 monly well, or else not at all. Eleanor 
 neither plays nor sings, but she looks so 
 192
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 exquisitely refined and so pretty in her 
 brown hat and gown that she lends dis- 
 tinction to the occasion ; and then she is 
 always delightfully sympathetic. What 
 people want is sympathy. I have come to 
 the conclusion that it is better not to try 
 to accomplish some great work in the 
 world, but simply to go about like my sis- 
 ter Eleanor, sympathizing with the people 
 who do things well. Of course there 
 are plenty of things that she does well, 
 but they are of a domestic nature, all 
 of them, at least, except whist. Eleanor 
 has gone into whist lately, and she plays 
 a fine game. She belongs to three whist 
 clubs ; two of them meet in the afternoon, 
 and one meets in the evening. The Tues- 
 day afternoon club is very swell, and aunt 
 Esther insists upon her going to it every 
 week, but she can't understand why she 
 wastes her time with the Wednesday club. 
 Eleanor says they play whist better in the 
 Wednesday club, but aunt Esther does 
 not see that this is of any consequence. 
 Eleanor certainly has no time to think of 
 love on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday ; 
 and Thursday is equally full ; for there is 
 193
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 the Renaissance Club in the afternoon, 
 and the Whist Club in the evening ; while 
 on Friday dear me, I have forgotten 
 what happens on Friday morning, but it 
 is something very important, and then 
 there are the Symphony Rehearsals in 
 the afternoon, and the Girls' Club in the 
 evening ; and as for Saturday, it is the 
 busiest day of all. Eleanor leaves home 
 directly after breakfast, and does not 
 appear again until tea-time. I wish it 
 were late dinner, but it is n't, because 
 aunt Esther is so old fashioned ; it is 
 only plebeian, unsubstantial, unsatisfac- 
 tory tea. 
 
 When I came to spend the winter here, 
 mamma told me to be sure to keep a jour- 
 nal and record my impressions. She said 
 I must give up being frivolous, and be- 
 come precisely like a Boston girl. She 
 told me that they were all so intellectual 
 here ; but I am sure that Eleanor is n't ; 
 she hardly reads at all. She is read to, 
 however, a great deal at her clubs. This 
 saves time, because she does not have to 
 stop to hunt up the books, and it is more 
 sociable. They say in New York that 
 194
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 everybody is reading in Boston all the 
 time, in all sorts of odd places, but I have 
 never noticed it, except among the men 
 in the electric cars, and they all read 
 the newspapers diligently, especially 
 when there are ladies standing. I have 
 discovered why men in other cities are so 
 much more polite about giving up their 
 seats : it is because the cars are not so 
 crowded, and they never have to stand 
 long. There are some men, however, who 
 cheerfully relinquish their seats here, and 
 Edward Morris is one of them. I al- 
 ways come back to him, no matter with 
 what subject I start. He is very nice. I 
 wish he were twenty-one instead of forty- 
 one, and were in love with me. We are 
 excellent friends, and I often think of ad- 
 vising him to offer himself to Eleanor by 
 letter. There is never any time for him 
 to do it in any other way, for on the rare 
 occasions when she is at home the house 
 is filled with people. I believe that if he 
 were to offer himself to her often enough 
 by letter he might make an impression on 
 her after a while, just as an advertisement, 
 which they say nobody sees at first, catches 
 195
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 the eye when it has been read several times. 
 He might say : 
 
 u MY DEAR ELEANOR, Won't you 
 cease to be queen of clubs, and be queen 
 of my heart ? Pray listen to me on ac- 
 count of my long suit. It has lasted for 
 six years ; and although it is not a suit of 
 diamonds, at least, thank Heaven, it is 
 not a suit of clubs." 
 
 If this failed to touch her heart, he 
 could send a Musical Club offer a little 
 later : 
 
 " MY DEAR ELEANOR, The andante 
 movement has been going on for six years. 
 Let us have something a little more rapid. 
 My life has hitherto been in a minor 
 key ; won't you henceforth make it in A 
 major ? " 
 
 If this did not suffice, it could be 
 followed by an offer appropriate to a 
 young woman who founded a club to in- 
 vestigate the Middle Ages and the Re- 
 naissance : 
 
 " MY DEAR ELEANOR, I am now in 
 a position thoroughly to understand the 
 middle age ; and as you are evidently anx- 
 ious to learn about that period, I would 
 196
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 suggest that instead of going to a club 
 once a week for that purpose, you should 
 study the subject in a tranquil manner at 
 home every day with me. It would truly 
 be a renaissance to me if you would take 
 me, my dear girl." 
 
 How could she resist such appeals, 
 especially if they were followed by five 
 other equally appropriate offers ? 
 
 Poor Mr. Morris is so busy that he 
 does not often get an evening to him- 
 self, much less an afternoon ; but once 
 in a great while he makes an effort, and 
 comes to see us. Eleanor once told him 
 that she was always at home on Mon- 
 day, and he said, "If you will tell me 
 when you are not ' at home,' I will come 
 then." 
 
 "How flattering ! " she retorted, with a 
 little laugh. 
 
 " I mean that I would rather come 
 when you are by yourselves, without all 
 the world," he explained. 
 
 " All the world does not come on Mon- 
 day," said Eleanor. " On the contrary, 
 sometimes aunt Esther and I sit here 
 alone the whole afternoon." 
 197
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 In consequence of these encouraging 
 words, he tried it one Monday ; but unfor- 
 tunately, two of the Turners and Fanny 
 Williams and old Mrs. Grant dropped 
 in at the same time. He sat on a small 
 chair, looking very unhappy, and drink- 
 ing tea out of an eggshell cup because 
 Eleanor had made it, the tea, I mean. 
 There was a thimbleful of tea in the cup, 
 and also a big lump of sugar which he 
 stirred with a tiny spoon, the right size 
 for a Tom Thumb, and he is so large ; 
 he positively seemed like a giant. I could 
 see that aunt Esther was eying her slen- 
 der, spindle-legged chair with apprehen- 
 sion. All he gained by the call was the 
 pleasure of seeing Eleanor behind a little 
 tea-table, looking awfully pretty in a pink 
 gown while she chatted with Fanny Wil- 
 liams. Eleanor does not talk much, but 
 she listens so intelligently that you al- 
 ways feel as if the conversation had been 
 equally divided. Mr. Morris had a good 
 deal of talk with his cousin, Mrs. Grant ; 
 or, to speak accurately, he did a good 
 deal of intelligent listening, and I hope 
 he did not find her such a bore as I do. 
 198
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 When he saw me passing through the 
 hall in my school things he rose with 
 alacrity, for I made a face at him as he 
 sat there looking as if he had lost his last 
 friend. 
 
 " Must you leave us so soon ? " Eleanor 
 asked him, in surprise. 
 
 " Yes, I am going to take a little walk 
 with your sister." 
 
 " I know that it was very wrong of me 
 to make up that face," I said, as we set 
 off together, " but next year I shall be 
 grown up and can't do such things, so I 
 must make the most of my time." 
 
 " I suppose you will come out next win- 
 ter, Julia, and go to parties and clubs like 
 all the rest of the world," he remarked, 
 with a little sigh. 
 
 " I am never coming out," I replied. 
 " I am going to stay in always. I shall 
 be at home every day in the week." 
 
 " So you think now, so Eleanor 
 thought once ; but the pressure is too 
 strong on you girls." 
 
 We had a nice walk, and a long talk 
 about my school and all the girls, and I 
 forgot all about Eleanor and his love for 
 199
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 heri He is the kind of person who makes 
 one talk about one's own affairs. 
 
 He did not try coming again on Mon- 
 day, poor man ! As ill luck would have 
 it, he selected a Thursday afternoon when 
 the Renaissance Club met at our house. 
 He was shown into the parlor, through 
 some mistake ; perhaps the maid thought 
 that he was the lecturer. He was well 
 inside the door before he discovered what 
 was going on, for he is very near-sighted, 
 and then he looked so blank. The ladies 
 were intensely interested ; most of them 
 know him a little, and they have been 
 wondering for the last six years whether 
 Eleanor would marry him or not. I am 
 sure they must have thought that the 
 wedding day was set. Eleanor was not 
 in the least embarrassed when she saw 
 him. My sister Eleanor is always per- 
 fectly calm, and rather cold. 
 
 " I am very glad to see you, Mr. Mor- 
 ris," she said. " I will tell Julia that you 
 are here." 
 
 She did not know that I was peeping 
 through the dining-room door. 
 
 It happened, therefore, that Mr. Morris 
 200
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 and I had another walk, and he heard 
 more about my school and the Saturday 
 evening dancing class, and he appeared 
 very much interested. Men are so much 
 more sympathetic than women. I sup- 
 pose it is because nowadays they don't 
 have half so much on their minds. 
 
 That evening aunt Esther spoke to me 
 seriously. She said that she did not like 
 the way in which I was devoting myself 
 to Edward Morris, for it seemed disloyal 
 to Eleanor. I laughed at first, and I 
 can't remember all that passed, but she 
 implied, finally, that I was trying to make 
 him fall in love with me for the sake of 
 amusing myself, and she told me he was 
 too good a man for me to make unhappy. 
 I grew very angry at last, and I said, " I 
 am not amusing myself ; I can promise 
 you safely that if he asks me to marry 
 him I will do it. I am seventeen and he 
 is forty-one, to be sure, but when I am 
 fifty-seven and he is eighty-one we shall 
 be practically the same age." 
 
 It was very silly of me. I don't know 
 what aunt Esther thinks. Sometimes I 
 fancy that she believes I was in earnest. 
 201
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 As for Eleanor, she is more wrapped up 
 in her clubs than ever. 
 
 January 9. Mr. Morris came one even- 
 ing last week, but, unfortunately, he hit 
 upon a night when Eleanor was at the 
 Girls' Club. I advised him to come some 
 Sunday evening, and last night he ap- 
 peared ; but Eleanor was so worn out 
 with the fatigue of the week, joined to 
 the depraved actions of her Sunday- 
 school class, that she had gone to bed 
 early. 
 
 January 17. Mr. Morris called again 
 last night. I was determined that he 
 should have a chance to see Eleanor 
 alone, so I brought my German books, 
 and asked aunt Esther if she would not 
 come into the other room and help me 
 with my lesson ; but the dear soul pro- 
 posed a game of whist. Theoretically 
 she realizes that Mr. Morris comes to see 
 Eleanor rather than herself, but practi- 
 cally there is never any especial occasion 
 when it occurs to her to leave them to 
 themselves. She says that it is a good 
 thing for a man to see a girl in her home, 
 with her family about her ; but I think 
 202
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 that it is pleasanter for the family than 
 for the man and the girl. 
 
 Aunt Esther delights in whist, but she 
 does not play the modern game. She 
 always tells her partner, with one of her 
 pleasant smiles, that she has never learned 
 how to make trump signals, and that she 
 has played all her life and has found it 
 to her advantage to lead from her short 
 suit. I like that kind of game, and as 
 Eleanor and Mr. Morris prefer science, I 
 proposed that she should play with me ; 
 but she said she would rather have Ed- 
 ward Morris for a partner, as in that case 
 she would be more likely to beat. Aunt 
 Esther was especially trying last night. 
 It took her a long time to decide what to 
 play. She has been taking lessons in the 
 Delsarte system, and has learned how to 
 relax ; and once when she was particu- 
 larly long, I could not help saying that I 
 was afraid Eleanor and Mr. Morris did 
 not like relaxed whist. 
 
 Life is an odd mixture, and most of it 
 
 is a great deal duller than novels lead 
 
 one to expect, as I am sure Mr. Morris 
 
 must have thought as he sat there all the 
 
 203
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 evening opposite placid, aggravating aunt 
 Esther. Life is very like the Saturday 
 evening dancing class. There is a good 
 deal of sitting around and waiting ; there 
 are a few adorable turns and a kaleido- 
 scopic change of partners, then silence ! 
 The evening is over, and the lights are 
 put out. Life is n't very serious, at least 
 in the nineteenth century in Boston, but 
 it is rather amusing, and I suppose we 
 should all miss the hurry, the rush, and 
 the mad dance. 
 
 January 21. How lightly I wrote only 
 four nights ago ! A terrible thing has 
 happened that has changed the whole 
 world. How could I ever have thought 
 that life was anything but solemn and 
 serious and awful? 
 
 I will begin at the beginning, and write 
 it all out just as it occurred. Thursday 
 evening Mrs. Emery sent over to say that 
 she was in dire need of a substitute at her 
 whist club, and to ask if Eleanor would 
 bring me. Poor woman, she must have 
 been in sore distress indeed before she 
 sent for me ! Eleanor arranged that I 
 should be her partner. The dear girl 
 204
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 hates to play with me, but she dislikes 
 still more to inflict me on any one else. I 
 was frightened at the idea of playing in a 
 whist club, so of course I made more mis- 
 takes than ever. Eleanor did not scold 
 me, she never scolds, but she grew a 
 little stiffer and a shade quieter. It ap- 
 peared at the moment as if her whole 
 mind and heart and soul were set upon 
 winning that especial rubber of whist. I 
 wanted to laugh, as I looked around the 
 room and saw the intense, anxious faces. 
 There was no " relaxed whist " that night. 
 
 I don't remember how long we had 
 been playing, when the maid came and 
 whispered something into Dr. Emery's 
 ear. He rose quickly and left the room. 
 He was followed by his wife and Mr. 
 Remington. Mrs. Emery came back di- 
 rectly. 
 
 " There has been an accident," she said. 
 " A man has been run over by one of those 
 terrible electric cars. I can never get 
 used to them ; they seem to me like steam 
 engines let loose." 
 
 We stopped for a few minutes to dis- 
 cuss the accident ; but whist is whist, and 
 205
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 a game in the hand is worth more than an 
 unknown man under the wheel. 
 
 " Probably he is an Irishman, and I 
 have no doubt that he had been drinking," 
 said Mrs. Emery. 
 
 We all accepted this comfortable theory, 
 and those of us who were not playing at 
 Dr. Emery's table were soon once more 
 cheerfully absorbed. 
 
 At the end of half an hour Mr. Rem- 
 ington returned. I heard a whispered con- 
 sultation between him and Mrs. Emery, 
 and caught the words, " You had better 
 not tell her." I also overheard Edward 
 Morris's name. 
 
 The room swam before my eyes, and I 
 caught at the table to prevent myself from 
 falling. I lost all presence of mind. 
 
 " Is Mr. Morris dead ? " I gasped. 
 
 " No, dear ; no, indeed," Mrs. Emery 
 answered in a soothing tone. " There is 
 no danger, we trust ; but he has met with 
 severe injuries, and my husband has gone 
 with him to the hospital." 
 
 It was singular what a difference it 
 made in our feelings when we found that 
 the man who had been run over was not a 
 206
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 stranger. Everybody was so sorry and so 
 sympathetic ; every one, at least, except 
 Eleanor. She sat there as rigid as a statue, 
 looking as if she wished all this commo- 
 tion were over, so that she might finish 
 her game. I could have killed her, I 
 really could, if the ace of clubs in my hand 
 had been the implement of that name in- 
 stead of a bit of pasteboard. I could see 
 that all the ladies in the room were look- 
 ing stealthily at her, and then at me. She 
 could see it, too. She drew herself up 
 a little straighter, if that were possible, 
 and said, " Julia, you must control your- 
 self ; everything is being done for Mr. 
 Morris that can be done ; you must not 
 spoil the evening. Spades are trumps, I 
 believe." 
 
 I am sure they all knew then that she 
 was not engaged to Edward Morris. 
 
 I tried to play. I tried to keep back 
 my tears, but a few would fall on the ace 
 of clubs, and I ended by putting the hate- 
 ful thing on Eleanor's king. 
 
 " I had taken that trick," she said 
 quietly. 
 
 " I don't care if you had ! " I burst out. 
 207
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 " I don't care anything about this wretchec 
 game. I want to go home. I am very un- 
 happy ; please, please let me go home." 
 
 Eleanor rose. " I hope you will excuse 
 us, Mrs. Emery," she said. " Pray do not 
 let us break up your evening, but I think 
 that I had better take my sister home. 
 She and Mr. Morris are old friends, and 
 she feels this very much." 
 
 Mr. Remington telephoned for our car- 
 riage, and he also telephoned to the hospi- 
 tal to learn the latest news concerning Mr. 
 Morris. It seemed that he had reached 
 his destination safely, but was uncon- 
 scious ; and although his life was in no 
 immediate danger, he would probably 
 have a long, serious illness. We all 
 recognized the reserved nature of the mes- 
 sage " in no immediate danger," and our 
 hearts sank. 
 
 Eleanor was very gentle with me. She 
 did not reprove me for my outburst, and 
 after we were in the carriage she took my 
 hand in hers, but I snatched it away. 
 
 " Don't touch me ! " I cried fiercely. 
 "You are as cold and hard as a stone. 
 You ought to love him with your whole 
 208
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 heart, but you have no heart, and you 
 leave it to me to grieve for him ; to me, 
 when I am only the least of his friends." 
 
 Eleanor said nothing. 
 
 " I am sure that you are responsible for 
 this accident," I went on, rendered quite 
 beside myself by her calmness. " He was 
 thinking of you when his foot slipped. 
 If you had been a little good to him, 
 instead of trying to help a lot of people 
 in clubs, it would not have happened. 
 And perhaps you have killed him," I 
 added. 
 
 " Don't, Julia," she said, with a little 
 shudder. 
 
 At this point I began to cry, and I 
 sobbed all the way home as if my heart 
 would break. 
 
 Aunt Esther met us at the door with a 
 surprised but an approving face. 
 
 " How early you are ! " she exclaimed. 
 " This is a sensible hour. Edward Mor- 
 ris was here this evening, Eleanor, and he 
 seemed quite hurt when he did not find 
 you. He said he had written to tell you 
 that he was coming." 
 
 " I never got the note," Eleanor replied. 
 209
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 " No, it came at noon, and I put it on 
 the mantelpiece in the library with your 
 other letters, and I did not remember to 
 give them to you ; for you were at home 
 only long enough to take your tea and 
 dress for the club." Aunt Esther handed 
 her the letters, and Eleanor took them and 
 started to go upstairs. 
 
 " I am tired," she said, " and so I will 
 bid you good-night. Julia, you must tell 
 aunt Esther why we came home early." 
 
 " I hope you were not badly beaten," 
 aunt Esther observed. 
 
 " Beaten ? " Eleanor repeated vaguely, 
 with a curious, absent look on her face. 
 " Oh, in whist ? No, thank you ; at least 
 I don't remember. I think I think I 
 will say good-night." 
 
 I told aunt Esther the news, and then 
 I hurried upstairs ; but quick as I was, 
 Eleanor had already locked the door be- 
 tween her room and mine. I knocked, but 
 had no response. I knocked again, and 
 again there was no answer. I paused and 
 listened. There was a faint, muffled sound 
 on the other side of the door. I knew 
 then that Eleanor was crying, and the fact 
 210
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 awed me, for I could not remember hav- 
 ing heard her cry since father died, six 
 years ago. 
 
 " Eleanor, let me in," I begged. " I 
 understand it all now, dear. Please for- 
 give me, and please, please let me in." 
 
 But Eleanor would not open the door. 
 
 I was so wretched that I was sure I 
 should stay awake all night; for how 
 could I sleep until she had forgiven me ? 
 And then I fell asleep while I was think- 
 ing it over, miserable, faithless wretch 
 that I was ! 
 
 In the morning I awoke earlier than 
 usual. The door was open between Elea- 
 nor's room and mine, and every thing looked 
 so pleasantly familiar that my first feeling 
 was, what it always is, joy that I was in 
 this happy world. Then I remembered 
 that perhaps there would never be any joy 
 for us again. 
 
 I went softly into Eleanor's room. She 
 was lying on the sofa, with her wrapper on, 
 and a letter tightly clasped in her hand. 
 Her face was so pale that I was frightened 
 at first, and thought she had fainted ; but 
 I soon found she had fallen asleep after a 
 211
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 long, anxious night. How long and how 
 anxious it had been I could only faintly 
 fancy, for a glance at her face made me 
 conscious that my sorrow was a childish 
 feeling compared with hers. 
 
 While I was standing by her, Eleanor 
 opened her eyes. I shall never forget the 
 look on her face when she tried to smile 
 as if nothing had happened. 
 
 " We shall hear some good news to-day, 
 dear," she began ; then her lip trembled, 
 and then it was she who was sobbing, 
 with her head on my shoulder and my 
 arms around her neck. 
 
 " Julia, he does love me," said she. 
 
 " You need not tell me that when I have 
 known it for six years." 
 
 " I did not know it, and I don't think 
 he knew it until lately, but " She held 
 up the letter by way of an ending to her 
 sentence. I could not help seeing the first 
 words. 
 
 " ' My dear Queen of Clubs,' " I read 
 aloud, half unconsciously. 
 
 Eleanor covered the precious document 
 with her hand, and we both laughed for- 
 lornly. "Eleanor, how could you be so 
 212
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 calm when you heard the news of the 
 accident ? " I asked impetuously. 
 
 " Would you have had me show all 
 those people what I felt, when I did not 
 know that he cared for me?" she de- 
 manded. 
 
 " If you did not know that he loved you, 
 you were a very stupid person." 
 
 " We were always good friends," said 
 Eleanor, " and my life was such a full one 
 that until lately I never felt the need of 
 anything else ; and then then I 
 thought he was in love with you." 
 
 " With me ? " I said scornfully. 
 
 " Julia dear," she began eagerly, " I 
 hope I hope " 
 
 At last I comprehended everything. 
 
 " Yes, I love him," I said firmly. " I 
 love him like a brother, like a father, 
 like a grandfather, if you will. Darling, 
 does that make you jealous ? Are n't you 
 willing that I should love him like a 
 grandfather, Eleanor dear ? " 
 
 The next morning aunt Esther and 
 Eleanor went to the hospital, but they re- 
 turned with sad faces. Edward Morris 
 was still unconscious. 
 213
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 January 24. We have had a terrible 
 week. Mr. Morris has concussion of the 
 brain, and his recovery is doubtful. Elea- 
 nor has abandoned all her clubs, and does 
 not seem to care any longer what people 
 think, but she is very quiet and calm. 
 
 February 3. I am used to Mr. Mor- 
 ris's illness now, for everything is so ex- 
 actly the same at school and at dancing 
 school. I should die if I were as unhappy 
 all .the time as I was that first night ; so 
 I try to think that he is going to get well, 
 and to forget Eleanor's sad face. 
 
 February 12. The doctor is afraid that 
 Edward Morris will not live many days. 
 This is frightful though it is possible 
 that he may linger for weeks, or even 
 months. I cannot grasp the idea of his 
 dying. It seems impossible that he can 
 go away from us altogether. In the be- 
 ginning I realized all the possibilities, but 
 now that we have had this respite I can't 
 believe that anything so overpoweringly 
 sad will happen ; and after all, there is 
 still a faint chance that he may rally. 
 
 Mrs. Grant is going to have the whist 
 club just the same, even though she is his 
 214
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 cousin. She says that one can't give up 
 everything for an indefinite period on an 
 uncertainty. I believe that they would 
 play whist on the edge of his grave, all 
 except Eleanor ; she does not play any 
 more. She and aunt Esther go in every 
 day to the hospital to see if there is any- 
 thing that they can do, but Mr. Morris 
 does not know them. Poor Eleanor ! she 
 realizes the situation only too well. 
 
 February 23. I am so happy that there 
 are no words in the English language to 
 tell my delight. Edward Morris is out of 
 danger. He will be an invalid for a year 
 or two, as he will not be able to use his 
 brain much for a long time ; but Edward 
 Morris without a head is so much nicer 
 than any other man with one that it does 
 not matter, and he is going to get 
 well ! ! ! ! ! I have put all those exclama- 
 tion points in a row to help faintly to ex- 
 press my feelings. They stand for joy, 
 rapture, happiness, and every other bliss- 
 ful thing. 
 
 Eleanor is perfectly calm, as usual, but 
 the whole expression of her face has 
 changed, and she looks absolutely seraphic. 
 215
 
 THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 
 
 Edward knew her yesterday ; and when 
 she came home I could see that something 
 unusual had happened. 
 
 " It is all right, Julia," she replied to 
 my eager questions. 
 
 " What did he say, dear ? " I asked. 
 " How did he look ? What did you say ? 
 Tell me aU about it." 
 
 " I cannot tell you what we said, but we 
 have explained everything." 
 
 " Can't you tell me just one little 
 thing ? " I pleaded. 
 
 Eleanor began to laugh softly. " He 
 said something when I first came in which 
 will amuse you, Julia. He asked what 
 day it was. ' Saturday,' I replied. 4 Sat- 
 urday? Eleanor, how good you were to 
 come here instead of going to the Satur- 
 day Morning Club ! ' ' 
 216
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 LOUISE HENDERSON was sitting in the 
 sewing - room of her uncle's parsonage, 
 with her eyes fastened upon a small blue 
 garment in her lap. There was a look of 
 quiet but intense happiness in her face. 
 This beatific expression could not have 
 been caused by the skirt which she was 
 mending even her aunt, who was not 
 an observing woman, drew that conclu- 
 sion for the tear was a large and irregu- 
 lar one. 
 
 " Louise," she asked, " whom is your 
 letter from ? " 
 
 Louise colored and handed the note to 
 her aunt. 
 
 " It is from a young man I met at 
 cousin Susan's Mr. Matthews. He 
 used to know you ; he is going to the 
 White Mountains some time soon, and 
 would like to stay over a train to see you 
 and uncle Henry." 
 
 217
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 " Used to know me ! I should think 
 so ! Ralph Matthews ! and I suppose he 
 is entirely grown up now. How time 
 does fly ! " 
 
 " He is pretty old ; he is twenty-nine." 
 
 " Of course he is ; he is nine years 
 younger than I am. I was seventeen 
 when I went to live at his father's house 
 with mamma, and his father was thirty- 
 seven. Who would have supposed that a 
 sensible man like Hugh Matthews would 
 have fallen in love with a mere child like 
 myself ? It was my first love affair." 
 
 Louise, who was eighteen, wondered if 
 a disposition to fall in love with mere 
 children ran in the family ; then, being a 
 young woman of practical good sense, 
 she took herself to task sharply. " How 
 ridiculous I am to expect anything ! " she 
 thought. " Cousin Susan said he was 
 something of a flirt, and I must n't and 
 he did n't" 
 
 "When is the young man coming?" 
 inquired her aunt. " Some time this week 
 or next," she added, as she glanced at 
 the note again. " How indefinite ! So 
 thoughtless ! Men are all the same ; they 
 218
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 never consider washing days and ironing 
 days, or think that their coming need 
 make any difference ; whereas it makes 
 the greatest difference. We must 'kill 
 the fatted calf ' for him, not that he is a 
 prodigal, but it is so long since I have 
 seen the dear boy twenty years and 
 he is used to having everything in such 
 style. Supposing he should drop down 
 upon us when we have stew for dinner ! 
 I do hope the children will behave well. 
 If we only knew when he was coming ! 
 My dear, we must have a fresh roast or 
 chickens every day, and then whenever 
 he appears we shall be prepared for him. 
 It will be expensive, but we can econo- 
 mize afterward." 
 
 They had a company dinner all that 
 week and the next. The children thought 
 this a delightful plan. They hoped Mr. 
 Matthews would never come, that they 
 might " dine on like this forever." 
 
 When two weeks had passed without 
 bringing the expected guest, both aunt 
 and niece gave him up reluctantly, and 
 went back to their former manner of liv- 
 ing. There was more to be done than 
 219
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 usual, for they had put off giving the par- 
 lor a thorough sweeping for a fortnight, 
 lest he should arrive while they were in 
 the midst of it. 
 
 On Friday, therefore, the usual day for 
 sweeping, they moved everything out of 
 the parlor into the entry. It was a warm 
 day. The air came in through the hall 
 door enticingly, bringing with it the odor 
 of newly mown hay. The haymakers 
 were at work in the meadow. Louise, 
 wholly enveloped in a blue and white 
 checked apron, and with a sweeping-cap 
 on her pretty brown hair, was patiently 
 dusting all the irregular corners of a 
 carved oak chair. Whenever sweeping 
 day came she wished the family did not 
 have so much old-fashioned furniture. 
 Nora, the maid of all work, was beating 
 the rugs viciously, as if she had some 
 peculiar spite against them. The rugs 
 were out on the grass in front of the 
 house. There was only a strip of some 
 fifty feet of level lawn between the house 
 and the street, so that every one who 
 passed could see all that was going on ; 
 but it did not matter, for they would have 
 220
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 known what was going on, at any rate ; 
 they always did in East Bradfield. Louise 
 was still at work on the carved chair, 
 with her back to the street, when she was 
 startled by an exclamation from Nora. 
 " What is it ? " she asked. 
 " It 's the fatted calf, miss, as sure as 
 me name is Nora O'Connor, a-walkin' up 
 the street, just as unconsarned as if it 
 warn't Friday, and a salt-fish dinner a- 
 cookin' ! " 
 "Nora!" 
 
 " It 's the city chap, sure as I 'm born. 
 Turn round and see for yourself, Miss 
 Louise." 
 
 Louise looked. She meant to escape 
 afterward, but destiny was stronger than 
 she. Ralph Matthews was just turning 
 in at the gate, and met her confused 
 glance. He had a pleasant face, with a 
 brown beard, and humorous brown eyes 
 which seemed to take in everything. His 
 manner was so polite that it struck her as 
 sarcastic. His faultless attire forced her 
 own deficiencies still more strongly upon 
 her, and made her shy and constrained. 
 " My aunt is lying down," she said ; " I 
 221
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 will tell her you are here. I cannot take 
 you into the parlor for obvious reasons. 
 My uncle is writing his sermon in the 
 study. There is the dining-room," she 
 continued meditatively, " but the chil- 
 dren are painting there." 
 
 " Mayn't I stay and help dust the furni- 
 ture ? " he inquired, seating himself tran- 
 quilly on the piano stool. 
 
 " Louise," called her aunt anxiously, 
 at the head of the stairs, " Tommy has 
 just had a frightful bump on his forehead. 
 Could you Why, Mr. Matthews ! I 
 know it must be Mr. Matthews, for you 
 look so much like your poor dear father. 
 How do you do? Louise, take him into 
 the study directly. How could you be so 
 thoughtless as to let him stay here ? " 
 and she descended the stairs full of apolo- 
 gies. 
 
 Mrs. Henderson took possession of her 
 old acquaintance willy-nilly, and carried 
 him off to the study. " Henry," she said, 
 " here is a dear old friend of mine 
 Ralph Matthews. It was so kind of him 
 to come to this out-of-the-way spot to see 
 me again." 
 
 222
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 Mr. Henderson looked up from his ser- 
 mon with the dazed air of a man who is 
 in the full swing of inspiration. For a 
 moment he hovered helplessly between 
 two worlds, the next he descended re- 
 gretfully to this one. " I am glad to see 
 you," he said, taking off his old-sighted 
 glasses. He had charming manners as 
 soon as he had recovered himself ; their 
 gentleness was a distinction in itself, and 
 assorted well with his gray hair and fine 
 blue eyes. 
 
 " I am delighted to see you," young 
 Matthews returned cordially. 
 
 Mr. Henderson gave one more regretful 
 look at his sermon, the sheets of which 
 were spread about in confusion on his 
 table, together with a pile of unanswered 
 letters. Books were there too, both 
 opened and unopened ; in fact, there were 
 books in every available nook in the room. 
 The very windows seemed an impertinent 
 interruption, for both the space above 
 and below them was utilized by book 
 shelves. 
 
 " I am interrupting you," Ralph Mat- 
 thews said. " Miss Henderson will take 
 223
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 good care of me, I know, until you are at 
 leisure." 
 
 " No," protested Mrs. Henderson ; 
 " you must stay here at present, for 
 Louise and I are such busy people. Mr. 
 Henderson will work all the better after- 
 ward for a little rest." 
 
 " Louise," she said, when she rejoined 
 her niece, " it is quarter past twelve. We 
 shall have to put dinner off until two 
 o'clock, and suppress the salt fish ; it is 
 too countrified. You will have to run 
 downtown and get some steak or chops. 
 Chops breaded, with tomato sauce, will 
 be the best. We have n't a can of toma- 
 toes in the house. If they can't send the 
 things up directly, you must bring them ; 
 and get a bottle of salad oil too ; we used 
 the last on Saturday, when I was so sure 
 Mr. Matthews would come." 
 
 Louise slowly divested herself of her 
 apron and sweeping-cap, and went to the 
 closet for her hat. 
 
 " Get a head of lettuce too," said her 
 
 aunt " two heads if they are small. 
 
 You will have plenty of time to make a 
 
 salad dressing. We shall need two cans 
 
 224
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 of tomatoes ; we will have inock bisque 
 soup. It is a mercy one can always fall 
 back upon. that in an emergency." 
 
 Louise put on her broad-brimmed hat, 
 trimmed with white mull. 
 
 " Will you take Polly with you ? " called 
 her aunt. " She is so fretful, and she will 
 be company for you, and I have my hands 
 full with Tommy ; poor boy, I had for- 
 gotten all about his bump." 
 
 Little f our - year - old Polly clung de- 
 lightedly to her cousin's hand, and the 
 two stepped out into the fragrant sun- 
 shine. Visions of another companion, and 
 a walk in the woods beyond the meadows, 
 had been hovering vaguely in Louise's 
 mind, but she resigned herself cheerfully 
 to the inevitable, as was her habit. Polly 
 walked slowly, and the way was long. 
 She wanted a "drink of water" so per- 
 sistently that they stopped at last at a 
 neighbor's to get it. Then she wanted 
 another, because that other " drink of 
 water" was so good that it made her 
 more thirsty. 
 
 When they started to go home she was 
 made proud and happy by being allowed 
 225
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 to carry one of the cans of tomatoes. 
 She dropped it only three times on the 
 way back. They met several of the neigh- 
 bors, who all knew that Mr. Matthews had 
 arrived, and sympathized with Louise. 
 
 " To think that he should have come on 
 a Friday ! " exclaimed Mrs. Osgood. " I 
 will send you over some of my orange 
 cake ; I made it yesterday ; and we have 
 plenty of cream, if your aunt would like 
 some." 
 
 Mrs. Trumbull offered to exchange her 
 roast of beef for the salt fish. 
 
 "You are very kind," said Louise, " but 
 I have some chops here in this bundle, and 
 there is time to cook them." 
 
 Louise was so heated by her walk that 
 a cool seat in the china closet, with the 
 salad dressing for a companion, was lux- 
 ury in comparison. 
 
 Johnny came presently and looked in 
 at the window. He had been hindering 
 the men in the hayfield all the morning, 
 under the impression that he was helping 
 them. " Hullo ! " he cried ; " what are you 
 doing?" 
 
 " Making a salad dressing." 
 226
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " Because Mr. Matthews is going to be 
 here to dinner." 
 
 "TheF. C.?" 
 
 " Don't call names, Johnny." 
 
 "I suppose you aren't going to have 
 salt fish for dinner ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " How bully ! Wish he 'd come every 
 
 Friday." 
 " I don't." 
 
 " I say, cousin Louise," Johnny asked 
 persuasively, " could you mend a fellow's 
 jacket ? I tore it on the hay cart." 
 " I can't possibly mend it." 
 " But it's mostly all hole. I 'm afraid 
 the F. C. would n't approve of it." 
 " Put on your other jacket, then." 
 " You forget, cousin Louise, the other 
 one has gone up the spout." 
 
 "Go to bed, then," she said desper- 
 ately. 
 
 "But, cousin Louise, I want to see 
 the F. C. Please, please do mend my 
 jacket." 
 
 " I will, if I have time, Johnny," his 
 cousin returned patiently. She had time ; 
 227
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 she always did have time for everything, 
 and as a reward she was given more and 
 more of the work of the household. She 
 did not mind generally, for she was young 
 and strong and very fond of the children, 
 who thought her a "trump," only she 
 had wistfully hoped that she might have 
 a holiday when Ralph Matthews came to 
 East Bradfield. However, it did not mat- 
 ter, she said to herself, as he had evidently 
 come to see her uncle and aunt. She re- 
 peated this phrase over and over to her- 
 self throughout dinner. He was placed 
 at her aunt's right hand, and she was on 
 the opposite side of the table. 
 
 The children were very good through- 
 out the first course. They were awed by 
 the presence of the stranger, who, how- 
 ever, talked so charmingly that by the 
 second course they found there was no- 
 thing awe-inspiring in him, after all. 
 Consequently they grew confidential. 
 
 " We don't have chops and tomato 
 sauce every Friday," Grace remarked 
 sweetly. 
 
 " Grace, you must n't say such things," 
 said her sister Susie in a loud whisper. 
 228
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 " We 're going to have salad presently," 
 Johnny added. " I 'm real glad you came," 
 he continued sociably. " I asked cousin 
 Louise if she did n't wish you 'd come 
 every Friday, and she said 'no.'" 
 
 "Johnny," said his mother, in horri- 
 fied accents, " you must not tell such sto- 
 ries." 
 
 " But it is n't a story ; it 's true. Ask 
 cousin Louise. I suppose it's because 
 she had so much trouble making the salad 
 dressing." 
 
 Poor Louise was the color of a peony. 
 She was too disturbed to laugh, and could 
 not even speak ; her tongue seemed to 
 cleave to the roof of her mouth. There 
 was an awful pause for a moment. 
 
 Mr. Matthews broke it at last. " You 
 were speaking of the village mir in Rus- 
 sia," he observed, turning to his host ; " it 
 is curious the way in which that relic of 
 the Middle Ages has survived all these 
 years." 
 
 " How clever he is ! " thought Louise, 
 
 who had never heard of the village mir in 
 
 Russia ; " and how eloquent and eager he 
 
 has made my uncle ! He has the power 
 
 229
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 of drawing every one out. I was a fool 
 to fancy he liked me particularly. He 
 could never care for such an ignoramus, 
 and it is just as well that he should see 
 me in my true colors now." 
 
 Louise's aunt sat erect at the head of 
 the table, serene in the consciousness that 
 her dinner was most appetizing. It was 
 unfortunate that the children should have 
 made those malapropos remarks ; but at 
 least Mr. Matthews would see that if they 
 did not have such dainty meals every day, 
 they knew how things should be done. 
 The bisque soup was delicious, the chops 
 cooked to a turn, and the salad a dream 
 of delight. There was a long pause 
 after this course, during which Mrs. Hen- 
 derson nervously wondered what had hap- 
 pened to Mrs. Osgood's orange cake, and 
 whether Nora was waiting to pick the 
 raspberries. 
 
 At last the recreant maid appeared, 
 bearing a huge pie, which she placed 
 solemnly before her mistress, who looked 
 at it in speechless wonder. Where did it 
 come from, and what were its contents ? 
 Could anything show greater vulgarity of 
 230
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 breeding than this unexpected but all too 
 substantial apparition? Before she had 
 recovered from her surprise, Nora placed 
 a large ham in front of Mr. Henderson. 
 It was all clear to poor Mrs. Henderson 
 now. The neighbors, in the kindness of 
 their hearts, had sent over these supple- 
 ments to the feast, and Nora, knowing 
 that her mistress was ambitious to have 
 many courses, had brought them in on her 
 own responsibility. 
 
 Mrs. Henderson, who never was able 
 to turn things off with a joke, asked her 
 guest if he would have some meat pie, 
 with the feelings of a criminal at the 
 stake. 
 
 " It 's veal pie," cried Tommy. " We 've 
 killed the fatted calf sure this time." 
 
 To add to her confusion, her husband 
 glanced across at her, and said, " Did you 
 mean to have this ham cut, Mary ? " 
 
 After they had partaken of the rasp- 
 berries and coffee, Mrs. Henderson was 
 about to rise from the table, when Nora 
 came to her with a warning shake of the 
 head. 
 
 " Not yet," she said in a loud whisper ; 
 231
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 " there 's two more courses a-settin' in the 
 pantry." 
 
 "Oh, golly! Let's have 'em both," 
 cried Johnny. 
 
 Mrs. Henderson ignored the observa- 
 tions of her maid and her son. She drew 
 her small figure up to its full height, and 
 looked almost majestic. 
 
 " I think perhaps we shall find it plea- 
 santer in the other room," she said, with 
 all the grace and dignity at her com- 
 mand. 
 
 " It is four o'clock," said her husband, 
 taking out his watch. " How the after- 
 noon has gone ! " 
 
 " Only an hour and a half before Mr. 
 Matthews's train leaves," thought Louise. 
 
 The Hendersons' parlor, to which they 
 adjourned, was a quaint room, with the 
 atmosphere of a former generation lin- 
 gering about its carved chairs and claw- 
 footed tables. The green carpet, with its 
 huge bunches of gay flowers, had been 
 somewhat softened by Persian rugs, but 
 the stiff portraits which looked down on 
 one from the walls, and the square six- 
 octaved piano remained uncompromis- 
 232
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 ingly old fashioned. There were vases 
 and bowls of roses on the tables and 
 piano, and a general fragrance as if the 
 room were a rose garden. 
 
 Louise ensconced herself on the sofa 
 behind a table, with a child on either side 
 of her, and, having fortified herself in this 
 impregnable position, she wondered that 
 Ralph Matthews did not come and talk to 
 her. 
 
 " Louise," said her aunt at last, " I wish 
 you would sing something." 
 
 " Yes," assented her uncle ; " ' Duke 
 Street,' or ' Come, ye disconsolate.' " 
 
 " Oh, not hymn tunes on a week day, 
 uncle Henry ; I should feel positively 
 sacrilegious." 
 
 As Louise struck the first chords of 
 "Ye banks and braes of Bonny Doon," 
 she nervously realized how much the 
 piano was out of tune, and the thin, poor 
 quality of the notes. In the presence of 
 this stranger, who lived on terms of inti- 
 macy with grand pianos, her much-loved 
 instrument shrank into insignificance. 
 
 She did not know how charming she 
 looked in her lilac gown, with the huge 
 233
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 bowl of white roses at her right, and the 
 light from the window at her left faintly 
 struggling through the half-closed blinds. 
 Everything was complete about Louise, 
 from her pretty head, with its smooth 
 brown hair, to her trim little figure in the 
 simple but scrupulously neat dress. There 
 were many girls far more beautiful than 
 she, but of her kind she was perfect, and 
 one no more thought of finding fault with 
 her lack of color, or with the shape of 
 her mouth, than of quarreling with the 
 violet for being of a different color and 
 shape from the rose. One might prefer 
 roses, but that was a different matter. 
 
 "Now surely, surely he will come to 
 the piano and turn my music for me," she 
 thought. 
 
 At this moment a stout person of forty 
 or thereabouts, dressed in an attempt at a 
 tea gown of variegated colors, and adorned 
 with scarlet bows, came into the room, 
 bristling with self-importance. She was 
 introduced to Mr. Matthews as Miss 
 Wiley. 
 
 " I have come to play some duets with 
 you, Louise love, as soon as I can recover 
 234
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 my breath," she announced. She seated 
 herself in a rocking-chair, and rocked 
 back and forth vigorously, plying a fan 
 with energy. 
 
 "Miss Wiley is the organist at our 
 church," Mr. Henderson explained to his 
 guest. 
 
 " Are you a musician, Mr. Matthews ? " 
 she inquired. " If so, I know you will 
 find these duets very enjoyable. I am 
 trying to inspire my dear Louise with a 
 love for Wagner " (she gave the composer 
 the full benefit of his W^). " If you was 
 with her long enough, you would find she 
 has not yet a feelin' sense of the scope, 
 aim, and rhythmic beauty of that ' great 
 master of the music of the future.' She 
 came back from New York quite fatigued 
 by him." 
 
 Poor Louise ! Mr. Matthews had taken 
 her and her cousin to hear Rheingold, and 
 although she had not cared for the music, 
 she had never in all her life passed four 
 happier hours. Would he think she had 
 been bored all that time ? She looked at 
 him furtively, but he had turned to speak 
 to her aunt, and did not see her wistful 
 235
 
 glance. It was hard to have to spend her 
 holiday afternoon in playing duets with 
 Miss Wiley, whom she could barely toler- 
 ate at the best of times, and who seemed 
 bent upon proving her intimacy in the 
 household, calling her " dear Louise," and 
 " my sweet friend," as if they were of the 
 same age, and had been playmates from 
 infancy. Miss Wiley always drowned 
 Louise's treble with her bass, but on this 
 particular afternoon she played louder 
 than ever before, as if to impress the Hen- 
 dersons' guest with a sense of her musical 
 prowess. 
 
 At length Louise heard her uncle say 
 in a low tone, "Matthews, if the ladies 
 will excuse us, perhaps you would like to 
 take that walk I told you of, across the 
 meadows to the woods ? " 
 
 " Perhaps Miss Louise " she could 
 only distinguish these words in her 
 friend's reply, but they made her heart 
 beat quicker. 
 
 " I think not," said her uncle, glancing 
 toward the piano ; " she has taken the 
 walk so many times, and it is such a hot 
 day." 
 
 236
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 Then Louise took a bold step. She left 
 her companion precipitately in the middle 
 of a duet, and said hurriedly : " I should 
 like very much to go to the woods with 
 you, uncle Henry, if Miss Wiley will ex- 
 cuse me. I want to get some ferns and 
 see the sorrel, if it is out." 
 
 " Dear child, we can get the ferns and 
 sorrel for you," said her uncle. " Do not 
 think it necessary to take that long, hot 
 walk just for that." 
 
 "I should like to go," she repeated. 
 
 " Perhaps Miss Wiley will riome too," 
 said her hospitable uncle. By an unusual 
 stroke of luck, however, the cool parlor 
 proved a more alluring place to the organ- 
 ist, who preferred to stay behind with 
 Mrs. Henderson. 
 
 As they were all three going out of the 
 gate, Grace and Susie came tearing after 
 them, and begged to be allowed to go too. 
 Their father gave each of them a hand, 
 for which Louise blessed him, and she 
 walked on ahead with Mr. Matthews. 
 
 Now that the moment had actually come 
 for which she had longed all day, an ac- 
 cess of shyness seized her which made it 
 237
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 impossible to frame sentences of more 
 than six words. 
 
 " What a charming man your uncle 
 is ! " Ralph Matthews began. 
 
 " Yes, indeed." 
 
 " And this town is such a delightfully 
 quaint, primitive place." 
 
 In her present sensitive state of mind 
 these words jarred on her. 
 
 " Primitive ! How unkind of him ! " 
 she thought. " He thinks us primitive 
 because we had veal pie and ham after 
 lettuce. We are primitive because we 
 have a six-octaved piano, and an organist 
 who cannot speak the English language 
 correctly. My uncle is 'primitive,' my 
 aunt is ' primitive,' and I I am ' primi- 
 tive.' ' She could scarcely keep back the 
 tears. " It is a pretty place," she returned 
 coldly. 
 
 " Miss Louise," he began abruptly, 
 " have I offended you in any way ? " 
 
 " Oh, no." 
 
 " You are not as kind to me as you used 
 to be. Is there a reason for it ? " 
 
 " I am kind enough," said Louise ; 
 " but it is such a hot day." 
 238
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 She was as amazed to hear these words 
 as if they had been uttered by another 
 person. They had crossed the road by 
 this time, and were going into the fields 
 behind the Osgoods' house. At this mo- 
 ment Lilian Osgood came out sociably 
 to meet them. She was charmingly 
 pretty, by far the prettiest girl in East 
 Bradfield. 
 
 To-day she wore a most becoming white 
 gown. Her yellow hair rippled about her 
 face, and her pink cheeks had the bloom 
 of a peach. Louise thought she looked 
 like a tall white lily. She caught an 
 involuntary expression of admiration on 
 Ralph Matthews's face. 
 
 " It is all over with me," she thought. 
 
 Of course Lilian would go to walk 
 with them ; there was nothing she would 
 like better. She spread her red sunshade, 
 which made her more picturesque than 
 ever, and in another moment Louise found 
 herself with her uncle and the children, 
 while Lilian and Ralph walked off to- 
 gether across the fields, a bright patch of 
 red and white and a dark patch of black 
 against the newly mown grass. Lilian 
 239
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 chatted on merrily, and she could hear 
 Ralph laugh from time to time. 
 
 " How much he likes her ! " she thought. 
 Before they had reached the first stone 
 wall she had pictured the engagement of 
 these two, that she might be prepared for 
 anything, and fortify herself in time ; 
 when they entered the woods she had got 
 as far as the wedding ; and by the time 
 they had come to the brook she had decided 
 that she would be bridemaid if Lilian 
 asked her, and hold her head so straight 
 and stiff that no one would ever ima- 
 gine What ? Nonsense ! She did not 
 care for Ralph Matthews. She did not 
 like his luxurious life ; its forms and cere- 
 monies frightened her. She was hope- 
 lessly plebeian, provincial, primitive. 
 
 The slender, white-stemmed birches, 
 with their pale-green leaves, drooped over 
 the brook, and the solemn pines and hem- 
 locks represented the other extreme in the 
 scale of color. There was every possible 
 gradation of green between the two. The 
 brook hurried on over the impeding stones, 
 breaking into a golden brown in the sun- 
 light, and changing to a deeper brown in 
 240
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 the shadow, and Louise, who was usually 
 keenly alive to all these things, saw none 
 of them now. Her eyes were fastened on 
 a man with laughing brown eyes, who was 
 talking in an animated manner to a fasci- 
 nating girl. 
 
 Lilian had closed her sunshade, and the 
 light sifted through the trees and shone on 
 her yellow hair. It had evidently caught 
 on some envious branch, for it was all in 
 a pretty fluff, and several charming little 
 curls had escaped their bounds. She was 
 standing helplessly before the log which 
 formed a bridge across the brook, with 
 one foot in its dainty red shoe placed on 
 the edge, while Ralph, with an air of devo- 
 tion, was holding out his hand and urging 
 her to let him help her. 
 
 " How absurd ! " thought Louise sharply. 
 " She has a perfectly steady head. She 
 is no more afraid of that log than I am." 
 
 When it came her own turn to cross, 
 Ralph was waiting to proffer his services. 
 
 " May I help you ? " he asked. 
 
 " No, thank you," she returned with 
 dignity ; "I can get on by myself per- 
 fectly well." 
 
 241
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 So could Grace and Susie. They 
 preferred to go over "all by their own 
 selves." 
 
 Louise had waited to urge them to let 
 her carry them across, for their father had 
 stopped to speak to the haymakers. Lilian 
 and Ralph were by this time lost to view 
 in the tangle of underbrush. She walked 
 on slowly, absorbed in her meditations. 
 Suddenly she heard a splash, and turned 
 to see Susie sitting in the middle, of the 
 brook with frightened eyes. 
 
 " Cousin Louise," she cried, " I 'm most 
 dead. Take me out ; but the, log was so 
 slippery" 
 
 There was nothing to be done but to 
 get Susie home as quickly as possible. 
 
 While Louise was changing her cousin's 
 wet garments her reflections were most 
 bitter. She had never known before how 
 much wretchedness a commonplace day 
 could hold within the limits of its brief 
 hours. While she was still occupied with 
 her little cousin, she heard Ralph Mat- 
 thews's voice. He was saying civil things 
 to her uncle and aunt. It was almost 
 time for his train to go. 
 242
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 " Louise," called Mrs. Henderson, 
 " can't you come down and bid our friend 
 good-by?" 
 
 Susie was shivering, and Louise did not 
 dare to leave her. She put her into her 
 dress with nervous haste ; her fingers trem- 
 bled with excitement. She must see him 
 before he went. 
 
 " In one moment, aunt Mary," she 
 replied, but when that moment came he 
 was gone. She was just in time to see 
 him whisked out of sight in a basket 
 phaeton, with Lilian Osgood by his side, 
 driving her white pony with her accus- 
 tomed grace. He was holding the red 
 sunshade over her, and bending toward 
 her, to say something which made her 
 laugh. 
 
 That night Louise watched the sun set 
 in a pink mist of clouds. The haycocks 
 were all covered with their white night- 
 caps, the men were returning from their 
 work. Some oxen and a load of hay 
 passed slowly along the road. It was 
 very peaceful and rural, " primitive," she 
 thought " primitive." She had a dull 
 sense that the sun would continue to rise 
 243
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 and shine and go down 011 this same tran- 
 quil scene for many long days in many 
 long years for her. 
 
 To be miserable was a new feeling for 
 Louise. She had one ray of hope. Per- 
 haps, after all, she was mistaken, and 
 Ralph did care for her. Possibly in those 
 hours that he had spent with her uncle he 
 had said something about his feeling for 
 her. 
 
 " What did you and Mr. Matthews talk 
 about, uncle Henry ? " she asked shyly. 
 
 " Politics ; he is on the right side. An 
 excellent young man, with the best of prin- 
 ciples. I have only one fault to find with 
 him, and that is, he smokes. To be sure, 
 he is on the wrong side with regard to the 
 Prohibition Amendment, but he seems as 
 anxious to stop the increase of intemper- 
 ance as I am. We are all traveling on 
 different roads, Louise, but we bring up 
 at the same place at last." 
 
 " You dear thing," cried Louise, fling- 
 ing her arms about his neck, " I wonder 
 if you half realize how nice you are ! a 
 great deal nicer than any other man that 
 I know." 
 
 244
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 Her uncle gave her a pleased, bewil- 
 dered glance. He could not see the con- 
 nection between his speech and its effect. 
 
 " Tea is ready," said her aunt, coming 
 to the door. " It is literally tea to-night, 
 tea and crackers. I knew you would 
 not be hungry, and we shall have to econ- 
 omize on our teas, and devote ourselves to 
 eating up the remnants at dinner-time. 
 They will last a week at least. That stu- 
 pid Nora ! However, the day went off very 
 well ; the dinner was not all that I could 
 wish " 
 
 " Or rather it was a little more than you 
 could wish," put in Louise. 
 
 " And it did seem as if Christine Wiley 
 brought out every bit of discord there was 
 in our old piano ; but the end of the after- 
 noon made up for everything, for Ralph 
 seems to have taken a great fancy to 
 Lilian. I hope something will come of it. 
 Nothing could be more suitable. They are 
 both young, rich, and handsome, and she 
 has always disliked East Bradfield. She 
 is going to the mountains next week ; per- 
 haps they will meet there. Yes, on the 
 whole, the day has been a success, al- 
 245
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 though of course it would have been more 
 gratifying if Ralph had not seen so obvi- 
 ously that we had ' killed the fatted calf ' 
 for him. I hope you are not as tired as I 
 am, dear child, and that you have had a 
 happy day." 
 
 Two evenings later, as Louise was 
 again watching the sun go down, with the 
 same sense of exasperation at its methodi- 
 cal clinging to its old ways when her 
 world was so changed, Johnny brought 
 her a letter. 
 
 "It is from Ralph Matthews," she 
 thought. " He has had the grace to 
 write and let us know of his safe ar- 
 rival." 
 
 She tore open the envelope and hastily 
 examined the contents. She read as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 " MY DEAR Miss HENDERSON, If 
 you purposely avoided me at every turn 
 yesterday ; if you knew, as how could you 
 help knowing, why I came to East Brad- 
 field, and would not give me a chance to 
 say what I was burning to say, you need 
 not answer this letter. If, on the con- 
 246
 
 THE FATTED CALF 
 
 trary, as I am bold enough at times to 
 think, your coldness and seeming- indiffer- 
 ence were the result of circumstances, I 
 will come again, and say it all, on my way 
 back. But I will not come, Louise, unless 
 I can come as your acknowledged lover. 
 I will not be balked again at every turn by 
 children, old maids, kind matrons, delight- 
 ful elderly gentlemen, and pretty, flirta- 
 tious girls ; I will not come unless " 
 
 The rest of the letter brought a vivid 
 blush to Louise's cheeks, and made her 
 laugh and cry at once. 
 
 She sat up far into the night, composing 
 a reply. It was six pages long. Then 
 she tore it up, and began again ; there was 
 no need of expressing her whole heart in 
 this ardent fashion. She wrote a shorter 
 letter that pleased her no better, and then 
 a still shorter one, and when she had 
 finally struck out all that was unnecessary 
 from her answer, only these four words 
 were left : 
 
 " You may come. LOUISE." 
 
 247
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 Miss RUTH PENNELL stood before the 
 looking-glass that hung above her mahog- 
 any bureau, tying on her black straw bon- 
 net. It had seen five summers' wear ; but 
 as Miss Pennell glanced at the gray hair 
 it sheltered, she reflected, with a smile, that 
 five years is not so great an age for a 
 bonnet as is sixty-five for a woman. The 
 mirror, in a frame of twisted gilt columns, 
 with a life-size bunch of grapes across the 
 top, was very old indeed, even for a mir- 
 ror, and Miss Pennell envied it the power 
 of keeping its good looks. She thought 
 it a little unkind that when the lustre of 
 the glass was as undimmed as in a former 
 century, it should reflect so relentlessly 
 the changes that time had brought its 
 owner. 
 
 " How much I am growing to look like 
 mother ! " Miss Ruth said, as she caught 
 a glimpse of her profile ; then she remem- 
 248
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 bered with something of a shock that she 
 was nearly seventeen years older than her 
 mother had been when she died. To be 
 almost old enough to be one's own mo- 
 ther's mother is a little confusing ; not 
 that Miss Pennell objected to growing 
 old, and indeed sixty-five seems almost 
 like youth when compared with eighty- 
 five, or even seventy-five ; everything de- 
 pends upon the point of view. To-day, 
 however, Miss Ruth found it in her heart 
 to wish for once that she and her bonnet 
 were a little younger, for she had in pro- 
 spect a two miles' walk to the village, 
 whither she had been summoned to an 
 afternoon tea given in honor of George 
 Armitage, the author. Once she had 
 hoped to be a great author herself, but 
 that was long ago, when the mirror had 
 been kinder to her than it was now, but 
 life had been harder. 
 
 " After all, there are compensations in 
 outgrowing one's illusions," she thought. 
 " For if life is not such a triumphal pro- 
 gress as we fancy it will be when we are 
 young, it is far broader and sweeter." 
 
 One of the things that made it so satis- 
 249
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 fying was the fact that across the continent 
 a family of children were growing up 
 who called her " aunt Ruth," incredible 
 thought ! It seemed so short a time since 
 she was " Ruth " to every one, and other 
 people, grave, dignified, elderly ladies in 
 white caps, were "aunt" to her. At this 
 point in her reflections she opened the 
 upper drawer in her bureau and took 
 out a pair of gray undressed kid gloves. 
 They were a present that she had received 
 on her last birthday, from her niece .Ruth, 
 and had come all the way from Illinois. 
 She stroked them lovingly, for she was 
 very fond of this niece, but she felt a lit- 
 tle ashamed that she should take so much 
 pleasure in the fact that they had five 
 buttons. 
 
 " I believe I shall never grow old prop- 
 erly," she said. " I am afraid I am still 
 a child at heart." 
 
 Miss Ruth slipped the gloves into her 
 pocket to be worn later when she should 
 reach the tea, and thriftily put on a pair 
 of gray cotton ones. She locked the door 
 and hid the key under the door-mat, that 
 Harriet, her rosy-cheeked little maid-of- 
 250
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 all-work, might find it there when she 
 came home from school. She then started 
 on her dusty walk to the village, holding 
 up her gown carefully and thinking no 
 more of the trials of the way, but turning 
 her attention to the glories of the autumn 
 foliage. She looked across the narrow 
 green valley to the mountains which 
 hemmed it in on either side, now all 
 ablaze with glowing reds and yellows, 
 against a background of dark green pines 
 and hemlocks, and as she drew in a long 
 breath of the bracing air she felt a keen 
 delight in mere existence. It would have 
 been joy enough simply to take a walk to 
 the village on such an afternoon, but when 
 she added the pleasure of seeing the au- 
 thor of " A New Hampshire Hillside," her 
 cup of happiness was almost too full. She 
 thought of her two little stories, and the 
 few verses that had been published in a 
 country newspaper long ago, and of her 
 later poems that had been passed about in 
 manuscript from neighbor to neighbor. 
 If the composing of her simple verses had 
 brought her so close to nature that the 
 mere act of living became a daily joy, 
 251
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 what would it be to have such keen sym- 
 pathy with both nature and human nature 
 as to be able to move thousands to tears 
 and laughter? 
 
 She passed tidy white farmhouses with 
 a golden wealth of pumpkins in the side 
 yards, and strings of dried apples hanging 
 in graceful festoons from the piazzas, and 
 other farms over which she was obliged to 
 shake her head in sorrowful disapproval, 
 where the farmer's wife was " slack," and 
 the apples were left in a disorderly heap. 
 At last she reached the village and passed 
 the brown church with the picturesque 
 belfry, and the large summer hotel be- 
 yond it on the other side of the road. 
 Another half mile brought her to the 
 pleasant yellow house on the hill where 
 George Armitage was entertained. She 
 felt a little like a shy child, when she 
 saw three grand carriages at the door 
 that must have come all the way from the 
 summer hotels at Jackson, for the inmates 
 of the yellow house were city people, who 
 belonged to Miss Ruth's world merely for 
 three months in the year. She was trou- 
 bled only for a moment, however. 
 252
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 " Mrs. Warren would n't have asked 
 me if she had n't wanted me to come," was 
 her cheerful reflection, as she stepped into 
 the square hall, with its polished oak floor 
 and the large fireplace where a bright fire 
 was blazing. The parlor was already full 
 of guests who had come from far and near 
 to get a glimpse of the great author. Miss 
 Ruth stood in the doorway, letting her eyes 
 wander from one face to another in the 
 vain attempt to find a countenance that 
 promised remarkable things. She had 
 just made up her mind that the distin- 
 guished visitor had not arrived when her 
 attention was caught by a cluster of ladies 
 who had crowded around a tall, broad- 
 shouldered young man. Could it be that 
 this strong, athletic fellow, who seemed a 
 mere boy in her eyes, was George Armi- 
 tage ? He was no more impressive than 
 her nephew Tom. Indeed, he reminded 
 her strongly of that dear but most unhe- 
 roic individual. He had the same dark 
 eyes and hair, and when he smiled his 
 face lighted up in the same pleasant 
 fashion. 
 
 At this point her hostess, resplendent 
 253
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 in black satin and jet, came forward to 
 meet her. 
 
 " Dear Miss Pennell, how good of you 
 to come all this way," she said cordially. 
 " I want to present you to Mr. Armitage, 
 for I know how much you like his book." 
 
 Miss Pennell shrank back as she 
 glanced at the group of graceful girls 
 in their pale pink and blue and white 
 gowns. 
 
 " Don't introduce me, please," she said 
 timidly. " He won't care to talk to an old 
 woman like me when there are so many 
 pretty young ladies here." 
 
 The attention of the hostess was dis- 
 tracted at this moment by the entrance of 
 another guest, and Miss Ruth stepped up 
 to the outskirts of the body guard that 
 surrounded George Armitage. She was 
 pushed close to him by a gayly dressed 
 girl who elbowed her way through the 
 crowd. The young lady had an affected 
 manner, and as she shook hands with Mr. 
 Armitage she remarked with effusion, " I 
 want you to know that I was one of the 
 first worshipers at the shrine of " A New 
 Hampshire Hillside." 
 254
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 Miss Ruth could not help smiling, and 
 at the same instant the young man looked 
 up, and as his eyes met hers lie smiled 
 too. 
 
 That glance made her feel as if he were 
 an old friend. " He is full of fun, like 
 Tom," she thought. 
 
 Presently a member of the church sew- 
 ing-circle, a bustling, elderly lady pos- 
 sessed of a kind heart but little tact, was 
 struck with what she conceived to be Miss 
 Pennell's forlorn position on the outskirts 
 of Paradise. 
 
 " I am sure two authors ought to know 
 each other," she said in a high, strident 
 voice. " Mr. Armitage, let me make you 
 acquainted with Miss Pennell. She is our 
 poetess, although she may be too modest 
 to mention it." 
 
 " I am very glad to meet a colleague," 
 he returned with a friendly smile. 
 
 " And I am very glad to meet you be- 
 cause you look so much like my nephew 
 Tom." 
 
 " Do I ? How jolly ! I hope he is a 
 nice fellow." 
 
 " He is perfectly delightful." 
 255
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 " He is handsome, I trust," he inquired 
 after one or two more questions. 
 
 " As I am his aunt, of course I am 
 bound to say that he is handsomer than 
 you are," Miss Ruth replied audaciously, 
 for the spirit of mischief had seized her, 
 and it almost seemed as if the veritable 
 Torn were standing before her. " But 
 there is a wonderful likeness," she ad- 
 mitted. 
 
 The gayly dressed girl with the affected 
 manner stared at Miss Pennell with un- 
 affected astonishment. And then a re- 
 markable thing happened ; so marvelous 
 indeed that Miss Pennell could scarcely 
 credit her senses. The great author, who 
 had written a book that had moved thou- 
 sands to tears and laughter, turned from 
 the group of brilliant, gayly dressed girls, 
 and his whole interest centred on the gray- 
 haired old woman in the shabby bonnet. 
 One of the elements of his power was an 
 eye that could look beneath all outer dis- 
 guises to the soul itself ; and he had also 
 the gift of quick sympathy and the ready 
 tact that set the humblest interlocutor at 
 ease. He asked Miss Pennell about her 
 256
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 nephew and her home, and finally it hap- 
 pened, she could hardly tell how, that he 
 invited himself to come and drink a cup 
 of tea with her on the following after- 
 noon. 
 
 " You must n't talk to me any more," 
 she said, after the invitation had been 
 asked for and received. " There are ever so 
 many people here who have not seen you 
 yet, and some of them have come all the 
 way from the summer hotels at Jackson." 
 
 " Hang Jackson ! " he exclaimed under 
 his breath, and Miss Pennell thought him 
 more like Tom than ever. 
 
 She moved away relentlessly notwith- 
 standing, and began to talk to some of the 
 members of her church. She was a favor- 
 ite with them all, although most of her 
 friends wished heartily that she would buy 
 a new bonnet. But the bonnet for some 
 reason seemed particularly suited to her 
 this afternoon, and Miss Ruth was unusu- 
 ally charming, for there is nothing so be- 
 coming as happiness. She heartily enjoyed 
 the occasion from beginning to end. It 
 was the first time that she had been to a 
 reception, and she could never understand 
 257
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 afterwards why some people called them 
 tiresome, for she thought this one even 
 pleasanter than the church sewing-circle. 
 She was introduced to some of the city 
 people, and she found them as agreeable 
 and as ready to talk as Mr. Armitage, al- 
 though, of course, they could not have 
 quite the same interest for her, as they 
 were not authors. When it was all over 
 she felt that she had never spent a plea- 
 santer afternoon. She walked as far to- 
 wards home as the post-office, where she 
 waited for her neighbor, Deacon Scott, 
 who had promised to drive her back when 
 he came for the mail. 
 
 " I guess you 've had a real good time, 
 for you look kind of smilin','' the deacon 
 observed as he helped her into his wagon. 
 
 " Oh, I Ve had a beautiful time. I only 
 wish your wife had gone too." 
 
 " Wall, Elizy was dretful afraid of doin' 
 the wrong thing. And then she had n't 
 had a new bunnit for most three years, 
 and she didn't like to go in among all 
 them city people in her old duds, and she 
 was afraid if the author saw her he 'd clap 
 her into a book." 
 
 258
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 " She need n't have been afraid of 
 that," said Miss Ruth, with a smile. " He 
 is n't that kind of an author. He is real 
 ' folksy,' and made me think of my nephew 
 Tom." 
 
 " Du tell ! Wall, I never calculated 
 that Tom would be like any author, or 
 any author like Tom. Look a' here, Miss 
 Ruth. You ain't too proud to ride with 
 an old feller like me, are you ? I don't 
 look much like one of your city swells, and 
 a flour-barrel at the back of the wagon is 
 kind of a curious companion for a lady 
 who 's be'n to a reception." 
 
 " Well, I guess when I 'm too proud to 
 ride with my old friends I '11 go over to 
 Jackson and board." 
 
 At this point one of the homeward- 
 bound carriages with its fashionably 
 dressed occupants drove past them. The 
 girls bowed to Miss Ruth in a friendly 
 way, and she returned the salutation with 
 a half-laughing backward glance at the 
 flour-barrel. There is no situation in life 
 that cannot be gracefully met if one has 
 natural ease and a sense of humor. 
 
 When Miss Pennell reached her little 
 259
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 house she entered in and took possession 
 with something of the feeling of a prin- 
 cess in a fairy tale. 
 
 " Tell Eliza to come over as soon as she 
 can," was her parting remark to the dea- 
 con, but Eliza needed no invitation ; she 
 had started to " come over " as soon as she 
 saw the horse's head in the distance. She 
 was a woman who had once been hand- 
 some, but whose face bore the stamp of 
 hard work and depression. 
 
 " You ought to have gone, Eliza," Miss 
 Ruth began at once. 
 
 " Well, as I told the deacon, I had too 
 much pride. I don't mean that you did 
 wrong to go," she hastened to add, " for 
 you 've traveled and been about, and then 
 somehow you always look as if you be- 
 longed wherever you are, just as the flow- 
 ers do, but it 's different with me. I 'm 
 not a flower. I guess I 'm a vegetable, 
 and a very common sort at that. I should 
 have looked like a fool, and I was n't 
 going there to be a show for others to 
 laugh at, and to have 'em say, ' Look at 
 Mrs. Deacon Scott ! Does n't she look 
 as if she 'd come out of the ark ! ' No, I 
 260
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 may be lacking in some things, but I 've 
 a proper pride." 
 
 " But, Eliza, no one thought of laugh- 
 ing. They were all as kind as possible. 
 Several of the sewing-circle were there. 
 We did n't go to be seen, but to see. And 
 Mr. Armitage was so nice. By the way, 
 he is coming here to see me to-morrow 
 afternoon." 
 
 " I want to know ! " 
 
 " He really is. He proposed it himself. 
 And if you would like to meet him," Miss 
 Ruth added generously, "you can come 
 over any time between four and five." 
 
 Mrs. Scott shook her head in a decided 
 way. 
 
 " I can see him all I want to from the 
 window," she remarked. " I don't feel 
 any call to converse with authors ; al- 
 though I should like him to know how I 
 admire his book. You might tell him that 
 Mrs. Deacon Scott sat up until eleven 
 o'clock at night to finish it. Perhaps it 
 would please him to know that." 
 
 " I am sure it would," said Miss Ruth 
 warmly. 
 
 " Now tell me what kind of sleeves the 
 261
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 ladies were wearing," said Mrs. Scott, 
 " and how the house was fixed and what 
 you had to eat." 
 
 When Miss Pennell had satisfied her 
 neighbor on these points Mrs. Scott rose 
 reluctantly. 
 
 " Well, I must go home now and get 
 the deacon's supper," she remarked. "He 
 is n't a mite particular, the deacon, but I 
 do like to give him something hot. It 's 
 as good as a play to hear your account of 
 the reception, Ruth, and a great deal bet- 
 ter than being there myself." 
 
 Miss Ruth, however, could not agree to 
 this, and she was left with a heartache as 
 her friend closed the door. It seemed so 
 sad to think of all the people in the world, 
 who, simply through fault of tempera- 
 ment, missed the happiness that might be 
 theirs. " Perhaps, though," she reflected 
 presently, " Eliza '11 get more pleasure 
 looking at him through the window than 
 she would by seeing him, being the kind 
 she is." It further occurred to her it was 
 even possible that Eliza might be sorry 
 for her sometimes, thinking of her as a 
 lonely old maid. She threw back her 
 262
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 head and laughed merrily at the idea of 
 being pitied for so futile a reason. She 
 glanced around her pleasant room, and 
 had a feeling of pride and satisfaction in 
 her cottage being all her own to do with 
 as she liked. 
 
 Miss Pennell was in a flutter of excite- 
 ment throughout the evening. She could 
 not decide which teacup should have the 
 honor of being at the service of George 
 Armitage, and finally she had to call in 
 the assistance of Harriet, the rosy-cheeked 
 maid. They went together to the corner 
 cupboard where Miss Pennell's best china 
 was set forth in dainty array. 
 
 Harriet at once selected a gay teacup 
 adorned with tiny pink-and-blue parrots 
 sitting under a wonderful bower of rain- 
 bow-colored flowers against a white and 
 gilt background. 
 
 " I like this one best," she announced, 
 with the decision of youth. 
 
 " My brother brought it from China," 
 Miss Pennell explained, " but somehow I 
 have a fancy that Mr. Armitage will pre- 
 fer one of my older cups," and she glanced 
 from the sedate blue Canton china that 
 263
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 had belonged to her father's mother to the 
 fragile white-and-gilt tea-service that could 
 boast an equally long pedigree on the 
 other side of the house. 
 
 " If he 's young he '11 like the bright 
 one best," said Harriet confidently. 
 
 Miss Ruth yielded somewhat doubtfully 
 and found it a comfort to have the impor- 
 tant matter settled. When she was ready 
 to go upstairs for the night she stepped 
 out of doors for a final look at the shad- 
 owy mountains lying vague and mysteri- 
 ous in the moonlight. But, alas ! What 
 had happened to the moon ? 
 
 " Harriet," she said in a subdued voice, 
 " come here a minute." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Euth." 
 
 " Just look at those clouds and tell me 
 what sort of weather we are likely to have 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "I am sure we are going to have a 
 northeaster, ma'am," Harriet answered 
 uncompromisingly. 
 
 Indeed, it was only a few moments be- 
 fore the storm began. A wild night fol- 
 lowed, and whenever Miss Pennell was 
 wakened by a gust more furious than the 
 264
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 last she could hear the swish of the rain 
 against her windows. Her only hope was 
 that the flood-gates would be emptied be- 
 fore the afternoon. The next morning, 
 however, there were no signs of any abate- 
 ment of the storm. Every mountain had 
 vanished, and the world was a monotonous 
 plane swathed in gray mist. The down- 
 pour did not begin to slacken until four 
 o'clock, the hour at which her guest was 
 to have come, and even then it was raining 
 steadily. 
 
 " Well," Miss Pennell thought with a 
 patient little sigh, " I suppose it is n't for 
 me to have so much happiness. Yesterday 
 ought to have been enough. But I should 
 have liked to have him in this room just 
 once ! It would have seemed so much 
 more furnished afterwards; there is no 
 chance of his coming in such a storm, 
 however, and he goes away early to-mor- 
 row morning." 
 
 At twenty minutes past four Miss Ruth 
 resolutely took up a book. " I had better 
 move away from that window and put my 
 mind on other things," she said to herself. 
 " Even if he wanted to come, Mrs. War- 
 265
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 ren wouldn't let him go out in this rain 
 just to see an old woman like me ; and oi 
 course, now I 'm not there, his mind is all 
 taken up with the next person. It 's per- 
 fectly natural, and perhaps he wouldn't 
 have come anyway ; and if it had been 
 pleasant and he hadn't come I should 
 have been dreadfully disappointed, and so 
 the rain may be a blessing in disguise." 
 
 Just then she heard the sound of ap- 
 proaching wheels. " No, I won't be such 
 a fool as to go to the window again. It 
 may be only Deacon Scott driving by." 
 
 A moment later there came a quick ring 
 at the door. "It is probably the deacon 
 or Eliza coming on some errand," she said 
 to herself disingenuously, well knowing 
 that they never rang. 
 
 " Mr. Armitage ! " she exclaimed joy- 
 fully, as she opened the door, " I never 
 expected you in such a storm." 
 
 " Does ' Tom ' mind a trifle of this 
 sort?" 
 
 " Not if he wants to do a thing very 
 much ; when he does n't, I 've known the 
 gentlest kind of shower to keep him at 
 home." 
 
 266
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 " You are right in saying that Tom and 
 I are alike," he acknowledged, with a boy- 
 ish laugh. 
 
 " Give me your mackintosh and um- 
 brella. I hope you won't take cold. I 
 shall never forgive myself if you do. You 
 must come right in and get dry." 
 
 " What a cosy room ! " he said, as he 
 followed her into the parlor. 
 
 A bright fire was burning in the fire- 
 place, flanked by brass andirons and an 
 old-fashioned twisted brass fender. There 
 was a large stand of plants at one of 
 the south windows, and there were photo- 
 graphs, good and bad, against the cheerful 
 yellow walls, and bookshelves filled with 
 well-worn volumes. The room had individ- 
 uality, like its owner, and a certain fresh 
 flavor of the country. 
 
 George Armitage stood with his back 
 to the fire, his tall figure thrown out in 
 strong relief against the ruddy back- 
 ground, and as he talked genially, his 
 eyes rested with pleasure on the sympa- 
 thetic face of his hostess. 
 
 "You are like Tom!" she could not 
 help exclaiming. 
 
 267
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 "You must show me his picture," he 
 entreated, " for I want to have some idea 
 how I look." 
 
 " Mr. Armitage, it is very rash of you 
 to start me on the subject of my nephew, 
 and as for his picture, I have a whole gal- 
 lery of them, beginning when he was a 
 baby and coming down to three years ago. 
 Would you like to see the whole collec- 
 tion ? " she inquired mischievously, " or 
 will a sample do ? " 
 
 " All. Nothing less will satisfy me." 
 
 She brought out her well-filled album 
 and showed him Tom in long clothes, Tom 
 in girl's dresses and in knickerbockers, 
 and so on through a long succession of 
 phases until she came to Tom at twenty- 
 four. After a time they left this engross- 
 ing subject, and discussed photographs in 
 general, and whether they gave a fair im- 
 pression of the individual, and from this 
 they went on to consider how much of the 
 true inwardness of character is shown by 
 a face. 
 
 "There are some people," said Miss 
 Pennell, " who have beautiful natures whose 
 bodies seem a perfect home for their souls, 
 268
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 but there are others who are equally fine 
 whose faces are like ugly masks. Once in 
 a while you get a glimpse of the lovely 
 spirit by means of a rare smile, or a 
 glance from the eyes, but I am always 
 sorry for such people. I feel as if they 
 were like the unfortunate princes in the 
 fairy-tales who have been imprisoned by 
 some malicious spirit. You authors are 
 able to get at the real person, and the rea- 
 son I like ' A New Hampshire Hillside ' 
 is because you show the good there is 
 under a rough exterior, and the happiness 
 that can come into the humblest lives. 
 There, I did not mean to talk to you 
 about your book, for I know you must be 
 very tired of that subject." 
 
 " I am never tired of such praise as 
 yours. But, Miss Pennell, they tell me 
 you write. I want to see what you have 
 done." 
 
 " I only pretend to write. I can't really 
 do it. I had two little stories printed in 
 a newspaper long, long ago, when I was 
 a girl, and five or six poems that are not 
 poems ; but I 've been too wise to try to 
 have them printed lately." 
 269
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 " I should like to see them just the 
 same." 
 
 And so Miss Pennell brought out her 
 old scrap-book, for it was well-nigh impos- 
 sible to refuse this persuasive young man 
 anything he asked. 
 
 " They are very bad," she said, shaking 
 her head. " Once I used to think that I 
 could write, but that was when I was a 
 foolish girl." 
 
 " If they are like you " he began, and 
 then paused. 
 
 They sat there together in friendly si- 
 lence, the man of the world who, young as 
 he was, had already made an enviable 
 reputation, and the woman who had al- 
 ways lived out of the world and had grown 
 old without winning the least shadow of 
 fame. The young man turned the yellow 
 leaves of the scrap-book with a gentle 
 touch, as if he found more there than was 
 legible to the eye. 
 
 At last he looked up. " They are not 
 very good," he said. 
 
 His voice was so friendly, that it took 
 all the sting out of the words. It was if 
 he had said, " You are right, but it does n't 
 270
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 matter. I like you just as much as if you 
 had talent. What we call talent is of very 
 little consequence anyway." 
 
 " I used to care so for it when I was 
 young," she murmured, " but now I don't 
 care at all. I simply enjoy what other 
 people can do. And yet it makes me 
 happy to scribble bad verses, because it 
 teaches me to see nature with new eyes. 
 I am glad I have tried, for failing has 
 taught me to appreciate the best." 
 
 " You seem very happy," he said 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " Yes, I am." 
 
 " Are n't you ever lonely here in win- 
 ter?" 
 
 "No. It is even more beautiful than 
 it is at this season, for the mountains are 
 covered with snow, and so are the pines 
 and hemlocks, and there is such fresh- 
 ness and crispness in the air. Besides, 
 in the winter we have more time to be 
 sociable, and I read a great deal, and I 
 get letters twice a week from my people 
 in Illinois. Then there is July to look 
 forward to when I shall see them 
 again." 
 
 271
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 " Do you never spend the winter with 
 them?" 
 
 " I spent one winter there, but although 
 they were very kind, it is hard to adjust 
 one's self to the ways of other people after 
 living all alone in a whole house ; and 
 Illinois is so flat ; I was homesick for my 
 mountains." 
 
 Mr. Armitage went over to the win- 
 dow, and stood watching the driving mist 
 which was beginning to roll away from 
 the hills. " I don't wonder you like your 
 view," said he. 
 
 " Is n't it grand ? I am so glad it is 
 showing itself to you in part. There is 
 always something new to be seen from 
 these windows. It is like reading an in- 
 teresting book without an end. Do you 
 wonder I am never lonely? And yet I 
 used to be lonely and discontented when I 
 was a girl. I don't think scenery is so 
 satisfying when you are young. It is 
 strange we are so seldom contented when 
 we have the most to enjoy. I am always 
 glad," she added impulsively, "when I 
 come across some one like you who has 
 success and happiness early ; for to have 
 272
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 youth and all the other good gifts to- 
 gether is a beautiful thing." 
 
 His face changed. " I am not happy," 
 he confessed. " I should be very glad if 
 I could enjoy life as you can. Of course 
 I don't mean that I don't get a lot of 
 surface pleasure out of it, but when there 
 is a very hard thing in your life that you 
 have got to bear, nothing else seems any 
 good." 
 
 Miss Pennell was the sort of woman to 
 whom secrets are told, and she knew that 
 a word from her would encourage this 
 young man to give her his whole story, 
 but she had an instinctive shrinking from 
 receiving confidences, and so she merely 
 said, " I am so sorry," and went to summon 
 Harriet to bring in the tea. The young 
 girl came at once, bristling with impor- 
 tance from her long brown braids to her 
 shiny, squeaking new shoes. But, alas for 
 the little maid ! Mr. Armitage sipped his 
 tea not only in utter unconsciousness of 
 her, but likewise of the teacup ! 
 
 " I hope the hard thing in your life can 
 be changed some time," Miss Ruth said 
 softly, after Harriet had left the room. 
 273
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 " There are some things that can never 
 be changed." 
 
 " Yes, I know. There is death ; and 
 sometimes we lose our friends in other 
 ways, which is harder still. But we can 
 change. We can live through things 
 and learn to bear them. Sometimes it 
 seems as if a great tidal wave had swept 
 everything before it, and changed the 
 whole world, but after a time there comes 
 peace. And when we have reached this 
 point, in one way it does n't so much mat- 
 ter what happens to ourselves, for we are so 
 small a part of the great scheme ; and in an- 
 other way we feel that it matters infinitely 
 more, and that we must do our share with- 
 out shirking, to help on the rest. And 
 when we get to be old, we can look back 
 and see how the trials take their part in 
 the whole plan." 
 
 They were both silent for a time after 
 this, for shyness overtook them, and pre- 
 sently Miss Pennell changed the subject 
 and talked of commonplace things. 
 
 "Here comes my carriage," George 
 Armitage said at last. He had resumed 
 his usual cheerful manner, and nodded 
 274
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 brightly to Mrs. Warren, who had driven 
 over for him herself. The rain had 
 stopped in the valley, but it was still 
 showering on the mountains, and their 
 summits were veiled in a haze of golden 
 mist, behind which the sun seemed strug- 
 gling to come through. Miss Ruth looked 
 at the golden glory and thought it a fitting 
 ending to her happy day. 
 
 " I have had such a beautiful time," she 
 said, as she gave Mr. Armitage's hand a 
 warm pressure. " You have given me 
 great pleasure. Nothing has ever hap- 
 pened to me so like a story book. I have 
 always wanted to know a real author, and 
 now I have seen my Carcassonne." 
 
 " It is not for me to say it is a very 
 poor kind of Carcassonne so long as I am 
 like Tom," he returned. 
 
 After he had gone she sat gazing at the 
 ever clearing western sky, with a smile on 
 her lips. " I have had such a happy day ! 
 Such a happy day ! " she repeated over 
 and over again. And then her face grew 
 grave. "Poor boy! I wonder what is 
 troubling him ! " she thought. Her wo- 
 man's curiosity awoke, and for the moment 
 275
 
 TWO AUTHORS 
 
 overcame her principles. "Of course it 
 was right for me not to let him tell me," 
 she said to herself. " It was only a mo- 
 mentary impulse, and he would have been 
 sorry afterwards that he had confided in a 
 stranger. But how I should like to know 
 his story ! And now I never shall." 
 276
 
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