FRANCES 
 
 NEWTON 
 
 SYMMES 
 
 ALLEN
 
 THE INVADERS
 
 GENEALOGY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 Noble Families of 
 America 
 
 Published by 
 
 BARKER BROTHERS 
 
 220 Milk Street 
 BOSTON, MASS., U. S. A. 
 
 March 17, 1895
 
 'LEX'S MAKE IT A HOLIDAY!" (page 369.)
 
 The Invaders 
 
 By 
 
 Frances Newton Symmes Allen 
 
 9 
 
 Boston and New York 
 Houghton Mifflin Company 
 
 &be ftilierjiiDr prcsg CambriDge 
 1913
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY FRANCES NEWTON SYMMES ALLEN 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Published March 79/5
 
 TO 
 KATHARINE OBEB BAYLEY 
 
 2134098
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 I. COLORS IN THE MISTS 3 
 
 II. Two HEROINES vis-A-vis .... 13 
 
 III. MATCH TO WICK ...... 24 
 
 IV. THE CURL ON THE LIPS OF HER . . 36 
 
 V. SWEETHEARTING 46 
 
 VI. ICING 64 
 
 VII. TAPS 78 
 
 VIII. Ho! FOR THE FERRY ! .... 91 
 
 IX. CROP ROTATION 103 
 
 X. BEES AND ROSES 118 
 
 XI. THE MAGIC OF THE MOON .... 129 
 XII. NITROGEN NODULES 143 
 
 XIII. THAT PEDDLER 160 
 
 XIV. THEN STEFAN PLAYED .... 173 
 XV. THE ECHOES 190 
 
 XVI. COLD-FRAMES 201 
 
 XVII. HOT-BEDS .220 
 
 XVIII. CEBULA 231 
 
 XIX. FURROWS . . . . . . . .236 
 
 vii
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 XX. LE BEAU VELLING 250 
 
 XXI. THE MEETING OF THE WATERS . . . 256 
 
 XXII. THE BLUE OF THE GENTIAN . . . 273 
 
 XXIII. HONEY FOR MADEMOISELLE PRUNELLE . 288 
 
 XXIV. "ME HEART SENT ME FLYIN'" . . 304 
 XXV. " To TO SHE WHO iss MY Music ! " . . 320 
 
 XXVI. TAKING THE CHANCE .... 332 
 
 XXVII. CALENDAR-DAY . . . . . . 345 
 
 XXVIII. " LET 's MAKE IT A HOLIDAY ! " 364
 
 THE INVADERS
 
 THE INVADEES 
 
 CHAPTEK I 
 
 COLORS IN THE MISTS 
 
 -LHE mists that hid Sugarloaf and made a 
 mountain of Toby brought the children's voices 
 quite clearly to the two men waiting under the 
 rock maple by the cemetery gate. The one, 
 gray-faced and gray-haired, in army cape and 
 veteran's hat, sat on a flat, lichened tombstone, 
 his very blue eyes traveling from one soldier's 
 grave to the other. His companion, young and 
 ruddy and well-knit, in white sweater and golf 
 trousers, leaned on the stone wall, his bare head 
 crinkled with abundant tawny hair. He was 
 looking away, frowning at the vast levels of the 
 onion fields faintly green with the new crop, 
 and deserted except for the bent figures of the 
 weeders in the rows. 
 
 " But, Grandfather," he had just said, rolling 
 a cigarette between his shapely hands, " living 
 is a long sight cheaper in Paris than it is here, 
 even as we live. So economy is no excuse." 
 
 3
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave " 
 floated soft and high, in broken intervals, from 
 far down the road. 
 
 "Don't discuss it now, Dacre. Not now!" 
 the old man said impatiently. " It 's the wrong 
 time." 
 
 " But La Rose is holding the place for me. 
 It 's now or never if I 'm to work in his studio. 
 And they sail June twenty-eighth. What 's the 
 use of holding on to the old " 
 
 " No use, God knows, if you 're so bent on 
 this cursed folly. If you 've no spark of man- 
 hood in you, let the Polanders have it." 
 
 The color flooded the old man's face, and he 
 got tremblingly to his feet, steadying himself 
 with shriveled white hands. 
 
 " That 's sense, Grandfather. Let the Po- 
 landers have the place if they '11 take it ! You 
 could live like a gentleman in an apartment in 
 town. The old house is tumbling down over 
 your head and the river is eating up the land. 
 Besides, it 's only fair for me to have my 
 chance." 
 
 " Damn the chance ! Your father and I 
 we took no chance. We worked the old place 
 where generations of our family had worked 
 before us. We were n't above work." 
 
 4
 
 COLORS IN THE MISTS 
 
 " So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea, 
 As we were marching through Georgia." 
 
 High and sweet and nearer came the young 
 voices, and far down the wide road, under the 
 old rock maples, fluttered the children's ban- 
 ners. 
 
 " And what what has it all amounted 
 to, your and Father's work ? " Dacre threw in 
 bitterly, tossing his cigarette into the wet 
 clover. 
 
 The old major put out a steadying hand to 
 the headstone at his side. " Amount to ? " he 
 repeated, with a quick breath. " Amount to ! 
 To a dignified competence until until Ladd 
 did n't pay the note your father had endorsed 
 for him. You know it all, that story, as well as 
 I do. Ladd was our ruin. Then your father 
 died, and " his breath came short " and 
 then the old place and I wore out and the 
 river " 
 
 " That 's just it ! " the young man inter- 
 rupted. " The old place is worn out. In a few 
 years no one will take it off your hands. It 
 would take thousands of dollars even to get it 
 started again. Think of what it would cost to 
 reshingle all those old roofs. And what 's the 
 use when the river is practically eating up the 
 
 5
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 land ? No one wants to live on what 's really an 
 island after every big storm. But the thing is, 
 Grandfather, I Ve got this gift and now 's 
 
 " Gift ! Tomfoolery ! Olivia Ladd has made 
 a fool of you just because you did those post- 
 ers for the college plays. It 's all Olivia's " 
 
 " Olivia be damned ! " Dacre muttered under 
 his breath, reddening darkly. 
 
 Major Welling had not heard him. Instead, 
 he had moved a little way from the supporting 
 tombstone, and with squared shoulders and 
 lifted hat, stood looking at the advancing pro- 
 cession. 
 
 " As He died to make men holy, 
 Let us die to make men free," 
 
 sang the children, turning from the highway 
 into the grassy cemetery road. Two by two 
 they came, flaxen and brown and black heads 
 all bare, a wreath of running pine over the right 
 shoulder, a flag in the right hand, a bunch of 
 vivid lupin or swamp pink or sand violets in the 
 left. Behind them, with eyes for all, came the 
 teacher, reaching now here, now there, to keep 
 the line in marching order, and then turning 
 back to chat with the mothers and big sisters 
 who brought up the rear. 
 
 The Major had advanced still farther from 
 6
 
 COLORS IN THE MISTS 
 
 under the maple, and stood unsupported at the 
 side of the road. The years seemed suddenly to 
 have slipped off him, and, a young soldier again, 
 he stood at attention, erect, arms at the side, 
 keen eyes in front. At sight of him, the child- 
 ren stopped and looked quickly at the teacher. 
 
 " Cheer," her lips framed softly, and she 
 lifted her flag. 
 
 " Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! " came the shrill 
 shout. Flags fluttered up into the gray. 
 
 The Major saluted. His blue eyes had dimmed. 
 A faint color had come into his thin cheeks. 
 He held his gold-corded veteran's hat over his 
 heart. 
 
 " Fellow soldiers," he began in his trembling 
 old voice, " Fellow soldiers, I have seen Lee's 
 army and Grant's army drawn up before Rich- 
 mond gray lines and blue lines as long as from 
 here to to Sugarloaf there in the mist. Often 
 I have heard a whole battlefield of brave men 
 singing what you have been singing, with death 
 waiting for them just across the line. I 'veseen 
 I Ve seen " his voice shook and he fum- 
 bled under the old cape for his handkerchief 
 " I 've seen old flags, bloodstained and shot- 
 
 O ' 
 
 torn, flutter in the Shenandoah and and, 
 fellow-soldiers, I 've heard the cheers at Eich- 
 
 7
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 mond but never never has the sight been 
 braver than now now " 
 
 Before his voice utterly failed him, there was 
 a break in the ranks. A small, square, thick- 
 headed boy, in a uniform of bare brown legs 
 and over-large denim shirt and trousers, rushed 
 from his place straight to the Major, with out- 
 stretched wreath and flag and flowers. 
 
 " Nicholas ! Nicholas Brogodzd ! " called the 
 teacher ; and then, when Nicholas heeded not, 
 " What has seized the child ! He understands 
 barely a word of English. The family are just 
 over. See him now ! " 
 
 Somehow, the Major seemed perfectly to un- 
 derstand. He was smiling, and he had hung the 
 wreath over, his arm, and, the child's hand in 
 his, stepped to the head of the procession. 
 
 "Sing," said the teacher, smiling through 
 sudden tears. 
 
 " Cover them over with beautiful flowers, 
 Deck them with garlands, those brothers of ours," 
 
 rang the little voices ; and down among the 
 graves filed Polish and Irish and Lithuanian, 
 and the child or two whose forefathers had 
 built the white meeting-house, and been the 
 great men of the valley. 
 
 Dacre, leaning on the wall, had forgotten 
 8
 
 COLOES IN THE MISTS 
 
 Paris and Olivia. His gray eyes, under their 
 thick, level brows, had lost their frown, and 
 regained the pleasant indolence of expression 
 that made women call them dangerous. 
 
 " Rather nice, the coloring," he was com- 
 menting to himself, and then introspectively re- 
 joiced to find himself so sensitive to color. 
 " That lupin blue is good," he went on rather 
 more deliberately and consciously. " And those 
 olive-skinned Poles are n't so bad in a lump, 
 with a lot of color around them. They 're good 
 in this gray, even if the girls' cotton stockings 
 do wrinkle around their legs and the boys' 
 coatsleeves are all down over their knuckles. 
 Drawing bad, coloring good, perhaps sums 
 up the picture. And now " He drew a long 
 breath. 
 
 His grandfather was beginning. He had 
 heard this kind of thing before. It was not art- 
 istic, the war, and it had been rather overdone 
 since. Lincoln was hideously overdone. 
 America always overdid things. That was why 
 she had no sort of art. She made no shades, no 
 nuances. She had no temperament. 
 
 " But Jove ! There 's temperament for you !" 
 he found himself exclaiming aloud. " Grand- 
 father and that stocky, black-eyed little Po- 
 
 9
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 lander actually understand each other ! And 
 now look at them ! " 
 
 Then he fell silent and watched grouping"and 
 coloring as the children and the Major trimmed 
 the graves. Around each headstone or each 
 mound they gathered and listened as the vet- 
 eran told of him who lay beneath, or whose 
 memorial it was. 
 
 " In memory of Richard, who died at Ship 
 Island, Miss., April 16, 1863, aged 22 years, and 
 who is buried there," he read. 
 
 And then little Elizabeth Chase and Michael 
 Leary and Nora O'Connor and Leo Krakoski 
 and Romon Krasinska and Thaddeus Yusso, 
 and Stephanya and Elena and Apollonia spread 
 sand violets and swamp pink and wild iris over 
 the turf. 
 
 The gray of the mist had grown a shade 
 darker. The hills were gone. The bent weed- 
 ers in the onion-fields were blurred against the 
 green. 
 
 " Nice the rain held off for the exercises," 
 Miss Hollins was saying to the teacher. " And 
 if you are n't the one for bright ideas ! It 's 
 been lovely. And what a genius you are to have 
 Major Welling here ! " 
 
 " He 's enjoyed it too," Mrs. Clabby put in 
 10
 
 COLORS IN THE MISTS 
 
 breathlessly, catching up to the others and pin- 
 ning a buttercup on her black calico shirtwaist. 
 "But don't it seem a shame that the old fami- 
 lies like the Wellings and the Hammonds and 
 all the others is gittin' pushed out by the Irish 
 and the Polanders ! " 
 
 " But that child that ran to him with the 
 wreath ! " Miss Hollins interrupted. " If that 's 
 the Polish way, it's rather nice, I think." 
 
 " He 's a bold child, that Brogodzd, or what- 
 ever his name is," Mrs. Clabby protested. " Out- 
 landish names, ain't they ! Wonder who on 
 earth ever made 'em up ! " 
 
 Dacre had untied the old gray mare and stood 
 waiting by the rickety basket phaeton. The 
 phaeton had been bought for his mother before 
 he came. As a small boy he had sat in it on a 
 hassock when she drove his father back from 
 the Boston train. He could remember the talk 
 not intended for his ears, of the low price of 
 tobacco, of the poor corn-crop, while he sucked 
 lemon stick to a point and liked his father's 
 knee on each side of him. 
 
 The children were straggling off. The Major 
 came slowly out of the gate, saluting Miss Hol- 
 lins and Mrs. Clabby and Mrs. Leary and Mrs. 
 Krakoski. 
 
 11
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " It 's good to see you, Major," Miss Hollins 
 called. " And we '11 soon be seeing Olivia, 
 shan't we, Dacre? Prunella had a letter 
 Monday." 
 
 " I suppose so," Dacre answered flatly. 
 
 The Major did not hear. He was getting 
 heavily into the phaeton. Dacre sprang in and 
 cut the old mare sharply. 
 
 " At any rate, it was n't too long," he said. 
 
 " It was magnificent," the old man answered 
 decisively, folding his hands on the top of his 
 cane.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 TWO HEROINES VIS-A-VIS 
 
 OVER the coffee-urn at the foot of Mrs. Stur- 
 gis's rose-trimmed table, Olivia could plainly see 
 the mountains. It was this relieving glimpse 
 that had decided her on taking Mrs. Chase's 
 coffee-urn at the foot of the table rather than 
 Mrs. Archibald's solid silver heirloom teapot at 
 the head. Prunella Loomis, Miss Hollins's niece, 
 profited perhaps by the choice, for the bow- 
 window, with its open sashes looking out into 
 blowing, fragrant wood bine, made an admirable 
 background for her dark prettiness in her last 
 summer's yellow organdie. 
 
 " I feel selfish, Olivia," Prunella called down 
 over the roses and bonbons and wafers among 
 the dozen borrowed candlesticks under the pink 
 shades. " There 's an elegant breeze here for a 
 background. You '11 be hot when the rush 
 
 comes." 
 
 "But your breeze is my foreground, you 
 know," Olivia said, a little too cleverly, thought 
 Prunella, who had n't been graduated from col- 
 lege the day before with high honors. In fact, 
 
 13
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 it was more the idea that Olivia had been to 
 college than the cleverness of what she had 
 just answered that made Prunella think it too 
 clever. 
 
 As yet, the crush had n't come. Mrs. Stur- 
 gis's committee had announced the Food Sale 
 for from three to six, to give time, after the vil- 
 lage dinners, for dishwashing and the begin- 
 ning of another appetite, and, before the village 
 suppers, for heating up left-overs and setting 
 forth the purchases of the afternoon. It was 
 only just three o'clock, striking flatly from the 
 spire of the very white meeting-house whose 
 leaky roof was the cause of this daring culinary 
 enterprise. In the front parlor there were only 
 half a dozen or so forerunners of the crush, lean- 
 ing over the two narrow damask-covered coun- 
 ters that ran imposingly the length of the 
 low-ceiled old room, and eying and smelling the 
 brown of things baked and roasted and pre- 
 served, and the green and gold of things 
 dressed. 
 
 Mrs. Archibald, holding her eyeglasses over 
 her nose, affected great interest in Sarah Tib- 
 betts's raised cake at one dollar a loaf, but in 
 reality she was looking at Olivia Ladd. She had 
 come early, indeed, rather for the purpose of 
 
 14
 
 TWO HEROINES VIS-A-VIS 
 
 looking at Olivia Ladd than for getting first 
 choice of the wares. 
 
 " Made from her Aunt Caroline Eversham's 
 rule, and such a f rostin' ! Not a slab in the bury- 
 ing-ground has a more marblelike look," Mrs. 
 Egerton said enthusiastically, moving the cake 
 into a better showing. 
 
 " If 'twas just me," Mrs. Archibald hesitated, 
 confidentially, " I 'd buy in a minute. But Ab- 
 ner 's so squeamish. He always says raised cake 
 don't set. I '11 sorter look round at the salad." 
 
 Just in a line with the raised cake, the din- 
 ing-room door framed Olivia in her scant, heavy 
 white linen, seated tall behind the coffee-urn. 
 More than Olivia, the doorway revealed little 
 except cups and saucers and the shine of one 
 candle. Olivia was disposing her cups around 
 the tray with a view to more expeditious pour- 
 ing when business grew brisk. Her arms looked 
 brown below the severe conclusion of her elbow 
 sleeves. 
 
 " Pretty plain dressin' ! " Mrs. Archibald ex- 
 claimed abstractedly. " The taste would have 
 been better if " 
 
 " Law, no ! It 's real mayonnaise. You just 
 try it, Mrs. Archibald," Mrs. Egerton spoke up 
 
 promptly, handing over a fork. " An' salads do 
 
 15
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 set well ! Why, Dr. Barker says folks ought to 
 drink olive oil." 
 
 "It was Livvy Ladd I was talkin' about," 
 Mrs. Archibald corrected her. " Considerin' the 
 occasion and her just home from college, and 
 the standin' of the family an' all, it does seem 
 like she might have " 
 
 "Standin' of the family!" Mrs. Egerton ex- 
 claimed, dropping stoutly on the Sheraton chair 
 behind the counter. " Standin' don't pay your 
 bills ! An' the talk is Mr. Egerton got it in 
 meetin' last night the talk is that Mary Ladd 
 is mortgaged up to her eyes even the high 
 pasture. An' you know what store Lawyer Ladd 
 set by that high pasture. Why, he '11 turn in 
 his " 
 
 Mrs. Archibald's glasses just escaped the 
 potato salad as they fell. " You don't say ! Even 
 the high pasture ! " she repeated in a lowered 
 tone. " Who 's Mary mortgaged to ? And her 
 that proud ! " 
 
 " Mortgaged to ? Why, to the Irish, of course. 
 To that Mike Joyce that has made such fine 
 onion and tobacco crops on the Hollins's place. 
 Yes, even the high pasture with the trout brook 
 and the chestnut grove. Think of Lawyer Ladd 
 and now this Irishman ! " 
 
 16
 
 TWO HEROINES VIS-A-VIS 
 
 Mrs. Archibald leaned far over the salads 
 and affected to pull her skimp black net veil 
 down over her mouth. " An' they say," she 
 murmured, looking down at the salmon and 
 lettuce, "they say that Livvy Ladd an' Dacre 
 Welling are as good as engaged. What they '11 
 marry on I 'd like to know ! he ain't worth 
 shucks." 
 
 " She '11 do the sup Yes, raised cake, Miss 
 Hollins. One dollar a loaf. Sarah Tibbetts made 
 it. Ain't it lovely ! But it does seem funny to 
 see you buyin' cake, Miss Hollins, when folks 
 in town can't get enough of your sponge cake." 
 
 Olivia, too, was leaning across the table talk- 
 ing to her neighbor at the head. Her conversa- 
 tion held none of the aloofness of her preceding 
 remark. 
 
 " I soiled all my dresses during Commence- 
 ment," she was saying, "and so to-day I just 
 had to wear this. You see, I got home late last 
 night, and then I overslept this morning. 
 Mamma woke me up at noon to tell me about 
 coming here that she 'd accepted for me. 
 And this old linen was positively the only clean 
 thing I had except a khaki and an evening 
 gown. You 're too sweet for words, Prunella, in 
 that buff!" 
 
 17
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " But to wear heavy white linen, plain, like 
 that ! " Prunella sighed. " I 'd give worlds to ! 
 You remind me somehow of that Copley print 
 of Charity in the Church Parlors." 
 
 Olivia laughed, and put a chocolate between 
 her firm white teeth. " I felt more like a Perry 
 picture," she said, "at Commencement so 
 many caps and gowns, all so uniform and so 
 so instructive ! Why, Mrs. Archibald ! Awfully 
 glad to see you ! What do you hear from 
 Marion ? " And she rose and heartily shook Mrs. 
 Archibald's little claw in its black cotton glove. 
 
 " Marion 's well. I heard yesterday. Prunella 
 knows I got a nice fat letter, don't you, Pru- 
 nella? That's the advantage of bein' postmis- 
 tress, ain't it ? Marion 's in Kwasi Twang now 
 one hundred and ninety-two patients in the 
 mission hospital, and the school crowded. Seems 
 just yesterday you an' Marion was in the Acad- 
 emy an' goin' skatin' with Dacre Welling. Seen 
 Dacre yet ? His grandfather 's pretty poorly, 
 they tell me." 
 
 Olivia's close ears grew quickly pink. " Not 
 yet," she said, with a nice enunciation. "And 
 now, Mrs. Archibald, you '11 take a cup of coffee 
 with me, and we '11 drink to Marion. You see, 
 you can have tea any time out of your grand 
 
 18
 
 TWO HEROINES VIS-A-VIS 
 
 silver teapot." And she laughed down to Pru- 
 nella, whose business was growing so lively she 
 was not aware. 
 
 " How 'd you find your mother ? " Mrs. 
 Archibald went on sociably. " Yes, cream and 
 two lumps. Seemed to me last week at Society 
 she did n't look like herself." 
 
 " Oh, Mamma seems well. Perhaps she was 
 just tired that time," Olivia answered. " But, 
 tell the truth, I 've hardly had a real look at 
 her. Last night there was such oceans to tell 
 her, and this morning I overslept." 
 
 " Like as not she was tired an' sorter home- 
 sick for you, all alone in that great house. 
 Lands ! I know what that feelin' is! Now you're 
 home " 
 
 " It will be blissful," Olivia said joyously. 
 " I 'm just crammed with energy and I '11 give 
 Mamma a real rest take ah" her cares away. 
 Come to see us soon, Mrs. Archibald." 
 
 The crush had come. Prunella's breeze had 
 stopped, too. Girls in white, with roses ill at 
 ease in their high pompadours, crowded around 
 the teapot, holding out their trays. Olivia's 
 cups filed rapidly up to the urn from the ranks 
 in which she had placed them. With her finger 
 on the spigot, she gave her smiles and her 
 
 19
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 greetings, as the crowd pressed around and 
 lingered. 
 
 "AB.S. not a B.A.," she laughingly cor- 
 rected Miss Hollins, who, burdened with the 
 raised cake and a pot of beans, paused to wel- 
 come and congratulate. " Thank you so much 
 for your good wishes! How lovely Prunella 
 looks ! Come to see us ! " And when Mrs. 
 Clabby set down her jar of last year's chipped 
 pear and a quarter of a gold cake, she let a cup 
 run over while she exclaimed joyously, " Oh, 
 Mrs. Clabby ! I 'm so glad to see you ! How 
 well you look ! Yes, I 'm feeling fine. Do come 
 to see us ! " 
 
 She wanted everybody to come to see them. It 
 was glorious to come home so triumphantly and 
 find so many friends. She felt as if she wanted 
 to welcome every one in the village, not so much 
 because she wanted to see them as because she 
 longed to make them all feel her power and her 
 energy and her high ambition. Even there in 
 the crowd, watching the coffee bubbling into 
 the cups, she was aware of her splendid self, 
 of a greatness of some kind that was ahead of 
 her, and that made her quite different from 
 them all and very kind to them all except to 
 Dacre. She flushed as she remembered that to 
 20
 
 TWO HEROINES VIS-A-VIS 
 
 him she had decided quite definitely not to be 
 kind, that she had put him quite out of the 
 new and brilliant and world-free career that was 
 opening before her. Sweethearting was the way 
 of mere boys and girls. 
 
 " She 's her father all over, square jaw, gray 
 eyes, and all," Miss Hollins was saying in the 
 doorway. " And if ever there was a well-mean- 
 ing man ! " 
 
 In a lull towards the end, when Prunella's 
 breeze had again sprung up, and the garden 
 sweetness was coming in through the small old 
 windows, and Prunella herself had gone to buy 
 whatever was left so as to help out supper, some 
 one drew near Olivia's urn without giving her 
 greeting or congratulation. It was a very slen- 
 derly made, delicately colored young person in 
 a very unstylish white mull gown. 
 
 " It will be very good coffee that I am smell- 
 ing," she said in a voice that was quite aston- 
 ishingly not American, depositing a large straw- 
 berry shortcake on the table. " A cup, if you 
 please, and I am not too late." 
 
 " It is not so good now, perhaps," Olivia 
 apologized as she filled the cup, thinking the 
 while of the blueness of the girl's eyes, and 
 wondering how the strange use of the future 
 
 21
 
 THE INVADEKS 
 
 tense and the sweet Gaelic inflection chanced 
 at a Fernfield food sale. She still wondered, 
 after the stranger had taken her coffee and 
 stood halfway down the table, sipping and look- 
 ing out at the garden ; but then the wonder was 
 at the drooping Leghorn hat with its super- 
 abundant tulle trimmings, and the tulle strings 
 tied under the round chin. Presently, the deli- 
 cately colored young person put down her cup 
 and her quarter, and took up her big shortcake. 
 
 " Here, in your American gardens, I miss 
 much the sweet of the wallflower," she said, 
 lifting her blue, blue eyes with the black lashes. 
 " At my home, at this time of the evening, it 
 does be coming in through the windows from 
 the haggart. I thank you for the serving." 
 
 Prunella came just here, bearing half of a 
 baked ham, a jar of last season's pears, and a 
 loaf of brown bread. 
 
 " There ! " she exclaimed triumphantly. " That 
 ought to make a supper for six boarders ! And 
 Aunt Lou got raised cake and beans, did n't 
 she ? " 
 
 Olivia rose. " Who is that adorable girl ? " 
 she cried softly. "I couldn't even be polite, 
 she was so sweet." 
 
 Prunella put down the supper. " That 's Bride 
 22
 
 TWO HEROINES VIS-A-VIS 
 
 Joyce, old Mike Joyce's niece. Is n't she Irish 
 for you ! And what a brogue ! " 
 
 " She 's Gaelic, not Irish," Olivia said deci- 
 sively, " and her intonation is lovely." 
 
 "I never thought of that," Prunella said 
 simply. " But don't you stop to help clear up, 
 Olivia." 
 
 " Why not ? " Olivia answered briskly, piling 
 cups.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 MATCH TO WICK 
 
 IT was the old hanging Chinese lamp in the 
 hall that betrayed to Olivia her mother's face. 
 Mrs. Ladd stood on a chair, reaching up with 
 a flaring match. Olivia, coming around the wide 
 curve of the stairway, after a late return from 
 the food sale, stopped short. That moment 
 shifted her life to leeward. 
 
 " Mamma, let me ! You 're tired ! " she cried, 
 running down. 
 
 " I am a little," Mrs. Ladd admitted almost 
 sharply as the match flared out and left them 
 in darkness. 
 
 Olivia fumbled on the hall table among para- 
 sols and garden hats. " Where are the matches?" 
 she asked breathlessly. 
 
 " Are n't they there ? I '11 get some," her 
 mother said, a little vaguely. 
 
 Olivia, left alone in the dark hall full of the 
 night fragrances from the wide-open door, felt 
 her heart in her throat. A wild fear chilled her, 
 as if the darkness were full of terrors, the great 
 empty house conscious. Something had changed 
 
 24
 
 MATCH TO WICK 
 
 in her mother's face. Mrs. Archibald had said 
 so. The lines around the mouth up-and-down 
 lines Her mother's nose had never shown that 
 shape before. Between the brows 
 
 " I 'm coming," Mrs. Ladd called from the 
 pantry. 
 
 Olivia drew a deep breath. Out through 
 the wide-open front door, a young moon was 
 riding high above the tall elms in the street. 
 The woodbine at the parlor windows was heav- 
 ily sweet. 
 
 " Guess you thought I 'd never come," Mrs. 
 Ladd said, feeling for the sandpaper under the 
 matchbox. "I entirely forgot to get matches 
 this morning when I was down-street. You can 
 reach up easily with your long arms." She spoke 
 with a recovered cheerfulness that was almost 
 too cheerful. 
 
 Olivia took the match and reached up, and 
 presently threw into flickering relief red and 
 blue Chinamen and purple pagodas. 
 
 " There ! " her mother exclaimed gayly. 
 " Now we '11 get some supper. It 's such a relief 
 to have you at home, child. That pot of beans 
 you brought from the sale will be just the thing. 
 And lady cake, you say ? Lou Hollins's cake ? 
 That 's always good, like Lou. And you say 
 
 25
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 Prunella was buying supper for the boarders ? 
 Poor little Prunella ! " 
 
 They were going back to the kitchen, Mrs. 
 Ladd's thin hand red over the match she was 
 saving to light the dining-room lamp. 
 
 "I'm not very hungry," Olivia said; then 
 felt the loss of gayety in her own tone and 
 added quickly, with a laugh, " Nibbling at re- 
 ceptions and teas and places always takes my 
 appetite." 
 
 "But you must eat something, my dear; I 
 have n't had you at the table with me since you 
 came home. Some tea will do us both good. 
 And then " she was buttoning a white apron 
 around her thin, flat waist "then there's 
 much to talk about." 
 
 " Oceans ! " Olivia exclaimed enthusiastically. 
 " You have n't had a chance to tell me any- 
 thing, I 've chattered so of myself. I '11 set the 
 table and do it all, Mamma dear. I 'd love to. 
 You rest." 
 
 " Why, you don't know where half the things 
 are. How could you keep pots and pans in your 
 head with a class poem? There! Don't take 
 down the Canton plates. You 're not company, 
 even if you are a Bachelor of Science." And 
 Mrs. Ladd gave the fine, soft little laugh that 
 
 26
 
 MATCH TO WICK 
 
 she had inherited with the Canton plates from 
 the Adamses. 
 
 " Of course ! How stupid of me ! " Olivia 
 laughed hack, putting the familiar white and 
 gold on the old mahogany table with its dish 
 of garden roses. "But I '11 soon get pots and 
 pans in and poems out, Mamma. You '11 see ! " 
 
 " That 's what there is to talk about," Mrs. 
 Ladd said, her thin lips again a line after her 
 smile. " But first I '11 make the tea and get the 
 bread and butter." 
 
 Olivia knew the napkin rings, but she ab- 
 sently reversed them ; then stood holding the 
 knives and forks indecisively. 
 
 " And the chipped pear you love so, Olivia, 
 is in the small Mason jar on the third shelf in 
 the pantry," Mrs. Ladd went on from the 
 kitchen. " I have n't done any strawberries this 
 year." 
 
 Olivia fumbled in the pantry. 
 
 " Foolish child ! If it had been a bear, it 
 would have bitten you !" her mother said, reach- 
 ing over her shoulder. "You're not in the 
 chemical laboratory, just in a plain pantry. 
 How sunburned your arms are, Olivia ! " 
 
 " From rowing, and it 's made them so hard 
 and strong. I 'm ready for any kind of work, 
 
 27
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 Mamma." And she again got her voice back 
 into its natural tone, and found the glass dish 
 and turned out the chipped pear. 
 
 Presently, tea was on the table, and the high 
 lamp stood by the bowl of roses in the centre. 
 Olivia, from her place at the foot, could see 
 through one doorway into the long, unlighted 
 double parlors, with the glint of a stray moon- 
 beam on the girandoles at the far end. Through 
 the other doorway was the hall, where a June 
 bug bumped noisily against the Chinese lamp, 
 and the moonlight lay across the threshold. 
 Nothing in the big old house was as loud as a 
 young frog outside in the matted lilybed. 
 
 Mrs. Ladd rebuttered a thin bit of bread. 
 " Maids are out of the question," she was saying 
 slowly. " The Polanders you would n't have in 
 your house, and the Irish are so superstitious 
 and impudent and full of airs, and so " 
 
 " And you 've done it all, Mamma ? Since 
 Christmas? Been quite alone, too? Why, I 
 should never have gone to Philadelphia Easter 
 if I 'd dreamed Why, Mamma ! No wonder 
 you are thin ! Since Christmas, Mamma ? " 
 
 " Yes-s since Christmas. That is not a 
 very long time. And I never was corpulent. 
 You are splendid and strong, are n't you, dear ! 
 
 28
 
 MATCH TO WICK 
 
 Ready for anything ! " And she put down the 
 bit of bread, and leaned back, stirring her tea. 
 
 Olivia was seeing fearfully the thin whiteness 
 of the hair over the pale temples. 
 
 "Ready for anything and everything, 
 Mamma," she said, "and come back just in 
 time to take care of you. Everybody was so 
 nice to-day and so glad to see me, and I told 
 them I was going to take right hold and make 
 you rest." 
 
 " So they were talking about me to-day, were 
 they? " her mother interrupted quietly, with a 
 faint little smile, "and you are going to make 
 me rest ! " 
 
 " Yes, Mamma, I am going to make you rest, 
 and you must obey. I have such a fine scheme. 
 Let 's shut up the house and go to Europe. 
 Living 's awfully cheap there. Betty Preston 
 says you can buy a huge cherry tart for ten 
 cents. And Professor Chandler wants me to 
 have at least a year in Gottingen, and you could 
 rest, Mamma, and have music and art and 
 things while I work have all the things you 've 
 wanted and never had, Mamma ! " 
 
 In her eagerness, she pushed the dishes away 
 and leaned across the table, her face close to 
 the roses. The June bug had come in from the 
 
 29
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 hall, and bumped furiously against the old line 
 engravings of Highland huntsmen and fisher- 
 men. " Let 's, Mamma dear," she pleaded. 
 
 Mrs. Ladd's spoon fell sharply to the floor. 
 She did net pick it up. Instead, she clenched 
 her hands on the arms of the high Chippendale 
 chair. 
 
 " My dear," she began slowly, " when you 
 hear that when you hear that Can you 
 bear it, dear ? " 
 
 Olivia laughed and grew as pale as her linen 
 gown. "Bear it ! What, Mamma ? Anything ! " 
 And again she laughed and looked away from 
 the hands gripping the chair, following the 
 angry June bug. 
 
 " Bear to know that that the place is n't 
 ours any more not a blade of grass on it ours 
 that the the Irish hold it. Can you bear 
 that, Olivia ? Your father used to say I knew 
 how to keep a secret ! Can you bear it ? " 
 
 The June bug fell into the great Canton bowl 
 on the high mahogany sideboard. Olivia watched 
 him fall. Her mother saw only her profile, then 
 her full face very white, but in a smile. 
 
 " Mamma ! Bear it ? Of course I can bear 
 that ! It might have been that you had some 
 fearful thing the matter with you. Why, 
 
 30
 
 MATCH TO WICK 
 
 Mamma, Mamma ! Of course I can bear that ! 
 And I '11 pay it off. You '11 see ! " 
 
 She had left her place and gone round to her 
 mother, and knelt and caught the gray head 
 close to her warm young bosom. " Those horrid, 
 horrid Irish ! If only the steamships would re- 
 fuse to bring them ! But, Mamma, I 'm so 
 thankful it 's only that ! And must we go right 
 away? And who holds the mortgage?" She 
 was keeping back, it seemed to her, thousands 
 of tears that were turned into sharp, burning 
 plans and schemes plans and schemes that 
 gleamed and stung as they whirled through her 
 mind. And her arms were aware of the small- 
 ness of her mother's body in her warm, strong 
 embrace. 
 
 " We have a year yet before the foreclosure 
 and the man the man is that Joyce that 
 Michael Joyce that great common, grasping 
 man that has the Hollins place, Olivia. I 've 
 never seen him I would n't see him ! But he 
 just owns this valley." She was murmuring on 
 out of Olivia's neck, and Olivia was patting the 
 thin cheek, and understanding, and looking 
 back over the ten years since her father's death, 
 and putting two and two together, and biting 
 her lips and telling herself to face it, and 
 
 31
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 murmuring, " Is that all, Mamma ! Is that 
 all?" 
 
 Presently, Mrs. Ladd drew away and leaned 
 back and stared at the lamp. Olivia sat on her 
 heels, as she had sat as a child, and stroked a 
 thin hand. The hardest to bear was what she 
 had never seen before tears on her mother's 
 cheeks. Not even when they had brought her 
 father in from the high pasture drowned, not 
 even when word had come that the only boy, 
 Winthrop, had died in the Arizona mines, 
 not even then had Mrs. Ladd shed tears. Now 
 she drew her eyes away from the lamp and got 
 up slowly. When she was quite erect, and stood 
 by her chair with her hand on the high back, 
 she drew in a quick little breath. 
 
 " There is more," she said. " Perhaps it is 
 better for you to know all now. Then you will 
 see clearly. But you must not waste yourself 
 feeling sorry for me. I cannot permit that. You 
 must promise." 
 
 " That is the only thing that I cannot seem 
 to bear, Mamma, that you should suffer." 
 Olivia had risen too. Her hands were bitterly 
 cold. She could guess what was coming. She 
 had guessed it before, from something Mrs. 
 Clabby had said, but it had never been made a 
 32
 
 MATCH TO WICK 
 
 certainty to her. The June bug buzzed angrily 
 in the Canton bowl. 
 
 " It only seems that you cannot bear it," her 
 mother was saying quite calmly. " Your father 
 was a brilliant man, but he was not brave. You 
 are both brilliant and brave. He drowned him- 
 self that day in the high pasture because of 
 
 of his debts. My child ! My child ! " 
 
 For a minute, it seemed to Olivia that she 
 was not brave: she could feel the blood all 
 leave her heart in one great surge. " Oh ! Oh ! " 
 she whispered and dropped her forehead on the 
 seat of her mother's chair. 
 
 Mrs. Ladd stooped and kissed her hot, buried 
 cheek. 
 
 " But he was brilliant and lovable and 
 
 and beautiful, my dear," she said. "That's 
 all that you have to remember." 
 
 Olivia's shoulders shook. 
 
 " I have been teaching myself all these years 
 what to remember and what to forget," her 
 mother went on. " Women have to to dis- 
 criminate and be loyal." 
 
 The girl looked up, white, but smiling faintly. 
 
 " I will discriminate, Mamma," she said. 
 
 " And hold your head very high, dear ! That 
 helps ! " 
 
 33
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 Olivia got up and pushed back her hair, very 
 erect against the glow of the lamp. She was 
 thinking of a young maple tree she had seen 
 twisted and contorted in a summer gale. That 
 was herself to herself. She pressed her eyes, 
 then opened them. The June bug flew airily, 
 gayly out of the Canton bowl and away into the 
 cool hall where the Chinamen and the pagodas 
 were flickering in the night breeze. 
 
 Mrs. Ladd picked up the spoon. " Just pile 
 the dishes in the pantry, dear. We '11 do the 
 washing in the morning." 
 
 That night, out of the stillness of the softly 
 blowing trees and the faint sound of the river 
 down at the dam by the sawmill, Olivia listened 
 to hear her mother's breathing from the room 
 across the hall. Once she tiptoed to the door and 
 strained her ears to find whether she was asleep. 
 Then, not long after midnight had struck on the 
 old white meeting-house, as she lay throbbingly 
 still, planning and remembering, remembering 
 and planning, she opened her eyes to find her 
 mother's thin white figure at her bedside. 
 
 " My dear," she said, " there's nothing more 
 
 to tell you. You are braver than I thought you, 
 
 and what 's even better, you have common 
 
 sense. But there 's something to beg of you 
 
 34
 
 MATCH TO WICK 
 
 to implore you. To-morrow we must be quite 
 practical. I 've never permitted myself any sen- 
 timent about myself. You 've got your edu- 
 cation. That 's been the point. The next thing 
 will be your marriage. Marry out of the valley. 
 Marry money and success and and and new, 
 fresh blood. We old families somehow we 've 
 petered out, as your Uncle Josiah would ex- 
 press it." 
 
 Olivia sat up in bed suddenly and held out 
 her arms. " It 's all over with Dacre, Mamma," 
 she whispered. " It 's quite all over if that 's 
 what you fear. I told him so three weeks ago 
 that I hated his indolence. And now I want 
 just you bravest Mamma ! " 
 
 Mrs. Ladd had moved to the window and 
 turned back the gently blowing curtain. " How 
 thick the fireflies are in the orchard ! " she said. 
 " Good-night, bravest child ! "
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE CURL ON THE LIPS OF HER 
 
 ONIONS may be very successfully grown on 
 selected areas of the heavy fine sandy loams or 
 the light silty loams of the river meadows. On- 
 ions grown on muck soils, however, are poorer 
 in quality than those grown on very rich sandy 
 loam or silty loams, soils which, with efficient 
 management, will bring highly satisfactory re- 
 sults." 
 
 " Muck soils ! " Mr. Patrick Joyce repeated 
 dreamily to himself, with a generous yawn. 
 "Muck soils!" 
 
 It was desperately hot, that June afternoon, 
 the day after the food sale. " Muck soils and 
 light silty loams " The words meant 
 nothing to him in that sultry quiet. Once 
 more he read them, then threw down the book. 
 It was a sizable book, that Yearbook of the 
 Department of Agriculture, and it made some- 
 thing of a noise as it landed on the bare floor 
 of the almost deserted office in the big, bare 
 town hall. But the noise was stimulating in the 
 hot silence, and it aroused Mr. Joyce not only 
 
 36
 
 THE CURL ON THE LIPS OF HER 
 
 to searching for his little black pipe in the 
 pockets of his light serge coat, but also to get- 
 ting up from his desk and wandering to the 
 open window that looked out into the wide old 
 street with its tall elms and its thick turf and 
 its proud, high-roofed, ancient houses. There 
 ought to have been something of a breeze 
 through the room, for the door bearing the im- 
 posing announcement " Office of the Selectmen " 
 stood wide open, inviting any and every stray 
 breath of air to blow in from the long, dusty 
 corridor. 
 
 The fragrance of the freshly lighted Burley 
 stimulated the smoker into still further activity. 
 After seating himself in the broad window sill, 
 he began to whistle softly and musically an air 
 that surely would not have been recognized by 
 any average New Englander strolling by. But 
 to the whistler it seemed mighty familiar, for 
 he whistled it up and down and roundabout in 
 flutelike variations, and then, as if much in love 
 with his accomplishment, he sent it forth in a 
 very engaging barytone, into the very bird's 
 nests in the elm outside. 
 
 " Would God I were a little apple blossom 
 To float and fall from off the twisted bough," 
 
 37
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 he sang, and leaned his dark head against the 
 window and looked up at the blue above the 
 tree-tops and then absently out at the grassy, 
 elm-shaded path that served as sidewalk. 
 
 " Or would I were a little burnished apple 
 For you to pluck me " 
 
 He stopped. He had an audience, or had had. 
 Two girls coming slowly across the street from 
 the post-office looked up a moment, then quickly 
 away. Mr. Joyce took a long pull at his little 
 black bogwood with its carved shamrocks. He 
 knew one of the girls. It was Prunella Loomis, 
 the postmistress. What would she be thinking 
 and him wishing himself a little burnished 
 apple ! " For you to pluck me ! " It was com- 
 ical, sure ! She had on the pink calico he had 
 already wished to tell her became her well, and 
 she wore those odious straw cuffs to keep her 
 sleeves clean, and a large white apron with deep 
 pockets. Usually he saw only her serious, offi- 
 cial face through the post-office window, and 
 he rarely had opportunity for so leisurely a con- 
 templation of her ever-hurrying person. Now, 
 no doubt, she was in a great hurry and was 
 being detained by the tall young woman he 
 did not know, for she carried a large and bril- 
 
 38
 
 THE CUKL ON THE LIPS OF HER 
 
 liant can of tomatoes, and she was headed up 
 the street for home. He was just beginning to 
 grow quite aware of the detaining person when 
 she let Prunella go, and vanished herself around 
 the corner of the town hall. As he set himself 
 to relighting his bogwood, he was thinking of 
 the nice, tanned look of her neck and cheek 
 between her white gown and her Panama. 
 
 " That you might pluck me, passing by so cold, 
 And sun and " 
 
 There were steps in the corridor, not a man's 
 steps. Could it be Mrs. Clabby come so early 
 about the intrusions of Mrs. Rimooski's chick- 
 ens into her tomato patch? 
 
 " Please, is Mr. Joyce in ? " said a new and 
 hesitating voice at the door. 
 
 He sprang to his feet, his hand to his hatless 
 head for a salute, his pipe back into his pocket. 
 
 " He is in, indeed! " he cried, flushing from 
 his square chin up over the freckled bridge of 
 his nose right into his roughened hair. And it 
 took a good deal of a shock for a heart to pump 
 such a flush into so big and strong a fellow. 
 
 She came a step across the threshold, clutch- 
 ing tight a very grand little green morocco bag 
 that had been one of her graduation presents. 
 
 39
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 "Will you tell him, please, that I wish to 
 speak to him ? " she said. " Here is my card." 
 And she held it forth formally in a white-gloved 
 hand. 
 
 " But but I am Mr. Joyce," he hesitated, 
 buttoning his coat. "And whatever you will 
 be wishing to say, very gladly will I hear." 
 
 If he had studied women as he had studied 
 the musty volumes in the old university library 
 in Dublin, he would have felt her mood to be 
 a very haughty one, and the little shadow 
 under her eyes and the red spot on each cheek 
 to mean that this was the greatest effort of her 
 life, and the most hateful. But being only 
 a beginner in the lore of womankind, he 
 could read nothing, and he did nothing but 
 push towards her a chair and cast about in his 
 thought for words that did not have so much 
 of the brogue. She lifted her fine, dark brows. 
 "Surely, you you are not the President of 
 the Board of Selectmen," she said, a little scorn- 
 fully. 
 
 " My word, no ! You will be wanting my 
 uncle, Michael Joyce. It is in Boston he is. And 
 I am his clerk, minding the place till he is com- 
 ing home again." 
 
 "Oh! " she said coldly. "Then it is hardly 
 40
 
 THE CURL ON THE LIPS OF HER 
 
 worth while. Will he be away long, do you 
 think ? " Cold as she seemed, she had caught 
 his fashion of saying " clark " for " clerk," and 
 she was seeing the strange old silver ring that 
 he wore on the hand that offered the chair. 
 
 " It is of that I am not at all certain, when 
 he will be coming back," he said. " It is for a 
 ship that he is waiting. She will be bringing 
 young men for the fields, and already she is late 
 because of the gales. But " he hesitated, and 
 looking up, met her eyes squarely " but could 
 I not be helping you ? It is much of the busi- 
 ness of the town that I mind for my uncle." 
 
 She sat down in the chair he offered. " Per- 
 haps perhaps I might tell you what it is," 
 she said, her face grown even more proud, more 
 grave. "It is very important and I am very 
 late. And then, as soon as your uncle comes, 
 you could tell him and it would save time." 
 
 Three o'clock rang out from the meeting- 
 house spire high among the elms. 
 
 " Why not ! " he exclaimed. " It is what will 
 be best to do, to tell me and I will write it all 
 down and give it at once to my uncle." And he 
 threw back the roll-top desk and stood leaning 
 upon it. For the life of him he could not guess 
 what she wanted of his uncle, this very royal 
 
 41
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 young woman with the little frown between her 
 eyes. Again she was handing him her card. "In 
 anything whatever I will be glad to serve 
 you, Miss Ladd," he added slowly. Now he was 
 remembering and recollecting. It was the Ladd 
 farm on which his uncle held the big mortgage. 
 
 " Thank you," she said formally. " I have 
 come to apply for the North Fernfield District 
 School for next fall. Miss Loomis, my friend, 
 tells me that the present teacher has resigned to 
 go to the city." 
 
 He dropped into the big revolving chair at 
 the desk, and, reaching to a pigeonhole, drew 
 out a file of application blanks. " It is what you 
 must do, to fill out these questions," he ex- 
 plained, drawing out a leaf of the desk in front 
 of her and handing her his fountain pen. 
 
 She was taking off her gloves in the most 
 businesslike fashion, and bending over the blank 
 he had spread before her. And as she read, he 
 sat looking at the top of her Panama and then 
 furtively at her slim, sunburned hands, and her 
 lashes on her hot cheeks. In the back part of 
 his mind, the apple-blossom song was still sing- 
 ing itself. 
 
 " Or would I were " 
 
 42
 
 THE CUEL ON THE LIPS OF HER 
 
 She began to write. Joyce went to the win- 
 dow and stood looking out. He was thinking 
 that she was too amazingly good-looking not to 
 be as haughty as a queen. At any rate, she had 
 relaxed a little. And of course now he knew 
 very well who she was. She was the daughter 
 of that cold, proud widow with the big farm 
 and the fine old house, on which his uncle held 
 so heavy a mortgage. No wonder she was cold ! 
 And small wonder if she hated him and his 
 uncle. But she was a plucky one ! And the curl 
 on the lips of her ! 
 
 " Are there many trying for the place ? " she 
 asked presently, handing him the pen without 
 looking at him. 
 
 " It is what I have quite forgotten, just how 
 many," he hesitated. "But I will see. These 
 two days since I am minding the place, not so 
 many have been coming." And he reached into 
 another pigeonhole and drew out a fat pile of 
 blanks in a rubber. "It is a good many, is it 
 not ? " he said. " Almost all the young ladies 
 in the valley seem to be thinking they can teach 
 school. And to me it seems a very hard thing, 
 to teach school." 
 
 She had risen and was drawing on her gloves. 
 
 " Of course," she said, " I have only the 
 43
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 ghost of a chance because because I 
 have n't any any pull. It 's all pull, they say." 
 She lifted her brows a little disdainfully and 
 snapped her glove together. Prunella had told 
 her it was all pull. 
 
 " I do not at all know how it is decided," he 
 explained, looking up from her application. 
 " You see, I am not long in this country 
 only since January and it is not yet quite a 
 year since I myself am out of the university." 
 
 She gave him a long, wholly curious glance. 
 " You ! " she said. " What university ? " 
 
 " Dublin. And it 's not much for looks com- 
 pared to your fine millionaire universities here. 
 But God bless it, just the same! " 
 
 She snapped her other glove together. The 
 red spots glowed in her cheeks. " Here in the 
 valley," she said slowly, " getting a position 
 is n't at all a matter of university training or 
 even of qualification. It 's wholly a matter of 
 of nationality. I have very little chance, you 
 see ! Thank you, though, for the trouble." 
 
 He had flushed hotly as he followed her 
 words, and had ready no answer whatever when 
 she turned and went down the corridor, leaving 
 him bowing at the desk. 
 
 Into the light ring of her footsteps came a 
 44
 
 THE CUEL ON THE LIPS OF HER 
 
 heavier tread. He did not heed it, so hard was 
 he thinking of her taunt. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Joyce, ain't your uncle back 
 yet?" Mrs. Clabby exclaimed asthmatically. 
 " Seems like we 've got enough foreigners in 
 this valley without him having to go to Boston 
 to welcome more. What's Livvy Ladd been 
 here about? Polander chickens been running 
 in her mignonette beds ? " 
 
 Joyce offered her a chair. "It is another 
 nationality that will be troubling Miss Ladd," 
 he said, with a little smile. " And now about 
 Mrs. Rimooski ? "
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 SWEETHEAKTING 
 
 .wins. LADD'S delicately withered face, in its 
 frame of honeysuckle trellis, smiled up the 
 street as Olivia came swinging along the path. 
 The smile was there to meet and dispel the bit- 
 terness of the afternoon's experience, and as 
 well to prepare the child for another that pro- 
 mised as much bitterness, though of a different 
 kind. She pushed open the sagging iron gate 
 and stepped out. Olivia waved her hand. Her 
 figure was her best point, after all, her mother 
 was thinking, though her hair was nice too 
 her father's hair, dry, dull gold. 
 
 " I Ve done it ! " she called gayly. " Filled 
 out a blank with a long list of my accomplish- 
 ments." And she caught up to her mother and 
 put an arm around her waist. 
 
 " You can get it, you think ? " 
 
 " Get it ! " Olivia laughed. " I 've just about 
 one one-hundredth of a chance. A great pile 
 of applications, all Irish. Reduce one chance in 
 a hundred to its lowest terms. That 's mine, 
 Mamma." 
 
 46
 
 SWEETHEARTING 
 
 " Of course ! What else could we expect, even 
 if your grandfather did establish that school ! 
 But who knows!" And she looked up at 
 Olivia's sparkle and color as they turned in the 
 gate and up the flagged path between the irises 
 and the smoke-bushes. 
 
 "And then," the girl went on gayly, "I 
 spoiled even my fraction of a chance. I was 
 rude but I told the truth, Mamma. And it 
 did me a lot of good." 
 
 " Olivia ! Not rude, my dear ! And to an in- 
 ferior ! You saw him that Mr. Joyce ? Not 
 rude to him ! " 
 
 Olivia laughed again, and dropped on the 
 bench in the syringa crescent halfway up to 
 the house. "Not exactly to him," she said. 
 " But to an odious, self-satisfied, irreproachable 
 young man who said he was Mr. Michael Joyce's 
 nephew and 'clark,' and that he ' minded the 
 place* in his uncle's absence. Think of it, 
 Mamma ! Think of ' minding the place' in our 
 dear old town hall ! Lovely, is n't it ! " And she 
 threw her hat and smart gloves on the grass. 
 " Sit down, Mamma ! Do ! Is n't this syringa 
 deliciousness ! " 
 
 "Was he impertinent, dear or familiar? I 
 should not have let ' 
 
 47
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " Oh, niver a bit of it, sure ! And he vol- 
 unteered the information that he was a univers- 
 ity man Dublin, where Goldsmith and Burke 
 and that crowd went. Imagine it, Mamma! " 
 
 " But to be rude, Olivia ! And to a young 
 man, an inferior at that ! " 
 
 " Why, it was this way, you see. I filled the 
 blank as he told me to do and then then I 
 just told him the truth that I knew perfectly 
 well that I had n't the ghost of a chance that 
 here in the valley it 's all pull and Irish pull 
 at that. Prunella told me so. Don't look so 
 horrified ! I 'm glad I did, Mamma ! " 
 
 " Olivia ! In those words ! And those are just 
 the very people that we can't afford to offend, 
 you and I. Was he angry ? What did he do? " 
 
 " Nothing, absolutely, except to fold my ap- 
 plication blank very exactly, and then snap it 
 under the rubber band. And then when I fin- 
 ished, he bowed and and he had colored. At 
 any rate, it 's done, and it '11 do them good to 
 know that we know their tricky ways." 
 
 " But, my dear, even if we admit that we 
 know, we condescend. We of another race and 
 class, we are n't to know or to understand such 
 methods. I shouldn't have exposed " 
 
 " Oh, it was all quite safe. And he was n't 
 48
 
 SWEETHEARTING 
 
 really half bad ! Besides, it was an adventure. 
 I must write Betty Preston about it. She '11 
 think it rich." And she laughed again, and 
 leaning back, pulled down a long spray of 
 syringa and sniffed the blossoms. " Now let me 
 get you a chair. This bench is n't comfortable. 
 And let 's camp here and I '11 read you the class 
 poem." 
 
 " I wish we might," her mother said uncer- 
 tainly, " but there 's another another adven- 
 ture waiting for you. Major Welling has sent 
 for you. That Stefan Posadowski stopped 
 here this afternoon with the message. He 's the 
 nephew of the man that 's living at the Welling 
 place." 
 
 The syringa spray sprang back and left Oli- 
 via's cheeks some of its whiteness. 
 
 " For me ? Why ? What for ? Why doesn't 
 the Major come here?" 
 
 " I know nothing, dear, except what the 
 young man said, in his broken English that 
 the Major was ill and begged that you would 
 come. It 's too bad just now." 
 
 " The poor dear old Major ! Shall I go, 
 Mamma ? Do I have to ? I 've always been such 
 friends with the Major. But ought I to now, 
 Mamma ? Is it best to ? " Her chin was in her 
 
 49
 
 palm, her elbow on her knee, and she was frown- 
 ing at the blue periwinkles under the syringa 
 bushes. Mrs. Ladd had risen and turned towards 
 the house. 
 
 " Yes, you ought to, Olivia," she said slowly. 
 " I took a liberty. I told him to say you would 
 come this afternoon. It may be too late if you 
 wait. There have been other shocks." She 
 started on, then came back. " After a while 
 you '11 see that it has been best to go even now. 
 We owe it to the Major. I '11 get you a sun- 
 shade. It 's hot through those onion fields." 
 
 " A good good deal is is happening, 
 Mamma ! " she stammered ; and then hid her 
 face in her arms on the back of the bench and 
 burst into a storm of tears. 
 
 " A good deal, dear ! I 'm so sorry ! I 've tried 
 to hold it off," her mother said, and then went 
 lingeringly towards the house. 
 
 On and on she sobbed in the fragrant quiet 
 of the syringa crescent, wildly, despairingly. A 
 little breeze from the west sprang up and cooled 
 the back of her neck, but her cheeks burned 
 and her sleeves were wet with hot tears. Not once 
 had she given way till now, not once since last 
 night's revelations. The mortgage, the suicide, 
 
 50
 
 SWEETHEARTING 
 
 not a tear. All night she had lain wide awake, 
 dry-eyed, hot-cheeked, planning, planning, re- 
 membering that Prunella that very afternoon 
 had told of the vacancy in the district school, 
 then planning, planning to get the school at 
 once, to run the farm, to pay off the mortgage. 
 She would do it. She could do it. And Dacre 
 was done with and out of her life. The old 
 foolish boy-and-girl love was dead and done 
 with for her. Now it was work and care and 
 life real life ! And to give her mother some 
 peace and joy after the long years in which she 
 had kept the secret. So the night had taught 
 Olivia, and the morning had sent her, quickly 
 bathed and dressed, down to the kitchen to get 
 breakfast. That was the practical beginning of 
 the new life coffee and toast and boiled eggs, 
 and a heavy-eyed, surprised mother in the fra- 
 grant morning airiness of the dining-room. 
 Then had come unpacking, straightening, set- 
 tling of college belongings in home quarters 
 piles of notebooks and textbooks in new com- 
 panionship with the old half -calf in her father's 
 library. And all the while there had been much 
 brave, merry talk of securing the district school 
 how she would cram those youngsters ! 
 and much to do laughing away Mrs. Ladd's bit- 
 
 51
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 terness. Then had come the faring forth to ask 
 Prunella where to apply, and then the break 
 into Mr. Patrick Joyce's apple-blossom song and 
 his meditations upon the culture of onions. All 
 this it seemed a lifetime since college and 
 no giving way till now in the syringa crescent, 
 when the old Major's message and the thought 
 of Dacre's immanence set free torrents of tears. 
 
 A catbird swung on the pine tree calling 
 shrilly. For a moment, a cloud covered the sun. 
 Olivia lifted her hot, wet face and pushed the 
 combs into her loosened hair. Mrs. Ladd was 
 coming down the porch steps with a green-lined 
 pongee umbrella and a tinkling glass of cold 
 milk. The umbrella was one that had come home 
 with her boy's things from Arizona. 
 
 " I let you cry ; you needed it," she said. 
 "It's the best thing you could have done. And 
 to cry is no sign of lack of courage. It 's quite 
 physical just like coughing or sneezing. It 's 
 a comfort to remember that when one is really 
 brave. And this milk will cool you. The cow 
 has been eating the orchard clover." 
 
 And presently, cooled, deeply quieted, and 
 infinitely saddened and wearied, Olivia went out 
 again through the sagging gate under the 
 honeysuckles, crossed the grassy street, and 
 
 52
 
 SWEETHEARTING 
 
 took the dusty path across the onion fields. 
 Right and left they stretched, hot and shim- 
 mering, their pale-green level broken only with 
 the crawling weeders astride the rows. Scarlet 
 and blue flared the dresses of the women, as they 
 worked or stopped to suckle the babies spend- 
 ing the day afield in the baby carriages, tended 
 only by those too old or too young to weed. 
 Miles upon miles of it to right and left green 
 shimmer and crouching figures. Then the brown 
 and green of newly set tobacco fields, the long 
 arklike tobacco barns ; then the far hills hazy 
 in the afternoon heat. Beyond the river, above 
 the western hills, great cumulus clouds were 
 piling up purplish mountains, and a hot wind 
 rimpled the onion fields into shallow green seas. 
 Olivia went on swiftly under the pongee um- 
 brella, sometimes through clouds of aimless yel- 
 low butterflies. For a mile ahead of her, the 
 road ran straight and level and glaring among 
 the onions ; then dipped into the low fields that 
 the river was eating away ; then rose again into 
 the greenness of Major Welling's orchard and 
 garden, with the high old chimneys and worn 
 shingles among the elms and pines on the river- 
 bank. Very swiftly, indeed, Olivia was going 
 along, in spite of the heat, saying over and over 
 
 53
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 to herself, " What shall I do if he is there ! 
 What shall I do if his eyes pain me as they did 
 three weeks ago ! And if he should beg ! And 
 what is it that the poor dear old Major wants? 
 Is he going to scold me because I have hurt his 
 boy ? What shall I do if he is there ! It is ter- 
 rible to be so sorry ! One cannot be sensible 
 when one is so sorry ! Oh, I wish that we were 
 little children little tiny, wee bits of children, 
 Dacre and I ! " 
 
 She did smile wanly at a beady-eyed, black- 
 haired Polish baby that pulled back from its 
 mother's full breast and looked at her as she 
 passed. The baby kicked and crowed and then 
 fell to tugging again, and the mother laughed 
 and looked at Olivia and pressed the little head 
 close to her bosom. "If he should dare to kiss 
 me again, what should I do ! " Olivia was think- 
 ing as she smiled back. 
 
 When she dipped into the low grounds among 
 more yellow butterflies, and climbed the slope 
 to the orchard gate, great cloud shadows were 
 beginning to float over the fields. The old 
 gray house in its old trees lay quite in shadow, 
 and the poplars along the river showed white. 
 Then on she went, over the familiar stile on 
 the orchard wall, through the tall seeding grass 
 
 54
 
 SWEETHEAKTING 
 
 and the clover, under the gnarled and knotted 
 trees. There was the Baldwin tree where she 
 and Dacre had had their seats and read the 
 fairy-books. In that Greening tree they had 
 found the oriole's nest. Then she came to the 
 currant bushes and the raspberries and black- 
 berries that edged the garden, all rank and 
 overgrown against the rotting fence ; then made 
 her way through what had been the kitchen 
 garden, now weeds and lawless rhubarb and 
 horseradish. 
 
 In the back yard, under the Bartlett pear 
 tree by the well, a Polish woman sat, sewing 
 large patches on a red shirt. Behind her there 
 were the gray roofs, the many-paned windows, 
 and under the trees the gray shine of the river. 
 
 " Oh, I be much glad you come ! " she cried 
 at sight of Olivia. " Our boy Stefan, he say 
 you come. He so sick, ze ole man. I not work 
 thiz day in my man's field, ze ole man so sick." 
 Her heavy face had grown suddenly gentle. 
 "He glad to see you. I show you." 
 
 " I know the way quite well," Olivia was be- 
 ginning, then stopped and said pleadingly, " Oh, 
 do, please ! " A faint odor of cigarettes had 
 blown to her. 
 
 " He so sick he not spick much, ze ole man. 
 55
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 He not get well zis time, Doctor say," the 
 woman was going on softly, as they went round 
 the house, past the lily bed and the ragged lilacs 
 and the great tangled wistaria that fell in pur- 
 ple and white cascades from cornice to ground. 
 In the uncut grass, the roses rioted at will, and 
 the long-neglected woodbine and coral honey- 
 suckle almost hid the tottering summerhouse 
 on the bank above the river. 
 
 The Polander stopped on the flagstone at 
 the front door, and motioned towards wistaria 
 and summerhouse and river. " All so sweet ! 
 All so sweet ! " she said softly. " I no change 
 it. Our Stefan, he love all what is pretty. An' 
 ze ole man he love it so. To die is hard when 
 all so pretty." 
 
 Her last words, soft as they were, made almost 
 an echo in the great bare hall, with the gra- 
 cious stairway that seemed curving up into 
 further loneliness. 
 
 "He in ze war-room," she whispered. "He 
 not want to die upstairs." 
 
 She stopped at the familiar door, listening. 
 The parlor doors were closed. Olivia stopped 
 too, breathless, with flaming cheeks. Down the 
 stairs, with wagging tail and a little whine, flew 
 Ben, Dacre's Gordon setter, and licked her 
 
 56
 
 SWEETHEARTING 
 
 hands and sniffed her skirts joyously. Every- 
 where there was the wistaria sweetness and in 
 it the faint fragrance of cigarettes. On the hat- 
 rack hung a white sweater, a Panama with a 
 blue band, and the Major's gold-corded veteran's 
 hat. It was quite still except for the wind in 
 the pines and the far rumble of thunder. 
 
 The Polish woman opened the door and 
 peeped into the room. " He all right. He mek 
 a little sleep. You go in," she whispered. 
 
 Olivia went softly across the threshold. The 
 familiar room cut her with its usualness the 
 windows looking across the river to the hills, 
 the walls covered with maps of the battlefields 
 and the pictures of generals, and with swords 
 and rifles and other army belongings. There, 
 opposite the door, resplendent as ever, hung the 
 portrait of the Major as first lieutenant, brave 
 and gallant and smiling. In the old Academy 
 days, when she and Dacre were sweethearts, and 
 there were school frolics, what brave story-tell- 
 ing of heroes there was in the war-room ! 
 
 In the armchair by the empty fireplace, with 
 an army blanket over his knees, dozing, with 
 hanging head, sat the Major. His face was 
 white and drawn, and his shriveled hands lay 
 limply in his lap. 
 
 57
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 "Major! Major Welling!" Olivia said gently. 
 " I 'm so glad to see you. You were good to 
 send for me." 
 
 He opened his eyes heavily with a feeble 
 smile. "That you, Mary Ladd?" he whispered 
 weakly, trying to rise and then falling back. 
 " That husband of yours with you ? It 's a cold 
 day." 
 
 " Oh, don't try to get up, Major ! " Olivia 
 cried. " It 's only I, Olivia. It 's not Mamma. 
 It 's only I." And she knelt at his side and put 
 her warm hand on his chill ones. 
 
 Her touch seemed to rouse him. " Of course ! 
 Why why, I must have been dozing. I 
 thought it was your mother and and your 
 father. We 're pretty near run out the old 
 place and I." And again he smiled faintly and 
 stared at the empty fireplace. 
 
 " And was there something you wanted me 
 to do for you, Major ? " Olivia went on softly, 
 stroking his hand and watching his pale face 
 fearfully. 
 
 r Suddenly he drew a sharp breath and, pulling 
 himself erect in his chair, faced her. It seemed 
 to her that she should freeze with the cold blue- 
 ness of his eyes. 
 
 " Do ! " he muttered hoarsely. " Do ! For 
 58
 
 SWEETHEARTING 
 
 God's sake, stop doing ! Let the boy alone ! 
 Don't don't make a damned fool of him. 
 Your father your father ruined his father. 
 One generation is enough, by God ! Let him 
 alone, or else make a man of him. Don't make 
 a fool of him and tell him he can paint. 
 Make a man of him, if you can, or by " He 
 fell back in his chair, gasping, his limp hands 
 fumbling in his lap. 
 
 For a black minute, Olivia sat staring at the 
 ashes on the hearth, her head against the old 
 blanket on his knee. Then out of what seemed 
 to her depths of terror, she found herself run- 
 ning from the room, out through the gray, 
 windy hall, past the closed doors, round the 
 house by the ragged lilacs. 
 
 The Polish woman was carrying a dripping 
 bucket from the well. 
 
 " Go to him, quick ! He is very ill ! " Olivia 
 cried. " Quick ! Perhaps he will die." 
 
 Then on she ran, through the garden, against 
 the rising wind, sobbing without tears. " I am 
 not brave any more. I am a coward not to stay 
 and take care of him," she was crying to her- 
 self. "But he was so terrible and what he 
 said is so terrible ! " 
 
 In the orchard a big drop of rain splashed 
 59
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 her face. The storm was almost upon her. But 
 at the stile over the orchard wall, she paused for 
 breath and dropped on the lower step and rested 
 her head on the stone. It was good, the storm 
 outside, to quiet the storm within. Another big 
 drop splashed coolly on her cheek. " Make a 
 man of him, if you can. Your father ruined 
 his father. One generation is enough," she kept 
 hearing above the throbbing of her heart. Sud- 
 denly, something flashed sharp into the dark of 
 her thought. Her cheeks glowed hot. She drew 
 a long breath and lifted her face for more cool 
 drops. 
 
 "Now now I must be his ! And he must 
 be be mine ! He is the atonement ! " she was 
 swiftly realizing. " I owe it to him for my 
 father's sake. The old love has meant just this! 
 I will love him always and that will make a man 
 of him. And I I will be brave like Mamma 
 and keep the secret." 
 
 And presently, when she heard him back in 
 the garden calling to her, and knew that he was 
 running to overtake her, she did not try to es- 
 cape, as she had planned she would do. She 
 was no longer afraid except that her heart 
 would stifle her with its beating. 
 
 He came flying through the long grass, call- 
 60
 
 SWEETHEARTING 
 
 ing softly to her. She kept her face close in her 
 hands, but she knew well how the apple boughs 
 brushed his crinkled, tawny hair, he was so tall, 
 and she felt without seeing the light in his lazy 
 eyes. 
 
 " You, Olivia ! You, darling ! I did n't know 
 you 'd come till you 'd gone. I was in the stu- 
 dio painting. That chump of a woman told me. 
 Sweetheart ! Sweetheart ! You see, it had to 
 be!" 
 
 And when he knelt at her side and put his 
 arms around her, she let him draw her close 
 and kiss her eyes, her hair, her neck. 
 
 " You see it differently, don't you, sweet, 
 now that you 're back and we are n't together 
 as we 've always been ? " he was murmuring 
 close to her ear. " We just must be together 
 always. And it 's like old boy and girl times, 
 your coming to see Grandfather. And it 's go- 
 ing to be like old times, always, is n't it, dar- 
 ling only better ? " And she let him lift her 
 chin and look into the very depths of her clear 
 eyes, and kiss her lips long, throbbingly. 
 
 " Now you '11 come back till the storm 's over, 
 and then I '11 hitch " he was going on. 
 
 But she drew away and got up quickly. " Oh, 
 no ! " she said breathlessly. " I cannot go back. 
 
 61
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 But you must go back at once to the poor sick old 
 man. He is so fearfully ill. I will run home and 
 send the doctor. It is not far and I do not mind 
 the rain." 
 
 " Oh, Grandfather will be all right. Mrs. 
 
 7 O 
 
 Wieniaski knows how to manage him. He 's 
 been that way twice before and got all right. 
 And you do see differently, darling ? I can't be 
 anything without you. You see differently 
 sure?" 
 
 She put her hands on his shoulders and gave 
 him a long look. She need n't be afraid of him 
 any more, this great, beautiful, boyish sweet- 
 heart of hers. He was the atonement for the 
 other generation. And she, too, could keep her 
 secret. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " she said, with a quick breath. 
 " I see quite differently. You can be very sure, 
 dear. It is right that I shall be be all yours 
 if I can make a man of you. I must not be 
 yours unless I can make a great man of you." 
 
 " Darling, you can make anything of me 
 if you will love me," he murmured. " And now 
 I will go home with you and " 
 
 She gave him a little push and drew away. 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! You must go back to him 
 quickly," she cried. "And remember that it 
 
 62
 
 SWEETHEAKTING 
 
 is a secret from every one above all, from 
 Mamma until I I have succeeded. Yes, 
 yes ! Just once more ! " And again she felt 
 his passionate lips on hers. Then she turned 
 and ran down the path into the low grounds. 
 Ahead of her, the rain was already sweeping 
 over the wide, thirsty fields.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 ICING 
 
 DIED last night ! What a mercy ! " Miss Hol- 
 lins exclaimed, folding in the flour. It was the 
 ticklish point in her sponge cake, that folding 
 in. " The Lord was kind to take him before 
 things got worse." 
 
 " Worse ! " Prunella, in a big blue kitchen 
 apron, was shooting almonds out of their wet 
 brown skins. "How could they be worse?" 
 Between the ten o'clock and the noon mail she 
 had time to be domestic. 
 
 " Well, it would be worse to see Dacre more 
 of a failure than he is, and the old place gone 
 to those Polanders." Miss Hollins's pink cham- 
 bray sleeves came only to the elbows of her 
 finely shaped, aristocratic arms, and her plump 
 white neck showed cool and comfortable in a 
 delicate surplice. 
 
 " If Olivia should marry him now ! I 'm so 
 afraid she will. He 's crazier than ever about 
 her." 
 
 " God forbid ! " Miss Hollins said solemnly, 
 pouring the foamy batter into the buttered 
 
 64
 
 ICING 
 
 tins. " This makes the ten fifteen-cent sponge- 
 cakes, does n't it, Prunella? It 's a wicked 
 shame he 's so good-looking. It 's an unfair ad- 
 vantage. But Olivia has judgment. And died 
 last night! Poor old Major! How happy he 
 was Memorial Day ! Little thought we 'd so 
 soon be decorating his grave. I 've been mean- 
 ing to go out to see him ever since he had the 
 second shock." 
 
 " But he would n't have known you, Aunt 
 Lou. Dacre was in the post-office yesterday 
 morning and he said he 'd been in a stupor ever 
 since the storm ten days ago. That was the 
 third shock, Dacre says. Dacre keeps getting 
 letters from France and from steamship com- 
 panies. Now I suppose he '11 go right away 
 unless unless Olivia " 
 
 " Mercy ! Don't talk about such a thing, 
 Prunella. Olivia 's got better sense, after all 
 her college. But I do take myself to task that 
 I did n't get out to see him." 
 
 " But how could you, Aunt Lou, with extra 
 boarders and all these orders from the Ex- 
 change. You just could n't, that 's all." 
 
 "Those almonds ready, Prunella? Yes, I 
 could have. These days, we spend so much 
 time thinking how little time we have, that we 
 
 65
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 lose a lot. Two almond sponge, three cocoa 
 sponge, one marshmallow layer, and four plain." 
 And she counted the fragrant loaves on the 
 table by the kitchen window that looked on the 
 rose-patch. The rose-patch was the one merely 
 ornamental part of the little back garden. 
 The rest was exclusively devoted to Prunella's 
 vegetables, worked at between mail -times. 
 Prunella permitted herself and her aunt no 
 merely aesthetic indulgences. But nevertheless, 
 the table by the other window was a thing of 
 beauty in spite of Prunella's severity ; for she 
 herself sat at the side of it with the breeze 
 blowing the soft little curls around her small 
 ears and the heat of the kitchen deepening the 
 pink of her cheeks. And on the top of the 
 table there were many little white and yellow 
 and blue bowls full of the luscious icings, all, 
 except the chocolate, in delicate pastel shades, 
 cocoa, pistache, strawberry, coffee. Prunella's 
 nearest approach to an aesthetic gratification 
 was concocting and stirring the icings that 
 were the distinguishing glory of her aunt's 
 cakes in the Wellfield Woman's Exchange. 
 
 Miss Hollins was spreading the cocoa-icing, 
 smoothing it back and forth with sure strokes. 
 " At any rate, I '11 go over this afternoon. Like 
 
 66
 
 ICING 
 
 as not, Mary Ladd is there, taking hold. Hope 
 to mercy she is ! There 's no one else, except 
 the G. A. R. But there 's precious few veterans 
 left to manage the funeral. Sticks, this icing. 
 It 's the heat." 
 
 "But if Olivia should ! " Prunella repeated, 
 stirring strawberry. " I 'd almost hate her. Just 
 because you love a man or think you do 
 it does n't make any difference what kind he 
 is ! I never would, I know that ! " 
 
 " You don't know what you 'd do, Prunella. 
 What time is that striking ? Eleven ? " 
 
 " Yes, eleven. Well, you did n't, Aunt Lou. 
 It 's all a matter of common " 
 
 " Never had a chance ! I don't know what I 
 should have done ! Just as foolish things as any 
 other woman, like as not ! " Miss Hollins inter- 
 rupted, with a laugh and a faint flush under 
 her delicate skin. " Never had a beau in my 
 life. How could I ? I had no time for beaus. 
 First your grandmother ill for five years, then 
 your mother for eight, and then then the 
 old place gone and you to bring up bless 
 you, Prunella and and not a cent to buy 
 buy hairpins. But lots of blessings instead 
 of beaus ! " And as she reached for the straw- 
 berry, she kissed the girl's cheek quickly. 
 
 67
 
 Prunella endured it. 
 
 "Eggs out, are n't they, Aunt Lou?" she 
 said abruptly. " What '11 you do ? And the 
 week-end boarders coming to-night." 
 
 " I know it. And I 've tried everywhere ex- 
 cept that Polish woman at the Wellings' that 
 Mrs. Wieniaski. She usually has plenty. Once 
 before in a pinch I got some there. I could send 
 Bobbie " 
 
 "Don't, please! Please don't, Aunt Lou. 
 Somehow, eggs from Polanders and from 
 those Polanders in the Major's place, it 's worst 
 of all." 
 
 " You 're too fussy, Prunella. And some- 
 times you actually sound sentimental. They 
 are a very decent lot, those Wieniaskis. Eggs 
 are dirt-proof anyhow. And that Stefan 's as 
 good-looking a fellow as there is in town, ex- 
 cept that young Irishman. None of our own 
 boys left for comparisons, except Dacre, and 
 you never know where he is long enough to 
 put your finger on him to compare him." 
 
 Prunella was unbuttoning her apron. " Well, 
 I know that I am not sentimental, of all things," 
 she said decidedly. " That young Posadowski is 
 is impertinent. The other morning I actually 
 caught him putting a bunch of wild flag on my 
 
 68
 
 ICING 
 
 desk. The audacity, Aunt Lou ! I threw them 
 into the waste-basket. And he 's always getting 
 rolls of foreign music through the mail, and 
 queer-looking Polish books. Such airs ! And if 
 he 'd only cut his " 
 
 She stopped. There was a knock at the front 
 door. " I '11 see," she went on, drying her hands 
 on the roller towel. " I Ve got to go soon any- 
 how. If it 's Mrs. Clabby, what shall I do ? Say 
 you 're dead ? " 
 
 " Prunella ! Ask her in, of course. She 
 wouldn't stay." 
 
 "Would n't she!" 
 
 But it was not Mrs. Clabby. Miss Hollins, 
 peeping through the crack of the dining-room 
 door, gave a sigh of relief ; then sighed again 
 and frowned. That the visitor was Bride Joyce 
 was even more of an interruption than if it had 
 been Mrs. Clabby. It was n't easy to welcome 
 the people who had got possession, however 
 honestly and fairly, of the home of one's ances- 
 tors. The Joyces were the only people she had 
 permitted herself to avoid among all the new- 
 comers in the valley. Prunella simply ignored 
 them. And yet it was foolish and wicked to be 
 resentful at the girl's coming, Miss Hollins 
 was telling herself, still at the crack. 
 
 69
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 Prunella, as she pushed open the screen door, 
 was having a little struggle, too. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Joyce! It's you!" she said. 
 " Won't you come in ? " 
 
 " No, thank y' ! I '11 just stop here. And 
 y're that busy. My brother says that niver has he 
 seen so busy a body as y' are." And she smiled 
 under the wide straw hat tied beneath her round 
 chin with ribbons as blue as her eyes. " And 
 it 's y'r time I am taking, and me coming to 
 ask y' a great favor." 
 
 " Oh, there 's lots of time," Prunella said, a 
 little less frigidly. " Do come in out of the 
 heat." 
 
 So the unwelcome visitor came in and put 
 her little willow basket on the floor at her side 
 when she seated herself in Prunella's great- 
 great-grandfather's Sheraton armchair. Had 
 Mrs. Ladd seen her so sitting, she would have 
 found the incongruity painful and significant, 
 but had Dacre Ladd beheld her, he would have 
 liked the composition and the coloring, the 
 nice tone of her homespun linen dress and 
 the fresh pink and white of her skin. 
 
 " It 's like this, y' see," she was saying. " I 've 
 come to ask if y'r aunt, Miss Hollins, would be 
 so good as to spare me a bit of cake. I 'd be so 
 
 70
 
 ICING 
 
 thankful to her. What with me staying last 
 night at Major Welling's, my brother and me, 
 and Uncle Mike 's telephoning that he '11 be 
 bringing the School Board to dine, and me so 
 sleepy with the sitting up and all, and our Nora 
 with a toothache on her, there 's not much 
 they '11 be having t' eat. And so perhaps Miss 
 Hollins will be letting me have a bit of cake. 
 'T was Mrs. Clabby said so." 
 
 Prunella had melted enough to laugh. " Mrs. 
 Clabby told you, did she?" Then, grown 
 quickly serious, "And you were at the Well- 
 ings' last night?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," she answered, quite simply. " Just 
 as soon as the news came, Uncle Mike told 
 Patrick and me to go. He was quite alone, was 
 the young man, except for the Polish people. 
 And at home, in Leenane, in our country, 
 always when there was grief or trouble, and 
 no one to be minding things always we 
 went. Always there is much that a woman 
 should be doing. The men do not always be 
 thinking of of the tender things." Her eyes 
 had filled quickly. 
 
 " Was not Mrs. Ladd there? " Prunella asked, 
 again a little cold. 
 
 " Not till the morning, and then so pale and 
 71
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 quiet. Last night there were only my brother 
 and I, and the man they sent for. It was that 
 lonely in the big house ! And Patrick stayed 
 close by the young gentleman. It seemed to 
 comfort him that Pat was there, he was that 
 beside himself. And Pat was telling him about 
 when our father died, three years ago, at home, 
 in Leenane. And there being no woman in the 
 family, it was enough to break y'r heart. But 
 the Polish woman was good, and her nephew 
 helped me, and we cut great boughs of syringa 
 and wistaria and woodbine, till the house was 
 that sweet ! It was moonlight and quite easy 
 the cutting. And then this morning, what with 
 the flags to drape, and the swords and the brass 
 buttons on the uniform to be shining Ah, 
 there was a plenty to do, and me that sleepy 
 and stupid in the doing ! " And she smothered 
 a little yawn behind her slender, finely shaped 
 hand. " And so, if, please, I could have the bit 
 of cake," she finished. " Y' see, I Ve not been 
 minding the house as I should." 
 
 Prunella drew a long breath. " I '11 see," she 
 said, rising. "I'm not at all sure. Was Miss 
 Ladd there?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! Not in the house. I was after 
 seeing her in the garden, with the young gen- 
 72
 
 ICING 
 
 tleman. She came with the flowers. And then 
 Mrs. Ladd went with the young gentleman to 
 see about the grave. It does seem hard to be 
 having to bury him, a grand soldier, out in the 
 fields. But Patrick says it 'a where the family 
 are sleeping, and it 's best to lie with one's own, 
 is it not?" 
 
 " Of course," Prunella answered. " But the 
 hideous thing is that the foreigners have " 
 She remembered and stopped. 
 
 The foreigner held out her hand quickly. 
 " Ah, do not be minding me ! " she cried softly. 
 " It 's often and often that Uncle Mike and 
 Patrick and I are saying how hard it is for the 
 old places to go. Everywhere at home, in my 
 country, it is the same, the old places are going. 
 We know. And always always, we will be 
 tender." Again her blue eyes had filled and 
 her delicate color came swiftly. " Will you not 
 always remember that that we we are ten- 
 der?" she pleaded. 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! " Prunella said, flushing 
 too. " I 'm sure you are. I '11 see about the 
 cake." She was thinking how glad she was 
 that their family had been sensible and buried 
 in the town cemetery. 
 
 Miss Hollins was waiting at the dining-room 
 73
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 door with a large tray of cakes. Her face, too, 
 was flushed. 
 
 " I 've heard it all," she whispered excitedly. 
 " I was listening at the crack. It was my right 
 to do so. Don't be un-Christian, Prunella. 
 Of course she shall have cake. I'm not a 
 heathen." 
 
 " All that, Aunt Lou ! " 
 
 " All she needs, child. Think of the predica- 
 ment. And School Boards and Selectmen eat 
 like ogres. You take them in there! And 
 tell her there 's no charge." 
 
 " No charge ! Oh, Aunt Lou ! And that big 
 bill for the new range ! " 
 
 "I couldn't, Prunella from her. Do as I 
 say." 
 
 But the question of charge was seemingly of 
 not the smallest concern to the visitor. After 
 exclamations of delight at the color and the 
 lightness and the fragrance, she went on with 
 perfect unconsciousness, "And perhaps you '11 
 let me be taking them just as they are, on the 
 tray. Such beauties they are ! And my basket so 
 wee. And then right away I '11 send down the 
 tray t' y' by one of the lads from the farm. 
 And you will tell y'r aunt, please, how very 
 thankful I am." 
 
 74
 
 ICING 
 
 When she had gone, Prunella flew back to 
 the dining-room. 
 
 " Took them all, and not a word about pay- 
 ing," she said grimly. " What do you think of 
 that, Aunt Lou ? " 
 
 Miss Hollins wiped her glasses on the edge of 
 her apron. "It looks to me as if as if she 
 were a lady," she answered. " You wait and 
 see, Prunella. Don't misjudge." 
 
 Prunella did not have to wait long. When 
 she came home to dinner, Miss Hollins beck- 
 oned her excitedly into the kitchen. 
 
 " See there ! " she said in a triumphant tone. 
 " I told you so. And Jane Clabby must have 
 told her my prices. She 's sent just the right 
 amount, to a cent. I know the very patch those 
 berries grew in." 
 
 On the icing-table stood the tray, brimming 
 full of big strawberries. In the middle lay a 
 small envelope. 
 
 "We must be fair, Prunella, even if it does 
 hurt." 
 
 " I did n't know the Irish ever had crests," 
 Prunella said critically, putting down the en- 
 velope. 
 
 " Nor I. But why not ! " And Miss Hollins 
 picked up the envelope and held it close to her 
 
 75
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 near-sighted eyes. " And in good taste. They 
 are n't half so unlike us as the Polanders are." 
 
 That afternoon, just before Prunella ran 
 home to hoe the beans, Olivia looked through 
 the opening into her cage. The post-office was 
 in one corner of the general store, opposite the 
 candy and notion counter, and flanked with 
 seeders and pitchforks and fertilizers. In mid- 
 afternoon Prunella's corner was usually de- 
 serted. 
 
 She reached into Olivia's box. "Only this. 
 My ! How white and tired you look, Olivia ! 
 Been over to Dacre's ? " 
 
 "No," Olivia answered, almost sharply. 
 " Mamma has." Then looking at her letter, 
 " Oh, Prunella ! I 've got it. It 's my appoint- 
 ment. I am surprised. Do see ! " 
 
 Prunella came out and looked over Olivia's 
 shoulder. 
 
 " I did n't think you would either," she said. 
 
 But there seemed to have been little question 
 about the matter in the minds of the Honor- 
 able Gentlemen of the School Board, for, accord- 
 ing to the letter, written in a most individual 
 and quite unclerklike hand, she had been unani- 
 mously chosen at the first and only meeting 
 since she had made application. 
 
 76
 
 ICING 
 
 " He wrote it," Prunella said. 
 
 " Who ? " Olivia asked, quite unnecessarily, 
 considering she had the letter still open in her 
 hand. 
 
 " Why, that Pat Joyce." 
 
 " He writes it l Patrick/ " Olivia said, a little 
 coldly. " I suppose I must acknowledge it." 
 
 Prunella had no sense of humor, but just 
 here she laughed. 
 
 To Mike," she said.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 TAPS 
 
 J.HB sun was kind that day as the procession 
 came out of the shade of the Welling elms into 
 the road across the onion fields. All morning 
 the heat had been breathless, except for a hot 
 breeze, which swayed the worn lace curtains at 
 the parlor windows, between which the Major 
 lay. In full uniform, with the flag of his com- 
 pany for a coverlet, and his sword ready at 
 hand, he slept as if after a victory, his face 
 grown smooth and almost young again in his 
 repose. Over the mantel, the portrait of his 
 young wife, dead in their long ago youth, smiled 
 down at him. From a little basket of flowers in 
 her hand, she was just taking a pink rose. To 
 Bride Joyce, going in and out with flowers, it 
 seemed that she meant the rose for him, and 
 she put one into his hand and smiled back at 
 the portrait lady. 
 
 " Y'll be giving him a prettier one in heaven, 
 finding him that young and handsome again," 
 she said softly. 
 
 But the sun of the morning and noon went 
 78
 
 TAPS 
 
 in as the hearse and the half-dozen carriages 
 wound along the grass-grown drive and then 
 out into the dusty field road. The weeders saw 
 them coming, and stood up and bared their 
 heads, and watched them file black through the 
 gray greenness of the onions, off towards the 
 higher tuft of cedars in the far north field. 
 
 Dacre, in the carriage with Mrs. Ladd and 
 Olivia, sat with his head in his hands. His hat, 
 with the new weed on it, was on the seat be- 
 side him. Now and then his heavy eyes met 
 Olivia's and flushed her cheeks and made her 
 heart beat. 
 
 " You look to-day just as you used to look 
 long ago, when you and Olivia played house 
 in the orchard," Mrs. Ladd said, half tenderly. 
 
 He ran his hand through the wave of tawny 
 hair over his brow. " I wish things would n't 
 change so so hideously," he said bitterly. 
 "Poor old Grandfather ! " 
 
 " I wish you were both children again, you 
 and Olivia," Mrs. Ladd went on. 
 
 " I don't," he said, looking at Olivia. 
 
 " Things might be so different, so much 
 better, if we had the the chance again." Mrs. 
 Ladd sighed. 
 
 " I only want them less hideous and and 
 79
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 vulgar," he exclaimed. " Poor old Grandfather ! 
 He was too much of a soldier to be a good man- 
 ager. He had plenty of fine chances to sell the 
 place. He might have lived twenty years longer 
 if he 'd let it go." 
 
 Olivia remembered the white old face staring 
 at the empty fireplace and heard the shrill old 
 voice, and looked away, out of the window. The 
 procession was making a turn, the first carriage 
 crossing the bridge over Larch Brook. Larch 
 Brook made almost an island of the little knoll 
 where slept generations of Wellings, under a 
 coverlet of periwinkle, shaded by dark, pointed 
 cedars. She could see the first carriage over 
 the bridge, then the hearse with the flag-draped 
 coffin, then the next carriage with the veterans 
 and the minister, then the next with the bearers, 
 and on the door a man's brown hand holding a 
 Panama hat. It was Patrick Joyce's hand, prob- 
 ably, for he was one of the bearers. 
 
 " And now you will let the old place go ? " 
 her mother was going on to Dacre. 
 
 " It 's gone ! " he said sharply, " as far as 
 I'm concerned. I saw Chesson yesterday and he 
 says it 's mortgaged almost up to its value a 
 trifle of a thousand left over. I knew there was 
 a mortgage, of course, but I never dreamed 
 
 80
 
 TAPS 
 
 the amount. Grandfather was close-mouthed. 
 Thought I had n't sense enough to understand, 
 I suppose." 
 
 " Who holds the mortgage ? " Mrs. Ladd 
 asked in a colorless tone. 
 
 Dacre's tone was not colorless. " Joyce. Who 
 do you suppose ! He holds the valley, I believe, 
 and lets it out to the Poles. But I 'm glad he 's 
 the man if there has to be a change. He 's a 
 good enough sort, and that nephew and niece 
 of his they 're all right ! They 've done just 
 about everything since Grandfather died. I 
 could n't. To-day there would n't have been a 
 bit of singing if they had n't hustled around 
 and got up something. The girl 's like a Greuze 
 and full of temperament." 
 
 Olivia winced at the irrelevancy. It was like 
 Dacre. 
 
 Mrs. Ladd had sunk back in her corner. They 
 were rumbling over the bridge. Dacre drew a 
 long breath and looked at Olivia. 
 
 " I 'm through with the whole miserable busi- 
 ness. I 'm going to work," he said. " I 'm off to- 
 morrow, and sail Saturday. It 's a close shave, 
 but I Ve been bound to go with La Rose himself. 
 It 's my tide, is n't it, Olivia ? Joyce has advanced 
 me the thousand. Pretty decent of him." 
 
 81
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " You are right to go, Dacre," Mrs. Ladd 
 said, "but I wish it did not have to be so 
 
 soon." 
 
 "It's now or never!" he answered shortly. 
 
 They had left the onion rows and were climb- 
 ing the grassy road around the little knoll. In 
 the gray stillness, there were just the soft thud 
 of the horses' hoofs and the swift rush of the 
 brook. Then there was the stop at the little 
 gate, the click of opening doors, and the sound 
 of hushed voices. 
 
 Olivia followed close after her mother and 
 Dacre over the matted periwinkle to the new 
 grave under the tall cedar by the wall. Long 
 sprays of neglected rosebushes, catching her 
 skirts, showered pink and white and crimson 
 petals. Just ahead marched the veterans, trem- 
 ulous, with old shoulders feebly squared ; ahead 
 of them went the coffin, flag-draped, between 
 young, stalwart bearers. 
 
 When they rested the Major on the peri- 
 winkle, and the minister began to read, 
 " Moreover, brethren, I declare unto you the 
 gospel which I preached unto you " Olivia 
 drew back, away from where Dacre's quick 
 hand-clasp had drawn her, and leaned in the 
 angle of the wall, under the tremulous boughs 
 
 82
 
 TAPS 
 
 of a white birch. The weight of her secret had 
 pressed heavy during the ride. And now her 
 mother's pale, set face was more than she could 
 endure, and Dacre's bitter lack of sorrow made 
 her own heart ache with a strange complexity 
 of pain. The poor old Major ! The last of them 
 all, except Dacre, to be put under the periwinkle 
 out there in the fields of his fathers, that were 
 no longer his ! And it was her father that had 
 dispossessed him ! And he had not had the 
 courage to face what he had done ; he had left 
 it to her to atone. Did her mother know ? And 
 if she did know, did she dream that she, Olivia, 
 knew ? And knowing, did she still tell her to 
 marry out of the valley, new blood, success, 
 money ? 
 
 It was very still, just the wind in the cedars 
 and the brook's voice. All around stretched the 
 fields, with the dark green of the Major's elms 
 and pines off there to the left. Behind the wall 
 on which she leaned the hills climbed to the 
 overcast sky. 
 
 In the little group of singers stood Patrick 
 and Bride Joyce. He flushed slowly as he 
 glanced over at the wall and then away, turn- 
 ing the leaves of the songbook and bending to 
 whisper to his sister. He seemed almost defi- 
 
 83
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 antly, arrogantly tall and straight and firm and 
 clear-cut, this dark-haired young Irishman 
 against the wide, sad background of fields 
 fields that his uncle was getting away from 
 those whose forefathers had held them since 
 Indian days. Very much an invader he seemed 
 there in the little cemetery, waiting to sing the 
 old Major into his last repose. 
 
 And then presently they were singing, and 
 his barytone was just as firm and clear and as- 
 sured as he himself, as he followed on : 
 
 "Sleep, comrade, sleep, in calm repose." 
 
 She looked bitterly away from him to Dacre, 
 leaning with bowed head on the tall gray cross 
 that marked his mother's grave. He and she 
 were the last of it all, of the old order. That in 
 itself meant that Fate intended them for each 
 other and for no one else. And through them, 
 Fate, or God, or whatever it was, expected a 
 resurrection, required it of them, a new and 
 splendid order out of the old. 
 
 " Sad, ain't it ! " Mrs. Clabby whispered at 
 her side, wiping the tears off her rusty veil. 
 " That 's Mrs. Welling's grave, right 'longside 
 of him. Awful proud-sperrited woman! And 
 
 now all these onion fields and these outlandish 
 
 84
 
 TAPS 
 
 foreigners creeping up on her. Don't seem nat- 
 ural for her to stay quiet an' let 'em come." 
 
 " Shall reign till life doth cease," 
 
 rang out the voices, clearest the barytone and 
 the fine silver of the soprano. 
 
 "An' Mrs. Archibald was just sayin' how 
 Dacre's all alone," Mrs. Clabby whispered on 
 behind her black cotton glove ; " not a soul re- 
 lated to him except that high-flyin' Mrs. Chap- 
 pell that lives 'way out in San Francisco an* 
 has the mortgage on the silver an' the mahog- 
 any. Poor boy! An' no more business sense 
 than a a hoptoad ! " 
 
 The prayer stopped her. 
 
 " Our Heavenly Father, unchanged and un- 
 changing ! " 
 
 Dacre's eyes met Olivia's across the grave- 
 stones. Then she bowed her head and saw the 
 little ferns in the crannies of the wall, the 
 lichens on the stones, a tiny feather caught in 
 a cobweb. But all the time she was poignantly 
 aware of the two men; of Dacre, the last of 
 his race, alone and through her father's fault 
 dispossessed ; and of the invader there among 
 them, firm and assured, with his ringing voice. 
 
 " God ! God ! " her heart throbbed. Let 
 85
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 a miracle be ! Let me so love him that I can 
 make a king of him ! Help me to atone to him, 
 and make him strong to achieve, and help us 
 both to drive out those who have taken what so 
 long has been ours ! " 
 
 The other prayer ended. A meadowlark sang 
 high and sweet in the cool gray air. Miss Hol- 
 lins stood patting Dacre's shoulder. They were 
 lowering the flag-draped coffin and singing, 
 " Nearer, my God, to Thee." 
 
 Olivia left the wall angle and went over and 
 stood by her mother, on Dacre's other side- 
 After all, why not ! For a lifetime they had 
 been playmates. And their parents before them 
 had grown up together. Her mother's hand 
 was cold when she clasped it. 
 
 Mrs. Clabby sobbed aloud. 
 
 When it was quite over, she found herself 
 walking at Dacre's side over the periwinkle. 
 
 " Over there in the corner, the other side of 
 Mother, is where they '11 put me," he said in 
 an undertone. 
 
 She lifted large eyes full of unshed tears. 
 " And I ? " she whispered. 
 
 " Oh, there 's plenty of room between me 
 and the white rosebush," he whispered back 
 lightly. " Jove ! But that girl's voice is sweet. 
 
 86
 
 TAPS 
 
 There's a sort of heartbreak in it, isn't 
 there?" 
 
 " There 's a good deal of heartbreak in every- 
 thing, it seems to me," Olivia answered with 
 sudden sharpness. 
 
 " Oh, that 's what 's the matter with me," he 
 said irritably. " I 've had too much of that sort 
 of thing. I need a lot of joy to set me going. 
 And to-morrow " his voice dropped into the 
 tenderness that made her cheeks flame " to- 
 morrow early, I '11 come over for good-bye. My 
 train goes at eleven. To-night there 's packing, 
 lots to burn up and tear up. You '11 be good to 
 me for good-bye ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I '11 be very good. And you '11 not 
 let Mamma dream of of it ? " 
 
 " Not dream of it, dearest," he whispered as 
 he held open the carriage door for her. 
 
 But going home, she wondered if she were 
 not dreaming, as she watched, for him, the 
 receding of the little green knoll into the quiet 
 and loneliness of the evening, and heard his 
 hopeful talk with her mother, of Paris, of La 
 Rose's studio, of how hard he was going to 
 work, of what he had read and heard tell of the 
 inspiration of life in the Quartier Latin. 
 
 " In a year, or two at the most, you and 
 87
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 Olivia will be coming over to see me hanging 
 ' on the line/ " he said almost gayly, as he left 
 them at their gate, and then was driven off to 
 the old house across the fields. 
 
 But the next morning there was not much of 
 a dream about the heartache when, from the 
 kitchen doorstep where she sat shelling peas, 
 she heard him come whistling through the gate 
 and up the path, with Ben, the setter, just as 
 for years he had come to get her to go canoe- 
 ing or tramping or fishing. Ben found her first, 
 in sudden pursuit of a stray chicken, which 
 brought him flying around the house. Then 
 there were Dacre's call, " Olivia ! " and her 
 mother's answer from upstairs, " She 's in the 
 kitchen," and then he was on the step at her 
 side and the peas were rolling over the sun- 
 flecked flagstones. 
 
 "I '11 pick them up, darling," he cried softly. 
 " Who cares ! Only ten minutes and enough 
 love to last for a year ! " And he drew her head 
 down on his shoulder and kissed and kissed. 
 
 " Ssh ! Quick ! Mamma will come," she 
 pleaded, drawing back. 
 
 He sprang up and drew her to her feet. He 
 was very splendidly handsome in his new gray 
 suit with his black-banded Panama and his 
 
 88
 
 TAPS 
 
 black tie, and the black band on his left arm, 
 and the bright color in his boyish face. And he 
 was quite imperious and determined as he put 
 an arm around her and drew her close and tilted 
 her chin, and looked down into her clear eyes. 
 
 " You 're sure sure sure, dearest ? " he 
 said. " You 're so clever and beautiful, there '11 
 be dozens of fellows after you. You won't 
 change sure ? " 
 
 " Never ! I Ve promised," she whispered trem- 
 ulously. " There can never be any one but 
 you. And you '11 work, really, dear? And you '11 
 be be good ? Paris is so big and so wicked. 
 And the Paris women are so " 
 
 He laughed and kissed the words hotly off 
 her lips. 
 
 " So unlike you ! " he finished grandly, and 
 then went to meet Mrs. Ladd in the hall, and 
 let Olivia pick up the peas and cool her cheeks 
 and make her eyes less shining. 
 
 And presently, he had gayly explained that 
 if they were willing, Ben was to be their dog 
 until his master sent for him, and then there 
 were more gay good-byes, with much laughing 
 about the gay Parisiennes, and then the gate 
 under the honeysuckles had slammed after him. 
 
 Ben was crying piteously in the long parlor, 
 89
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 where Dacre had shut him up. OH via dusted off 
 the hall table carefully with the handkerchief 
 she had been waving. 
 
 " The dust is fearful. I wish it would rain," 
 she said. 
 
 "But not storm," Mrs. Ladd protested, be- 
 ginning reluctantly to climb the stairs. " I do 
 hope he '11 have a good passage. But it does 
 seem all wrong that he went so soon after the 
 funeral. It is n't respectful or practical. He 's 
 left everything in that Joyce's hands, and ac- 
 cepted some sort of of accommodation from 
 him. But then that 's a Welling all over again ! 
 Do you need any help with the peas, Olivia?" 
 
 " They 're shelled, Mamma. All done ! " 
 Olivia said.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 HO ! FOR THE FERRY ! 
 
 J: RUNELLA would never have permitted Robbie 
 to go to the circus when an egg famine threat- 
 ened Miss Hollins's pantry, and the hot weather 
 made so likely an increase of boarders from the 
 city. But her aunt had been deaf to her argu- 
 ments, and had not only given Robbie a dime 
 for peanuts, but had wrapped half a fifteen- 
 cent sponge cake in a paper napkin and tucked 
 it into his jacket pocket. It was this last foolish 
 indulgence that still rankled in Prunella's bosom 
 as she walked quickly through the onion fields 
 towards the Welling place to see whether Mrs. 
 Wieniaski had any eggs to sell. 
 
 " I '11 go," Prunella had said, not amiably. 
 " I suppose it 's a vital necessity for Robbie to 
 see those idiotic clowns. It will blight his young 
 life if he does n't." 
 
 " Not at all, Prunella, but I promised," Miss 
 Hollins had answered, making mayonnaise with 
 the only two eggs in the house. " I promised 
 the boy last winter, when I had that big order 
 for the D. A. R. reception in Wellfield, and he 
 
 91
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 had to make six trips to the station with cake 
 in one day. He was nice about it when he really 
 wanted to go skating, and I promised. I 'm 
 sorry, Prunella. Perhaps that little Leon Cilkow 
 across the street will go." 
 
 " No, I '11 go," Prunella insisted. " Don't 
 let 's get mixed up with any more foreigners, 
 for goodness' sake ! " And she took off her big 
 post-office apron and jabbed her hatpin viciously 
 through her last summer's straw hat trimmed 
 with the poppies of two summers before, and 
 went out and slammed the gate behind her. 
 
 " The walk will do her more good any day 
 than hoeing beans," Miss Hollins said to her- 
 self, comfortably dropping oil. " And then, be- 
 sides, she '11 find out just what those Polanders 
 are doing with the Welling place, and whether 
 Millicent Chappell has taken away all her 
 uncle's silver and mahogany. There 's that in- 
 laid worktable that I should like to get myself. 
 My mother gave it to Mrs. Welling for a wed- 
 ding present." 
 
 Meanwhile, Prunella was going rapidly along 
 the wide village street. In her then present 
 mood, it annoyed her exceedingly that Michael 
 Joyce's big touring-car stood in front of the 
 town hall and that Patrick Joyce was tinkering 
 
 92
 
 HO! FOR THE FERRY! 
 
 quite familiarly with one of the tires. He had 
 thrown off his coat and hat and worked in a 
 light-blue madras shirt that became well his 
 clear dark skin. Prunella, of course, had no eye 
 for the color scheme, and bowed coldly when he 
 looked up and smiled and asked if he might n't 
 take her on her errand in the car. 
 
 " It 's just wasting its time standing here 
 idle, and me mending it when there 's not a bit 
 of it broken," he said. " It would be a great 
 kindness if you would let me take you, and you 
 in a hurry." 
 
 But she only shook her head and smiled 
 scarcely at all, and noticed how black and oily 
 his hands were. As she passed the Ladds', she 
 saw Olivia weeding the lettuce and parsley in 
 the garden. She could tell that Olivia had just 
 washed her hair; it made a fluffy, sunny pile 
 on the top of her head as she bent over the 
 green. 
 
 However, across the fields the walk was hot 
 and undiverted, and it was not until she came 
 into the marshy grounds below the orchard that 
 adventure began. 
 
 " Just as I might have expected ! " she ex- 
 claimed to herself. " High water after the storm 
 
 yesterday an4 tl*e day before ! Now, what '11 1 
 
 93
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 do ! And after all this walk, too. Robbie ought 
 never to have gone to the circus. But that is 
 exactly like Aunt Lou ! " 
 
 Before she had time longer to lament her 
 plight, a wholly charming and novel possibility 
 presented itself. Out of the weeds and fern 
 that ran riot in the little valley and that now 
 made a picturesque border for the highwater 
 creek, there protruded, quite close to the tuft of 
 sedge on which she stood, the end of a small 
 raft. Instantly there came visions of the old days 
 when she and Olivia and Dacre had paddled 
 on just such floating palaces, en route for the 
 foreign shores pictured in Clark's Geography. 
 And it was quite Prunella-like for her to forget 
 her injuries and afflictions and set herself de- 
 lightfully afloat upon it over the muddy cur- 
 rent. Such fun was it that she poled herself 
 first a little upstream and then a little down- 
 stream, and finally landed herself almost reluc- 
 tantly on the orchard side and pushed the raft 
 into a safe mooring among the fern. Surely 
 Robbie at the circus was no better diverted with 
 the idiotic clowns ! Then, to make up for lost 
 minutes, she ran through the orchard and the 
 garden, and up to the elm-shaded yard. 
 
 Doors and windows of the old house stood 
 94
 
 HO! FOR THE FERRY! 
 
 wide open. Bits of excelsior and tissue paper 
 and rags, and leaves of old music, littered the 
 much-trodden grass. A seatless chair stood under 
 the pear tree. Prunella slowed down suddenly. 
 Among the rags was a scrap of delicately flow- 
 ered blue satine. The sight of it there in the 
 debris of the broken-up old home gave her a 
 strange sensation. She remembered it well. The 
 only time she had ever seen Dacre's mother, she 
 had worn that flowered satine. The picture came 
 back quite vividly from her very little girl- 
 hood such a pretty, pretty lady with crinkly 
 golden hair, coming into church, leading 
 Dacre in white kilts, with curls like his mother's. 
 The next time she had seen Dacre's mother 
 come into church, she had been borne in her 
 coffin, on her way to the little periwinkle knoll 
 in the far north field, and Dacre, a big boy of 
 ten, with his curls gone, had come in hand in 
 hand with his grandfather. 
 
 " Silly of me ! " Prunella muttered, dashing 
 her hand over her eyes. " I never cry. What 's 
 the matter with me?" 
 
 Then her glance fell upon scraps of old let- 
 ters, an old photograph of the Major as first 
 lieutenant, a baby picture, perhaps, of Dacre, a 
 faded spray of artificial roses. 
 
 95
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " Brutal of him to go and leave strangers to 
 do it all, touch all the family things, but just 
 like him ! " she was thinking. " Light and self- 
 ish if a man ever was ! Oh, if Olivia should be 
 such a fool ! " 
 
 " Oh, it iss you, Missis Loomis," called a gut- 
 tural voice from the kitchen door. " You come 
 when all much mixed up. Yust thiz day have 
 gone ze things to ze lady ant not yet I bring 
 my things." 
 
 " I have come for eggs, Mrs. Wieniaski," 
 Prunella answered coldly. " Have you any to 
 sell?" The barefooted, disheveled woman in 
 the familiar doorway gave her a distinct shock, 
 foolish as she thought it ever to be shocked. 
 
 " I no look to-day yet, so much to do, and 
 my hens no lay well," Mrs. Wieniaski responded 
 blandly. " I see quick when I put on my shoes. 
 I get stuck in ze garden by ze weeds. You 
 come in an I go see." 
 
 She was putting on the great shoes she had 
 taken from under the stove. Prunella stepped 
 gingerly into the littered kitchen, and went on 
 through the great pantry, into the long din- 
 ing-room, where the lines left by the pictures 
 showed pale on the wall-paper, the big fireplace 
 was filled with torn letters, and the shadows of 
 
 96
 
 HO! FOR THE FERRY! 
 
 the wistaria leaves flickered on the dusty floor. 
 Where had stood the old mahogany side- 
 board there was a washtub full of soaking 
 clothes. 
 
 " Beasts ! " Prunella was saying to herself. 
 " If Dacre had had any spirit he would have 
 dug ditches or sold peanuts rather than have 
 things this way. And gone to be an artist with 
 a Polish washtub in his great-great-grand- 
 father's dining-room ! " 
 
 Wistaria and woodbine shadows were the 
 only unchanged things in the long parlors, she 
 was anticipating, as she stepped across the fami- 
 liar threshold. Suddenly, she stopped, amazed. 
 At the windows hung the old lace curtains, and 
 there stood the old square piano, just as it al- 
 ways had stood, between the doors ; it was open 
 and on the rack was a thick, light-green folio 
 marked " Dvorak, Edition Schirmer." So new 
 was the folio that it was not yet flattened out 
 on the stand. Prunella drew nearer to look. 
 Things were connecting themselves in her 
 mind. Only the day before, that Stefan Posa- 
 dowski had got just such a bulky parcel by 
 post from New York. Impudent thing ! It was 
 all quite clear now. He had bought the Well- 
 ing piano, the piano that had been Dacre's 
 
 97
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 mother's and grandmother's ! And Dacre was 
 gone without a pang at the desecration. 
 
 "Yust twelf ekks I fint," said Mrs. Wien- 
 iaski at her elbow. She had again removed her 
 shoes and so had come noiselessly into the room. 
 " You look our Stefan's piano. He play much 
 music. He no lak to work. He not my son. He 
 my husband's sister son. His mowther gret 
 singer lady. She die. Stefan lak much thiz 
 plaze, but he no work to pay. He play ant play 
 all time. He no goot to mek money. He not 
 lak us. He too fine. He say kip old plaze all 
 nize." She shrugged her fat shoulders and 
 laughed, showing her gold-filled teeth. " Me 
 ant my man, we work all day ant we no time to 
 kip things nize." 
 
 Prunella held out her hand. " The eggs," 
 she said coldly. " How much are they ? It will 
 be too bad if you do not keep things clean." 
 
 " Thirty-fife cents, please. Oh, always I kip 
 things clean. Ant we will hafe many boarders 
 ant I will hafe them to be clean. You will see. 
 Stefan he clean. Always he wash himself much. 
 Too much, my man say. All ofer efery day 
 that too much. Soap it costs too much." 
 
 Out in the yard, Prunella stopped and picked 
 up the scrap of delicately flowered blue satine. 
 
 98
 
 HO! FOR THE FERRY! 
 
 " I '11 take it home to Aunt Lou. Perhaps she 
 will remember the very dress. It will interest 
 her anyhow," she said to herself, going down 
 through garden and orchard with a queer load 
 on her heart. " Oh, that brute ! To go and 
 leave things this way ! Oh, if Olivia should 
 marry him ! I've a great mind to tell her just 
 what I think. He was always selfish as a boy. 
 And if she just knew!" 
 
 Then her thought sped ahead of her to the 
 repetition of the raft adventure and she quick- 
 ened her steps into a little run down the hill, 
 with due care of her eggs. But this time no 
 such solitary enterprise was possible. Instead, 
 there faced her what seemed a most odious 
 necessity. 
 
 The raft lay safely moored on the other side 
 of the water and Mr. Stefan Posadowski, after 
 so mooring her, was just climbing the opposite 
 bank. Desperate as the moment was, Prunella 
 remembered that he was " too clean " when she 
 observed his snowy outing shirt. 
 
 He was instantly aware of her glance, and 
 turning, lifted his soft gray hat from the some- 
 what Paderewski-like lock of hair that fell over 
 his brow. 
 
 "Oh, you will gif me pardon, please!" he 
 99
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 cried, running down the bank. "I haf not 
 known you come." 
 
 Her instantaneous fear that he would smile 
 and be perhaps familiar had quite vanished. He 
 was serious and aloof almost to melancholy. 
 His dark eyes, under their heavy, level brows, 
 were tragic rather than humorous. 
 
 " At once I come and bring you across," he 
 went on, poling out the raft. " For two it iss 
 quite safe. I myself haf made it." 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! " Prunella said stiffly, hold- 
 ing her eggs and thinking about the washtub 
 in the dining-room. 
 
 The raft touched the shore, and with all the 
 stately formality of a polonaise dancer in his 
 native land, Stefan handed Prunella and her 
 eggs aboard. There was a fine dull color in his 
 olive cheeks. 
 
 "Your frient's old home, iss it not to you 
 most sad ? " he asked quietly as he pushed off. 
 But he did not look at her. 
 
 " It is most sad," she answered. She 
 wanted to say "most dirty," but the sight of 
 his long, shapely brown hands on the pole 
 would n't let her. 
 
 "To me it iss so. All ze time I feel ze ze 
 uzzer lifes in ze rooms. I cannot forget. I 
 100
 
 HO! FOR THE FERRY! 
 
 not much like zis land, where to get rich iss 
 all, and all iss work, work, and change what iss 
 old." 
 
 Prunella melted a little. "I shouldn't think 
 you would," she said. " Why don't you go 
 back to your own land ? " 
 
 He lifted his melancholy eyes for a moment 
 to hers. " You think so ? My uncle he say gret 
 chance here. To me, music it is my chance 
 not onions." The ghost of a smile crossed his 
 lips. " You like music ? " 
 
 " Dear me ! I don't know ' Yankee Doodle ' 
 from the ' Doxology,' without the words," Pru- 
 nella said briskly as they touched shore. " Now 
 I must hurry." And she sprang off lightly with- 
 out waiting for his help. 
 
 " Zat music I do not know," he said reflec- 
 tively. 
 
 He stood holding his hat in his hand, and it 
 struck Prunella as she looked at him that even 
 his awkwardness was courtly. And yet his man- 
 ner bored her. It was too impressive. What 
 right had he to be courtly ? 
 
 " Oh, thank you very much ! " she added. 
 
 " It iss I zat sank you," he said carefully, 
 and then began to find mooring the small raft 
 quite a slow and elaborate process, that she 
 101
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 might have ample time to get up the bank and 
 well on her way before he followed. 
 
 "Thank Heaven, he knew his place and 
 did n't insist on walking with me all through 
 the fields," she said afterwards, relating her 
 adventures to Miss Hollins. "And somehow 
 you can't help feeling sorry for him. He 's really 
 decent. I told him to go back to his own coun- 
 try. I did, Aunt Lou. He is n't like the other 
 Polanders, and I should think he 'd perish, liv- 
 ing as they live. And think of his having 
 Madam Welling' s old piano and actually 
 playing on it, Aunt Lou ! Is n't Dacre a brute?" 
 
 Miss Hollins snipped the threads off the finely 
 finished darn in the tablecloth. 
 
 " I guess Madam Welling won't mind," she 
 said, with a little smile. " I '11 walk over some 
 Sunday and get him to play to me." 
 
 "Aunt Lou! What perfect nonsense! And 
 Mrs. Clabby would fall in a fit from horror."
 
 CHAPTEE IX 
 
 CROP ROTATION 
 
 OLIVIA sat at her father's tall mahogany desk 
 with the glass doors. It had seemed altogether 
 natural for her to appropriate his study back 
 of the sitting-room, with the door opening on 
 the gravel path that led to the garden and the 
 barns. Just now the path was narrowed with 
 the profusion of the Sweet Williams and the 
 lemon lilies and the Scotch roses. The desk 
 stood in the angle between the west window 
 and the door so that in the old times her father 
 could look up from his reading or writing and 
 see his orchards and meadows, and, even, in 
 the leafless winter days, follow with his eyes 
 the little path that led from the meadows to the 
 high pasture, and catch the silver shine of the 
 birches along the trout brook. 
 
 Olivia, however, was intent upon the pam- 
 phlet spread open before her on the desk. It 
 was the circular announcing the summer courses 
 at the Massachusetts Agricultural College, and 
 she was poring over the section marked, " Course 
 IV, Section H. Soils and Tillage." There was 
 103
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 the frown of intense preoccupation between her 
 level brows, and very much the air of a busi- 
 ness woman about her as she sat in her white 
 shirtwaist with the neck turned in for coolness 
 and the sleeves rolled high as if she were not 
 afraid of work. Presently, she let the frown go 
 and reached into a carved pigeonhole for a 
 trolley timetable. In the pigeonhole next lay 
 an envelope bearing the blue and white pen- 
 nant of a transatlantic steamship. For a mo- 
 ment, she abandoned the trolley table and 
 colored faintly as she looked at the gay envelope, 
 then tucked it into her blouse. 
 
 " Shan't I knead your bread for you, dear ? " 
 Mrs. Ladd asked suddenly at the door. " You 
 are trying to do too many things. You '11 be 
 worn out, and then what '11 I do ! " She stood 
 against the garden background with her hands 
 full of freshly cut lettuce. 
 
 Olivia sprang up. " Oh, no, Mamma ! Bread 's 
 tremendously interesting. And this time I 've 
 just got to succeed. After all, it 's no more than 
 laboratory work in college. And, Mamma, I 've 
 looked it all up about the summer courses in 
 agriculture. I 'm going. It will be no end of 
 fun." 
 
 They had gone into the big cool kitchen 
 104
 
 CROP DOTATION 
 
 and Mrs. Ladd was washing the lettuce at the 
 sink. 
 
 " It 's a wild scheme, Olivia," she said 
 abruptly. " Take your vacation in peace. It 's 
 too late to save the place. I 've been thinking 
 at it for years. Even record-breaking crops 
 would n't do it. And, besides, the mortgage is 
 due next June. With your school work and " 
 
 Olivia kneaded vigorously. " Ah, but Mamma ! 
 Let me try. Think of the adventure of it ! And 
 if I should succeed ! If I should, Mamma ! It 
 kills me to think of those lemon lilies next 
 June." 
 
 " Don't think of them ! Think of your fu- 
 ture how free you are to make it what you 
 please. Think of getting quite away from all 
 the family tradition of failure. Fix your mind 
 on new things, Olivia." 
 
 Olivia lightly touched the bubbles on the 
 plump roll of dough. " Yes, Mamma, after 
 I quite fail with the old. Let me try. Don't dis- 
 courage me. I might succeed and make a a 
 break in the tradition. Then you would n't 
 would n't mind if I did n't desert the old, would 
 you, Mamma?" 
 
 " I should n't ever mind anything, Olivia, 
 that made your life utterly different from mine," 
 105
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 she answered slowly, going to put the lettuce 
 on the ice. 
 
 As to how she was to succeed, Olivia was by 
 no means certain as she set off that afternoon 
 for a tour of farm inspection, with Ben, Dacre's 
 setter, trotting at her heels. And yet she was 
 very certain that she should succeed. Ever since 
 the night of her mother's revelations, she had 
 been quite determined to save the place. It had 
 never occurred to her to question the possibility. 
 And after Major Welling had told her the other 
 truth, it came to her just as simply and just as 
 inevitably that she had another debt to pay. To 
 be sure, since the orchard scene, that debt had 
 not seemed to her a matter of dollars and cents. 
 She was going to liquidate that indebtedness 
 with herself. And yet dollars and cents might 
 become a very vital part of even that delicate 
 obligation ; if Dacre needed money to go on 
 with his studies, where was he going to get it if 
 not from her ? She must be ready for any emer- 
 gency in helping him to make a man of himself. 
 
 All this phase of the matter she had reasoned 
 out without any uncertainty or any difficulty. 
 As for practical details, she knew that the dis- 
 trict school would pay her six hundred dollars. 
 That would keep her and her mother through 
 106
 
 CKOP EOTATION 
 
 the winter if she did n't buy any new clothes. 
 The next thing and the puzzling thing was 
 to make the place begin to pay. She had heard 
 of winter wheat and fall cabbage and late spin- 
 ach. Why should n't their rich old fields pro- 
 duce winter wheat and fall cabbage and late 
 spinach ? After the years and years that they 
 had been under cultivation, surely they must be 
 in fine condition to produce. And then she in- 
 dulged herself with a wild and lovely vision of 
 the old place a year from then, of every field's 
 being green with the promise of a record-break- 
 ing crop, and then of her going to Michael 
 Joyce, and saying haughtily to him, " See, sir ! 
 See what I am doing with the place. You want 
 to squeeze all the money you can out of the 
 valley. Wait a year and I '11 pay you double the 
 mortgage ! " She could see herself perfectly, 
 standing in his office just as she had stood three 
 weeks before, only with much more hauteur. 
 Why should n't it all be possible ? The brutish 
 Poles and the ignorant Irish were doing it. 
 Why should n't she, with all her college train- 
 ing ? And now was the very chance to learn 
 what she did n't yet know, in the summer school 
 of agriculture. She was already quite well in- 
 formed from her reading in the village library, 
 107
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 and felt perfectly intelligent upon the subject 
 of crop rotation, commercial fertilizers, legumes, 
 and disk harrows. 
 
 It was with the idea of studying crop rota- 
 tion that she sallied forth that afternoon, with 
 the willing Ben as protector. She carried a 
 small notebook and pencil and she was going 
 to study out each field, its soil and exposure, 
 and then decide what crop would make the best 
 beginning in the cycle. After all, college train- 
 ing was a help in every kind of occupation. 
 
 It was very still and very hot. The garden 
 was drooping and the fields shimmered. She 
 had left her mother trying to keep cool on the 
 sofa in the dark parlor, with a palmleaf fan 
 over her face. She had drawn down Olivia's face 
 and given her a long kiss when she came in to 
 announce that she and Ben were going to find 
 a cool place by the brook in the high pasture. 
 And Olivia was trying to drive away the little 
 pang left by that kiss with a very scientific con- 
 templation of the soil, as she climbed the path 
 and Ben ran up and down and in and out after 
 a rabbit. 
 
 Presently something besides soil arrested her 
 glance in the path ahead of her. It was a small 
 piece of white paper pierced in each corner with 
 108
 
 CROP ROTATION 
 
 a small round hole, which instantly proclaimed 
 it as belonging to somebody's Harvard folder. 
 Olivia picked it up and beheld upon it, written 
 in a fine, scholarly hand, these words : " One of 
 the most serious problems on American irrigated 
 lands is that of organic matter supply. As long 
 as these lands remain relatively cheap and the 
 farm units are not too small, a rotation of crops 
 can be used." This interesting statement was 
 followed by an elaborate series of mathematical 
 formulae calculating the amount of organic 
 matter needed in such and such acreage under 
 such and such conditions. 
 
 She read it and then re-read it. It was pleas- 
 ant to realize that she could understand it, that 
 is, almost all of it. The expression "farm units" 
 was somewhat misleading. Probably some young 
 farmer bent on just such an errand as herself 
 had dropped the paper. She put it between the 
 pages of her own little notebook and climbed 
 the fence into the high pasture. 
 
 She had been right. There was a little breeze 
 in the high pasture. She felt it as soon as she 
 landed among the mulleins and fern on the 
 other side of the fence. But, strange to say, 
 the breeze was announcing itself by a little 
 sport with another small leaf of folded paper, 
 109
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 blowing it in and out of the fern and whisking 
 it quite over the tops of the mulleins. Olivia, 
 hot in pursuit, finally caught it, and read, in 
 the same scholarly writing, these words : " The 
 keeping of hogs and cattle not only materially 
 reduces household expenses, but provides an 
 unfailing supply of organic matter for the en- 
 richment of impoverished soil." Then followed 
 more intricate formulae and more carefully 
 worked-out problems. 
 
 The idea was new to her, and yet how per- 
 fectly obvious. She seated herself on a boulder 
 in a tuft of birches and re-read the lines. Ben, 
 with lolling tongue, came up and stretched him- 
 self at her side, looking up with inquiring eyes. 
 
 " Why, of course, old fellow ! " she said, pat- 
 ting his head. " And you can drive up the 
 cows, like the shepherd dogs in Scotland." 
 
 Prosaic as was her thought, she made a ro- 
 mantic picture sitting on her boulder among 
 the glinting white birches. She wore the very 
 same white gown in which she had kneaded her 
 bread, and the leaf shadows dappled her bare 
 neck and bare arms. 
 
 " Of course, I could n't tell how many cows 
 and pigs until I know just how many fields 
 I '11 cultivate," she was calculating. 
 110
 
 CROP ROTATION 
 
 To Mr. Patrick Joyce, coming across the 
 pasture looking for the missing leaves of his 
 notebook, she was so pleasant to behold that 
 he was quite content to let the wind have them 
 while he stood behind a cedar watching her, 
 and effacing himself that he might not startle 
 her. But just as he amazedly beheld her pon- 
 dering the very leaves for which he was search- 
 ing, Ben started up on a sudden rabbit mem- 
 ory, and dashed around the very tree that hid 
 him. 
 
 At Ben's sharp, surprised bark, not at all a 
 rabbit bark, she looked up and paled a little. 
 
 "Ben!" she called. "What is it? Not a 
 snake?" 
 
 Joyce stepped somewhat guiltily out into the 
 path. Her look of fear changed to one of an- 
 noyance. 
 
 " Oh," she exclaimed, " it 'a you ! " 
 
 " Yes," he admitted, with a shamefacedness 
 that displeased him in himself. Why should n't 
 it be he, pray ? " Yes, it is I. And you will 
 forgive my startling you. Sure, it 's not the bit 
 of an idea I had you were here." Now he was 
 coloring furiously, and his brogue you could 
 cut with a knife. 
 
 " And I," she said, with a faint smile, "I 
 111
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 had not the smallest idea you were here. I 
 came up here to study to study crop rota- 
 tion." 
 
 " My word ! " he cried. " It is that I was 
 doing. And when I went studying as I was 
 walking, out of me folder dropped two leaves. 
 It was for those I was looking, coming back here 
 startling y'." He had drawn nearer and stood 
 bareheaded in the hot sunshine. He was warm 
 after his climb up the hill, and carried his coat 
 over his arm and had upon his brow beads of 
 honest perspiration. But the fact that he stood 
 with his head bared in this knightly fashion 
 made him suddenly an interesting figure. 
 
 " Are these perhaps they, your lost notes ? " 
 she said, with an unmistakable smile. " I read 
 them. Do you mind ? " 
 
 " And why should I mind, indeed ! It is very 
 glad I am that you would read them." He was 
 sure that never before had his brogue been so 
 annoying. 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! They were very very 
 suggestive, and I got an idea from them." She 
 held them out and he came to take them. Ben 
 had thrown himself in the path between, 
 breathing hard after his fruitless run. 
 
 " It 's happy I am that y' found anything in- 
 112
 
 CROP ROTATION 
 
 teresting there. Was it perhaps the idea of ir- 
 rigating this pasture from the throut brook and 
 planting it out in fall cabbages ? " 
 
 If she had been more of a farmer or even 
 just a closer observer, she would have known 
 that he was laughing at her. And it would 
 have been quite easy to see the twinkle in his 
 blue eyes and the little twitch at the corner of 
 his very good-looking mouth. A man resorts to 
 very desperate measures when a woman has 
 kept him ill at ease for ten minutes. 
 
 " Horrors ! Never ! " she cried seriously. 
 " This beloved pasture ! No. It was about keep- 
 ing hogs and cattle that you gave me the idea. 
 Won't you sit down? Have you ever tried it?" 
 
 This time he laughed aloud and she did, too. 
 " Oh, yes," he said. " The sitting down I have 
 tried many times in the university." 
 
 She grew more formal. " Of course I meant 
 about the hogs and the cattle, but it did sound 
 funny, didn't it? Have you ever tried keep- 
 ing them ? " 
 
 He had thrown himself upon the grass in the 
 long shadow of a little cedar. Engrossed as she 
 was in her idea, she was vaguely aware of his 
 muscular length and of the fine whiteness of 
 his teeth as he laughed. 
 113
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " Oh, no ! Never have I been a bit of a 
 farmer," he said. " It is to make me a farmer 
 that my uncle has been bringing me over, the 
 way I must give up the studying to be a bar- 
 rister." He had grown suddenly very serious, 
 and there was a little frown between his brows. 
 " And it is why I am studying crop rotation, 
 that I may learn all about farming in your 
 country." He seemed to have quite forgotten 
 her in the thought of the changes of his own 
 life. The thought was evidently not a wholly 
 cheerful one. 
 
 Olivia gave him a quick glance. " And you 
 do not quite like it over here ? " she asked with 
 a little sense of noblesse oblige. 
 
 He was looking away from her at a yellow 
 butterfly on a mullein, and biting the end of a 
 grass blade. 
 
 " It is what I do not yet know," he answered 
 thoughtfully, " whether I will stay or not. You 
 see, always I have been used to the sea. My 
 father was one of the inspectors of fisheries in 
 Galway, the way that always I have had my 
 own boat except when I was in Dublin at the 
 university. It is that I keep missing since I 
 am come here, the sea and the cliffs and the 
 fishermen at my home in Leenane. It is quite 
 114
 
 CROP ROTATION 
 
 different to be here in this valley with all that is 
 strange, instead of at home with the old friends 
 of my father." 
 
 She had quite forgotten him in the wide, ro- 
 mantic picture his half-melancholy words were 
 drawing for her. "And your father " she 
 began. 
 
 "It is three years since my father was drowned 
 in the winter gales of Killery," he said. " There 
 is no one left of us in the old house in Leenane. 
 It is why my uncle has been sending for my 
 sister and me, that the three of us might be 
 together and not with the sea between us." 
 
 " At any rate, it is fine that you three can 
 be together," Olivia said with sudden gentle- 
 ness. " It is much easier not to have some one 
 we love on the other side of the water." And 
 she drew a quick little breath. 
 
 " Indeed it is then. But there are those that 
 I love in the old country and that keep the half 
 of me there." He sprang up as he spoke. " But 
 you will excuse me. Always I do be forgetting 
 myself when there is a chance of talking of my 
 home. It is the way a man has in a strange 
 land." Suddenly, a smile broke the melancholy 
 of his face. " And it 's very glad I am that you 
 will not be thinking of planting out this pasture." 
 115
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " Oh, no ! " she said. " I cannot tell you how 
 dear to me this pasture is. No, I am on my way 
 to those fields over there." 
 
 " Those fields? And it is a great pity that it 
 is so long since they have been growing any- 
 thing, the way that they have so many weeds. 
 I thank you for finding my pages for me." And 
 he was turning down the hill. 
 
 " Wait a minute ! " she cried, flushing hot. 
 " You were very kind about the school. I thank 
 you very much. And I I was very rude. I 
 told Mamma, and she at once said that I was 
 very rude. It was unpardonable." 
 
 " Oh, not at all," he answered with a little 
 laugh. "It is quite as you saw it. And why 
 should you not say what you think ! If some of 
 my people have learned from your people what 
 is graft and what you call wirepulling, sure it 
 is right that you should say it is wrong. But 
 you will not believe that it is the way of us all. 
 At home in the old country never have we 
 learned the way. And I am glad that you have 
 said what you did, though at first there was the 
 least bit of a hurt." 
 
 Her impulse had been to hold out her hand. 
 The little interlude of talk of home had strangely 
 shifted away from him her antagonism for what 
 116
 
 CROP ROTATION 
 
 he stood for. But as he answered her tentative 
 apology, she wavered between the old hate and 
 the new tolerance. 
 
 " At any rate," she said, a little coolly, " I 
 do thank you for your promptness, you and 
 your uncle. Good-afternoon ! " And she sat for 
 a minute pulling a birch leaf to pieces and wish- 
 ing she had been a little less friendly. Some- 
 how, he was good fun, and the little nonsense 
 at the beginning had been pleasant and had 
 made her forget forget that he had been 
 probably prospecting on the lands that were so 
 heavily mortgaged to his uncle. No doubt he 
 had been doing that very thing, planning how 
 he would manage the farm when the mortgage 
 was foreclosed the next spring. Perhaps his 
 uncle was going to give him the place, for him 
 to work out his knowledge upon it, and so keep 
 him content in the new country where he so 
 much missed the sea. When she finally got up 
 and went on to look at the fields in which the 
 weeds were so rampant, her heart was very bit- 
 ter against the invaders, and she was vowing 
 that she would wring from the old place a free- 
 dom from their yoke.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 BEES AND ROSES 
 
 I?:RUNELLA threw the brier roses into the waste- 
 basket without a moment's hesitation. The 
 remembrance of the raft episode did not at 
 all incline her heart to mercy. However, the 
 thought of Miss Kirk, the blind boarder who 
 depended upon fragrances to give her the sum- 
 mer's colors, made her draw them out and 
 put them into the stone jar that caught the 
 drippings from the yellow japanned water- 
 cooler. Only the night before, Miss Kirk had 
 felt her way in from the garden and said, ec- 
 statically, "How beautiful the roses are! I 've 
 never known them so fragrant before." And it 
 was wholly what Prunella knew that Miss Kirk 
 would see in the faint sweetness of those brier 
 roses that saved them from the waste-basket. 
 But it was indignation at Stefan's daring a sec- 
 ond time, and wonder that Patrick Joyce had 
 another thick, finely addressed letter with a 
 crest on its green wax seal, that made Prunella 
 thoughtlessly put " The Congregationalist " into 
 Father Zujewski's box and " The Catholic 
 118 
 
 I
 
 BEES AND ROSES 
 
 World " into the box of the Reverend Doctor 
 Barnabas Britton. 
 
 By a pleasant chance the two clerical gentle- 
 men opened their boxes at one and the same 
 moment : Father Zujewski, big and muscular 
 and middle-aged, in black alpaca coat and shiny 
 black straw hat ; Dr. Britton, stooped and thin 
 and white-haired, but rosy, in linen duster and 
 white Panama. Although alphabetically remote, 
 the two boxes clicked open with perfect unan- 
 imity. Dr. Britton's sunburned right hand, with 
 its worn gold ring, fumbled inside and came out 
 full of a letter from John tramping through the 
 Scotch Highlands, a picture postcard from 
 Theodosia conducting a party of tourists 
 through Switzerland, Burpee's "Fall Rose An- 
 nouncement," a circular of Totten's Sanitary 
 Communion Cups and "The Catholic World." 
 Dr. Britton's brows went up quite above the 
 rims of his round, double-lensed spectacles, and 
 with a twinkle in his eyes he turned towards 
 his reverend neighbor. He, too, had his hands 
 full letters in thin, foreign-looking envelopes 
 postmarked " Varsovie," a roll of flute music 
 in a Schirmer wrapper, the August number of 
 the " Apiarist," a bundle of leaflets of the 
 " Apostleship of Prayer" and " TheCongre- 
 119
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 gationalist." Father Zujewski's brows contracted 
 in a Slavic frown, then relaxed as his round, 
 sallow face broke into a broad smile. 
 
 " Perhaps perhaps ze little postmistress has 
 had day dreams," he said in his slow, unwieldy 
 English, holding out " The Congregationalist." 
 
 "It's easier to believe that it is God's will 
 than that Prunella has had day dreams," Dr. 
 Britton laughed. " I 've known her ever since 
 she was born. She is too practical to permit 
 herself dreams, even if they came to her. Let 
 us call it God's way of making us know each 
 other better. Keep it and read it." 
 
 " Or often, long ago, has not God spoken 
 His will through dreams ! " the other exclaimed. 
 " So either way it iss His will. Gladly I keep 
 ant read. And you the same." 
 
 " Gladly," Dr. Britton said genially, putting 
 " The Catholic World " into his deep pocket. 
 " How are the bees these days of blossom ? " 
 
 They had snapped their boxes shut and were 
 going down the post-office steps together, out 
 into the shady street. Prunella, vigorously post- 
 marking letters, thump, thump, looked up as 
 the door banged shut. 
 
 "Well!" she exclaimed. "Dr. Britton 's 
 hard up, I must say ! " 
 
 120
 
 BEES AND EOSES 
 
 "The day lonk are zey busy, ze little fel- 
 lows," the priest was answering. " All over for 
 zem iss much sweet. And from your roses zey 
 steal." 
 
 " Oh, I see them in the garden, royal chaps 
 in their black and yellow ! But you give back 
 all the sweetness they steal, in your flute music." 
 
 The other colored like a boy. " You hear me 
 play ? " he said. " So far it goes, ze noise I 
 mek?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! And I love to hear it. It comes 
 right up from your study to mine, these still, 
 hot days. And sometimes there is a piano with 
 you a wonderful piano." 
 
 "It is ze boy Stefan. A great gift he has 
 of God. But to mek money he has no gift. 
 And he iss not happy." 
 
 " A gift like his does not usually bring hap- 
 piness," Dr. Britton said. " It is too great for 
 happiness, because it has in it all emotion, all 
 experience. I can feel it. But your flute ! When 
 I hear that I seem to be in Greece, on some 
 sunny slope, with the sheep." 
 
 The priest sighed. "I I feel myself in my 
 own land, wiz its sorrows. Zat is why I play 
 not to forget." 
 
 They had come to the gate in the high old 
 121
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 evergreen hedge. Within, the white, green- 
 shuttered parsonage looked out rather unsmil- 
 ingly. 
 
 Dr. Britton pushed open the gate. "Come 
 in and have a little smoke," he said. "Your 
 country and your people have fascinated me 
 ever since I was a boy in school and studied 
 history. Come in ! I, too, am a celibate since 
 my wife's death five years ago." 
 
 "Not now can I come in. Some uzzer time. 
 Stefan he waits for me. What you read in 
 history, zat iss what I not let myself to forget. 
 So I play to remember." 
 
 " It is a very sadly, splendid story, your coun- 
 try's," the other said thoughtfully, leaning on 
 the gate. Warm as the afternoon was, he was 
 in no hurry to shut himself into his cool, green- 
 shaded study, with his palmleaf fan and his 
 glass of iced tea and his sermon on " The En- 
 emy within Our Gates." Somehow, it had quickly 
 occurred to him that the man he was talking to 
 could furnish him with very first-hand material 
 for his discourse. It was at best a delicate and 
 difficult subject, this setting-forth to his dwin- 
 dled congregation of the menace to the old reli- 
 gious order in the full numbers pouring into 
 the low, brown frame church every Sunday, at 
 122
 
 BEES AND ROSES 
 
 the ringing of the tinny bell in its cross-tipped 
 spire. So, under the play of his genial and half- 
 idle talk, he was on the alert to study and to 
 understand this Polish priest. At any moment, 
 perhaps, in the course of their conversation, 
 there might be said the very thing that would 
 give the key to the mystery in the new order 
 of things. He would have been very glad if his 
 invitation had been accepted and he had been 
 permitted to order another glass of iced tea 
 and set forth cigars on the smoking-table. 
 
 "But ze end how bitter!" the other was 
 exclaiming. "In books, it sound big, ze story 
 of my land. But in life it iss death!" And 
 he pushed back his shiny black straw hat and 
 mopped his hot face with a bright blue cotton 
 handkerchief. 
 
 " It seems to me that the end of your history 
 has not yet come," Dr. Britton went on, his 
 gracious voice grown somewhat musing. " To 
 me, you are making history in this country. 
 Poland has seen but the beginning." He was 
 pleased with his point of view. Until now, in 
 voicing it, he had not known that he had ac- 
 cepted as his point of view so tolerant an out- 
 look. "God's ways are mysterious. No doubt 
 your people are bringing to us what what we 
 123
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 ourselves are in need of and just when we 
 need it." He felt that he was making distinct 
 progress in his sermon. 
 
 " Perhaps perhaps it iss what you say," the 
 priest answered slowly, as if he too were follow- 
 ing an undercurrent of thought. " But hut 
 how if my people get here from your people 
 what for zem iss not good ? To mek big money 
 to dress fine it iss what zey learn right 
 away." 
 
 Dr. Britton opened the gate a little wider. 
 That was a capital point for his sermon the 
 force of example. " Why," he said, " that is un- 
 fortunately the tendency of the age. It 's a ma- 
 terial age, whatever the country or the people. 
 And we you and I it 's it's up to us, as 
 the boys say, to stand against it. You'd better 
 come in and have a smoke." 
 
 "Not today, pleace! You hear him play? 
 See already he tired to wait so long. Good-bye ! 
 What you say it iss true. Much prayer iss 
 needed." And he turned and went down the 
 walk towards the wild Polish folk-song that rang 
 out from the windows of the little house next 
 the ugly little church. 
 
 In going, he met Olivia coming up, with an 
 armful of books, and a bunch of faded clover 
 124
 
 BEES AND ROSES 
 
 and orchard grass and timothy. To him she was 
 a new and unfamiliar figure in the village streets 
 and a not especially gracious or kindly one. 
 
 " Oh, Dr. Britton ! " she called. " How nice 
 and cool and undusty you look in there ! " She 
 stopped and leaned on the gate in the shade and 
 waited for him to come and hold out his hand. 
 
 " Well ! Dropped from heaven, did you ! " he 
 said. "Come in and rest and get some roses. 
 It 's hot enough for a storm." 
 
 " No, I must n't stop," she answered, pushing 
 her hat back from the moist rings of hair on 
 her brow. " Mamma always waits luncheon for 
 me now that I 'm going to school again. I just 
 wanted to sniff your cedar and and see some- 
 thing that hasn't changed," she finished almost 
 bitterly. 
 
 " And you think me a rock of permanence ! " 
 he laughed. " Why, Olivia, things are whirling 
 so fast around me that sometimes sometimes I 
 can't tell which is moving, the other people or I." 
 
 "I can tell, Dr. Britton. It's not you. You 
 are just the same as you were when I was a little 
 girl and stood on the cushions in the pew so 
 that you could see I had come to church. For 
 goodness' sake, don't even suggest that you 
 are n't just the same." 
 
 125
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " I am quite the same," he said in a lower, 
 graver tone. " You can depend on me, you and 
 your mother, just as you always have done, 
 Olivia. But you are so efficient, so independent, 
 you can stand quite unsupported." 
 
 " Can I ! " she exclaimed with a little laugh. 
 " For Mamma's sake I 'm making a huge bluff. 
 But then I am going to pay off that mortgage. 
 I 'm going to if I die doing it ! The place shan't 
 go out of the family to the Irish." 
 
 " You'll do it! I have n't a doubt of it. And 
 you 're getting a lot of practical information up 
 at the Agricultural College? Things you can 
 put to use right away ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! To-day we had timothy and clover 
 and orchard grass. See ! " And she held up her 
 wilted bunch. " I never dreamed of all the dif- 
 ferences. And clover is just the thing for some 
 of our worn-out fields. But even into the Agri- 
 cultural College, the Irish have intruded. There 
 isn't a corner without them." 
 
 He was thinking how safe it was to count 
 upon her success, this vigorous, brilliant, well- 
 prejudiced young woman whom he had seen 
 grow up. She herself was the very finest type 
 of the order that was passing, except, perhaps, 
 in her religious outlook. It would not be so safe 
 126
 
 BEES AND ROSES 
 
 to count upon her orthodoxy as upon her suc- 
 cess in running the farm. After all, she too was 
 in the current of change, bitter as were her 
 prejudices. 
 
 " Any Irish from here ? " he questioned, fol- 
 lowing her thought. "It's the best place for 
 them to go, ill-prepared as they have been for 
 farming in their miserable country." As he 
 spoke, the flute and the piano sent a plaintive 
 melody up from the little brown rectory. 
 
 " That Patrick Joyce is there," she said. "I 
 can hardly endure it to see him learning 
 how to run to run our farm if I fail ! But 
 I will not fail ! " And she gathered up her 
 books and her faded specimens. " I don't think 
 Mamma believes that I shall not fail," she 
 added. "Do come and see her, Dr. Britton, and 
 make her believe." 
 
 He took her hand. " Your mother is too 
 too tired of hoping to have any faith," he said. 
 " With her, love is all that is left. But wait. 
 You'll give her a new faith when you suc- 
 ceed. Good-bye, if you won't come in for some 
 roses." 
 
 " Good-bye ! Be sure to come ! It 's done me 
 good to talk." And she turned to go. 
 
 " Oh, wait a minute ! " he cried. " Any news 
 127
 
 THE INVADEKS 
 
 from Dacre? I haven't had a line. Is he all 
 right?" 
 
 Her delicate color grew a shade deeper under 
 the heat. " We Ve heard several times, strange 
 to say. Dacre hates to write so. He 's in Paris 
 quite happy and hard at work." 
 
 " Poor boy ! I wish he had your courage and 
 industry and pride." 
 
 "Perhaps he has," she said, a little pinker 
 still. " He 's never had a chance before. This is 
 the first thing he has really liked. Good-bye !" 
 
 Back in the green-shaded study, the music 
 came in passionate snatches through the hot 
 quiet of the afternoon. Bees hummed in the 
 woodbine around the windows. It was not a 
 good time for sermon-writing, full as his mind 
 was of contrasts, consequences, warnings. In- 
 stead, he leaned back in his big leather chair 
 and cut the pages of " The Catholic World." 
 But as he snipped and the music came and 
 went, he was thinking of Dacre and Olivia, the 
 little children he had baptized not so many 
 years before. They were in the very van of the 
 defense against the new order of things. But 
 after all, in the light of their family history, who 
 had let down the gates to the invaders? That 
 was a large and significant point in the situation.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE MAGIC OF THE MOON 
 
 AT happened that very night that Mr. Patrick 
 Joyce, of the invading army, found himself 
 most delightfully and unexpectedly in the posi- 
 tion of a spy. Made pensive by the thick letter 
 with the green seal and the British stamp, 
 which Prunella had put half grudgingly into 
 his post-office box, he had gone for a stroll in 
 the moonlight. He had sauntered as far as the 
 high pasture, and with the letter in his pocket 
 and his pipe in his mouth, he had sat for an 
 hour or so on the identical boulder on which 
 his haughty enemy, Miss Ladd, had sat at their 
 recent interview. Below him lay the dark mass 
 of the village trees, the white spire of the 
 meeting-house, the light and dark of roof-lines 
 in and out of shadow, and beyond, the silver 
 curve of the river around the old Welling 
 place. It was very lovely, the scene and the 
 sweet air, but there was an ache in his heart 
 for the old country. Her letter had made the 
 ache. They were out much in the boats, Aileen 
 said, and the salmon leaping and the lads busy 
 129
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 with the hauling, and they missing him and 
 Bride. It was Aileen's way to say that the lads 
 were missing him and Bride, but he knew ! 
 And after the gales of the day before the shore 
 was all red and shining with the seaweed, and 
 the smell was that sweet ! And Brian Desmond 
 was back from the trout-fishing in Glen Inagh, 
 and he was after bringing her a little deer, and 
 she was after tying a ribbon around the sweet 
 creature's neck and naming him Pat ! He was 
 a darlin' and him coming to lick her hand and 
 ate cake from her palm. And they were after 
 going to a dance over at Ballynahinch, the 
 twelve of them, and coming home they were 
 caught in a shower faith, a drenching like 
 the deluge ! And she had been missing him at 
 the dance, the way that Rory and Mike and 
 Jim had to keep her dancing to stop the ache at 
 her heart and so on and so on ! And she was 
 trying to stop spaking the brogue, the way that 
 when he came to bring her with him to America 
 he would not be ashamed. 
 
 Ashamed of her ! What would n't he give to 
 hear her sweet brogue and see the dimples in 
 the cheeks of her ! What would n't he give to 
 have her there to show all those proud, cold 
 Yankee people who seemed to think that in 
 130
 
 THE MAGIC OF THE MOON 
 
 Ireland there were only servants and folk of 
 low birth and no education. Would n't it be a 
 great day for him if he could have Aileen by 
 his side in the automobile and let every one see 
 a real Irish beauty Aileen with her hair like 
 the gold of the gorse and her eyes as deep and 
 brown as the pools in Bealanabrack ! And then 
 the highbred air of her with all the gentleness ! 
 He would like to be showing that proud Miss 
 Ladd an Irish gentlewoman. 
 
 So he sat in the moonlight, smoking and 
 dreaming, and presently got up and sauntered 
 down through the fields to the village. Ten 
 o'clock had just struck. The houses were all 
 asleep except the Ladd house. There the soft 
 light of the Chinese hall lamp met the moon- 
 light at the open front door, and there was the 
 creak of a rocking-chair on the front stoop. 
 And just as Joyce turned from the field path 
 into the street, a girl's very wideawake voice 
 called from within, 
 
 " I 've finished those fertilizer tables, Mamma. 
 And now I must water the young cabbages be- 
 fore I go to bed. They 're all drying up. No. 
 You sit still. I '11 do it." 
 
 Her words reminded him that he had not 
 studied the fertilizer tables, and no doubt he 
 131
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 would have hurried on and turned from dreams 
 to tillage problems, had she not at that moment 
 come to the door and stood against the light in 
 her soft white gown. She was n't unlike Aileen 
 in her slimness and the long lines of her figure. 
 But then Aileen had the litheness and grace of 
 a white birch tree in Glen Erriff. At any rate, 
 he found himself slowing up in his walk, and 
 looking with some interest through the breaks 
 in the ragged hedge, as she came down the 
 steps and went round the corner of the house 
 nearest him. For a moment he lost sight of her, 
 but he heard the rattle of the watering-can, 
 and then, presently, the chug of the pump. 
 Hard though his heart was against her, the 
 gallant Irish soul of him almost sent him fly- 
 ing round to the gate and up to save her from 
 the weight of the water she was having to 
 carry. It was hard work she was doing, pump- 
 ing and carrying when all the rest of the vil- 
 lage were asleep. But she was a plucky one 
 and a proud one ! And then he stood quite still 
 in the shadow and watched for her to come 
 again into his line of vision. When she did re- 
 appear, it was only in shadow on the moonlit 
 white wall of the old mansion. She herself 
 was beyond the narrow glimpse afforded him 
 132
 
 THE MAGIC OF THE MOON 
 
 through the break in the hedge. Faith, it was 
 like peeping at fairies to see the airy double of 
 her swaying and bending and spraying there in 
 the warm, sweet silence of the night. So full 
 was the moon and so faithful the reflection that 
 he could see every smallest curl broken loose 
 from her braids, the soft curves of her figure 
 through the gown she held wrapped close to 
 avoid a wetting, the feathery shadow of the 
 falling water as she curved arm and wrist and 
 held high her watering-pot. So still it was that 
 the swish of the drops on the young cabbages 
 was quite audible, and the contact of can and 
 pump as she came and went seemed to break 
 into a sort of enchantment. 
 
 " Sure, it 's a pity that it 's cabbages and not 
 roses and lilies and wallflowers in so lovely a 
 scene ! " he whispered to himself. 
 
 And then, as he whispered, he heard the soft 
 slam of a back door, and she came no more. 
 The creaking chair on the front stoop had long 
 since been hushed, and in a moment the front 
 door went to and the light out in the old fan 
 above the door frame. Up stairs on the east 
 side, candlelight flared softly in the front cham- 
 ber ; then the curtains were drawn and the gar- 
 den was left to the moonlight. 
 133
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " Faith, it 's her shadow I 'm liking better than 
 herself ! " he said softly as he relighted his pipe 
 and went on towards home. " And, poor child, 
 she need n't be killing herself with the work. 
 Uncle Mike has a heart in him." 
 
 It was the same moon twenty-four hours older 
 that tempted Olivia to join a group on the 
 meeting-house steps as she came home from 
 getting the late mail and from loitering along 
 with Prunella under the elms. Prunella had had 
 much to say, scornful as she was of her aunt's 
 recent departure from every family tradition 
 and principle, in a visit to the Welling place to 
 see how things looked and to hear that young 
 Posadowski play. 
 
 " Aunt Lou did n't see a thing of the Chip- 
 pendale table she pretended she went to see 
 about," Prunella had said. " Of course Millicent 
 Chappell took it with all the other old trash 
 or else the Polanders burnt it for kindling wood. 
 Why not ? If there 's one thing I hate it 's old 
 furniture. Life 's full enough of memories and 
 things without having the very chair you sit in 
 haunted, besides being shaky in the legs." 
 
 " Oh, Prunella ! How can you ! And did 
 Miss Hollins say that everything is changed, 
 quite changed ? " 
 
 134
 
 THE MAGIC OF THE MOON 
 
 " Absolutely ! Ploughs and hoes and rakes 
 in the war-room, and tubs and a washing-ma- 
 chine in the dining-room. And chickens in the 
 front hall, Olivia, pecking around and making 
 themselves perfectly at home ! Hideous, is n't 
 it ! But the parlor was all right that is, quite 
 empty except for the piano and the curtains." 
 
 " And did he play for her without its killing 
 her, Prunella ? Does he know anything at all 
 about music ? " 
 
 "Killing her ! " Prunella exclaimed in a dif- 
 ferent tone. " Why, Aunt Lou says he 's a per- 
 fect genius. Aunt Lou has heard Blind Tom 
 and she says Stefan Posadowski plays much 
 better. He played something about a polonaise, 
 by one of his own people, and Aunt Lou says 
 it was glorious that it made her want to 
 dance or fight or die or do something. Imagine 
 Aunt Lou dancing or fighting ! " And Prunella 
 laughed, and then grew suddenly silent. 
 
 " I must go on home," Olivia said. "Mamma 
 will be waiting. Can't you walk a little farther, 
 Prunella?" 
 
 They were in the shadow of the lilac bushes 
 
 in Mrs. Archibald's yard. Prunella put her hand 
 
 quickly on Olivia's shoulder. " No, I can't go 
 
 any farther," she answered, with a little breath- 
 
 135
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 lessness. "But I 'm going to say something, 
 Olivia. We 've been friends always, have n't 
 we ? You '11 snub me, of course. But I don't 
 care. I 've got to say it. You see, if I were n't 
 postmistress, I should n't know. But, Olivia, it 
 makes me afraid so so many letters from 
 Dacre and to Dacre. You 're so fine and he 's 
 so so " 
 
 Olivia drew quite away with a little laugh. 
 " But, my dear, a postmistress does n't have to 
 make up romances about the letters that she 
 gives out," she said with a ring in her voice that 
 Prunella expected. " And if Mamma and I don't 
 help poor Dacre, who will, pray ? I never knew 
 there was that side to being postmistress. It 
 must be a bore. Good-night ! " 
 
 And then she went on across the street, and 
 Prunella went her way back to see if she had n't 
 left the side window in the post-office open. 
 
 " Prunella was saucy and deserved a reproof ," 
 Olivia was saying to herself, feeling the Paris 
 letter in her blouse to be sure it had not fallen 
 out. And, besides, such a report had to be 
 stopped at once, nipped right in the bud. It 
 would kill her mother. And besides besides 
 no one had a right to say anything. Her life 
 was her own. And what did little, narrow, hard- 
 136
 
 THE MAGIC OF THE MOON 
 
 working Prunella know about life and love! 
 When school opened, in a month, she would 
 have Dacre send the letters there so that Pru- 
 nella could n't keep count. And anyhow 
 
 But her bitter reflections came to a sudden 
 end. Out of the shadows of the meeting-house 
 porch which she was just passing, there came 
 to her, in the soft Gaelic inflection, words so 
 remote from her thought that she was startled 
 into stopping to hear more : 
 
 " And of the young girls of Ireland, Emer 
 was the one to whom Cuchulain's heart was 
 going out, for she had the six gifts : the gift of 
 beauty, for she was as beautiful as a lily on the 
 altar at the Eastertime ; and the gift of voice, 
 for her speaking was like the waterfalls in the 
 spring ; and the gift of sweet speech, for always 
 she was saying what was like honey in the hearts 
 of those who heard ; and the gift of needlework, 
 for she sewed as fine as do the little people on 
 the gossamers they do be wearing ; and the gift 
 of wisdom, for always she went understanding 
 the meanings of things ; and the gift of pure- 
 ness, for her soul she was keeping as white as 
 the spire high above there in the moonshine. 
 And it was in very rich clothes that Cuchulain 
 was coming to win Emer for his wife. His 
 137
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 tunic was crimson and his shirt of finest white 
 silk embroidered in red gold, and his brooch 
 was of inlaid gold. And the Lady Emer and 
 the other young girls were sitting out on the 
 green grass under the shade of the trees by 
 the side of a silvery stream, and presently they 
 were hearing the creaking of the wheels of a 
 chariot and the clatter of hoofs. ( Let one of 
 you see,' said the Lady Emer, 'what is it that 
 is coming towards us.' And the Lady Emer's 
 heart was beating up in her throat, and she 
 guessing who it was that was coming so brave 
 over the green grass." 
 
 Olivia had sat down behind one of the big 
 columns. The surprise of the situation had 
 driven away her irritation. It was Bride Joyce 
 there on the porch, telling stories to the village 
 children, to the very children that would come 
 to the district school in the fall. She could 
 quite plainly see their upturned, ecstatic little 
 faces, but not the story-teller; the column 
 behind which Olivia sat hid them from each 
 other. However, it is not likely there would 
 have been a break in the telling, even had the 
 story-teller known of the addition to her audi- 
 ence. Her tone was too rapt and far away for 
 her to be aware of those who listened. 
 138
 
 THE MAGIC OF THE MOON 
 
 " And always you must be remembering the 
 six gifts," she was going on, " for the girl who 
 has them will be loved by the holy angels them- 
 selves. And so Cuchulain got down from his 
 chariot and came proud over the green grass to 
 the young girls and was wishing a blessing on 
 them. And the Lady Emer lifted up her lovely 
 face and saw Cuchulain, and it is what she 
 said " 
 
 A man came round the corner and stopped 
 at the steps. "Bride," he said gently, with a 
 little laugh, " is it all night you will be keeping 
 the little ones with your tales?" 
 
 " Faith, is it yourself ! " she laughed back. 
 " But I cannot stop here and leave the young 
 girls staring at Cuchulain and him smiling at 
 Emer. If you '11 be so good as to wait." 
 
 He did not look at Olivia as he sat down on 
 the lower step and tossed away his cigar. When 
 the story was in full swing again, she got up 
 softly from behind her column. 
 
 " I, too, have been listening," she whispered, 
 with a friendliness that surprised him, as she 
 passed. " It is a beautiful story that your sister 
 is telling. Good-night ! " 
 
 He sprang to his feet. "My sister will be 
 very glad and very proud that you will be 
 139
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 thinking it is a beautiful story," he answered. 
 " Good-night ! " 
 
 And she went off down the shadowy old 
 street saying over to herself the six gifts. 
 
 " And the gift of sweet speech, for always 
 she was saying what was like honey in the hearts 
 of those who heard," she recalled. " But then 
 Prunella was saucy," she added to console her- 
 self. " And that day in the town hall oh, 
 dear, it was so hideous and he was so so sur- 
 prising." 
 
 Meanwhile, Prunella too was going through 
 a process of self-reproach. She had found the 
 side window closed and barred and then had 
 run home with a heavy heart. The house was 
 quite dark except for the light of a candle in 
 Miss Hollins's room. Every night, before read- 
 ing her chapter, Miss Hollins put down, itemized, 
 " Cakes made, Money taken in, Money 
 paid out." After relieving her mind of these 
 important mundane matters, she turned to the 
 Psalms or Isaiah or John. 
 
 When Prunella came in that night, white 
 and stern-lipped, Miss Hollins was just at Isaiah, 
 xxvi, 3, and a moth had made the candle 
 sputter. 
 
 " Aunt Lou," she said, tugging at her collar, 
 140
 
 THE MAGIC OF THE MOON 
 
 " I 've made Olivia furious. I had to. I don't 
 care." 
 
 Miss Hollins snuffed the candle. " She '11 get 
 over it, Prunella. When you were children, she 
 was always a little topping. She gets it from 
 her mother. But she comes out all right in the 
 end. And she and Dacre are n't married yet." 
 
 " Oh, don't, Aunt Lou. Don't even say it. 
 It makes me wish I 'd gone on and told her all. 
 She frightened me so. I'd just begun." 
 
 " All, Prunella ? " Miss Hollins had taken off 
 her glasses and there was a gentle youthful look 
 in her clear hazel eyes. Down her back, over the 
 blue kimono, hung her heavy braids of curly, 
 gray-tinged chestnut hair. 
 
 " Yes, Aunt Lou all ! I wish I had. I 've 
 never told you or anybody. Olivia need n't be 
 so satisfied and so sarcastic. If she knew that 
 I saw, myself, one night coming home late 
 from the office, in the spring, by the fence in 
 the shade of Mrs. Archibald's lilac bushes just 
 where we stood to-night and she was so snippy 
 that I saw Dacre Welling kissing yes, 
 kissing, Aunt Lou, and holding quite close in 
 his arms that skinny, brown, long-eyed Sofia 
 Letchikoff." 
 
 " Prunella ! Are you sure ! " 
 141
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " Well, I did n't dream it, Aunt Lou, and you 
 know I never could imagine things. In school 
 I never could. Now, do you wonder ? " 
 
 Quite suddenly and irrelevantly Miss Hollins 
 laughed. " Well, it 's a mercy Dacre 's given 
 that way. It 's a relief. Why, don't you see, 
 Prunella ? It 's as clear as day. If he wanted 
 to kiss and hug that ugly, snaky little creature, 
 just think what he '11 be up to in Paris. He '11 
 never wait for Olivia. Thank God ! "
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 NITROGEN NODULES 
 
 A.S a result of the ploughing under of legumi- 
 nous and other crops for green manure, the pro- 
 ductiveness of the soil has been greatly increased. 
 The decomposition of vegetable matter in the 
 soil stimulates desirable activities and corrects 
 the evil effects of the excessive use of high- 
 grade fertilizers. Clover, alfalfa, soy beans " 
 
 Olivia turned another page in her notebook 
 and looked at her watch. Eleven thirty-three 
 and desperately hot. Seven minutes more of lec- 
 ture, and then fertilizer tables to copy off the 
 board. The row of chairs in front of her, six 
 in number, were filled as follows : Joyce, P. D. ; 
 Kershaw, M. H. ; Kidder, S. R. ; Kleber, Maria 
 T.; Klein, F. ; Knight, Isabel Y. 
 
 Olivia began her row, just behind Joyce, P. D., 
 in the end seat by the window, with the view 
 of the hot, dry campus, shaded at intervals by 
 splendid elms, and of the shallow pond with the 
 lily-pads ; on beyond, the trolley track, and be- 
 yond that, more sered campus and more red- 
 brick buildings. The only refreshing thing in 
 143
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 her range of vision was the drinking-fountain, 
 with its sanitary plunger, in a circle of moist, 
 living green. Now and then a student paused 
 and, from a safe distance and with due delibera- 
 tion, projected a cool draught into his mouth. 
 
 After a quite impersonal, but entirely genial 
 good-morning, Mr. Joyce had absorbed himself 
 wholly in the lecture, occasionally making an- 
 swer, with ready accuracy, to the problems in 
 fertilization that the lecturer tossed off with 
 terrifying ease. So absorbed was he in calcu- 
 lating nitrogen to the acre that he was oblivious 
 of the arrival of a minute grasshopper upon the 
 shoulder of his white flannel coat, then upon 
 the collar. It was Olivia's discovery of this in- 
 truder that brought her to a full stop after 
 " soy beans." Should she tell Mr. Joyce ? But 
 before she could answer the question and do 
 him a favor, the grasshopper removed himself 
 by a long leap to the brim of the Panama of 
 Knight, Isabel Y., and Olivia was aware of 
 being tired, and looked at her watch. 
 
 Afterwards, in the interval between the lec- 
 ture and the trolley that took her home, a mat- 
 ter of forty minutes, she found a seat under a 
 thick-leaved maple, tagged with its scientific 
 name and the date of its planting. All around 
 144
 
 NITROGEN NODULES 
 
 grew heavy-headed red clover, with now and 
 then a patch of fragrant alsike. It was the best 
 of opportunities to study the nitrogen nodules 
 on the roots, she was thinking, reaching for a 
 specimen. But somehow, in all that shimmer 
 and heat, her mind would not occupy itself with 
 nitrogen nodules. There was that Mr. Joyce 
 waiting for the trolley over near the track. He 
 certainly did not seem to be forcing his brain 
 into any uncongenial activity. He was prone 
 upon his back in the shade, smoking. All she 
 could really see of him, indeed, was a long 
 white line in the crushed grass, and now and 
 then a little blue cloud of smoke. She would 
 be just as idle herself. So she threw herself 
 back and looked up at the sky through the 
 clover-tops and the grass plumes. Then across 
 her thought floated a little pang. At first she 
 did not at once recognize it, there had been of 
 late so many pangs introduced into her experi- 
 ence. Then it asserted itself as a Dacre pang, 
 left by the letter that had inspired Prunella's 
 sauciness. And yet it was in no sense a pang- 
 making letter. On the contrary, it was a very 
 gay, light-hearted one, dated from a little sky 
 studio in delightful Rue Notre Dame des Champs, 
 with its little glimpse of the Luxembourg Gar- 
 145
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 dens over the two snapdragons and the three 
 wallflowers and the box of mignonette and the 
 fauvette's cage. And it was full of dejeuners at 
 Meudon, of sketching in the Bois, of the jolly 
 models, of Alexis Orloff, who had taken half 
 the little apartment with him, and was an old 
 Parisian and knew Paris like a book and 
 would take good care of him ! Quite innocent 
 of any pang-making intent, surely, were Dacre's 
 scrawled pages, with their odor of cigarettes ; 
 and quite loverlike enough to make her cheeks 
 aspire to a clover pink were the closely written 
 lines at the end. But yet, somehow, there was 
 a disappointment in the letter, and she lay there 
 analyzing herself, chiding herself, and then 
 planning over and over the old plans until Mr. 
 Joyce's gradual emergence from the grass just 
 in her line of vision reminded her to look at 
 her watch. 
 
 It was a little annoying that he held the trol- 
 ley for her as she ran breathlessly up the slope, 
 and then took her books and helped her in, all 
 the while confessing that he had been quite 
 asleep and that sheer luck had awakened him. 
 But after he had seated her and restored her 
 property, she had no further occasion for annoy- 
 ance ; for he removed himself to the front bench 
 146
 
 NITROGEN NODULES 
 
 with the motorman and a small barefooted boy 
 bearing a string of fish, and presently seemed 
 to have forgotten his recent gallantry in tender 
 and critical examination of pumpkinseed and 
 perch. The small boy moved quite close up to 
 him, and, from casual beginnings, they were 
 soon plunged into what appeared to be a most 
 absorbing conversation. Animated it certainly 
 was, for they laughed much, and frequently the 
 motorman turned around and took part, and the 
 conductor swung on the step and joined in. Mr. 
 Joyce had removed his hat, and as they flew 
 along his crinkled dark hair blew out in quite 
 boyish fashion. Olivia watched the fireweed and 
 the daisies by the way and thought of the de- 
 jeuners at Meudon as she held on her hat. 
 
 The arrival at the turnout by Ashton Ponds 
 broke up the sociability on the front seat. The 
 motorman and the conductor found surprising 
 and uncomfortable orders waiting for them over 
 the telephone. Forest fires had got to the bridge 
 over Ball's Creek and there was n't safe pass- 
 ing. Men were hard at work and in an hour or 
 so and so forth and so forth. Meanwhile, 
 they were to wait where they were. 
 
 And it was by no means a bad place to wait. 
 Not twenty feet from the track, down through 
 147
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 birches and reeds and rushes, gleamed very cool 
 and fresh the softly lapping water. A boat was 
 beached there, and not far away up the shore 
 there was a little cottage. Beyond birch tops, 
 the Ponds stretched away into the shadow of 
 the hills, darkly still and inviting. 
 
 Olivia resigned herself to the inevitable and 
 got out her notebook. Mr. Joyce and the boy, 
 after some parley with the motorman and the 
 conductor, clambered down the bank to the 
 boat and stood looking and talking. Then, 
 quite calmly and quite as if he were not doing 
 the most extraordinary and daring thing he had 
 ever done in his life, Mr. Joyce turned around, 
 and, springing up the bank, came over to where 
 Olivia sat pondering these inspiring words : 
 " The second plan of soil improvement is to in- 
 crease the humus content of the soil by the use 
 of more stable manure." She had so little idea 
 of his audacious intention that she did not lift 
 her eyes until he stood at the step and, raising 
 his hat, said quite simply, 
 
 " The little lad and I are going out in the 
 boat, the way it will not seem so long and so 
 hot, the wait. Will you not come with us? He 
 is a jolly little lad." 
 
 The answer her mind made to this perfectly 
 148
 
 NITEOGEN NODULES 
 
 commonplace and yet overwhelming proposal 
 was instantly resentful. Then, quite suddenly 
 and irrelevantly, she remembered the "jolly 
 models" and the "dejeuners at Meudon." The 
 resentment of the remembrance made her color 
 rosily as she answered hesitatingly, 
 
 " Why, yes, I suppose so. Why not ? Are 
 we to wait long ? " 
 
 " We are, indeed. 'T will be a good hour 
 before we go. And for myself, I cannot be so 
 near the water and not on it. And to pull at 
 the oars will be better than to sit in the car in 
 the heat." 
 
 All the while he was helping her down the 
 high step and then holding her books as she 
 sprang lightly on down among the birches to the 
 boat. The small boy with the fish had already 
 put them under the seat, and stood throwing 
 stones at a mud turtle swimming a little offshore. 
 He was a very freckled, large-eared, blue-eyed 
 boy, in process of getting some square white 
 teeth. 
 
 "Goin' to fish?" he said, in a businesslike 
 fashion, as Joyce steadied the boat for Olivia 
 to step in. "I Ve got eleven worms left. And 
 Potts up at that cottage, he 's got lines." 
 
 " Oh, no, thank you ! It would hardly be 
 149
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 worth the getting ready for so short a time. If 
 we can catch a bit of breeze in a shady spot, it 
 will be luck enough." 
 
 " And anyhow, have n't you enough fish ? " 
 Olivia laughed as she settled herself in the stern. 
 
 She laughed more at herself than at the lad, 
 seeing herself in her novel situation. And in a 
 way it was quite a little adventure, going for 
 a row with a young Irishman about whom she 
 knew nothing more nor better than that he had 
 a picturesque sister who told unusual stories, 
 and that his uncle held every foot of her own 
 old home on a heavy mortgage. It was truly a 
 situation that was full of romantic suggestion 
 as well as of practical opportunity. It would be 
 no waste of time to be gracious to the family 
 to whom all her paternal acres so nearly be- 
 longed. And then she admitted the fact 
 grudgingly as Joyce tossed off coat and hat 
 and took up the oars he was certainly a very 
 highbred-looking young Irishman with an un- 
 questionably good manner. With all his court- 
 liness, he was just aloof enough to be interesting. 
 
 " Faith, and Miss Ladd does n't know a fish- 
 erman, the way a whole boatful of fish would not 
 be enough," he exclaimed as the lad scrambled 
 in. " It is of that we 've been telling tales in 
 150
 
 NITKOGEN NODULES 
 
 the car, of how many we have been after catch- 
 ing and how many we are wanting to catch." 
 
 " You beat us all holler," said the boy. "I'd 
 like to try it wunst in your country. Tell some 
 more." 
 
 They were following the shore under the 
 dipping boughs of chestnuts and maples. Down 
 close to the water clustered the white button- 
 bushes with their jasmine scent. Clouds of iri- 
 descent blue dragonflies skimmed the shallows. 
 A fresh little air touched Olivia's hot cheeks. 
 She too took off her hat, and threw it with 
 gloves and books on the seat beside her. Joyce 
 looked at her for the first time directly, with a 
 quiet smile. 
 
 " Not now, my lad," he was answering. " Here 
 it is sweet in its own way and 'twould be spoiling 
 it to talk of Glen Inagh and Ballynahinch and 
 Derryclare. And it 's a little cooler ye are, Miss 
 Ladd?" 
 
 He was thinking quickly that he had spoken 
 the truth when he had said that here it was 
 sweet in its own way. The last time he had 
 been in a boat with a girl, it had been Aileen 
 who had sat in the bow against a background 
 of sparkling sea and deep blue sky, and in 
 her scarlet cap, the young gull's wing he had 
 151
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 given her. Now against a background of green 
 branches and sunflecked water there sat oppo- 
 site him a gray-eyed young woman of whom at 
 first he had been a little afraid. But facing her 
 half -wearied quiet, and remembering the shadow 
 picture of ten days before, he felt much more 
 at his ease. "And the little breeze? Y're catch- 
 ing it ? " he said. He could see that it had 
 caught her, for it was blowing the soft hair 
 around her ears and lifting the ends of her black 
 four-in-hand tie. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! And it is delicious ! It is much 
 nicer even than than soy beans ! " 
 
 He laughed aloud, heartily. "And yet it is 
 what I have been thinking, that y're in love 
 with soy beans and alfalfa, y're that quiet be- 
 hind me." 
 
 " This morning, though, I almost spoke to 
 you," she said. " For a minute you were in 
 in great peril." 
 
 " In great peril, was I ? And you going to 
 save me ? " 
 
 " It was averted," she went on, with a little 
 smile, watching him critically. At any rate, his 
 hands were pleasant to see, brown and shapely 
 and muscular, and his tan was the real burn of 
 the sailor, which no amount of inland air ever 
 152
 
 NITROGEN NODULES 
 
 takes off. " It was a small grasshopper, and 
 it left you for Miss Knight at the end of the 
 row." 
 
 At this the little lad burst into a peal of 
 round laughter. " Gee ! But I bet she was 
 scared," he exclaimed. " Once I did that to the 
 teacher I put a grasshopper in the drawer of 
 her desk, and was n't she in a fit ! " And again 
 he laughed his delight in reminiscence. 
 
 " You did, did you ? " Olivia said, with an 
 answering laugh, beginning to be very pleas- 
 antly aware of the little lad. " And where do 
 you go to school?" 
 
 " Oh, to the North Fernfield District School. 
 She was a fearful scary one, anyhow, she was. 
 Even fishworms in desks made her squirm." 
 
 Joyce laughed, and looked at Olivia with a 
 friendly understanding in his eyes. Her eyes 
 were friendly, too, and more merry than he had 
 ever seen them. 
 
 " Are you going to be a scary one? " he said. 
 " Shall you be minding fishworms in the desks ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! I shall not be a scary one," she 
 said valiantly. And then she went on to the 
 little lad as he sat perched in the stern with his 
 arms around his yellow khaki knees, " And do 
 you think you would put grasshoppers in my 
 153
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 desk if I were ever to be teacher in your 
 school?" 
 
 He surveyed her for a moment. "You 
 would n't screech if I did. That 's the fun, when 
 they screech ! " Then his face broke into a 
 broad smile, and he reddened. " Gee ! Are you 
 going to ? " he said. 
 
 Olivia colored, too. It was something of a 
 plunge to admit it, this approaching experiment 
 of hers, and with Mr. Joyce looking on and re- 
 membering that first day ! 
 
 " Yes, I 'm going to," she answered. "And I 'm 
 glad to know you. You '11 help me, won't you ? " 
 
 " I can chop wood and and run the stove," 
 he explained proudly. " And the chestnuts will 
 soon be ripe. And it 's nice, recess under the 
 trees. You '11 soon get used to things." 
 
 " It is what you will be, Miss Ladd's pro- 
 tector," Joyce said as they rounded a point close 
 under spreading willow and wild honeysuckle. 
 A bass leaped silver and then down again 
 through swift widening circles. 
 
 The boy sprang up. " Whew ! D' ye see that ? 
 Wish I'd been trolling ! That was a three- 
 pounder, I'll bet." 
 
 " He was very glad you are not trolling, the 
 way he can go back to his home in the pickerel 
 154
 
 NITROGEN NODULES 
 
 weed and the lily-pads," Joyce laughed. " And 
 some other time you and I can come out here 
 and catch him." 
 
 " All right ! When ? I '11 get the worms." 
 
 " Oh, some fine day when you are after hav- 
 ing excellent lessons, and after putting a nose- 
 gay in Miss Ladd's desk." 
 
 Miss Ladd and her pupil laughed, too. 
 
 " And what is your name ? " she asked. 
 " And do you live in North Fernfield?" 
 
 He reddened again. "Dad says it's a fancy 
 name. Mother named me. Dad's name is Pratt 
 Smith. Mother named me Byron, but people 
 always say 'By.' That ain't so bad, is it?" 
 
 "There, By! Faith, it's a lily there at the 
 side of y', and it 's what Miss Ladd is wanting, 
 is it not, Miss Ladd ? " 
 
 By leaned over and dipped down deep into 
 the clear, shadowed water. 
 
 " Next to fishin', gimme this ! " he said ec- 
 statically, drawing out the dazzling, tremulous 
 flower and passing it on to Joyce. "In our 
 pond there 's just about a million. You got 
 'em in your country ? " 
 
 Joyce handed the lily to Olivia. 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! " she said. " It is just what 
 I was wanting." 
 
 155
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 And she looked at him now quite as cloud- 
 lessly as if he had been any other man than the 
 man he was ; and quite irrelevantly there popped 
 into his head the little apple-blossom song that 
 she had broken into so ruthlessly on that first 
 morning. And, indeed, it was very much pleas- 
 anter not to be bitter against this young lady 
 who could smile so winningly into the eyes of 
 a boy and look so happy over the gift of a 
 flower. Probably to some other man she showed 
 as radiant and lovely as Aileen showed to him. 
 
 " Why, if you are Pratt Smith's son," she 
 was going on to By over Joyce's shoulder, 
 " you must live in that fine old place with the 
 big pond, up Exeter way. Of course I remember 
 it. And you come all that way to the North 
 Fernfield school?" 
 
 By dropped his eyes and frowned down at 
 the fish feebly splashing in the bottom of the 
 boat. 
 
 "That's our place, but" he hesitated 
 " but we don't live there. Mr. Stopolski lives in it 
 and he lets me fish. That 's where I got these 
 fish. And you see at our pond you can fish 
 right off the bank and that 's safer that is, 
 for mother." 
 
 " Some day, when you are a man, you must 
 156
 
 NITROGEN NODULES 
 
 buy back the place," Olivia said with a little 
 deepening of color. " It 's a very beautiful old 
 place." 
 
 " Not much ! " By exclaimed. And then to 
 Joyce, " Would you ? " 
 
 Joyce's right oar circled the boat slowly round 
 towards the trolley track. He gave Olivia a 
 quick little glance that was half an appeal. 
 
 " Faith, and it is what I never would do, to 
 take the old places away from those who love 
 them," he said, watching the swirl of the water. 
 " I would let the other man do that and I would 
 buy only of those who have no love in their 
 hearts for the old places." 
 
 " I 'd rather go to your country," By went 
 on, quite seriously. " Dad says that here all the 
 places are fished out. And was it true honest 
 true what you told about the trout about 
 the white trout that was enchanted ? Tim Leary, 
 that conductor, he said he 'd heard about it, too." 
 
 " It was fairy true, my lad," Joyce answered, 
 ready for Olivia when she would turn and smile 
 with him. " Y' see, there are two kinds of true, 
 and both are true. There 's honest true and 
 fairy true. And the white trout is fairy true, 
 and the trout in Glen Inagh almost jumping 
 into your hand, that is honest true." 
 157
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 The clanging of the trolley bell made him 
 straighten up and quicken his strokes. Olivia 
 took up her hat. 
 
 " Of course they '11 wait for us, won't they?" 
 she exclaimed. It suddenly seemed to her that 
 it would be annoying to have a boat-ride with 
 Mr. Patrick Joyce the cause of her missing a 
 trolley. The clanging of the bell had reasserted 
 the conventions with their usual strength. And 
 what would Prunella say should she hear of the 
 adventure ! 
 
 " Oh, yes ! They will wait for us. It is what 
 we agreed, that they would give us time to get 
 back." He was silent for a moment, sending the 
 boat swiftly through the water in long, quiet 
 strokes. Olivia was pinning her hat on and 
 smoothing back the blown hair under its 
 brim. 
 
 " Afterwards to be thinking that you came 
 it will be more like fairy true than honest 
 true," he said presently. 
 
 Olivia swept him with a glance. It was stupid 
 to have to acknowledge that his eyes and voice 
 were nice. 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! " she said. " It has teen 
 great fun. And then to meet By. That was 
 providential." 
 
 158
 
 NITEOGEN NODULES 
 
 By was holding his perch and pumpkinseed 
 over the stern for a cooling dip. 
 
 "Roman and Leo Krakoski, they fill the 
 water-cooler," he said genially ; "and Apollonia 
 and Stefanya, they '11 help you lots." 
 
 " And with you to show me, too," Olivia 
 answered as genially. " Oh, I shall not be so 
 afraid." 
 
 But she was thinking, all the time, of the rest 
 of the trolley ride, and wondering whether Mr. 
 Joyce would take the seat beside her, and what 
 there would be to talk about, and how it was 
 that he seemed so much more endurable than 
 he had seemed that day in the town hall. But 
 she soon found that all her anxious speculation 
 was quite unnecessary. After helping her back 
 to her former seat and receiving her thanks 
 with the wholly impersonal assertion with which 
 he had justified the invitation, that the boat ride 
 was better than sitting there in the heat, Mr. 
 Joyce lifted his hat and resumed his place on 
 the front platform, in the good company of By 
 and the motorman.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THAT PEDDLER 
 
 Six dozen kisses, Robbie. It 's been a day's 
 work to make them. And you will be careful 
 and pull the wagon gently. Kisses are so per- 
 ishable. And tell Mr. Sibley to be careful in 
 putting them on the train. And then, of course, 
 the Grange ladies will be on hand to take them 
 off in Flagfield. They know all about kisses. 
 Now I can trust you, Robbie." And Miss Hol- 
 lins gave a final tug to the cord that held the 
 pile of cake-boxes on Robbie's little red express 
 wagon. 
 
 It had been a busy time since three o'clock 
 that morning, when the day had begun for her. 
 In the season, when the countryside was full of 
 summer visitors, and church suppers and Grange 
 meetings were numerous , she always began the 
 day when the sun began it, and left Prunella 
 sound asleep in the big fourposter. And it was 
 really the sweetest time of the day there in 
 the cool kitchen, with the roses fresh under 
 the south window, and the east like a rose, and 
 160
 
 THAT PEDDLER 
 
 all the back yards on each side of her own dewy 
 and quiet. It was a good way to begin work, in 
 all that still loveliness, after a cup of coffee 
 and a chapter in Psalms. 
 
 Robbie's wagon successfully arrived at the 
 corner of the street and passed out of Miss 
 Hollins's sight as she leaned over the gate. 
 Eleven o'clock was just striking. Prunella was 
 gone to start the outgoing mail. The boarders 
 had all gone on a picnic except Miss Kirk. She 
 was knitting on the side porch in the shade of 
 the clematis. Miss Hollins stooped to pull some 
 straggling dandelions out of Prunella's neat 
 grassplot. The roots were firm, and it took 
 some tugging to get them up. 
 
 It was while she was tugging and pulling, 
 with her back to the gate, that an automobile, 
 as shining and big and noiseless as the chariot 
 of Phoebus himself, rolled up to her curbing 
 and stopped. However, it was no Pho3bus that 
 drove it, and no immortal that sat upon the 
 back seat among the baskets of beans and 
 tomatoes and carrots and beets. It was Mr. 
 Patrick Joyce, unhelmeted and in the array of 
 an ordinary young man, who acted as chariot- 
 eer, and who, when he had brought the chariot 
 to a soft stop, and had a moment's parley with 
 161
 
 the more elderly mortal in the rear, promptly 
 opened the pages of the " New York Herald " 
 and buried himself in the polo and cricket and 
 golf news. Meanwhile, the more elderly mortal, 
 who, after all, was not so very elderly, and had 
 a most youthful twinkle in his blue eyes, alighted 
 with some dignity and much caution, lest he be 
 followed by a cascade of vegetables. Once free 
 of his vegetarian surroundings and with his 
 hand on the latch of Miss Hollins's small green 
 gate, he looked something between a Member 
 of Parliament and a skipper, with his fine 
 crop of white hair and his ruddy skin and the 
 white vest he wore with his dark blue flan- 
 nels. 
 
 Miss Hollins heard the gate click. She would 
 be ready for that peddler who always got in be- 
 fore you knew it, she said to herself, giving a 
 final tug. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the intruder 
 suavely. " I want just a " 
 
 " It 's a waste of time," she began sharply 
 then sprang up and reddened as rosily as 
 Prunella did under fire. " Oh, excuse me ! I 
 did not realize," she added, ice forming as she 
 went on. What did Michael Joyce want there, 
 anyhow, surprising her. And at such an hour, 
 162
 
 THAT PEDDLER 
 
 before she had changed into a fresh percale, and 
 with such hands ! 
 
 " Good-morning, Miss Hollins," he said, as 
 gravely as if she were receiving him in highest 
 state. " May I speak with y' just a minute ? 
 It 's a great favor y'll be doing me." 
 
 As he spoke there came a plaintive voice 
 from behind the hedge on the other side of the 
 street, calling " Sollie ! Sollie! Come, Sollie ! " 
 Solomon, Mrs. Clabby's maltese, was always 
 missing when anything of interest was occur- 
 ring at a neighbor's. 
 
 " Of course you may," Miss Hollins said, not 
 suavely, holding her dandelions. " Come up on 
 the porch where it 's shady." She could n't 
 hide his automobile from Jane Clabby, but she 
 could keep her from watching the interview. 
 " Take a chair while I wash my hands. Dande- 
 lion roots take a lot of pulling." And she went 
 in and let the screen door slam and washed her 
 hands at the sink. What could have brought 
 him ? He had n't been near enough to speak to 
 since that day ten years ago when the deeds 
 were signed. And the grassplot would n't come 
 out of her fingernails. And her face was red as 
 a beet. The little glass in the kitchen told her 
 so. If Prunella were only there ! 
 163
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 On the porch she found him seemingly quite 
 cool and unperturbed. He had not obeyed her 
 and sat down, but stood by the little sewing- 
 table where she and Prunella kept their work, 
 holding his fine white Panama hat. 
 
 "I'll not be keeping y' a moment," he said 
 promptly and smilingly. " It is what I have 
 come about, a little table that I found in the 
 Welling house that's likely belonging to y'." 
 
 " A little table ! " she exclaimed, amazed and 
 melting. " There was a little table. Won't you 
 sit down ? " 
 
 When she had taken the Windsor rocker, he 
 seated himself formally on the edge of the long 
 bench. Evidently he purposed the briefest of 
 calls. 
 
 "It is a little table with drawers all inlaid and 
 with foine glass knobs, and it 's not in the list 
 Mrs. Chappell has been so kind as to send me," 
 he went on in a most businesslike fashion. " Y' 
 see, the young gentleman went so soon and left 
 everything ; the way I 've been that puzzled to 
 know about the things." 
 
 " It was disgraceful the way Dacre went off. 
 I don't wonder you 've been puzzled," Miss 
 Hollins said emphatically. " But that 's always 
 been his way. He 's a spoiled boy." 
 164
 
 THAT PEDDLEE 
 
 " Poor lad ! It will go hard with him, the 
 wurrld. But it was Bride, my niece, who was 
 after finding out the table belonged to y*. There 
 was a bit of paper pasted in the bottom of one 
 of the drawers, and it saying the table was the 
 gift of Mrs. Hollins to Mrs. Welling. Faith, it's 
 Bride has eyes for finding things and seeing 
 into things." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, thank you ! " Miss Hollins 
 cried softly. " That 's the very table. I 've been 
 longing to get it. I told Prunella so. It was 
 my mother's wedding gift to Dacre Welling's 
 grandmother. Oh, I am very glad." 
 
 " And it is what I am, too, very glad. 
 There 's a heart in the old things, sure ! " he 
 exclaimed, a little ruddier than before. "I'll 
 send it down to y' right away. And Bride will 
 be glad. It is like an inchantment that is on 
 her, she to be always seeing into things and 
 into the right of them." 
 
 " I know she does," Miss Hollins found her- 
 self saying almost warmly, leaning forward in 
 the Windsor rocker. " Every one says beauti- 
 ful things about her. And she seems so cheer- 
 ful. She must make you very happy." 
 
 He was carefully creasing the crown of his 
 hat as an embarrassed boy would have done. 
 165
 
 THE INVADEKS 
 
 " She does, she does ! " he said. " Poor lass ! 
 But it 's a heavy heart she has in her, and she 
 so gay." 
 
 " A heavy heart ! " Miss Hollins exclaimed. 
 " Why, she seems a perfect ray of sunshine." 
 Not of rays was she thinking, but of what a 
 remarkably clean-looking man he was. It had 
 not seemed possible a man could look so clean. 
 And how nice he was about the table. If he 
 had come fifteen minutes later, he would n't 
 have caught her in that soiled 
 
 " Y' see, she 's homesick, Bride is," he was 
 going on. " She and Pat were left motherless 
 bairns, and then three year ago my brother, 
 their father, went down in a winter gale off 
 Killery. But at home in the ould country the 
 nuns were always mothering her, and she had 
 her poor. But here, y' see, there 's no woman 
 to mother her and she 's that slow in making 
 friends with the gur-rls. We do our best, Pat 
 and I, the way she won't be always wishing 
 herself in the ould country. But it 's a heavy 
 heart she has in her, poor colleen." 
 
 "Why why, send her to see me, poor 
 child ! " Miss Hollins heard herself saying. " Of 
 course she 's homesick. Who would n't be ! 
 Prunella would be delighted." 
 166
 
 THAT PEDDLER 
 
 He looked up quickly with eyes suddenly 
 grown soft. " What use will it be, I to try to 
 thank y' ! " he said. " 'T was I that brought her 
 to this country, and to know she's grieving 
 under her blitheness ! And it is indeed quite 
 different for a young lass, this great country 
 after little ould Ireland, God bless it ! " He got 
 up and stood a moment, still fumbling his hat. 
 
 " To be quite honest with y j ," he hesitated, 
 " I had another reason for coming and taking y'r 
 time. But I should not be daring to come with- 
 out my knowing y're a great business woman 
 that facts are facts to y', just as they are to 
 a man, and that y' don't let sintimint get away 
 with good sinse." 
 
 Miss Hollins again grew rosy. " I try to be. 
 I 've had to be," she said. 
 
 "Now it was this way. I know that y're 
 thrifty and y' would n't want to see potatoes 
 and beans and beets and cabbages and all the 
 rest of the garden lying there in the sun, the 
 way they're rotting and no one to be ating 
 them. And so so " he paused and settled 
 the gold-rimmed eyeglasses on the black ribbon. 
 " Ye've the head of a man even if y've the 
 heart of a woman, and so you '11 let one of the 
 lads bring ye down fresh vegetables every morn- 
 167
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 ing. Faith, they 're lazy lubbers, are the lads, 
 and the stuff that 's peddled y' is n't worth a 
 baubee, and the waste in the fields is a sin. 
 Sure, I brought down some garden stuff this 
 morning, seeing I was coming. Y' won't 
 mind?" 
 
 Miss Ilollms had grown as pale as he had 
 grown ruddy while he stammered on. They 
 would choke her, the vegetables from those 
 fields. And yet how could she hurt him ! Forty 
 dollars last month for green groceries. Tired 
 Prunella out in the hot sun hoeing the little gar- 
 den. The goodness of God ! Had n't her Psalm 
 said so that very morning ! " In the shadow of 
 His wing ! " And the kindness of the man ! 
 
 " Why, yes, I will, gladly," she said bluntly, 
 holding out her hand. " It 's a big item, fresh 
 vegetables. And when you 've always been used 
 to your own gardens. You 're very, very kind. 
 I did n't think at first I could let you do such 
 a thing, but I I can." The mist had come 
 on her spectacles, and he was shaking her hand 
 warmly. 
 
 Then he whistled softly. " Pat," he cried. 
 " Suppose y' be laving Miss Hollins the vege- 
 tables I was bringing down to kape the bur-rds 
 from gorging themselves into early graves." 
 168
 
 THAT PEDDLER 
 
 And with smiling alacrity Mr. Patrick Joyce 
 presently had the little porch gay with the 
 baskets, and fragrant from a great bunch of 
 flowers that lay atop of the lettuce. 
 
 " They 're Bride's cutting, the posies," Mr. 
 Joyce was saying, as he and Patrick bowed 
 themselves down the steps. " And the table 
 I '11 send y' by the very first lad that 's handy." 
 
 "And Bride must come down very soon," 
 Miss Hollins called after them. "Prunella will 
 be delighted." 
 
 As the big car rolled away with a great lift- 
 ing of hats, faintly from across the street came 
 the call, " Sollie ! Sollie ! Come, Sollie ! " 
 
 Miss Hollins collapsed into the Windsor 
 rocker. What would Prunella say? What would 
 she say ! But what else could a Christian do ! 
 And they were beautiful vegetables. Such 
 tomatoes ! And the man was kind and clean and 
 decent and and vegetables were high in the 
 dry weather. "And if thou bring thy gift to 
 the altar and there rememberest aught that 
 thou hast against thy brother, go first and be 
 reconciled with thy brother." And "Blessed 
 are the peacemakers." That was plain Bible 
 teaching. Prunella could have nothing to say 
 against that anyhow. And Bride ! Any woman 
 169
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 would do as much for a lonely girl. Suppose it 
 were Prunella ! But what would Prunella say ! 
 
 When Prunella came home at one o'clock, 
 hot and tired after the opening of the noon 
 mail, she dropped wearily into her place at the 
 table without going out on the hack porch, 
 whither Miss Hollins and Robbie had trans- 
 ported the vegetables. The flowers had been 
 gayly and fragrantly disposed in various parts 
 of the house, the sweet-peas on the dining-room 
 table. But Prunella was too weary to be observ- 
 ant. 
 
 Miss Hollins sipped her last cup of tea 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " And what do you think, Aunt Lou ! It 's 
 just what you'd expect, of course. There's 
 going to be a concert next week yes, a con- 
 cert in the town hall, for the benefit of the 
 library, and who who" the piece of cold 
 lamb Prunella was impaling refused to stay on 
 her fork " and who do you suppose is going 
 to play?" 
 
 "Why, your Polander, of course. Why 
 should n't he play ? He 's a genius if there was 
 ever one. And prejudice, Prunella " 
 
 " My Polander ! Aunt Lou ! How perfectly 
 absurd ! And Dr. Britton says he plays every 
 170
 
 THAT PEDDLER 
 
 day with that Polish priest. Dr. Britton can 
 hear quite plainly in his study. I had to buy 
 two tickets. You and Miss Kirk might go, Aunt 
 Lou. I loathe music. You know I do." And 
 she put another spoonful of mayonnaise on the 
 plump Joyce tomato. 
 
 Miss Hollins set down her cup with a little 
 rattle and folded her napkin. 
 
 " Prunella," she said sharply, " I may as well 
 tell you. You '11 see for yourself in a minute. 
 And you need n't make a bit of fuss. I know 
 my duty and I 'm going to do it. And there 's 
 no use in the world in keeping up all this pre- 
 judice against foreigners. They've come and 
 they 're going to stay. That 's the very thing 
 Dr. Britton said so splendidly in his sermon, 
 and that, after all, we are n't any better than 
 they. Goodness knows, we old families need 
 something to start us on again." 
 
 Prunella had finished the tomato, but she 
 held a saltine poised, too amazed to bite. 
 " Why, Aunt Lou ! What is the matter ? I '11 go 
 to the old concert and send your Stefan a 
 
 " It 's not that, Prunella. It 's the Joyces. 
 
 Mr. Michael Joyce called here this morning. 
 
 Yes, here, Prunella, and I was a sight for the 
 
 gods in my soiled dress, with such hands ! I 
 
 171
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 was on my knees pulling dandelions, and I 
 thought he was that impudent tin peddler that 
 sneaks in before you know it. I did n't hear the 
 automobile at all. And he 's found my little 
 inlaid table up at the old Welling place and 
 and and after this, he's he's going to 
 supply us with vegetables, Prunella." Miss 
 Hollins was taking her napkin out of the ring 
 and carefully refolding it and putting it back 
 again. 
 
 " Will it be be much cheaper, Aunt 
 Lou?" 
 
 " Cheaper, Prunella ! Why, don't you under- 
 stand ? It is going to cost us nothing to be 
 a a kind of convenience to to Mr. Joyce. 
 I know how it used to be in Father's time. We 
 just had to throw away the vegetables." 
 
 " Aunt Lou ! Of all the terrible come-downs ! 
 Why, they would choke me under those con- 
 ditions." 
 
 " That tomato did n't choke you, child. And 
 you Ve not been suffocated by the sweet-peas. 
 That's sense and and Christianity, Pru- 
 nella."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THEN STEFAN PLAYED 
 
 YOU'RE growing thinner, Olivia. Last time I 
 could hardly get the hooks together. And 
 now ! There you are ! " And Mrs. Ladd gave a 
 final pat to the butterfly bow that finished the 
 high waist-line of the blue crepe gown. Then 
 she stood a moment looking at Olivia in the 
 glass, watching her fasten the old seed-pearl 
 brooch in the soft folds. " I used to look like 
 you, dear," she said presently, with a little sigh. 
 The pin was fastened. " Only a million times 
 better than I can ever look, Mamma," Olivia 
 protested. She was brushing back her hair into 
 a more severe line. That was what Dacre always 
 had said, that the lines around her cheek and 
 ear were her best lines. Under her filmy surplice 
 was hidden his most recent letter. " I can never 
 approach your ivory miniature, Mamma. That 
 has forever discouraged me." She laughed and 
 then rummaged for her white gloves. She had 
 to look away. It hurt too much, seeing her 
 mother's face there so close to her own in the 
 173
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 lamplight, against the dim background of the 
 high-ceiled old room. So like her own, and yet 
 every line in high relief wrinkle, hollow, 
 crowsfoot, tired eyes, faded hair, against her 
 own curve and glow and shine! "Besides, 
 Mamma, youth is terribly crude and unripe and 
 glaring." 
 
 "Youth is entirely entirely divine, dear," 
 Mrs. Ladd corrected her, turning away. " Wait 
 till you have a daughter. Then you '11 know the 
 feeling like like holding the door of a 
 shrine." 
 
 " Why, Mamma ! That 's beautiful what 
 you said. But you don't feel that with me, do 
 you? Why should you? So practical and well- 
 poised a person as I." She was taking the lamp 
 from the high chest of drawers, throwing into 
 light, then into shadow, the big f ourposter, the 
 blowing blue and white chintz curtains, the 
 narrow, high mantel-shelf with its string of 
 capped and gowned photographs. 
 
 Mrs. Ladd followed with little blue fan and 
 white Liberty cape. 
 
 " Yes, with you, of all people," she said as 
 they went down the stairs. " I almost hold my 
 breath to listen for the footsteps of of invad- 
 ers into your shrine, Olivia." 
 174 
 
 -
 
 THEN STEFAN PLAYED 
 
 " But why, Mamma ? " she persisted, putting 
 the lamp in the parlor and coming back into 
 the soft light of the hall. " It is n't reasonable 
 to feel so witU me. I seem to myself so so 
 over with youth, so dependable. Why should 
 you, Mamma?" 
 
 Mrs. Ladd handed her cape and fan and drew 
 her under the Chinese lamp, holding her gently 
 by her shoulders. 
 
 "Because, my dearest," she answered, so 
 quietly that Olivia felt that it was very passion- 
 ately, " because I can see so far back and 
 and you are the only perfectly lovely thing in 
 my life. Now fly along. You '11 be late for the 
 concert." And she kissed her cheek lightly and 
 turned her half playfully towards the door. 
 
 " I 'd much rather stay, Mamma. You '11 be 
 lonely. And it 's a lot of trouble just to hear 
 that Stefan Posadowski play. It will probably 
 be something fearful to listen to." 
 
 " No, no ! You go on, dear ! You '11 see a 
 lot of people, and let them see you. That 's 
 your duty here in the village. Good-bye ! I 'm 
 going to read ' Phineas Finn.' ' 
 
 So Olivia went, down the dark street fra- 
 grant from the dewy gardens behind fence and 
 hedge. There were stars in the elm-tops, fireflies 
 175
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 twinkling over the grass, and two blocks ahead, 
 the windows of the town hall bravely aglitter. 
 Olivia walked very slowly. With her mother's 
 words so hot in her memory and Dacre's letter in 
 her bosom, it did not seem possible that she could 
 go on into the crowd and the music. At the 
 open field between Mrs. Egerton's and Sarah 
 Tibbetts's, she stopped quite still. Who would 
 know if she ran off into the darkness and quiet 
 and got herself together? She would like to lie in 
 the cool grass and look up into stars upon stars 
 upon stars. " The only perfectly lovely thing in 
 my life." To be to her mother, that, and to be 
 Dacre's " precious old Sweetheart," to have him 
 " long to kiss and kiss " her " dear mouth," to be 
 pictured sewing by his studio window among the 
 three geraniums and the two snapdragons and 
 the mignonette and the fauvette's cage ! She 
 could not think of all that and listen to gay music, 
 and talk and laugh like other people. Out there 
 in the meadow among the fireflies, it would be 
 very still, and she could turn up her skirt and 
 keep it from the dew, and But then Dacre 
 had said something else. What was it he had 
 said about the little Sicilian with the blue-black 
 hair and the red, red lips, and how he was paint- 
 ing her eating cherries ? And what was it he 
 176
 
 THEN STEFAN PLAYED 
 
 had said about the omelets she could make, the 
 little cherry-lipped Sicilienne? Aux cerises, aux 
 framboises, aux confitures ! Such omelets, in 
 a small pan over the charcoal in the studio ! 
 Olivia must learn to do omelets a la Sici- 
 lienne I 
 
 She turned back into the path and went on 
 quickly past Mrs. Egerton's arbor vitae hedge, 
 past Mrs. Archibald's lilac bushes, past the tall 
 white meeting-house. Out through the wide- 
 open doors of the town hall long beams of light 
 fell into the grassy street. The air was softly 
 brightened with calls and laughter, and people 
 in couples and groups came out of the shadow 
 and walked up the beams of light to the high 
 Doric-columned porch. A little to one side of the 
 entrance the Joyces' big touring-car chugged 
 and throbbed. That was Patrick Joyce crossing 
 the headlights. The chugging stopped. Joyce 
 tossed a cigar into the grass and went up the 
 steps. He was in his Tuxedo, without a hat. 
 He stopped a moment and looked her way, down 
 the street. Then he went into the hall. After 
 him, Mrs. Krakoski, with Apollonia and Stefanya 
 in very much-starched white dresses and large 
 hair-bows, came, hurrying up abeam. 
 
 " Quick ! Quick ! It begins ! We get no sits. 
 177
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 Quick ! " panted Mrs. Krakoski, stepping on 
 her red satin skirt, but stumbling on. 
 
 Olivia had got to the foot of the steps. It 
 would be pleasanter to go in with somebody, 
 and that sounded like Prunella's voice across 
 the street. And it was Prunella, in the buff 
 organdie, leading Miss Kirk, the blind boarder. 
 Miss Kirk had a red geranium pinned in the 
 white lace jabot that showed between the folds 
 of her white Shetland shawl. 
 
 "Oh, is that you, Prunella? Good-evening, 
 Miss Kirk ! " Olivia said, joining them on the 
 beam. " May I go with you ? Mamma did n't 
 feel equal to coming." 
 
 Miss Kirk held her hand lingeringly. 
 
 " Of course. Do ! And we '11 keep a seat for 
 Aunt Lou," Prunella answered heartily, giving 
 Olivia one of her quick, admiring glances. "My, 
 but that 's a lovely dress, Olivia ! And it 's 
 stunning on you." 
 
 " I knew it was a lovely gown," Miss Kirk 
 said in her tremulous blind voice. " It is blue, 
 I think." 
 
 " Yes, it 's blue, Miss Kirk my Rose Day 
 gown." 
 
 " And she 's lovely in it, Miss Kirk," Prunella 
 added. 
 
 178
 
 THEN STEFAN PLAYED 
 
 " I can feel that she is," Miss Kirk said softly. 
 " And so are you in yours, Prunella. It will be 
 pleasant to sit between you girls to hear the 
 music. Perhaps I can hear the color. Sometimes 
 I do." 
 
 They were going carefully up the steps into the 
 portico, then on into the bright, high hall, with 
 the white walls and the rows of green benches. 
 They were well filled, the old green benches 
 upon which the grandfathers and great-grand- 
 fathers of perhaps one third of the then present 
 audience had sat. The grandfathers and great- 
 grandfathers of the other two thirds had known 
 far different scenes for their gatherings. 
 
 " There 's Mrs. Wieniaski with her husband," 
 Prunella whispered. " Do look at her picture 
 hat. She '11 have to take it off. I wonder if 
 she 's got her shoes on. I suppose they 're burst- 
 ing with pride." 
 
 Olivia laughed at Prunella's incoherence. 
 
 " And there are the Joyces. She 's a beauty 
 if there ever was one. She 's like like " 
 
 " Like mignonette ? " Miss Kirk whispered. 
 
 " Yes, just like mignonette," Prunella an- 
 swered gently. " And do look at Patrick, Olivia. 
 He 's stunning." 
 
 Olivia looked, then reddened and looked away. 
 179
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 Why she reddened she did not know. There 
 was nothing to see of the Joyces but the broad 
 back and fine white head of Mr. Michael Joyce ; 
 the profile,.in softest white gown, of Miss Joyce, 
 studying her programme ; and then against the 
 window, with his arm on the sill, and his eyes 
 fixed abstractedly on the bare stage with the 
 grand piano labeled " Weber," Mr. Patrick 
 Joyce. And yet, as she looked away, there came 
 to Olivia a little tremor of excitement at the 
 thought that they were to be greeted sometime 
 during the evening. As foolish as the redden- 
 ing was the little excitement. But unmistakable 
 was the relief of finding how irreproachable he 
 was in his evening clothes. Somehow, the boat- 
 ride on Ashton Ponds was not half so much of 
 a condescension if he could look as well as that. 
 Her mother would not have been quite so much 
 amused if she could have known that he could 
 look as well as that. ^ 
 
 But Prunella was excited, too. After they 
 were seated, Miss Kirk kept her thin hand with 
 its jet and seed-pearl ring on Prunella's arm, 
 and Prunella looked round and reported. 
 
 " That 's Miss Mortimer, there in lavender 
 and old lace. She sings first, does n't she ? " 
 And Prunella looked at her programme. " ' The 
 180
 
 THEN STEFAN PLAYED 
 
 Rosary,' Nevin. ' Because,' Lamb. Miss Isabel 
 Geraldine Mortimer," she read. " My, what a 
 name ! And this is about as bad: l Mr. Stefan 
 Posadowski.' I could n't even try to pronounce 
 what he 's going to play except * polonaise.' 
 And that sounds silly, don't you think so, Miss 
 Kirk? Oh, there's Mrs. Clabby, Olivia. Do 
 look ! Do look at the magenta waist with the 
 jet trimmings ! There 's Aunt Lou. You 're 
 next Olivia, Aunt Lou." 
 
 And then by the time Miss Hollins was seated 
 and had smoothed out her black china silk so 
 as not to wrinkle it, and was holding the pro- 
 gramme close to her nearsighted eyes, there 
 came the hush of beginning. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! I wish we could talk. I hate the 
 old music ! " Prunella whispered. 
 
 Miss Kirk pressed her hand. " You won't 
 always," she whispered back. 
 
 Prunella's delicate face grew quickly serious. 
 Miss Mortimer had swept to the front of the 
 stage and opened her music. Mr. Tilly, the or- 
 ganist of the meeting-house, went to the piano. 
 Miss Mortimer turned and smiled engagingly at 
 him. He struck, with fine appeal, the opening 
 chord of her first song, and her high, thin soprano 
 followed. When she had finished her numbers, 
 181
 
 THE INVADEES 
 
 and accepted her bunch of Killarneys, and given 
 "Annie Laurie " for an encore, and Mrs. Clabby 
 had wiped her eyes, and Mr. Patrick Joyce had 
 whispered to Bride behind his programme, there 
 was another hush and a little wait. Prunella's 
 cheeks flamed. Olivia yawned and let her 
 thoughts go to cherry omelets in the Quartier 
 Latin. Then, to a tremendous applause from 
 the corner occupied by Mrs. Wieniaski's picture 
 hat, Mr. Stefan Posadowski came out through 
 the door on the left. Prunella's heart gave a 
 little jump. Miss Kirk could feel it. He was 
 very pale, and very clear-cut and classic were 
 the lines of his face, with his dark hair tossed 
 back and his tragic eyes deep with excitement. 
 Indeed, his face in its severe, tense beauty, was 
 enough to make Prunella lose a heartbeat, and 
 much more than enough to make her forget his 
 slim, boyish tallness in the badly fitting black 
 suit, with some sort of foreign medal blazing on 
 the lapel of his coat as proudly as a Victoria Cross. 
 He bowed quickly and awkwardly, and fled to 
 the piano, tossing back his hair and looking a 
 little dreamily at the keys. Olivia sat up. Pru- 
 nella's veins throbbed under Miss Kirk's hand. 
 The applause stopped. For a little minute, the 
 only sound was the locusts outside in the elms. 
 182
 
 THEN STEFAN PLAYED 
 
 Then Stefan played. It was Chopin's C Minor 
 Prelude, in the great, sombre chords. Olivia 
 gave a quick sigh. Miss Kirk's little old hand 
 felt Prunella's tide turn. Then long, long me- 
 mories quickened her own heartbeats under the 
 red geranium in the white lace jabot. He was 
 bending just as lovingly, just as abstractedly 
 over the keys as if he were alone in the empty 
 parlor at the Welling place. Prunella's cheeks 
 had cooled to white roses. Miss Hollins was 
 thinking of the night in Boston when she had 
 heard Blind Tom. And over across the hall, 
 Patrick Joyce leaned his chin in his palm and 
 looked out across the window sill into the dark. 
 Was it about the sea under the cliffs at Killery 
 after a November storm that he was playing? 
 Or was it about the passing away of things, the 
 cry of the change here in the New World, here 
 in the valley, where the old homes were going 
 to strangers away from those who loved them ? 
 And then he wondered what it was saying to 
 the proud young woman in blue over on the 
 other side of the hall what this strange Polish 
 boy was telling her whose forefathers had owned 
 the valley. So interested was he to know that 
 he looked quickly across to her. In that swift 
 glance, he saw that the music was saying much 
 183
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 as she leaned a little forward, a bit flushed, but 
 without the least pride in the look of her. And 
 then, before his eyes had left her, hers had 
 turned his way and they had crossed glances. 
 
 When Stefan had finished, struck the last, 
 long, haunting note, and the applause had thun- 
 dered out and the cheering rung, and Mrs. 
 Wieniaski's picture hat had got quite awry, he 
 sat still, his hands on the keys, waiting. 
 
 "Did n't I tell you, Prunella? " Miss Hollins 
 whispered. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " Prunella whispered back vaguely. 
 She had grown quite unlike herself in her sud- 
 den paleness and quiet. 
 
 Miss Kirk had taken her hand away and was 
 leaning over to Olivia to say, " He has caught 
 it the cry of the heart. And that is genius." 
 
 But he had plunged triumphantly into the 
 Waltz in A Flat, and then, on the wing of its 
 passion, with little heed for the applause that 
 it brought, had gone on into the Fantaisie in 
 F Minor. His long brown hands, that were so 
 slow at weeding onions and setting tobacco, 
 gathered up splendid ringing handfuls of har- 
 mony, and followed out poignantly, thrillingly, 
 the delicate interludes of melody. It was as 
 though he were saying proudly, "Now that 
 184
 
 you believe in me, now that you are beginning 
 to understand, now I will show you what we 
 are, my people, at home in our own sad, brave 
 land. Now you shall hear the ring of swords, 
 the laughter of beautiful women, the tap of 
 high heels and spurs on ballroom floors. Now 
 you shall know how we love and woo and suf- 
 fer and die, die we Poles whom you know 
 only as onion-weeders and tobacco-setters." And 
 he squared his shoulders and tossed back his 
 hair, and looked up proudly, dreamily, half 
 smiling, down over the faces, as he went on 
 from mazourka to mazourka, into the C Sharp 
 Minor Polonaise, the quiet of the "G Minor" 
 and the G Major Nocturnes, and then, with a 
 wild turn of his mood, into the brilliant, reck- 
 less abandon of the G Minor Ballade. 
 
 Joyce had turned his back to the window and 
 sat leaning towards Bride. Olivia had not looked 
 his way again. She, too, was pale ; and beyond 
 her, across Miss Kirk's rapt face with its blind 
 eyes and its little smile, Prunella sat very still 
 and very large-eyed. 
 
 " Wonderful ! Wonderful ! I 'm so glad for 
 him," Miss Hollins was beginning to lean over 
 and say. "Blind Tom " 
 
 But Stefan was coming back from his daring 
 185
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 excursion to the front of the stage, where he 
 had achieved a solemn and awkward bow. He 
 was seating himself, but for a moment he did 
 not play. With his hands on the keys, he looked 
 off across the upturned faces, over beyond Mrs. 
 Wieniaski's picture hat, to Prunella deep in her 
 new dreams. As he looked, smiling faintly, his 
 fingers began to move, and then softly, deli- 
 cately, tenderly, to pick out, dashed with fantas- 
 tic trills and surprises, " Yankee Doodle." On 
 he went, at last taking his long look away from 
 Prunella, tossing his melody back and forth, 
 chasing it up and down in all sorts of liquid 
 cadences, dropping it into minors until it was 
 heartbroken, chromatic scaling it, fuguing it 
 and minuetting it. Then suddenly, he stopped 
 for a long, questioning moment, and again 
 lifted his eyes in Prunella's direction. The 
 audience waited breathless, wondering what 
 next was to be done to them by this ambition- 
 less young man who thought himself too good 
 to weed onions and worm tobacco. But this 
 time he did no playing with them. It was the 
 " Doxology " that he began after his eyes had 
 come back to watch his hands peal it out in 
 grand choral fashion. Then again, quite sud- 
 denly, the music stopped and he was gone. In 
 186
 
 THEN STEFAN PLAYED 
 
 the audience there was a little gasp, then 
 laughter. 
 
 Olivia drew a long breath that was really 
 a sigh. Dacre would have loved it. And how 
 it made her miss him all that passionate 
 music. It did not seem that she could wait all 
 the long, indefinite months without him. And 
 then she rose and found Mr. Patrick Joyce 
 coming down the aisle and looking at her, and 
 she bowed and half smiled, and then felt Mrs. 
 Archibald's hand on her arm. And all the while 
 Miss Hollins was getting rosy as she drew Miss 
 Kirk's arm through hers and bowed to the 
 Joyce family with the certainty that Jane 
 Clabby's eyes were on her. 
 
 " It 's been wonderful, ain't it ! " Mrs. Archi- 
 bald was saying. "Such gettin' over the keys 
 I never did see. And who 'd 'a' thought he 'd 
 be able to do it, just a common, ordinary Po- 
 lander. Of course, when he learns more he '11 
 play real music." 
 
 "I suppose he will," Olivia said, a little 
 vaguely. She was watching Prunella. How 
 pretty she looked, how wonderfully pretty, with 
 her faint color and the little shadows under her 
 eyes ! And how grandly, with what an air for 
 simple Prunella, she was bowing to everybody ! 
 187
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 Between the parsonage and the Polish church, 
 Stefan was waiting for Father Zujewski. He 
 was lying on the grass by the roadside, looking 
 up at the thick stars, hearing that last ballade 
 as his eyes went from star to star, thinking and 
 thinking of how her color had faded as he had 
 played. Each time he had looked, her face had 
 said more. And he he had swayed her! 
 
 Then he heard Father Zujewski's quick step. 
 
 " My boy ! It was superb, what you have 
 done," he said, holding out his hand. " You 
 have the great gift. God has been good." 
 
 Stefan sprang up and took his hand. " And 
 now do they see ? " he said breathlessly. " Now 
 will they believe that there is something better 
 than onions ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. Now they see. And you are to go 
 away. Some way they will get the money. And 
 you are to go home, to Poland, and make your- 
 self " 
 
 " But to go away ! " Stefan interrupted hotly. 
 " That I will not do. If I go away, then I will 
 have no gift. It is here it has come to me." 
 
 " But to study you must go away. With the 
 help of God you will be ever greater and 
 greater. With the help of God! The gift is 
 from God." 
 
 188
 
 THEN STEFAN PLAYED 
 
 They were turning in at the rectory gate. 
 One window in the little church glowed red 
 from the sanctuary lamp. Stefan was silent. 
 
 On the doorstep he paused. " I cannot go in. 
 I cannot talk now," he said slowly. " But you 
 must not tell them to send me away. If the gift 
 is from God, then God has has sent it to me 
 by by her." 
 
 " By her ! " exclaimed the other. " Truly by 
 her, by your mother who gave you her great 
 gift in another form." 
 
 Stefan wheeled about impatiently. " Ach, no ! 
 Not by my mother. By a by a girl ! " 
 
 The priest put his hand on the big boy's 
 shoulder. " Then," he said softly, " then 
 have you two gifts from God. And for the 
 second gift, you must do that thing which is 
 highest with the first. Is it not so ? "
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE ECHOES 
 
 THAT night, over silent, moonlit Fernfield, 
 Diana and Venus were in the ascendant. 
 
 Olivia, in from the August dews, white and 
 large-eyed and very animated, had for answer 
 to her mother's yawning, " Well, how was it ? 
 Was the music endurable? And who was 
 there?" 
 
 " Why, everybody Polanders galore and 
 and the Joyces. And Patrick Joyce fear- 
 fully correct in a Tuxedo. Imagine it, Mamma ! 
 And the music was quite thrilling and magni- 
 ficent. He's a genius, that Polish boy. And, 
 Mamma, you ought to have seen Prunella. 
 Stirred does n't describe her ! Prunella, of all 
 people ! " 
 
 Two hours later, the full tide of the even- 
 ing's agitation throbbed in her own soul, as 
 she sat by the window in the moonlight, and 
 leaned her hot cheek on her cool, bare arms. 
 To the beat of Stefan's music she heard the 
 newly intricate theme of her own life. Outside, 
 190
 
 THE ECHOES 
 
 silent and misty, lay the dear garden and fields 
 that were slipping away, unless she were going 
 to save them. From across the hall came her 
 mother's tired breathing. All around waited 
 the conscious stillness of the old house. And 
 in her heart burned her secret with its strange 
 new bitterness. Wasn't it in him to be earn- 
 est, to go to work seriously ? As yet in his let- 
 ters he had talked only of the joy of Paris, of 
 the good times and the pretty models. And 
 now there was this little Sicilienne who could 
 make the omelets ! She was to be his picture, the 
 serious work that meant his beginning as an 
 artist. He was painting her eating cherries in the 
 window of the little studio against the plants 
 and the birdcage. That is what Olivia Ladd's 
 lover was doing in Paris ! And here at home, 
 what was she doing ? There were the debts and 
 the changes and and the future ! She in- 
 stinctively shut her eyes in fear of it and buried 
 her face in her arms. And to-morrow there 
 were those cold-frames to make, and the men to 
 engage for the fall ploughing. She welcomed 
 the prosaic turn of her thought and rested a 
 moment in it. Then, quite irrelevantly, with 
 almost absurd inconsequence, there flashed be- 
 fore her mind's eye Patrick Joyce's firm hands
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 on the oars, and she heard his soft brogue as 
 he said, " Faith, and it 's what I never would do, 
 take away the old places from those who love 
 them." 
 
 Just about this time, Miss Hollins, in her 
 big mahogany f ourposter, woke suddenly at the 
 sound of her own voice, saying, 
 
 " I '11 get you the hot-water bag, Prunella. 
 And the papoid tablets are on the dresser. I 
 knew that lobster was n't fresh." 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Lou, it is n't the lobster at all. 
 You 've been dreaming . I 'm not sick. I 'm just 
 just just a baby," Prunella was sobbing, 
 down among the pillows. 
 
 Miss Hollins drew her close and patted her 
 white shoulder. 
 
 " Somehow somehow that music got me all 
 stirred up, Aunt Lou. Does music always, do 
 you suppose? Always make you want some- 
 thing awfully that you can't get, and you don't 
 know what it is ? " 
 
 " Of course it does. That 's what makes 
 music so nice. But if you don't know what you 
 want, how do you know that you are n't going 
 to get it, sometime ? That is the way I look at 
 it, Prunella. Why, that night I heard Blind 
 Tom I just could n't settle down. I remember 
 192
 
 THE ECHOES 
 
 just as well as if it were yesterday. Mother 
 thought I was crazy. But it seemed as if I 
 could n't stay in bed, so I went downstairs and 
 labeled jelly till morning. But you try try 
 to sleep, dear. Think of fields of gentian or 
 lady-slipper or wild roses, and count as you 
 pick. You '11 be asleep before you know it." 
 
 So Prunella obediently nestled her dark head 
 on Miss Hollins's shoulder and seemingly gath- 
 ered blossoms until she lost her way in deep 
 fields of slumber. 
 
 Up at the old Rollins place, an hour after the 
 automobile had whirled around under the maples 
 and gone to bed in the wistaria-covered garage, 
 Bride Joyce turned out the electric light and 
 threw wide her curtains. She had read her New 
 Testament and her a Kempis, and said her night 
 prayers, and now the moonlight twinkled on 
 her little crystal rosary as she sat on the window 
 ledge and looked out over the moonlit lawn with 
 the black tree shadows, to the full, ripe tobacco 
 fields beyond. The air was sweetly rank with 
 the fragrance of the dewy tobacco, and vibrant 
 with the responses of katydids. So bright was 
 the moon that Bride's clinging negligee lost 
 little of its delicate pink, and her long braids 
 but little of their brown as she leaned her head 
 193
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 against the window and let the beads slip slowly 
 through her fingers. 
 
 When she had gone almost the twinkling 
 round of the chaplet, the odor of a pipe and a 
 step on the gravel below distracted her from 
 angelical salutations. She leaned out and peered 
 over the tangle of creeper around the sill. It 
 was Patrick, still in his evening clothes. He 
 came out and stood for a long moment looking 
 off to where she had been looking, to the fields 
 and the far hills in the silvery haze. Then he 
 began to walk up and down, up and down, on 
 the turf at the edge of the gravel. 
 
 " He '11 ruin his thin shoes in the wet," Bride 
 was thinking. " And what 's come over him, at 
 all, a great sleeper like him, without a nerve in 
 him, that he 's not asleep in his bed, instead of 
 moonin' out there like a lovesick gossoon. 
 Faith, it's of Aileen he's dreamin'. And it 
 would be better for him altogether if he 'd stop 
 dreamin' of her, for it 's less and less she '11 be 
 afther dreamin' of him, with her love like a 
 feather that 's blown by every wee puff of wind." 
 
 Then she leaned out again through the 
 creepers and called softly, " Pat, shall I come 
 down ? I 've no more sleep in me eyes than if 
 it were broad noon." 
 
 194
 
 THE ECHOES 
 
 He turned and came over under her window. 
 "Yes, come down," he answered softly. "It's 
 too beautiful to stay in. And it's not late. 
 Hear ! There 's just twelve striking now in the 
 village." 
 
 So she caught up the long white cape she 
 had worn to the concert, and ran down to him. 
 From her Uncle Mike's room there came the 
 even resonance of healthy snores, quite regard- 
 less of the evening's music. In the smoking- 
 room, under the lamp on the centre table, lay 
 an open letter. Even in her quick passing, she 
 could recognize Aileen's fine, pointed writing 
 with the little black dashes. 
 
 " Y' see," she laughed as she joined him, 
 "I'm in my thin slippers and I'll be afther 
 doing no such foolish thing as walkin' in the 
 wet grass like yourself." 
 
 "It was why I walked on the grass, that the 
 gravel would waken y'," he said. " And I was 
 just thinking the seat under the pine tree would 
 be better than walking here in the dews." 
 
 As they went under the low, sweeping 
 branches, a drowsy bird stirred softly above 
 them, and they sat down in a fine spatterwork 
 of light and darkness. 
 
 " Was it the coffee for supper or the music 
 195
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 that 's kept y' out of y'r bed ? " Bride asked, 
 folding her cape around her. " The coffee was 
 strong enough to lift y' bodily in the air, but 
 it gladdened the heart, sure." 
 
 " Oh, I had n't thought of going to bed," he 
 said lightly. " I was reading after you left, and 
 then, when I went to lock the front door, it 
 looked so cool and inviting out here. Y're the 
 girl that ought to have been long ago in bed 
 after doing enough work for ten the size of y'." 
 
 She gave a quick little sigh. " Oh, I could n't. 
 The letter to-day from Sister Ursula would n't 
 leave me what she was after telling of the 
 new shrine of St. John in the convent garden, 
 and the children hangin' garlands around the 
 neck of the lamb, and poor Katy Finn's dying 
 and leaving a wee baby, and the altar linens 
 they 're bleachin' on the green by the brook. 
 Faith, I know I 'm that silly to be thinkin' of 
 it, Pat. But it does seem that if I could just 
 once take the linen all drippin' out of the brook, 
 and spread it on the sweet grass, an' see the 
 clouds come an' go over it an' But it 's wicked 
 I am to be thinkin' of home when I have y' 
 an' Uncle Mike. It 's just after gettin' the letters 
 that my heart is so soft. Y' know how it is, 
 Pat." 
 
 196
 
 THE ECHOES 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know how it is," he said with a 
 long pull at his pipe, " But it 's not for shrines 
 and for nuns that I 'm softhearted, sure. It 's to 
 pull at the nets in the mists off Killery, and to 
 bring down a red deer in Glen Inagh and 
 and to hear the pipes and and see " His 
 pipe again had grown cold and a deal of puffing 
 it took to get even a whiff of smoke. 
 
 " See Aileen dancin', shure," Bride added 
 softly, "light as the leaf shadows there on the 
 turf. There 's nowhere so light a dancer. What- 
 ever would the people here have to say to such 
 dancin'!" 
 
 The pipe was once more alive. " What would 
 they, indeed ! Or to the color in her cheeks and 
 the ripple in her hair and the roguish eyes of 
 her!" he said a little absently. Then, with a 
 swift drop in his voice, " But it was not of her 
 I was thinking when you called, Bride," he 
 went on. " It was n't of myself and and such 
 things I was thinking. Faith, it was the eyes of 
 that proud Miss Ladd that I 've been seeing ever 
 since the music to-night. Y' see, knowing the 
 story as well as I do, I can read the trouble in 
 them. And a man's heart aches to see a girl so 
 unafraid when everything is so dead against 
 her." 
 
 197
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " Poor thing ! " Bride exclaimed, warmly. 
 " She 's as beautiful and proud-looking as Lady 
 de Lacy, that time I saw her at Benediction in 
 the convent. But then it 's worse for them that 
 are proud, when they are unhappy, for there 's 
 no way for love to get in to warm the hearts of 
 them. And if Mr. Welling were just a wee bit 
 more more like you, Pat, and Uncle Mike 
 with a little more of a head on him. If it had 
 been y', on my word, y'd never have gone off 
 and left her all " 
 
 " Welling ! Dacre Welling ? That young 
 fool ! " he said quickly. " And what has he to 
 do with Miss Ladd?" 
 
 " Why, always they have been lovers. Didn't 
 y' know that, Pat ? And did n't I tell y', that 
 when I was over there for the Major, the morn- 
 ing of the funeral, she came bringing her arms 
 full of flowers, and I saw them there in the yard, 
 the two of them, and at once I knew." 
 
 " No, you did n't tell me," he said. " So 
 that's the way of it, is it! And he's gone off 
 to be a painter and left her to face things alone. 
 And she '11 be true to him. Y' can see it in the 
 eyes of her." 
 
 " Sure, she '11 be true to him if she 's prom- 
 ised," Bride said. " I 'd know that by the look 
 198
 
 THE ECHOES 
 
 of her. An' it 's as good as bein' married to 
 plight y'r troth. But then sometimes some- 
 times " she stopped. 
 
 A whip-poor-will off towards Mount Toby 
 mourned softly. A light cloud shadowed the 
 moon. 
 
 " Sometimes what?" he asked, in a very low 
 voice. 
 
 " Oh, it 's not what I ought t' be talkin' about 
 lovers an' such things. Always the nuns have 
 been sayin' that such things are the secrets God 
 kapes. But then, just with y', Pat. Why, some- 
 times sometimes the other one is not true, 
 and then then the true one does not have 
 to be true. An' an', Pat, y'll forgive me 
 f 'r sayin' it, dear, but when my heart warns me 
 f 'r y', I must spake " she reached out for his 
 hand and got his warm clasp "an' some- 
 times I fear that it 's Aileen '11 not be the thrue 
 wan, with all the lads lovin' her an' y' so far, 
 an' the gay heart of her ! I pray God y '11 not 
 break y'r heart, dear. It 's what Sister Ursula 's 
 just afther sayin'." 
 
 "No," he said, still in the same low tone, 
 " no, I '11 not break me heart, dear." And her 
 hand still lay in his warm clasp. 
 
 Out of a long stillness she spoke, as she got 
 199
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 up and drew her cape around her and leaned 
 over to kiss him on his forehead and make a 
 little sign of the cross there. 
 
 " You '11 be comin' in soon, Pat ? I 'm quite 
 chilled with the dew. An' could n't y' somehow 
 tell Miss Ladd that Uncle Mike has the heart 
 of an Irish gentleman in him, an' that she 
 need n't be sayin' a last good-bye to her garden 
 when the frost comes ? Can't ye tell her sort of 
 easylike an' gay, Pat?" 
 
 " No, I can't tell her. I am the very last one 
 that can tell her," he said. " Good-night, dear. 
 If anyone could, you could." 
 
 " Good-night, dear. I '11 be thinkin' out the 
 way. An' soon y'll be comin' t' bed? The 
 house misses y' sittin' out here in the night." 
 And she went away over the dewy grass. 
 
 But she had dreamed herself away to the old 
 country, on the green by the convent brook, 
 bleaching her linens for Patrick's wedding shirt, 
 before the garden was left to the shadows and 
 the moon.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 COLD-FRAMES 
 
 PURE an' it 's a lie, the very name of thim," old 
 Timothy grumbled, between hammer-strokes. 
 "It 's could-frames y* call thim, and God knows 
 they'll be could enough t' freeze anny thing that 
 grows. But in me wee garden it was niver to 
 freeze the things I was tryin'." 
 
 "But they '11 be warmer than the outside air, 
 Timothy," Olivia explained amiably, marking 
 measurements on the boards. Although her eyes 
 were heavy after her wakeful night, her heart 
 had regained some of its lightness in the fresh 
 morning air out in the old south garden. " You 
 see, it 's just to distinguish them from hot-beds, 
 that are heated with manure, and these are n't 
 heated at all. You will see when the young let- 
 tuces go in to-morrow, and then in a little while 
 the spinach and the cabbage and the parsley." 
 
 Old Timothy had three nails in his toothless 
 mouth and many more in the sagging pockets 
 of his greasy blue overalls. He stopped and 
 rubbed his sleeve over his red face with its bushy 
 gray whiskers. " Well, thin, it 's the same as it 
 201
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 is with cratures. It 's often a warrum heart goes 
 by a could name," he said. " But, my wur-rd ! 
 How it is y've come to know all y' say y' are 
 afther knowin' about gyardens an' f arrums whin 
 y've niver raised as much as a burrd seed ! An' 
 it was only the other day y' were sailin' boats 
 on the brook with the Welling b'y an' now 
 it 's to be a farmer y're tachin' me." 
 
 " But, then, you see, I 've grown up, Timothy, 
 and I 've just been to a college where they teach 
 people to be farmers, and to raise things in the 
 cheapest way to make the most money, and " 
 
 " Thin it 's a millyunaire I 'd ought to be, 
 God knows, if it 's doin' things chape that 
 makes the money. All me life I Ve been doin' 
 things so chape that sometimes I niver did thim 
 at all, and niver a pinny to show for it." 
 
 "And, besides, Timothy," Olivia went on 
 abstractedly, reaching for a hammer and put- 
 ting a nail daringly into place, " who is there to 
 do it if I don't?" 
 
 " God love y', there 's no one, unless y'll let 
 the ould place go to those dirty Polanders that 's 
 fillin' the valley. The divil take thim! It's 
 thim that 's makin' the money be doin' things 
 on the chape, ivery mother's son of thim 
 a-straddlin' the " 
 
 202
 
 COLD-FRAMES 
 
 " Never ! Never, Timothy ! " Olivia cried, 
 hammering her finger with sudden emphasis. 
 " Oh, never, if I can move a finger to stop it." 
 The pain made her a little faint and she sat 
 down on the lumber pile in the shade of the 
 currant bushes. 
 
 Swallows were darting around the eaves of 
 the old barn. Ben, Dacre's setter, was barking 
 at the cats sunning themselves just out of reach 
 on the grape arbor. The snow of the clematis 
 lay in fragrant drifts over the fence between 
 the yard and the garden, and glimmered on 
 the walls of the house among the trees. As 
 snowy, the freshly washed dish towels fluttered 
 on the line at the kitchen door. In the sun- 
 shiny stillness, old Timothy's hammer-strokes 
 sounded sharp, and a cow bell in the high pas- 
 ture like a tinkle in a dream. 
 
 " It 's loike y'r father y'r spakin', God rest 
 him, but it 's not loike J m y'r wurrkin', shure," 
 the old man was rambling on. " Niver with his 
 two hands around the place did I see " 
 
 Olivia sprang up, wrapping her handkerchief 
 around the bruised finger. Suddenly, the poign- 
 ancy of it all lay bare before her. 
 
 " And, Timothy," she said briskly, " now 
 you must tell me something. You know every- 
 203
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 body around here, don't you ? And you see I 've 
 been away so much and Mamma goes around 
 so little. I must have some men to work for 
 me right away. We've got the ploughing to 
 do in the fields where I 'm going to put the 
 winter rye, and in the spring, after the rye is 
 ploughed under, the clover. And then there 
 are the fields to plough right away for the tur- 
 nips, and all the fertilizers to spread. And at 
 the college they advise farmers to make their 
 own combinations. Could you mix fertilizers, 
 do you think, Timothy? On the turnip field, 
 I 'm going to put five cords of barnyard manure 
 and one hundred and fifty pounds of muriate of 
 potash per acre. And then, too, the insolu- 
 ble " She stopped and rubbed her eyes a mo- 
 ment and gave a little laugh. "Do you think 
 you could get some men to work for me regu- 
 larly, Timothy ? " 
 
 Timothy had taken off his battered straw hat 
 and again mopped his red face with his sleeve. 
 " God love y', Miss, y'll be afther killin' y'rself 
 with all that thinkin'. An' what does it all 
 come to, afther all ! Take it aisy, the ould far- 
 rum, loike y'r father did, an' I '11 wurrk me two 
 hands off f'r y'. Shure I will. Take it aisy, for 
 God's sake." 
 
 204
 
 COLD-FRAMES 
 
 "And you will get me some men for the 
 ploughing?" Olivia said, a little tremblingly. 
 
 " Shure, there 's niver a man to be had in the 
 valley whin they 're cuttin' tobaccy, an* it 's 
 next week they begin," he answered a little 
 sulkily. " An' such wurrk as y'll be needin' I 
 I can do f'r y' as I 've been doin' these forty 
 year, an' no one complainin'." 
 
 " Of course, of course, Timothy. But, then, 
 you can't do two or three things at once. And 
 surely you do know of some men to do what 
 you don't want to be doing." 
 
 " Divil a wan do I know, but it 's Mike Joyce 
 'd be tellin' y'. An', faith, y'll not be wan tin' 
 anny dirty Polanders around ye, an' Mike Joyce 
 '11 give y' what 's dacent. From the same county 
 as meself he came in the ould counthry, did 
 Mike Joyce." 
 
 " Mr. Joyce ! " she said slowly, putting an- 
 other nail in place with great deliberation. 
 " Mr. Joyce would be likely to know, you 
 think?" 
 
 " Shure, an* he 's the only wan as would be 
 loikely to know. My wurrd, but young Pat him- 
 self would be the very wan for y'r ploughing. 
 He 's a strappin' lad, an' his smile 'd warrum 
 up y'r could-frames, it 's that friendly." 
 205
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 Olivia's smile was not even perceptible. " I '11 
 see," she said shortly. 
 
 And that afternoon she did see. 
 
 "But, Mamma, I've just got to have the 
 men, if I am ever going to do anything. The 
 really critical thing is this matter of beginning 
 of getting the poor, neglected fields into a 
 cultivable condition after all these years," she 
 was saying, as she put away the thin old silver 
 spoons and forks in the deep sideboard drawer 
 after dinner. 
 
 "It seems to me, dear, the really critical 
 thing is for you not to undertake too much and 
 wear yourself out. Just see how you have bruised 
 your hand, doing a man's work. And in two 
 weeks school will begin and that will be strain 
 enough. And then, anyhow, it's too late to 
 save " 
 
 Olivia shut the drawer with a little snap. 
 "You said, Mamma dear, that you wouldn't 
 hold me back. I know I can do it. I 've studied 
 every inch of the land. And what 's a bruised 
 finger! In a year " 
 
 There was a brittle crash. Mrs. Ladd had 
 dropped one of the gold-rimmed teacups. 
 
 " Never mind," she said, stooping to pick up 
 the pieces. " It 's best to get rid of cracked 
 206
 
 COLD-FRAMES 
 
 things, anyhow. Of course I won't hold you 
 back. But I 'm afraid of these old fields." 
 
 " I 'm not ! Our fields ! " Olivia exclaimed. " I 
 guess not, Mamma ! " 
 
 And, indeed, she did not look afraid of fields 
 or fortune when, two hours later, she went 
 down the shady street to find the men for her 
 ploughing. Wholly mistress of any sort of situ- 
 ation she appeared in her fresh white gown, 
 with the gay college band on her hat. But 
 under the letter for Dacre hidden in her blouse, 
 her heart pounded quite wildly at the thought 
 of whom she might, or might not, meet in the 
 offices of the Honorable Selectmen of the vil- 
 lage of Fernfield, where, two months before, 
 she had taken such pleasure in telling the un- 
 varnished truth. This time, things would be 
 very different. She had no favor to ask. It was 
 purely a matter of business. And should she 
 meet Mr. Michael Joyce himself, it would make 
 no difference whatever. She could feel her eyes 
 harden at the very thought of how she would 
 look at Mr. Michael Joyce, as she asked quite 
 calmly about the men for the ploughing, and 
 the cost of their hire. Mr. Joyce would under- 
 stand that she understood very well what she 
 was doing. And should it be Mr. Patrick Joyce, 
 207
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 why, then, even more brief and businesslike 
 would she be. The boat-ride on Ashton Ponds 
 had been, perhaps, a little mistake, after all. 
 The interview would be quite impersonal. The 
 only pity was her bruised thumb. But she could 
 hold it shut in her hand around " Snyder's Soils 
 and Fertilizers," which she was taking back to 
 the library. Still, it was a pity, that one sign of 
 inefficiency just when she was so sure of her 
 efficiency. 
 
 However, when she reached the town hall, 
 there seemed very little immediate danger of 
 any sort of meeting with any sort of official, 
 old or young. Even her quick footsteps in the 
 empty corridor aroused no sign of life, and not 
 even when she tapped most peremptorily at the 
 ground-glass door of the Honorable Selectmen 
 was there any response. So she stepped into 
 the room, quite up to the big closed desk at 
 which she had sat and written that odious ap- 
 plication, before she perceived in an inner room, 
 bent over another desk, and seemingly lost in 
 the art of composition, the stalwart form of 
 Mr. Patrick Joyce. All in a glance, after a 
 woman's fashion, she saw before him an open 
 letter of voluminous and strictly unbusiness- 
 like appearance, at which he was intently gaz- 
 208
 
 COLD-FRAMES 
 
 ing, his pen suspended over a closely written 
 sheet, his head propped abstractedly on his 
 hand. 
 
 "If you please," she said breathlessly and 
 with a dash of haughty reproach. If he would 
 be so inattentive in business hours ! 
 
 He sprang to his feet and colored to the 
 crimson of his tie. 
 
 " Miss Ladd, faith ! It 's yourself and and 
 y' just in my thoughts ! " He glanced down at 
 the desk, at which she, too, had glanced. " That 
 is, y' had just been in my thoughts." He had 
 grown even more crimson, but the blush of a 
 girl was rather nice on his clean-cut face, with 
 its very honest eyes. 
 
 Olivia laughed. She felt tremendously at 
 ease. 
 
 " I don't see why or how," she said, not at 
 all as she had expected to say what she had to 
 say. 
 
 He pushed forward a chair. " Will you not 
 be seated?" he said carefully. "It is the way 
 it was, I was answering a " he hesitated a 
 moment and pushed the papers into a heap on 
 the desk "a resignation and and explain- 
 ing that it was quite all right that the place 
 could could perhaps be filled." 
 209
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 "Oh, I see," she said. "It must take an aw- 
 ful lot of time to write to them all." 
 
 He had grown a shade less rosy, and suddenly 
 there came into his eyes a gleam of laughter. 
 
 "It does, indeed, take a long time to 
 make things quite clear. And sometimes young 
 ladies will not understand. It is always their 
 own way they'll be wanting. But you will be 
 seated?" 
 
 "Oh, it J s not at all necessary," she said 
 coolly, at the same time feeling a little quicken- 
 ing of heartbeats at the look in his eyes. What 
 was it that he was thinking of her that gave 
 him so different a look, a little bit as if he were 
 laughing at her, and at the same time as if he 
 were sorry for himself? " I have come wholly 
 on a matter of business, and I hoped to see 
 your uncle about it. When will he be in?" 
 
 Joyce went to the desk and turned over the 
 leaves of a gorgeous calendar chromoed with the 
 many uses of Perkins's Perpetual Paint. Quite 
 deliberately he ran his finger down a page, 
 frowning a little in his perplexity. 
 
 "Oh, yes! Of course! To-day is Thursday. 
 
 He's due here in ten minutes, from Buxton. 
 
 The third Thursday he 's always at his office in 
 
 Buxton till three-thirty, and then he makes a 
 
 210
 
 COLD-FRAMES 
 
 quick run back here, the way he '11 be ready to 
 to see people at four-thirty." He took out 
 his watch as deliberately. "And now y' see, 
 it 's four-twenty-one." 
 
 " Oh, I see. Then I '11 wait," she said, sitting 
 down on the edge of the chair. "It's about 
 getting some men for my ploughing that I want 
 to see your uncle. I 'm getting ready to put in 
 my winter rye and my turnips, and of course 
 of course, I can't do the ploughing as yet. 
 I 'm going to, though, another year." 
 
 He leaned over the top of the high desk chair, 
 facing her. " Of course," he said. " Why not ? " 
 But he was watching the proud tilt of her chin 
 and the tender line of the lips under their 
 haughty curl and the swift come and go of the 
 delicate color as she said her proud words, or 
 forgot to be proud and laughed as a girl would 
 laugh. " You will be doing whatever you make 
 up your mind that you will do," he added 
 slowly. And he had found the bruised thumb 
 hidden in the hand that held closed "Snyder's 
 Fertilizers " and she knew that he had found it. 
 
 " I certainly will," she exclaimed with a little 
 laugh, dropping her eyes. 
 
 " It was rather nice, the concert," he went 
 on, following his own train of thought. " The 
 211
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 lad brings y' a glimpse of the island, sure, in 
 his music." 
 
 " The island!" she asked. "What island?" 
 
 He drew himself up with a quick breath. 
 " Oh, I was forgetting that y' don't know all our 
 sayings in Ireland. And they 're pretty sayings. 
 And when there is very beautiful music, or a 
 beautiful scene, or or when two friends are 
 together and are everything to each other, then 
 we say that they see the whole of the island. 
 It is a fairy island, with a wall of fire around 
 it that moves round and round, and has an open 
 door in it. And when sometimes the open door 
 comes opposite y', then y' see the whole island 
 and the beautiful trees and the flowers and the 
 happy people in the lovely clothes, and y' can 
 hear the music they are making. But it 's not 
 often that y' " 
 
 A shrill siren whistled outside. 
 
 " There 's Uncle Mike," he broke off abruptly. 
 " You see I calculated pretty well." 
 
 Olivia had sprung up and moved nearer the 
 door. "You certainly did," she said. " And it is 
 just as well. I could n't have waited any longer." 
 Her heart beat close under her soft lace collar, 
 and the color flashed into her cheeks. 
 
 A quick step came down the corridor. 
 212
 
 COLD-FRAMES 
 
 " Hello, Bill ! " a voice called. The step paused. 
 "Why don't you send the children over and 
 let them eat their fill of peaches ? Sure, it 's 
 rotting on the grass they are. And the tomatoes 
 are waitin' for the little ones to come with their 
 baskets and carry them home for cannin'. Faith, 
 y're welcome to them, me b'y !" And the step 
 came on accompanied by a little whistle. 
 
 " Are y' there, Pat ? " called the round, 
 hearty voice. " I know y're not lookin' f 'r me 
 to-day, but we finished the dale over at Whitby, 
 an' we 've ingaged the stame rollers at Ouldfield 
 an' " He was in the door, taking off his hat 
 to wipe his hot, round face on his large and 
 immaculate handkerchief, his linen dustcoat 
 open over his blue serge and his immaculate 
 white waistcoat. 
 
 "Faith, it 's MissLadd, Uncle Mike," Patrick 
 said quietly, with the little gleam again in his 
 eyes. 
 
 Olivia stood very straight and faintly smil- 
 ing. Mr. Joyce smiled broadly and held out his 
 hand. 
 
 " Sure, I should have known Miss Ladd, in a 
 minute, Pat, if y'd have given me toime. It 's 
 the unexpectedness of the mating, y' see. But 
 it 's very glad I am, Miss Ladd, indade." 
 213
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 Olivia gave him the tips of her white-gloved 
 fingers. " I don't at all wonder, Mr. Joyce," 
 she said formally. " It is rather unexpected 
 to me as well as to you. But I have come to see 
 about some men for my ploughing. I shall need 
 them regularly for some time, to get in my tur- 
 nips and my winter rye. And and my man 
 Timothy tells me that you are the only one who 
 can get them for me." 
 
 She rather enjoyed listening to her own nice 
 enunciation, hearing herself put the matter into 
 so brief and businesslike a statement. 
 
 Patrick had dropped out of the conversa- 
 tion. But she was quite aware of him as he 
 stood at the desk folding the voluminous letter 
 back into its envelope and putting it into his 
 pocket. 
 
 Mr. Joyce had grown wholly formal and im- 
 personal. 
 
 " I see ! I see ! " he said, feeling for the eye- 
 glasses on their little black ribbon. " And will 
 y' not be sated, Miss Ladd ? " 
 
 "Oh, no, thank you, it is such a matter of 
 a moment. It is too bad to trouble you when 
 when " She hesitated and wished that Patrick 
 had not turned and leaned again over the top 
 of the desk chair. 
 
 214
 
 COLD-FRAMES 
 
 " Sure, and it 's no trouble, Miss Ladd. It 's 
 gladly I '11 get y' the men. But it 's good lads 
 y' must have to wor-rk f'r y'. And about how 
 many would y' be wan tin' ? " He was looking 
 at her quite as she liked a business man to look 
 at her just as if she were also a business man ; 
 and her heart had now slowed down from its 
 wild beating. Of course, he was thinking that 
 it was for his interest to send her men that would 
 do the work well. 
 
 " Oh, about three or two " she said. 
 " You see, I 've arranged to go shares on to- 
 bacco with Tony Wyzocki in all the river bot- 
 tom lands and it 's only for the upper fields that 
 I need them. And if they could come right 
 away to-morrow, perhaps." 
 
 " Sure, they can. I '11 have thim there bright 
 and early. And I thank y' for comin'." Now 
 he permitted himself a quiet, wholly deferential 
 smile. " It will give me great pleasure to find 
 thim f'r y'." 
 
 " Thank you very much ! Good-afternoon ! " 
 She was turning to go, a little frightened at the 
 sudden formality of their bows, and of Patrick's 
 quite unnecessary holding open the already 
 open door. Then she remembered just in time 
 to save her reputation as a practical farmer. 
 215
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " And the price ? " she said, a little timidly, 
 from the threshold. 
 
 " Of course ! Y '11 excuse me f orgettin' to be 
 businesslike," Mr. Joyce exclaimed apologetic- 
 ally. " It 's well always to know, an' that 's 
 where y' show y 're a manager, Miss Ladd. The 
 price, in these busy times, will be let me see, 
 Pat ! Can y' remember just what the lads get ? 
 I have it. Sivinty-five cints the day, Miss Ladd, 
 an* they bringin' their dinner." 
 
 " Oh, thank you. That will be very satisfac- 
 tory," she murmured, and made her trembling 
 lips into a little smile and went away down the 
 hall with light footsteps that to her seemed as 
 loud and heavy as a giant's. 
 
 " The swatest angel that iver fell from Heaven 
 f'r the sin of pride, Pat, me b'y ! " Mr. Joyce 
 exclaimed in a loud whisper when the quick 
 footsteps had died away. " An' the innocince 
 of her ! We '11 get the ploughing done for her 
 in f oine shape. It 's Dinny Finn an' Jerry Toole 
 we '11 take from the potatoes an' send to her 
 with private instructions." He chuckled and 
 rubbed his hands. " Faith, the child 's thrying 
 to save the ould place ! I see the game of her ! 
 It 's the loike of her that would comfort Bride 
 whin she 's missin' the ould counthry." 
 216
 
 COLD-FRAMES 
 
 " But you '11 have to be that careful, Uncle 
 Mike. She 's very fine and cold and and dif- 
 ferent. And she 's almost ready to to hate 
 us ! And if she did, it it would be for always." 
 Patrick was piling up the papers on the desk 
 and closing it, and there was a little line be- 
 tween his level brows. 
 
 The older man had dropped into a chair and 
 sat frowning a little, too, but rather whimsically 
 and humorously, tapping his firm white teeth 
 with his eyeglasses. 
 
 " Faith, it 's little y' know about gir-rls, Pat. 
 She 's foine, as y' say, an' she 's different, but, 
 my word ! she 's not could. An' I know the 
 story much better than y' do, an' I know what 
 I 'm tellin' y'. The wor-rst of the hatin' is over, 
 thank God ! It 's the mother can hate. But this 
 lass ! She 's swate an' she 's strong an' she 's 
 thrue, Pat. Lord, an' it 's a pretty game she 's 
 playin' ould Joyce and she '11 win, Pat, or 
 I 'm a Yankee." And at intervals all the way 
 home, in the motor car, Mr. Joyce chuckled at 
 Olivia's little game. 
 
 It was the next morning that old Timothy, 
 
 trudging to the village in the companionship of 
 
 his stubby clay pipe and his old, old thoughts, 
 
 was overtaken by a miracle. In his deafness, 
 
 217
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 he heard no warning of approaching wonders, 
 and was as astonished as if Elijah's chariot had 
 dropped down for him, when a shining motor- 
 car slowed down into the grass beside him, and 
 a young gentleman at the wheel called out 
 gayly, 
 
 " Good-day t' ye, Timothy, my man ! The 
 top of the mornin' t' ye ! Will ye ride ? I '11 
 take y' anywhere y'll be going." 
 
 " Will I ride ! Begorra, it 's jokin' me, y' 
 are. Me wid me ould clothes an' me ould pipe ! 
 But it 'd be the joke on ye f 'r me to ride wid 
 ye, me b'y." And he stretched his toothless old 
 mouth in delight and put his pipe in his pocket. 
 " I was niver wance in one of thim things." 
 
 "Climb in! Climb in!" Patrick said en- 
 couragingly, helping him. "And now, where 
 is it y're going this fine morning ? " 
 
 Timothy settled himself back in the seat, 
 gripping the sides firmly as the car swung out 
 into the road and whirled off. " Sure, it 's to me 
 regular job I 'm goin', at Mrs. Ladd's," he said. 
 " It 's forty year I 've been worrukin' for her 
 family, God love the poor lady ! And now it 's 
 the young lady that 's goin' to run the farrum, 
 with her talk about ploughin' an' mixin' messes 
 t' improve the sile, an' mashin' her thumb with 
 218
 
 COLD-FRAMES 
 
 a tack-hammer an' a shingle nail. But she's a 
 plucky wan, an' God knows it 's in a bad way, 
 is the ould place." 
 
 When the machine stopped at the Ladds' 
 side gate, and old Timothy carefully alighted, 
 Joyce tucked a dollar into his horny hand. " For 
 tobacco and a new pipe," he said. " You 're all 
 right, Timothy ! " 
 
 As he spoke, he caught sight of a girl in a 
 short khaki skirt just vanishing through the 
 garden gate. Her sleeves were rolled high, and 
 she bore a tray of young cabbage plants.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 HOT-BEDS 
 
 JTRUNELLA had kept her Sunday-School class 
 after the others, to finish telling them about the 
 Thessalonians. There was still half a page of 
 notes in her little brown notebook, when Mrs. 
 Archibald and Mrs. Egerton and Miss Sarah 
 Tibbetts let their children go. And Miss Sarah 
 was always slow. But Prunella was sure she was 
 justified in finishing the Thessalonians, even if 
 little Elizabeth Chase had dropped her small, 
 limp pocket handkerchief a dozen times, and 
 Thomas Dickinson had yawned and stretched 
 until his red necktie had wriggled quite around 
 to his ear. It was a heavy, languid August day, 
 and Prunella herself would have preferred the 
 hammock to the Thessalonians. 
 
 When, however, she had fairly and tho- 
 roughly disposed of St. Paul's converts, and 
 started down the meeting-house steps, she was 
 rewarded for her efforts. Dr. Britton came 
 along briskly behind her, and called out 
 heartily, 
 
 220
 
 HOT-BEDS 
 
 " Good-morning, Prunella ! Your little folks 
 so interested they kept you after school ? That 's 
 a good sign, anyhow ! I wish there were more 
 like you." And he fell into her step and tucked 
 his sermon book under his arm as he drew on 
 his gray lisle gloves. 
 
 " Oh, no ! It was the Thessalonians we had 
 to finish. It seemed better not to stop in the 
 middle of them." And Prunella lifted her best 
 pink lawn carefully as they stepped into the 
 dust of the wide, unpaved street. 
 
 All around them was the stillness of the hot 
 Sabbath noon. Everything was quite deserted 
 except for Dr. Barker's buggy and sleepy white 
 horse hitched to Mrs. Clabby's gatepost. Mrs. 
 Clabby was having her hay fever with a twinge 
 of rheumatism. The only other sign of life was 
 Solomon, her cat, jumping at grasshoppers in 
 the long grass, by the road. On each side, the 
 old street stretched off dreamfully towards the 
 fields, where ripened onions bronzed in the thick 
 sunshine, or tall, lush tobacco opened its pink- 
 ish bloom. 
 
 "I liked your sermon, Dr. Britton," Pru- 
 nella was going on, picking her steps. " It was 
 the helpful kind. I hate the the fancy ones 
 other people preach." 
 
 221
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 Dr. Britton laughed. " Thank you, Prunella. 
 I 'm glad I helped. But it was n't the preacher, 
 after all. That text preaches itself." 
 
 " But somehow you made it just fit. I guess 
 it 's because it 's what I 'm always doing 
 judging people with a jump and then being 
 spiteful. Aunt Lou says so." She was looking 
 down, frowning a little under the brim of her 
 rose-trimmed hat as she accused herself. 
 
 " I don't believe it, my dear ! I know you as 
 well as you know yourself guess so, after 
 marrying your father and mother and baptizing 
 you and watching you grow, every inch of you." 
 
 She looked at him quite directly with her 
 soft dark eyes as a child might have done. 
 
 " Oh, Dr. Britton, you don't know me since 
 
 since I've been grown up enough to to 
 understand. I 'm always in a hurry and always 
 
 cross inside. And you used to talk to Olivia 
 and me about sweetness and light. I don't have 
 time." 
 
 He put his hand quickly and half caressingly 
 on her pink muslin sleeve. " But, my dear, you 
 are sweetness and light! I remember how I 
 used to talk to you children. I was deep in 
 Arnold. But I didn't see ahead into into 
 to-day. I didn't see the old homes gone the 
 222
 
 HOT-BEDS 
 
 old church half empty the the invaders 
 pouring in." His face had grown grave, and he 
 finished with a sigh. 
 
 A faint, slow color came up from Prunella's 
 little lace neckfrill. 
 
 " There ! " she said quickly. " That 's where 
 I knew the sermon fitted me so pat. I 've been 
 so so un-Christian about the the new peo- 
 ple. I 've just loathed them all, Dr. Britton. 
 And now I see. They are n't are n't all as I 
 thought." The faint color had reached Pru- 
 nella's little ears. 
 
 Dr. Britton's chin had sunk thoughtfully into 
 his crisp, snowy collar. " They are very wonder- 
 ful, the new people," he said gravely. " I am 
 convinced that in one way they are a a chosen 
 people. Not chosen as the Israelites were. Not 
 chosen in that sense at all. But chosen to to 
 work out our destiny, Prunella. God knows 
 how ! I felt it very strongly very, very 
 strongly at the concert the other night. It 
 was quite remarkable." 
 
 Prunella said nothing, but her cheeks had 
 caught the flush. 
 
 " What that young man did was quite tre- 
 mendous, Prunella. He is a genius. God has 
 called him to a wonderful career. And when he 
 223
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 held that strangely assorted crowd of people 
 spellbound as he poured out the music of his 
 own land spellbound and then stirred them 
 all with an American national air and then 
 lifted them all into the ' Doxology ' it it 
 was immense, Prunella. You must have felt it, 
 my dear ! " 
 
 " I did, I think," she said faintly. 
 
 They had reached Miss Hollins's gate. 
 Prunella paused. 
 
 " Oh, they 're a wonderful people," Dr. Brit- 
 ton was going on. " But it 's a great pity ! A 
 great pity. And he 's a wonderful boy. I Ve 
 heard his history, from the priest. He has 
 noble " 
 
 " Why, Dr. Britton ! You 're coming right in 
 to dinner, are n't you ? " Miss Hollins called 
 out from under the clematis on the porch. 
 " Roast lamb and peas, and a hearty welcome ! " 
 
 " Prunella's peas? " he called back. "I wish 
 I could ! " 
 
 " No, not Prunella's peas this time. Prunella's 
 garden 's been all burned up by the dry weather. 
 Now, do come, Dr. Britton." And Miss Hollins 
 came down the steps with a fly-swatter in her 
 hand, flourishing it cordially. 
 
 " Not to-day, thank you," he said, holding 
 224
 
 HOT-BEDS 
 
 bis straw hat most gallantly in spite of the sun. 
 " I have Deacon and Mrs. Archibald coming to 
 dinner to try my own peas. But next Sunday, 
 perhaps." 
 
 " Do, please! " Prunella smiled warmly. "And 
 thank you so much ! " 
 
 "What were you thanking Dr. Britton for? " 
 Miss Hollins asked as they went into the house. 
 " Dinner 's all ready. You 've been awfully 
 slow. Was it about the post-office ? " 
 
 " No, it was not about the post-office. I don't 
 know what it was for, Aunt Lou. He was just 
 just nice, that 's all." And Prunella smoothed 
 out her little silk gloves and rolled them into 
 a neat ball. "I'll cut the bread," she said, 
 smiling a little dreamily. 
 
 That night at nine-thirty, when Prunella had 
 finished stamping and tying up the mail to go 
 out in the early morning, she sat down on a 
 Sunshine soap-box and leaned her head back 
 against the sacks of coffee piled on top of the 
 flour barrels. The oil lamp in the bracket over 
 her head filled her little corner with light, but 
 threw long, strange, contorted shadows out into 
 the store beyond the mailboxes. Over in the 
 back where the cheese was kept, a mouse gnawed 
 softly. Now and then a motor-horn went round 
 225
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 the corner in a long scream. The air was pun- 
 gent with a mingling of coffee and cloves and 
 dried apples. 
 
 Prunella gave a little sigh and closed her 
 eyes. Ever since the concert she had stolen 
 quiet moments and tried to recall " Yankee 
 Doodle " and the " Doxology." That morning 
 in church she had not sung for listening, to 
 store away the tune in her mind. And now, as 
 she listened for the melodies that would not 
 come, she could hear only the thud of her own 
 heart. But she could see much in these quiet 
 times that was almost like music to her. She 
 could see Stefan at the piano his fine brown 
 hands on the keys his eyes, large and asking, 
 looking towards her the medal blazing on 
 the lapel of the shabby coat. And now she 
 could hear Dr. Britton's words : " He is a gen- 
 ius. God has called him to a wonderful career. 
 . . . He 's a wonderful boy. I 've heard his his- 
 tory from the priest. He has noble " Noble ? 
 Noble what ? she wondered. A noble heart ? A 
 noble genius ? But what a little fool she was ! 
 What was the matter with her anyhow ! She 
 had always said she loathed music and and 
 foreigners. And now! 
 
 She got up abruptly and turned out the lamp. 
 226
 
 HOT-BEDS 
 
 Then in the flicker of the dying flame she felt 
 her way to the door and stood waiting for the 
 light to snuff out. It was slow dying, shooting 
 long gleams up into the cobwebbed ceiling 
 among the suspended rakes and hoes and 
 pitchforks and hams. Then blackness. Prunella 
 stepped out into the light of stars. 
 
 It was not until she had locked the door and 
 got used to the darkness that she saw a man 
 sitting on the steps of the porch. Then she 
 smelt a cigarette and saw one tossed out into 
 the road. And it had not yet occurred to her 
 to be afraid when the man got up and she saw 
 that he held in his hand long sprays of flowers. 
 In the dimness she could not see what flowers, 
 but they looked like the sprays the angels had 
 carried once in the Christmas tableaus at school. 
 With the other hand the man was taking off 
 his hat. It did not seem at all strange that it 
 should be Stefan. 
 
 " You will forgif me zat I dare to come ? " 
 he said. " I bring zese for you because zey 
 seem you. And to spick wiz you I could no 
 longer wait. Zat night? I mek you under- 
 stan' ? " And he put the flowers into the hand 
 that went out to him. 
 
 Prunella held them to her face and got the 
 227
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 faint sweetness of gladioli. Her heart beat 
 thick. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Yes ! " she whispered, looking up 
 at him through the dimness. 
 
 He gave a little laugh, a real boy's laugh. 
 She had not known that he could laugh. 
 
 " Oh, an' you haf understan' ? " he cried 
 softly. " An' ze music ? You like him ? " 
 
 Prunella drew a long breath. " Oh, I loved 
 it," she said. " It was the first time I had ever 
 heard music." And then she realized herself and 
 turned down the steps towards home. 
 
 " An' if I go little way wiz you, you let me? " 
 he hesitated. "I come in and ask ze aunt. I 
 not mind." 
 
 " Oh, no ! Please. Don't ask Aunt Lou. But 
 you you may come." 
 
 And they went along under Mrs. Egerton's 
 lilac bushes, that would lean over the fence. 
 Across the street Mrs. Clabby's light went out. 
 It seemed very dark except for the many stars. 
 
 "After ze music, it is ze only time to spick 
 wiz you," he was going on rapidly, "in ze 
 night wiz stars V ze sweetness. An' to tell 
 you zat it is you zat meks ze music to me. Al- 
 ways, in my home I haf play, but it is you 
 you ze music." 
 
 228
 
 HOT-BEDS 
 
 Prunella gave a little gasp. It was just like 
 the time Aunt Lou had had that little bottle o 
 champagne in the basket of fruit from the 
 boarders. 
 
 "Oh, no! I'm not like that," she said. "I'm 
 not a bit like that. If you could just see me 
 when I 'm peeling potatoes or or weeding the 
 garden, or cleaning the house. Then you " 
 
 " Yes, yes, always I would ! Of whateferyou 
 do I mek ze music ze music of ze home, of 
 your hands all is to me music, spif ki, spifki ! " 
 
 Prunella laid her gladioli against her hot 
 cheek. They were almost at the gate. The 
 house was dark except for Miss Hollins's candle. 
 
 " An' if I go way to my home land, to 
 study, I haf then no time to spick wiz you. Faz- 
 zer Zujewski he say God gif me music, but I 
 say God gif it you to gif me. An' I haf much to 
 tell of my f azzer an' my muzzer. I haf " 
 
 Miss Hollins reached out and closed the 
 shutters. 
 
 " Ssh ! " Prunella whispered. " We 're wak- 
 ing people. Good-night ! " 
 
 " But again may I see you ? " he went on 
 quickly. " I come an' tell all to ze aunt. An* 
 if I go way " 
 
 " Oh yes ! Yes ! " she murmured into the 
 229
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 gladioli, opening the gate. He caught her 
 flower-filled hand, and, bending over it with 
 the reverence of a worshiper, kissed it swiftly. 
 
 " God wiz you ! " he whispered. 
 
 But she had already run from him up the 
 path into the shadow of the clematis. As she 
 turned the knob, Solomon Clabby sprang out 
 of the hammock and whisked past her down 
 the steps. Her face burned with a sense of 
 guilt. 
 
 Miss Hollins sat up in bed with a jump. In 
 the doorway appeared Prunella, very large-eyed 
 and rosy, holding the long sprays of pale pink 
 gladioli. 
 
 " Why, Prunella Loomis ! What under the 
 canopy is the matter? Shut the door, for 
 heaven's sake. You look like a a " 
 
 " I know I do ! I know I do, Aunt Lou ! You 
 need n't tell me so ! " she whispered breathlessly, 
 dropping on her knees at the side of the bed. 
 " But it 's it 's Stefan after all."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 CEBULA 
 
 MRS. WIENIASKI trudged heavily along be- 
 tween the windrows in the wilted onion fields. 
 Her heavy, rundown shoes, tied together by the 
 strings, hung over her shoulder, and she planted 
 her large, knobby feet flatly in the dust among 
 the cool, limp leaves and the great white and 
 bronze onions. She was bound for home, ahead 
 of her there in the trees against the wild red 
 afterglow, with the swallows darting black 
 around the smokeless old chimneys. To the 
 right and left, other weeders were diminishing 
 in the evening distance, some towards the vil- 
 lage back among the trees, others northward 
 towards the hills, against which the stones in 
 the Welling burial lot still showed rosily white 
 from the sunset. 
 
 As Mrs. Wieniaski trudged, her thoughts 
 went heavily. She was very tired, and, although 
 her dinner-pail swung empty from her arm, 
 faint and hungry. The hunks of bread and 
 Leberwurst and the cold coffee that had made 
 231
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 the pail of some weight in the morning, had 
 been more than shared with Wieniaski himself, 
 and noon came early to those who hegan the 
 day before the sun. But besides weariness and 
 hunger, there was another burden upon Mrs. 
 Wieniaski's spirit. It was an old, old thought 
 that the abundant harvest always brought to 
 her. 
 
 " All this to sell and no children to feed ! 
 All this to sell and no children to feed ! " she 
 was muttering to herself in her ugly, untutored 
 Polish. 
 
 All day she had been raking the onions 
 among the Krakoskis and the Brogodzds with 
 their big brood of children. The plump, laugh- 
 ing little creatures had played around her rake, 
 and, when she rested, little Sofia had climbed 
 into her lap and gone to sleep. Again and 
 again she had seen the mothers lift the kicking, 
 crowing babies out of the baby carriages and 
 suckle them, squatting in the meagre shade of 
 a cotton umbrella or in the glare of the sun. 
 And she had seen the smile on the face of a 
 grandmother as she drew herself stiffly up from 
 her raking and said, " There will be much 
 money much money for the little ones." 
 
 " All this to sell and no children to feed ! " 
 232
 
 CEBULA 
 
 For what, then, had they come to this big, new 
 country, away from the old town on the Vis- 
 tula, with the cheerful red roofs around the 
 little church with the yellow dome, and the 
 streets friendly with greetings ? That is what 
 again and again she was asking Wieniaski, and 
 until a few months before, always he had said, 
 " For Stefan. Stefan is Alexia's boy and his 
 father was a prince. But he must work like the 
 rest of us. He must make money. By gosh, I 
 give him the chance and he make the money." 
 And then, in a little while, he said, " By gosh ! 
 He is a big fool, that boy, to make music when 
 he can make money." And then, ever since the 
 concert, and since Father Zujewski had come 
 all the way over the fields in the hot sunshine 
 to talk to them about Stefan ever since, Wie- 
 niaski had said, "The devil! He is Alexia's 
 boy and his father was a prince. That is why. 
 But he is the big fool, all the same. By gosh ! 
 I will give him the money to go. And then if 
 he does well, very good. And then if he does 
 not do well the devil ! he need not come 
 back. I will feed no one that is too proud." And 
 then she had said, " But, Wieniaski, it is a gift 
 from God that he has. Father Zujewski has said 
 so. And I myself, that night in the concert, he 
 233
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 made me to be at home again and to be young. 
 And that is better than onions." 
 
 So she was remembering and pondering as she 
 went through the ploughed-up garden, through 
 the sagging garden gate under the bridal arch 
 of fading clematis, into the growing dusk under 
 the trees around thehouse. As if to catch up her 
 thought, a wave of melancholy music flowed out 
 to her as the wind came her way. Stefan was 
 playing. He had forgotten to start her kitchen 
 fire to fry the meat and the onions for supper. 
 
 She did not turn in at the kitchen door. In- 
 stead, she went softly around the house to the 
 parlor windows and stood close in the syringa 
 bushes, peeping in. 
 
 Through the threadbare lace curtains she 
 could see Stefan at the piano, in the last radi- 
 ance that fell through the western windows. 
 It was the G Minor Nocturne that he was play- 
 ing, but to Mrs. Wieniaski it was only music 
 music that transformed the idle, good-for- 
 nothing Stefan into an angel as he sat there in 
 the great bare old parlor, with a spray of gla- 
 diolus on the piano, and made her forget her 
 heavy, tired feet and her empty heart. And to 
 see him play ! That was the music as well as 
 what he played. 
 
 234
 
 CEBULA 
 
 " I will go make the kitchen fire," she said to 
 herself. " He must not make fires." And then, 
 as she picked up her kindling in the woodshed, 
 her thought went on beyond her. " And yet it 
 is a fire that he makes when he plays ! He makes 
 the heart warm to be young again, to love, to 
 hate, to not feel the emptiness. And now he 
 will go. And he will do well. He will not come 
 back." 
 
 When Wieniaski came into the kitchen with 
 the boarders, Tony Somaski and Adam Os- 
 troski and Leo Polenski, she looked up from 
 the onions she was peeling and wiped her eyes 
 with her sleeve. 
 
 " You wait. I was sick," she said. " Stefan 
 has lighted the fire long ago and I have not 
 come. I hurry."
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 FURROWS 
 
 OLIVIA stopped again to rest and straighten 
 up her shoulders. Sowing turnip seed was not 
 just like gymnasium work and indeed a good 
 deal better, as she had assured her mother so 
 confidently it was. The rows would not keep 
 even, and the soil, thoroughly as Dinny and 
 Jerry had ploughed and harrowed it with the 
 horses they had rented so reasonably for her, 
 was cloddy. But of course the old fields were 
 in a sad state. Next year things would be very 
 different. Dinny and Jerry had said, that very 
 morning, that they had " niver sane the loikes 
 o' the hate f'r the toime o' year. It was fit t' 
 kill y'." And, then, if her shoes just would n't 
 fill with soil and little pebbles ! 
 
 Ben, however, was getting great enjoyment 
 out of the turnip seeding. There were many 
 husky young rabbits in the weeds along the 
 stone wall, and a woodchuck hole down by the 
 brook. So he frisked and ran and barked, and 
 came back to encourage and smile a broad dog 
 smile, and ran off on a new scent, and bur- 
 236
 
 FURROWS 
 
 rowed in the bushes until only the quivering 
 red plume of his tail betrayed his whereabouts. 
 Presently the sun went behind a cloud and 
 a little wind fanned the western side of Olivia's 
 hot face. Beyond the wall that the seeder was 
 approaching, the aspens and birches and alders 
 faced the east whitely. The west had grown a 
 thund erous dark violet. Olivia looked up when she 
 had reached the very end of the row, in a patch 
 of low bittersweet, which was already yellowing 
 on the wall. Again she rested, wiping her face 
 and stretching her slender hands out of their 
 cramp. To wear gloves as her mother had 
 pleaded, she had scorned. Who had ever heard 
 of a successful farmer that wore gloves ! Then 
 she climbed on the wall and sat with her hands 
 clasped around her knees in the dark-blue 
 denim short skirt. On the tip of the hills to the 
 north the sun was beginning to shine again. 
 Now the light was coming down the hills now 
 it was wanly over the village so white against 
 the purple of the storm. And the men and 
 women in the tobacco fields beyond the turnip 
 field were still at work. In one field waved 
 the tall, bare stalks of the stripped tent-tobacco 
 topped with pink blooms. A long wain piled 
 with the stripped leaves, and driven by a vividly 
 237
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 red-shirted man, was just turning out of the 
 tent-tobacco field on its way to the great brown 
 barn in the other field. In that field the whole 
 stalk was to be cut, and beyond the slow wagon, 
 there were more vivid figures hewing it down 
 and straddling it on the racks to be hung in 
 the barn. In the strange white sunlight, with 
 that wild purplish sky off to the west, the scene 
 had all the silence and remoteness of a picture. 
 In the long perspective the movement counted 
 for nothing. Then it darkened and the picture 
 faded. 
 
 " If Dacre would only paint things like that 
 
 right here in the valley ! " she said to her- 
 self, almost aloud. " It 's great. And not al- 
 ways be trying to paint just women ! If he only 
 would ! " And then she fell to thinking that 
 perhaps he would when he came home, after 
 the year or two of study that he would paint 
 her tobacco fields that they would be his 
 tobacco fields that she should be his, and 
 so, naturally, her tobacco fields would be his 
 
 and that, perhaps, sometime, they could buy 
 Dacre's own old fields from the Wieniaskis, and 
 then 
 
 A blinding white flash zigzagged between 
 her and the tobacco. The west grumbled. Ben 
 238
 
 FURROWS 
 
 came in long leaps over the ploughing. She 
 sprang down from the wall. The people in the 
 tobacco fields were running to the farmhouse 
 on the far edge of the fields, for them as near as 
 the barn. A cool big drop splashed her cheek. 
 She gathered up her bag of seed and picked up 
 her seeder. For her it was the barn for shelter ! 
 
 " Come, Ben ! " she called breathlessly, run- 
 ning into another lurid flash. And then she sped 
 on over the turnip rows into the gray sheet of 
 rain that met her in the tobacco field, then on 
 over the stubble of the newly cut plants into 
 the dusky green depths of the barn. 
 
 For a moment its vastness and duskiness 
 startled her. She and panting Ben seemed very 
 small in the big doorway facing the dim heights 
 hung with the rows of close-packed tobacco. 
 Row behind row of velvety greenness up into 
 untold depths of shadow ; and row behind row 
 lower down until it would have brushed her up- 
 lifted hand had she dared into it. 
 
 But she did not venture into it. Instead, she 
 seated herself on a nailkeg close by the door, 
 and got her breath, and looked out at the gray 
 sheet of rain, and patted Ben into reassurance. 
 Then she leaned over and drew off one of her 
 brown half shoes and contemplated its interior. 
 239
 
 A cloud of dust and small gravel fell out when 
 she turned it upside down and shook it. Then, 
 confident in her isolation, she drew off her 
 brown stocking and shook it vigorously, too. 
 Ben, with amiable hanging tongue, looked as- 
 kance at the white foot. Then he pricked his 
 ears together and looked out at the rain. But 
 his shrill bark was too late. Into the doorway, 
 round the corner of the barn, rushed another 
 storm-driven human being. With him came a 
 blinding flash and a quick thunderclap. 
 
 " Faith, it's not a minute too late I am ! " he 
 cried. Then he turned and saw Olivia. 
 
 She had gasped, risen to escape, given a lit- 
 tle cry, and then sat down quickly on the 
 ground, covering her bare foot with her skirt. 
 Her shoe had bounded almost to Joyce's feet. 
 Her stocking she clutched in her hand. She 
 was as furiously red as he was white. 
 
 In another wild sweep of the rain and a 
 crackling, splitting thunderclap, their voices, 
 whatever they were saying to each other, were 
 quite lost. Then she realized that he was turn- 
 ing to go. " Oh, please ! Don't go ! You '11 be 
 killed," she found herself calling very loud over 
 the storm. " It would be reckless to go." 
 
 He was already out under the dripping of 
 240
 
 FURROWS 
 
 the eaves. Ben had followed and stood sniffing 
 his knickerbockers. 
 
 " Oh, I beg a thousand pardons of y'," he 
 was saying. " Never once was I thinking to 
 find y' here. It was the very last place in which 
 I 'd be expecting to find y' ! " And he started 
 again out into the rain. 
 
 " Oh, please ! Please ! " she cried. " I 'm not 
 silly. Please stay until it 's safe. And of course 
 you did not expect to find me here." And then 
 she began to laugh so merrily that to Joyce, 
 standing there gingerly on the ragged edge 
 of shelter, with his pounding heart, she seemed 
 on the point of crying. " Of course you did not 
 dream of finding me here," she repeated be- 
 tween laughs. "But you see you see, I've 
 been planting turnips." 
 
 "I see," he said, almost crossly. "Doing 
 work that is too hard for y' entirely. It 's cruel 
 for y' to work like that." 
 
 She stopped laughing. Somehow it gave her 
 a little pang to see him standing there against 
 the rain. And he looked immensely well in 
 his brown knickerbockers, with his clinging 
 white shirt turned in around his brown throat, 
 and his wide Panama from which little trickles 
 descended into his neck. 
 241
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " Suppose," she said, very calmly, " you just 
 wait until I put on my shoe and stocking, and 
 then you come quite inside unless, that is, you 
 you prefer the rain." Her voice trembled a 
 little between a laugh and a sob. " You see, 
 Ben and I had just come, and I I was getting 
 the turnip field out of my shoes and stockings." 
 
 She saw, as she tugged at her stocking, a 
 warm flush creeping up into the close-cut dark 
 hair behind his ears. Why why under heaven 
 was she so sorry for him ! 
 
 " Oh, no ! " he said, with a little laugh. " I 'm 
 not preferring the rain. I 'm as wet as a drowned 
 rat. It was from the tobacco fields beyond there 
 I was coming. I 've been helping the lads with 
 the hauling." 
 
 " Have you have you a a button hook in 
 your pocket ? " she panted. " This shoe just 
 won't button. I 'm awfully sorry to trouble you, 
 but in the mud, you see, going home, it would 
 never in the world stay on. It 's raining less, 
 is n't it?" 
 
 He was fumbling in his pockets, the hand 
 with the strange silver ring on it in the pocket 
 towards her. He took his hands out empty. 
 
 "Not the sign of a one have I," he said. 
 " But if you would let me my fingers It 's 
 242
 
 FUKROWS 
 
 often and often I 've buttoned Bride's boots 
 when she 's been after wading in the brook." 
 
 Her heart gave a wild beat. Her mother's 
 face flashed across the gray wall of rain. She 
 remembered Dacre's fingers deft over her shoe 
 buttons in the wading days of the long ago. 
 
 " If you please," she said gayly. " And then 
 there 's another nailkeg. And perhaps you will 
 tell me one of your sister's stories." 
 
 He did not turn at once as she had expected 
 him to do. Instead, it seemed to her that he 
 drew himself up a little more proudly as he 
 stood looking quite away from her out into the 
 storm. 
 
 "I thank you," he said tensely, so low that 
 she had to lean forward to catch his words 
 above the wash of the rain. " But it is very 
 slow I would be in turning t' y', if after I turn 
 y'd be as as y' have been to me. It's far 
 far better for me to be looking out at the rain 
 than to see to see the curl on the lips of y'." 
 
 In the silence Ben stretched himself in the 
 doorway with a sleepy whine. Outside, the wind 
 was changing, driving the rain into the barn 
 door. 
 
 " Please, please don't look at the rain any 
 longer," she said gently. " And if you would 
 243
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 please button my shoe. See ! Now the wind has 
 changed for good ! " 
 
 " For good?" he repeated. And then with a 
 swift look at her that made her look as quickly 
 away with a little laugh, he knelt, and holding 
 the brown shoe lightly in the hand that wore 
 the strange silver ring, he fastened the stubborn 
 buttons. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! For good," she answered lightly. 
 "Soon we can go home. Thank you so much ! 
 A farmer should carry a bag full of all sorts of 
 things for emergencies." 
 
 " And Dinny and Jerry are working well for 
 y'?" he asked, quite prosaically, as he seated 
 himself on the other nailkeg. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! They are doing wonders. You 
 see, they ploughed and harrowed the turnip 
 field for me so that I could plant it before school 
 begins. And now, to-day, they are in the rye 
 fields. And then the planting I can't do, they '11 
 have to finish for me." 
 
 "And school begins when?" he asked. It 
 was easy to ask questions when he was thinking 
 of the wondrous change in the look of her as 
 she met his eyes so frankly and kindly, and 
 laughed so gayly, and sat there so simply before 
 him in her coarse blue skirt and blue linen waist, 
 244
 
 FURROWS 
 
 turned in, like his shirt, at the neck. "And you 
 are glad to begin ? " Even Aileen herself could 
 be no more gracious and smiling. 
 
 " It begins this very next Monday," she was 
 answering him. "I'm half scared, but then I 
 remember By Smith and Apollonia ! " And 
 again she laughed, and snapped her finger and 
 lured Ben to her side for a little stroking. "And 
 now, will you not tell me one of your sister's 
 stories ? It seems to me it would be most ro- 
 mantic to sit here in this strange green gloom, 
 with the rain so gray and wild, and hear one of 
 those stories. If you would! And see! It's 
 clearing a bit. I can see Sugarloaf there to the 
 west." 
 
 " Oh, I 'm no story-teller like Bride," he 
 protested. " And then they break the very heart 
 of y', the Irish stories. Somehow always the 
 Irish do be having sad endings to their stories, 
 the way it 's too sad to tell them. And the most 
 beautiful of all is the saddest." 
 
 " Oh, do, please ! I rather like to hear stories 
 that are sad, because then I can say to myself 
 that it's not true. And in one's own story " 
 She stopped. What she was saying began to 
 sound sentimental. 
 
 "In one's own story one cannot always say 
 245
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 that the sorrow is not true," he finished quite 
 simply. " Faith, that 's true enough, what you 
 say. But then, sometimes, the very stories that 
 we say are not true are afterwards our own 
 stories. It 's what we never can tell what will 
 be our own stories." 
 
 She leaned forward on the nailkeg, stroking 
 Ben's long red ear. The rain was lessening, and 
 a faint rose flushed the gray. It was the sunset 
 behind the storm. 
 
 " But the most beautiful story, which is so 
 sad ! " she begged. "Now I'm dying to hear it. 
 And perhaps I may sometime find that it is my 
 story. I should like to have a life like a folk- 
 story." 
 
 " Perhaps," he said, looking at her quite di- 
 rectly. " I pray not. It is the story of Deirdre. 
 She, too, was fair and comely and bright-haired, 
 and heroes fought for her but It is what 
 Lady Gregory says in her tales, far better than 
 I can say it ' In your fate, beautiful child, 
 are wounds, and ill-doings and shedding of 
 blood. Many will be jealous of your face, 
 flame of beauty ! ' ' 
 
 She sprang up with a laugh. " Oh, dear, no ! 
 That would not be endurable. But I do want 
 to hear the story. And sometime sometime 
 246
 
 FURROWS 
 
 will you tell it to me? There 's the sun now 
 or the sunset." 
 
 " I will," he said. " The drops are like gold, 
 are they not ? It would be rather good fun to 
 walk through them in the freshness." 
 
 Out of the gray the hills were shimmering 
 clear against the clean blue sky. A meadow- 
 lark's note dropped down out of the afterglow. 
 The pools in the fields shone in gold and rose. 
 
 " Oh, see ! See ! " Olivia cried, looking back 
 from the threshold into the duskiness. 
 
 And among the green hangings of tobacco 
 fell long shafts of the sunset, touching up the 
 brown of rafter and beam and shingle. 
 
 " It is splendid enough for Deirdre," Joyce 
 said as he picked up the turnip seed and the 
 seeder. And then they went out over the wet 
 fields, over the swollen brook on the narrow log 
 bridge, through the pasture with the shine of 
 the west all over the dripping fern and blue- 
 berry, and into the Ladd stableyard, through 
 the rotten old gate that was propped shut with 
 a stone. And all the way they talked of tobacco 
 cutting, and the cost of a tobacco barn, and the 
 present price of onions, and the economy of 
 keeping cows and pigs as a means of enriching 
 the soil, and the proportion of K20 the river 
 247
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 fields required, and the correctness of first im- 
 pressions, and the force of circumstances. And 
 by that time they had reached the gate into the 
 back yard, and there was Mrs. Ladd coming 
 down the path towards them. She stopped quite 
 still when she saw them and made no response 
 to Olivia's little wave of the hand. 
 
 " Oh, Mamma ! Were you frightened ? " she 
 called. " I 'm absolutely all right, but covered 
 with mud. It was a glorious storm, was n't it ! " 
 It seemed to her that never had she seen her 
 mother so white and slender and unapproach- 
 able. And her eyes were so bright and cold. 
 
 " This, Mamma, is Mr. Patrick Joyce," she 
 went on recklessly. " He has quite saved my life, 
 you see, a sort of knight to the rescue, 
 Mamma ! " And she laughed a little, and looked 
 at the knight. 
 
 And he was not unknightly as he bared his 
 head and bowed very low to the cold, proud 
 lady who had no hand to offer him in greeting. 
 Even the turnip seed and the seeder in his left 
 hand did not detract from his knightliness. 
 
 " I thank Mr. Joyce, then, for his knightly 
 services to to my distressingly democratic 
 daughter," she said with the smallest of smiles. 
 " He has been very kind." 
 248
 
 FURKOWS 
 
 He put down the turnip seed and the seeder. 
 " If Miss Ladd had needed my good sword, it 
 would have been at her service," he said gravely 
 and slowly. It rejoiced Olivia that he gave no 
 smallest trace of the brogue. 
 
 " But sword or seeder, the service is the same," 
 she called lightly after him as he turned away. 
 
 " Now, do come and get dry clothes, Olivia. 
 And there 's a pot of tea and a letter there for 
 you. Timothy went for the mail before the 
 storm."
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 LB BEAU YELLING 
 
 JUST about the time that Olivia and Patrick 
 were tramping through muddy tobacco fields in 
 the afterglow, it was midnight in Paris, and 
 Dacre was writing a letter. Over the very same 
 table on which Grazia served the omelets after 
 the long poses, he was leaning, one hand in his 
 tawny hair, which he wore a little longer since 
 becoming a citizen of the Quartier, the other 
 driving a villainous, rusty pen over big thin blue 
 sheets. The bells of Saint-Sulpice had just struck 
 twelve. From the BouT Miche, five stories be- 
 low, a scrap of " Funiculi Funicula " floated up 
 and in through the wallflowers and the mignon- 
 ette and the little cage where the fauvette was 
 sound asleep dreaming of a cherry tree. Orloff 
 was out, and would be till morning, at the ball 
 of Le Singe Vert over in Montmartre. As yet, 
 the balls were too French for Dacre, with twelve 
 words for his vocabulary. Orloff said not to 
 mind that words were n't needed when a 
 man had a faultless nose and the women called 
 him "le beau Veiling." And up to a certain 
 250
 
 LE BEAU YELLING 
 
 point le beau Veiling had found bis looks 
 sufficient. 
 
 But in tbe matter of letters to a woman in a 
 little town of old elms and gray old bouses in 
 a great land across the sea, looks were not all- 
 sufficient. He had, to be sure, already sent her 
 a little snapshot of himself in the studio under 
 the big skylight. Orloff had taken it and given 
 him two. One of them Grazia wore in a gold 
 locket on her garter of cherry silk. The other 
 had gone to Olivia, and was kept in a tiny silver 
 frame hidden behind " Bulletin No. 68, Massa- 
 chusetts Agricultural Experiment Station. In- 
 spection of Commercial Fertilizers." That was 
 an absolutely safe place. Mrs. Ladd could have 
 no possible need to consult the Bulletin. 
 
 To-night, in the quiet studio, with only a 
 sleeping fauvette for company, fancy could take 
 easy flight, and Dacre was writing as easily as 
 he would have talked had he been sitting with 
 Olivia in the old war-room at home. 
 
 " My Darling," he had begun in the unformed, 
 childish hand that he tried to make manly by 
 scratching and scrawling into a fine illegibility, 
 " I wonder if you are thinking of me and long- 
 ing for me as I am for you to-night. I am all 
 251
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 alone in the studio, and somehow I can see you 
 so vividly. You are perhaps sitting on the old 
 stone bench in the clematis arbor. Do you re- 
 member your sixteenth birthday, in the clematis 
 arbor? It was the first time I kissed you and 
 the last time until that day on the stile by the 
 wall, that day Grandfather died. And so I am 
 thinking of you now in the arbor while I sit up 
 here alone. 
 
 " Orloff is a real sport. He takes in every- 
 thing. To-night he 's off at a ball in Montmartre, 
 given by a club of Russian artists that call them- 
 selves ' Le Singe Vert.' I 've been told by some 
 fellows around at La Rose's, that his father is a 
 Russian prince and his mother a Spanish dancer. 
 He 's painting for the fun of it, and he knows 
 Paris, every inch of it. He 's a good fellow to 
 be with because you can't get taken in if he 's 
 around, and he's ten years older than I calls 
 me ' Sonny ' and says the women call me, le beau 
 Veiling. 
 
 "You ask me where we take our meals. Oh, 
 anywhere. There are jolly places all along the 
 Boul' Miche, and the Boulevard Mont Parnasse, 
 and in every quaint little side street where you 'd 
 least expect to find them. And then, when there 
 are any models around, they are only too will- 
 252
 
 LE BEAU YELLING 
 
 ing to cook you an elegant mess of something 
 or other with a queer French name and make 
 you a salad fit for the gods. I told you about 
 Grazia's omelets. And then we go to the Bois 
 on picnics Sunday picnics! Don't tell your 
 mother. And we Ve been several times to Meu- 
 don and Saint-Cloud, as I wrote you. The models 
 are a gay, careless lot not at all your kind 
 of women. But Grazia is n't like the others. 
 She's a Sicilian, as you know, and they are dif- 
 ferent. Orloff found her on the Pont Alexandre 
 one night, ready to jump in. She wouldn't tell 
 why. But she is great for a study in color. I 
 wrote you about painting her in the window eat- 
 ing cherries. I got tired of that. It was too 
 trivial. Now I am doing her more seriously. 
 
 "Am I really getting into artist life, and ac- 
 complishing something? That's a funny ques- 
 tion, dearest. You believe in me, don't you? 
 Of course, I 'm getting into it. And La Rose 
 is very encouraging in his comments. He says 
 I have it in me. And you know I have. Re- 
 member, too, that I 've never lived until now. 
 If I just had n't fooled away all those years try- 
 ing to get into college ! La Rose says an artist 
 and a musician should begin in the cradle. But 
 now I 'm living ! All the years before this, in 
 253
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 that rundown, shabby old house in the onion 
 fields, are like a nightmare to me, except in the 
 thought of you. And now I 'm going to live ! 
 And soon I '11 have you over here with me, and 
 you will feel as I do about the old places and 
 the dull life in an American village. I wish you 
 were here this very minute, opposite me at this 
 rickety little table, with the light shining on that 
 lovely pale-gold head of yours and those dear 
 frank eyes looking into mine. You wouldn't 
 stay opposite me long, my own Sweetheart! 
 
 " And now I want you to do something for me, 
 dear. See old Joyce and ask him if something 
 cannot be realized on all that life insurance of 
 Grandfather's that never came to anything. 
 You see, he paid a big premium for years and 
 years, and then, when money stopped coming 
 in, he stopped paying. I see now that Grand- 
 father was a mighty poor manager. Just see old 
 Joyce and talk it over. Do it for me, darling. 
 I 'd do anything for you. And the sooner the 
 better ! 
 
 " Good -night or rather, good-morning, 
 dearest ! The bells on Saint-Sulpice have struck 
 one. Remember always how wholly I am yours. 
 
 "D. W." 
 
 254
 
 LE BEAU YELLING 
 
 When he had flourished his initials into a fan- 
 ciful scrawl of hearts and love-knots, which took 
 him a matter of a few moments, he put his 
 letter into the envelope and addressed it with a 
 fine attempt at dignity " Miss Olivia Ladd, 
 Fernfield, Mass., U.S.A. Via Cherbourg." And 
 " Via Cherbourg " meant the afternoon of this 
 very day, if it were to catch the fast steamer 
 that it was imperative that it should catch. So 
 he ran down the long flights of stairs, out into 
 the half-deserted street that smelt so fresh from 
 the wet asphalt. The cafe on the corner, where 
 the post-box was, still showed its gay lights. 
 When he had dropped in his letter, he went 
 over to one of the little tables under the bloom- 
 ing oleanders and whistled to the waiter dozing 
 in a corner. 
 
 " Un absinthe," he called with a finely care- 
 less pronunciation. 
 
 And by the time the little gray glass had 
 been set before him, a girl in a scrap of bright 
 green mousseline with her hair banded like a 
 Madonna, had come over from another table 
 and rested her chin in her palms opposite him. 
 And it was not of coloring that Dacre was think- 
 ing as he looked deep into her shadowy eyes.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE MEETING OF THE WATERS 
 
 HEN this pleasant love-letter was in the fogs 
 off the Banks, under a very seasick and dejected 
 lot of millionaires and others, Olivia was within 
 two days of beginning her professional career 
 and Miss Hollins was planning her coup d'etat. 
 While partaking of Mr. Michael Joyce's em- 
 barrassing superabundance of vegetables, Miss 
 Hollins had been experiencing, not, perhaps, a 
 change of heart, but certainly a readjustment 
 of that organ. People with hearts never need a 
 change. God knows, a real heart is too rare and 
 too valuable and too beautiful for the owner 
 ever to consider a change of it ! And, truly, 
 among the older and more steadfast generation 
 of New Englanders there were, and are, many 
 of these articles de virtu. It is only that a con- 
 tracted area of experience has left them unfairly 
 adjusted, and limited exercise has made them 
 stiff and unmanageable. So no wonder it 's hard 
 for the owners to turn them quickly and warmly 
 and understandingly toward these quite incon- 
 ceivable and outlandish new conditions, and to 
 256
 
 THE MEETING OF THE WATERS 
 
 believe always that the invaders into the aristo- 
 cratic old strongholds have organisms like unto 
 their own ! 
 
 It was then only a quiet readjustment that 
 led Miss Hollins to say to Prunella, out of the 
 fragrant fumes of the wild grape jelly that was 
 purpling the sides of her preserving kettle, "But 
 why should n't I have a tea-party, Prunella ? 
 Just three or four in for tea out of the Lowestof t 
 china. It is a shame not to use that Lowestoft 
 sometimes. You remember it is to be yours, 
 Prunella, after I 'm gone ! " 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Lou ! Don't talk about such 
 things. I don't want the old china." Prunella 
 was washing jelly glasses at the white sink, 
 splashing in white soapsuds, and polishing on 
 whiter towels just off the grass. " But how in 
 the world could you stop at three ? " 
 
 " I said ' or four,' Prunella. One or two 
 more wouldn't count. Now, there would be 
 Olivia, of course, and Mary Ladd, don't be- 
 lieve she 'd come, and Dr. Britton and Miss 
 Kirk and and Bride, and you and I 'd make 
 seven, perhaps, and six sure. And just kisses 
 and sponge cake and thin bread and butter and 
 tea. And then, if there should be be an extra 
 at the last " 
 
 257
 
 THE INVADEKS 
 
 " Not Mrs. Clabby, Aunt Lou ! You know 
 how you always smuggle Mrs. Clabby into your 
 kindnesses because she 's a widow. I don't see 
 why in the world the Bible is always talking 
 about doing for widows. That Mrs. Tracy that 
 was here last summer was n't a very pathetic 
 object. And the way she laid traps for Dr. 
 Britton ! To my mind that 's where the Bible 
 isn't revelation. And now, if you ask " 
 
 " Dear me, Prunella, I 've never given Jane 
 Clabby a thought. And it is n't right to talk 
 that way about the Bible. Perhaps there 's a 
 meaning there that you don't understand. Per- 
 haps it 's because widows have been so used to 
 being waited on that it comes harder to stop. 
 But I never thought of Jane Clabby. And would 
 Thursday do ? " 
 
 " I suppose so," Prunella said, not enthusiast- 
 ically. Somehow since the night of the gladioli 
 she had been even less willing to permit herself 
 any playtime. The intervals between post-office 
 and kitchen she had given to raking the grass 
 vigorously and cleaning up the little garden, 
 with her hat tied down close over her face and 
 her hands in her heavy worsted gloves. 
 
 Miss Hollins had watched her from behind 
 the shutters with a newly tender smile, drawing 
 258
 
 THE MEETING OF THE WATEES 
 
 her own conclusions. "For all the world like 
 her father, proud and silent and and obstinate, 
 the dear ! And now if I should oppose her if 
 I should try to talk her out of it when it 's all 
 as new as as heaven to her! And that fiery, 
 gifted fellow, with his flowers and his music 
 and his mystery ! Dr. Britton says it 's like 
 forest fires that kind of thing after it gets 
 started. And Dr. Britton knows Prunella, and 
 he says it 's safer to be nice to him, to let Pru- 
 nella see just how awkward and queer he is, 
 and and that her own good sense will be the 
 the extinguisher. And then Mrs. Wieniaski 
 in her bare feet that will finish it." 
 
 " How can Olivia come anyhow ? " Prunella 
 was going on, ranging the shining glasses in 
 rows with unnecessary regularity. " Her school 
 begins Monday." 
 
 "Oh, she'll be home by five," Miss Hollins 
 said cheerfully, skimming the jelly. " Five 
 o'clock tea we '11 say. I '11 write the invitations 
 first thing after dinner. I'll use those pretty 
 cards you gave me last Christmas, Prunella." 
 
 " Write the cards ! " Prunella exclaimed. " I 
 
 can save you all that trouble. I '11 tell the people 
 
 when they come into the post-office to get their 
 
 mail. They 're sure to come, especially Olivia." 
 
 259
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 "Not Bride," Miss Hollins said, carefully 
 inspecting the interior of the kettle. 
 
 " No, not Bride, but then Mr. Joyce will 
 or the chauffeur or the young man." 
 
 " No, Prunella, I think I '11 write the invita- 
 tions. I've always wanted to use the pretty 
 cards." 
 
 So after dinner, Miss Hollins polished her 
 spectacles, and put a new pin-pointed pen into her 
 pearl-handled holder that her father had given 
 her when she was graduated from the Academy 
 and read the essay on " Woman's Destiny," 
 and got out a fresh piece of pink blotting-paper 
 that had no reflected cash accounts on it, and 
 set to work to inform the chosen few that she 
 should be very glad to see them on Thursday 
 for five o'clock tea. The one for Bride she 
 blotted, and the address looked a little awry on 
 the envelope. So that had to be rewritten with 
 even more elaborate care. 
 
 It was not surprising that so delicate and 
 beautiful a penmanship on Prunella's Christmas- 
 gift cards should bring every one of the " six 
 sure." The "seventh, perhaps," Mrs. Ladd, 
 sent much love by Olivia, and a great bunch of 
 hardy red and yellow and purple asters, which 
 
 became very well the bearer's white gown ; but 
 260
 
 THE MEETING OF THE WATERS 
 
 she herself was too tired to give herself the 
 pleasure. " Lou" would understand. 
 
 Of the six, Dr. Britton came first, with a 
 bunch of last roses, which went into a Lowe- 
 stoft bowl in the sparkling and fragrant and 
 appetizing midst of the tea-things on the old 
 claw-footed mahogany table, around which were 
 ranged with formal informality the fine old 
 Chippendale chairs. On these very same chairs, 
 Dr. Britton quite well remembered to have seen 
 sitting gentle ladies and good men who had long 
 since found a less upright resting-place under 
 the periwinkle in the Fernfield God's Acre. And 
 perhaps it was the thought of these absent 
 gentlefolk that gave so bright a gleam to his 
 eyes and so genial a warmth to his hand-clasp 
 when Prunella met him on the porch, under the 
 clematis, and bore away the roses, and Miss 
 Hollins, in black china silk, received him under 
 her father's portrait in the little drawing-room. 
 Miss Kirk, with a pink cosmos in her white lace 
 jabot, sat on the davenport near the hostess, 
 and it was to her that Dr. Britton found him- 
 self transferred and talking of Prunella's pret- 
 tiness and goodness, while Miss Hollins went 
 to light the candles and Olivia came up the 
 porch steps with her gay flowers, and Prunella 
 261
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 took her on in to see how pretty the tea-table 
 looked. 
 
 But, though they were discussing the bloom 
 of youth, Dr. Britton was thinking that never 
 had he seen Miss Hollins with so youthful a 
 bloom on her countenance as when she finished 
 her illuminations, and went to the front door 
 again and again, and upstairs to get a handker- 
 chief she had forgotten, and out into the 
 kitchen to see that the tea-kettle was really 
 boiling and not just making believe. 
 
 It was while she was questioning the integrity 
 of the tea-kettle that the shining motor car 
 rolled close to her curbing and out of it a blos- 
 soming Biruam Wood seemed coming to Dun- 
 sinane. It was an airy, waving, pink and white 
 Birnam Wood composed of long sprays of 
 cosmos, and in the midst of it, with the assist- 
 ance of a very smiling elderly gentleman in blue 
 serge and a snowy waistcoat, there alighted a 
 slender young lady in a very unstylish soft 
 white mull gown. Her hat, with the tulle trim- 
 mings, was tipped a little to one side in a tangle 
 of cosmos, and her cheeks were quite as pink 
 and white as the flowers. 
 
 " Faith, Uncle Mike," she was saying, "I can 
 carry them, and y' need n't throuble to send for 
 262
 
 THE MEETING OF THE WATERS 
 
 me. It will be only pleasant, the walk home 
 through the fields." 
 
 " No, no ! Sure we '11 come for y '," called 
 the smiling gentleman. And then, when he had 
 climbed into the car and had roused the young 
 gentleman at the wheel, who was not the 
 chauffeur, from his contemplation of the outside 
 of the tea-party to which he was not invited, 
 the car rolled away and the festivities began. 
 
 Miss Hollins had got back to her father's 
 portrait by the time Bride had laid her cosmos 
 in Prunella's arms, and taken Olivia's out- 
 stretched hand a little timidly, and advanced to 
 the drawing-room door. But she left the ances- 
 tral background with cordial quickness and came 
 forward with both hands in welcome when she 
 saw the new arrival. 
 
 " We are very glad to see you, Bride," she 
 said, holding her hand a moment. "Now we 
 have the three Graces, have n't we, Dr. Britton 
 Bride and Olivia and Prunella? This is 
 Miss Joyce, Dr. Britton." 
 
 "The Greeks weren't mathematicians in 
 feminine matters," he said gallantly, shaking 
 hands. "I've always been sure there were five 
 Graces and " 
 
 " And how many Fates, Dr. Britton ? " Olivia 
 263
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 asked in the midst of the laughter. " I 'd much 
 rather be a Fate than a Grace. It 's much more 
 independent." 
 
 " I might have known you 'd prefer that, 
 Olivia. And you are, my dear! You area Fate. 
 Every woman is. That's her chief responsibil- 
 ity." He spoke lightly, but he was thinking 
 how very truly and solemnly he meant what he 
 was saying, as he looked at this very lovely and 
 proud and high-spirited young woman whom 
 he had known ever since she was an imperious 
 baby. 
 
 " You 're not if you don't want to be, Dr. 
 Britton," Prunella said quickly. " Nobody can 
 make you." 
 
 He laughed and shook his finger at her. 
 " But you just are, Prunella. You have no choice 
 in the matter, any more than you can choose 
 whether you '11 have curly dark hair or wavy 
 gold." 
 
 " It's like the story of Deirdre, the way they 
 hid her in the forest, and she to do no harm 
 with her beauty," Bride said softly, with a faint 
 deepening of color. " But the huntsman heard 
 her singing and told the king, and she knowing 
 nothing of the great wor-rld. It 's no use, the 
 hiding." 
 
 264
 
 THE MEETING OF THE WATERS 
 
 Olivia had colored, too, and come a little 
 nearer. "It's very wonderful, your folk-lore, 
 isn't it, Miss Joyce?" she began cordially. 
 " And I heard you telling stories one night this 
 summer on the meeting-house steps. The child- 
 ren seemed to love every word you said." 
 
 " Oh, but I love so to tell them, the way my 
 brother says I 'm never knowing when to stop. 
 Always it has been what I love best, to tell the 
 old tales to the little ones." 
 
 They were all moving into the dining-room, 
 and presently Bride found herself sitting by 
 Miss Ladd on the side with the cherry marma- 
 lade and the thin bread and butter, and Dr. 
 Britton was coming up with the snowy little 
 napkins and announcing himself the waiter en- 
 gaged for the occasion, and Miss Hollins was 
 pouring tea and vowing that he was the guest 
 of honor. In and out of the fun and chatter, 
 Bride was making her own reading of the proud 
 yet tender face under the big white hat, all the 
 while that she told of the children at home that 
 she was missing, the way that she must know 
 the little ones here, and of Leenane and the 
 Killeries and the glens and moors and brooks 
 that she and Patrick knew as well as Miss Ladd 
 knew the main street in Fernfield. And as she 
 265
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 went on in her soft Gaelic inflection, drinking 
 the tea that Miss Hollins had poured for her in 
 the prettiest Lowestoft cup, Olivia too was mak- 
 ing her reading, and urging on the charming 
 talk that was so unlike any talk she ever had 
 heard, with all her learning, and measuring and 
 weighing, and prodding herself now and then 
 with the remembrance of who the talker was, 
 and then forgetting, and remembering the green 
 glooms of the tobacco barn and a very proud 
 young man standing in the doorway looking 
 out at the rain. 
 
 " You and your brother are very great chums, 
 aren't you?" she said, smiling. "It must be 
 such solid comfort to have a big brother to 
 stand between you and and things." And 
 she sipped the tea she had forgotten to drink. 
 
 " Sure, always we ' ve been. And always we Ve 
 done things together, Patrick and I and 
 Aileen, except the years he was away in the uni- 
 versity. Then it was always of him and of what 
 we would do when he was at home again, that 
 Aileen and I were talking." 
 
 Olivia lifted her dark level brows. " Aileen ! " 
 she exclaimed. "And you have a sister, too?" 
 She was a fortunate girl. 
 
 " Not a real sister, but as good as one, Aileen 
 266
 
 THE MEETING OF THE WATERS 
 
 is," Bride explained. "And such a beauty she 
 is! Her picture has gone to the Duchess of 
 Connaught, she 's that pretty and that gay." 
 
 " Who 's < that pretty and that gay ' ? " Dr. 
 Britton broke in, offering the old Sheffield 
 basket of kisses. " So many people are ! " 
 
 " You are, Dr. Britton, waiting on us girls," 
 Olivia laughed. " Now you sit down here and 
 let me do my share." And she took the basket 
 from him and threw her napkin over his arm. 
 "And do get Miss Joyce to tell you some of 
 the interesting things she 's been telling me." 
 
 And then she went over to tell Miss Kirk 
 about the scarlet of the swamp maples down by 
 the river, and the bird-notes she had recognized 
 when she was planting turnips. And Miss Hol- 
 lins and Prunella came up to hear about school, 
 and Miss Kirk said that she wished there could 
 be a concert every week by that strangely gifted 
 boy, and Prunella colored and got up to pour 
 hot water into the hot-water jug and began to 
 pour it into the cream pitcher. And then Dr. 
 Britton asked her how her vegetables were grow- 
 ing, and drew up a chair for her next to Bride. 
 It was fortunate for Prunella that just here Miss 
 Kirk's tremulous voice broke into the chatter 
 with a question. 
 
 267
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " Will not Miss Joyce sing for us, Miss Hol- 
 lins? Somehow I know that she can sing 
 perhaps ' The Meeting of the Waters ' and ' By 
 Bendimere's Stream/ if she would ! " 
 
 " Oh, it is like the chirp of a wren, my sing- 
 ing," Bride laughed. "But very gladly will I 
 try." 
 
 So Dr. Britton carried the candles into the 
 drawing-room and opened the old square piano, 
 and Bride took off her hat and sat down on the 
 lyre Miss Hollins's mother had embroidered on 
 the piano-stool when she was at Maplewood 
 Seminary. 
 
 Olivia, in the window seat, leaned back in 
 the twilight freshness that moved the old lace 
 curtains. She, too, was experiencing her read- 
 justment, as she saw the soft light on Bride's 
 hair, her slender hands on the yellow keys, her 
 round white throat with its little gold medal on 
 the fine chain. And then presently Bride sang, 
 in the tenderest little contralto, 
 
 " Oh, there 's not in this world a valley so sweet, 
 As the vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet." 
 
 And after Miss Kirk's two, Dr. Britton asked 
 for many, and Miss Hollinssaid that her mother 
 used to sing Oft in the Stilly Night," " The 
 268
 
 THE MEETING OF THE WATEES 
 
 Minstrel Boy," and "Believe me if all those 
 Endearing Young Charms," and did Bride know 
 them ? And Bride did and on she sang, and the 
 candles began to sputter, and the stars came out, 
 and Prunella heard a man's step on the porch. 
 
 Afterwards, when Olivia was smoothing down 
 her feathers, disordered from the swift ride 
 home in the Joyce's motor-car, she said gayly, 
 " Why, Mamma, it was positively brilliant. You 
 ought to have seen Miss Hollins when the 
 motor-car came for Miss Joyce, and Mr. Michael 
 Joyce rang the bell. You ought to have seen 
 how calmly, and how serenely, she asked him 
 in and introduced him to Miss Kirk and Pru- 
 nella and me. I knew him, of course, from the 
 other day ; and Dr. Britton and he shook hands 
 as if they had been old friends. And that Miss 
 Joyce is a dream, Mamma. No matter how you 
 feel you can't deny it. And her songs ! And 
 somehow, she 's so absolutely simple you can't 
 question her breeding. It's just as it is with 
 plate-glass, you know you can't see the glass. 
 Positively, I feel as if I 'd been juggled. I wou- 
 der what made Miss Hollins do it, Mamma." 
 
 Mrs. Ladd was toasting bread over an open 
 stove hole. She held her thin hand between her 
 face and the fire. 
 
 269
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " Because because it 's Lou's idea of being 
 a Christian," she said. " She 's doing just what 
 the Bible says, I suppose. But, then, dear as she 
 is, Lou Hollins never did have any social sense." 
 
 And Lou Hollins, snuffing the candles and 
 nibbling the crumbs of kisses in the bottom of 
 the Sheffield basket, declared, " Well, now my 
 conscience is easy, Prunella. And Miss Kirk 
 did have such a good time. And Olivia was per- 
 fectly charming, was n't she ! And the songs ! 
 Was anything ever sweeter ! Somehow" and 
 Miss Hollins laughed, as she always did when 
 she was going to say anything especially inti- 
 mate and tender " somehow, Prunella, it did 
 seem as if Mother would have been very glad to 
 have Bride playing on her piano and sitting on 
 that stool. Dr. Britton said he thought so. And 
 did n't he have the best time with you girls ! " 
 
 Prunella yawned. " Oh, he 's a dear ! " she 
 said. " Why, Aunt Lou, you Ve forgotten your 
 apron and with your best dress ! But I don't 
 see why the Irish are getting all the attention." 
 
 And perhaps the Irish were getting more 
 than their share of attention. At any rate, Fate 
 was concentrating upon certain Irish destinies. 
 
 It was that night, very late, that Bride woke 
 from her home dreams upon hearing the auto- 
 270
 
 THE MEETING OF THE WATERS 
 
 mobile whirl round the house. She awoke 
 enough to say to herself, " Thank God, he 's 
 back safe. I did n't like the look of him at sup- 
 per. An' away all this long evenin'." And then 
 she drifted back to a rocking boat on Killery 
 Bay, and had had a day's fishing when Patrick 
 opened her door and came in. 
 
 " Bride," he said, very softly, sitting on the 
 side of her bed. He smelt of fresh air and the 
 hand he clasped around hers was as cold as if 
 he had been in the very bow of the rocking 
 boat of her dreams. 
 
 "Yes, Pat! What is it?" she said quickly. 
 " It 's not sick y' are, dear ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! " he whispered on quickly. 
 "I'm all right only I had t' tell y'. I've 
 been all over the mountains thinkin' it out how 
 t' tell y'." And he put his other cold hand 
 around hers. "It 's just as y' said, dear, the night 
 in the garden. Sometimes sometimes it 's the 
 other one that 's not true. An' the other one, 
 Bride, is little Aileen. Brian Desmond 's the 
 lad, God bless her." 
 
 " The little cruel cat ! " Bride hissed savagely, 
 sitting up with a jump. " But it '11 not break 
 the heart of y', darlin'!" And her arms went 
 round his neck. 
 
 271
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " No, indeed, it '11 not break the heart of me, 
 dear ! " he said tenderly, " with y' f 'r a sister. 
 An' this new country 'twould be a strange 
 land for Aileen." 
 
 When he had gone as quickly and quietly as 
 he had conie, she sailed no more in a rocking 
 boat on Killery. 
 
 " The little cruel cat ! " she kept whispering 
 to herself, until she quite irrelevantly thought 
 of the pink and white Lowestoft cup at Miss 
 Hollins's tea-party that day, and of Olivia's 
 eyes under the big white hat.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE BLUE OF THE GENTIAN 
 
 JJY and Apollonia were eating their dinner to- 
 gether under the old rock maples in the school- 
 yard. Now and then a yellow leaf fluttered down 
 on Apollonia's sleek black hair, braided in the 
 thick plait with the red calico bow, or on By's 
 sturdy little shoulders in the shabby grey 
 sweater; and once a bunch of leaves, like a 
 handful of gold, fell right into his open dinner- 
 pail with the three doughnuts in the bottom. 
 There was a deep significance in the number of 
 the doughnuts. By had thought of it many 
 times since surreptitiously making a trilogy of 
 the two that his mother had thought enough 
 for his consumption. Two were for Apollonia 
 one for himself. 
 
 Two for Apollonia and one for himself was 
 exactly indicative of the state of his feelings 
 ever since the opening of school four days be- 
 fore. He and Apollonia had become one in their 
 championship of the new teacher, and it was 
 the opportunity to talk her over with breathless 
 delight, between bites, that had made them pool 
 273
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 their dinner-pails. Besides, there was the sym- 
 pathy that grew out of the sense of being the 
 teacher's mainstay and support in the running 
 of the school : By, the water-carrier, fire-tender, 
 clock-winder, floor-sweeper ; Apollonia, desk- 
 duster, flower-arranger, book-distributor, and 
 hovering angel to the little ones over their prim- 
 ers and with their coats and hats. 
 
 "Ain't her hands nice!" said Apollonia, 
 swallowing a chunk of sausage hurriedly. " But 
 she ain't got no rings." 
 
 " Shucks ! She ain't the kind that wears 
 rings," By exclaimed scornfully. " She can 
 plant turnips and rye just like a man, she can. 
 I saw her. And she ain't proud." 
 
 " She 's the proud kind, but she ain't," Apol- 
 lonia discriminated. "I could kiss her her 
 foot." 
 
 "I could n't. That's silly. But you bet she 
 ain't proud. Why, the other day she came t' our 
 house t' buy hens. Yes, she did. An' she car- 
 ried two of 'em tied together by the feet, all the 
 way home. My mother said t' let me, but she 
 laughed an' said she liked to." 
 
 "I don't like t' carry hens," commented 
 Apollonia slowly, "wizout shoes and stock- 
 ings. Zey pick y'." She was munching the first 
 274
 
 THE BLUE OF THE GENTIAN 
 
 doughnut and wondering about the fate of the 
 third. 
 
 " But she had shoes and stockings, of course," 
 By said, a little condescendingly. "An* that's 
 your doughnut, Apollonia. Sure it is. One 's all 
 I want. And and I brought that for you." 
 
 " Did y' ? My muzzer, I wish she can make 
 these cakes." 
 
 " Shucks ! My mother can make 'em lots bet- 
 ter than these. These aren't much. She can 
 make dandies with raisins in 'em an' frostin' on 
 top. An,' Apollonia, say ! I '11 tell y' somethin' 
 if y' won't tell nobody, not even Marinska 
 and Sofia. It 's a secret you know." 
 
 Apollonia looked at him with her solemn 
 black eyes. 
 
 " Not much I tell zat Marinska," she said. 
 " She tell lies. She say Teacher haf not enough 
 fat." 
 
 By could not wait for further oaths of se- 
 crecy. 
 
 "That feller that has the big dandy automo- 
 bile, I know him. An' he goes fishin' with me. 
 An' he gave me a dollar on the quiet, y' know, 
 an' he said to be good to the Teacher that 
 it 's right." 
 
 Apollonia swallowed the last of the last 
 275
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 doughnut hurriedly. "An* Fazzer Zujewski, 
 also he say to mind ze Teacher an* spick nice. 
 But he ain't gave me a dollar." 
 
 " He ain't got any, that 's why. But my 
 fel " 
 
 The school-bell jangled. Olivia stood on the 
 steps in her dull blue linen. There was a wild 
 sun-flower in her belt, the offering of the false 
 Marinska. Tony Kwiatkowski had relieved her 
 of the arduous task of bell-ringing, and it was 
 just as well, for Adam Wyszatchi, in a checked 
 blue gingham apron, held her right hand, and 
 Basia, his older sister, aged five, fervently 
 clasped her left. 
 
 And presently she was standing at her 
 flower-trimmed desk on the platform, with the 
 background of the picture of Washington 
 draped in the Stars and Stripes, and facing the 
 picture of Lincoln in the garland of bittersweet 
 that By and Apollonia had made for it. On each 
 side of Lincoln, a window made as inspiring a 
 picture, with the landscape of onion fields and 
 tobacco fields and stacked corn and red barns, 
 and beyond, the yellowing hills in the Septem- 
 ber haze. Through the side windows that looked 
 towards the west, flickering yellowish beams 
 fell in through the maples, and played over the 
 276
 
 THE BLUE OF THE GENTIAN 
 
 desks and the brown and black and blond 
 heads o the children. 
 
 " Copybooks, please," the teacher said in her 
 brisk voice that made work seem such a pleasant 
 affair. 
 
 And then Apollonia sprang up and went 
 among the rows with the pile of writing-books, 
 and nodded knowingly to By as she gave him 
 his. And Olivia went to the board on the wall 
 between the western windows and, in the flicker 
 of the maple leaves, stood writing carefully and 
 symmetrically and plumply, " CAT " in charac- 
 ters that she failed to recognize as her own. Not 
 even Dacre Welling, in all the letters that were 
 tucked into the various pockets of his various 
 coats in the studio in Paris, could have found 
 characters that at all resembled the ones Olivia 
 had so carefully put upon the board, nor the 
 ones that she proceeded, with a fine ear for 
 phonetics, to put under them : " Mat, Rat, Sat, 
 Bat, Hat, Tat, Vat." 
 
 " Say them over with me, children, carefully," 
 she smiled, "and then write them while we 
 count the strokes." 
 
 " Cat, Mat, Rat, Sat, Bat, Hat, Tat, Vat," 
 chanted the children. 
 
 By's hand flew wildly up into the air. 
 277
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 "What is it, Byron?" Olivia asked ap- 
 provingly. She was encouraging a judicious 
 freedom of speech. 
 
 " And Pat? " said By valiantly. 
 
 Olivia colored quickly. " That," she said 
 didactically, " that is only a proper name. Take 
 your pens, children. One two three " 
 
 And in an obedient moment, the heads were 
 all bent over the books and the brown little 
 hands were rounding the curves, leaving Teacher 
 to meet no eyes more curious than those of the 
 patriots on the wall. 
 
 And so the afternoon went on, the golden 
 flicker dropping ever lower and lower in the 
 maples. Olivia hardly felt the minutes go, so 
 much was she already a part of her new work. 
 That she "adored it" she had written Betty 
 Preston the very first night she had been a 
 teacher. And it was little wonder that she loved 
 it, when she herself found so much love awaiting 
 her. For the first time in all her highly trained 
 and skillfully developed life, she felt the im- 
 pulse to write a poem, as she looked down into 
 the limpid, smiling eyes of the children and 
 realized the little souls looking out at her. And 
 it was " a lyrical experience," as she told Betty, 
 when she felt their arms around her skirts, 
 278
 
 THE BLUE OF THE GENTIAN 
 
 clinging to her, and their small, trusting hands 
 in hers. And then the young gallantry and 
 loyalty of the bigger boys, By and his fellows of 
 ten and twelve ! Surely in such tribute a woman 
 got a breath of Arthurian chivalry ! So she wrote 
 to Betty, her college chum, who was trying 
 a similar, and yet very dissimilar, experience in 
 a Young Ladies' Preparatory and Finishing 
 School in Philadelphia. But to Dacre she 
 poured forth no such enthusiasms. He would 
 only smile skeptically at her sentiment, and be- 
 sides, somehow, although just how and why 
 she could not explain even to herself, she did 
 not care to have Dacre feel that she was finding 
 her winter's work and responsibility any too 
 easy or too pleasant. 
 
 It was perhaps half an hour after she had 
 dismissed her reluctant classes, staying, herself, 
 to prepare the work for the first period on the 
 following Monday, that By and Apollonia 
 were loitering along the Fernfield road, munch- 
 ing apples that grew on By's secret tree, and 
 keeping their eyes open for the blue patches in 
 the low, sunny fields that meant gentians. Just 
 as they returned empty-handed from a wild 
 run into a patch of low-growing asters, which 
 masquerade, sometimes, as gentians, a motor- 
 279
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 horn shrieked out ahead of them and a cloud 
 of dust whirled around a bend. Apollonia 
 scuttled back to the wall and climbed up. 
 
 "It's him! I bet it's him!" screamed By. 
 " That 's his horn. I know it every time." And 
 he stood in the butter and eggs by the roadside 
 and waved his arms delightedly. 
 
 The machine slowed down at his very toes, 
 and out of the dust there emerged the smiling 
 face of Mr. Patrick Joyce under a brown 
 leather cap that to By seemed as royal a thing 
 as an imperial crown. Apollonia put one leg, in 
 its wrinkled white cotton stocking, over on Mr. 
 Joyce's side of the wall. 
 
 " Want a ride ? " called Mr. Joyce gayly. 
 " Plenty of room, you see." 
 
 " You bet ! " By cried, beginning to climb in 
 over the door. 
 
 " But your friend ! Faith, y're not a very 
 gallant chap t' leave her behind." 
 
 " Oh, come on, Apollonia ! " By said non- 
 chalantly. " I forgot. Hurry up an' get in." 
 
 So Apollonia put the other leg nimbly on the 
 right side of the wall, and picking up her 
 school-bag and dinner-pail, as well as By's, 
 scuttled down to the car and climbed in. 
 
 " Both of y' in the back, please," said Mr. 
 280
 
 THE BLUE OF THE GENTIAN 
 
 Joyce, giving her a lift over the door. "It's 
 easier, the ridin', for little people like you. And 
 now I 'm going to take a little run up beyond 
 the schoolhouse to see whether Mr. Wojnarow- 
 ski has got in all his tobacco, and then we'll 
 go home." 
 
 So he gave a grand turn to the wheel, and 
 Apollonia clutched the seat with one hand and 
 By with the other, and in a flash they were 
 right back at school, slowing down a bit, per- 
 haps, and they could see Miss Ladd quite 
 plainly just in the act of locking the door. The 
 two in the back gave her a wild shriek of 
 greeting, but it was lost in the increase of 
 speed with which Mr. Joyce flew on beyond 
 the schoolhouse and up the hill and down over 
 the bridge and round by the North Fernfield 
 meeting-house and past Mr. Zashetzky's and 
 Mr. Zoszczezynsky's. He was all off the road 
 to Mr. Wojnarowski's, and By tried to tell him 
 so, but it was no use. He and Apollonia were 
 rattling round like peas in a pod and the horn 
 was tooting at the Polish children and the Po- 
 lish chickens that ran into the road. And then, 
 before he knew it, Mr. Joyce had made a swift, 
 wide turn, and, lo and behold, they were back 
 at the schoolhouse, slowing up just enough for 
 281
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 By to see that the shades were all down and the 
 place quite deserted. 
 
 u Gee ! " Apollonia gasped, brushing the hair 
 out of her eyes. " If I ever ! " And then gasped 
 again in terror lest Mr. Joyce run down and 
 over Miss Ladd, who was going along in a 
 leisurely fashion right in the middle of the 
 road ahead of them. 
 
 But such a catastrophe was averted, and in- 
 stead, the two in the back were beaming au- 
 dience for the little comedy Mr. Joyce out 
 in the road in a jiffy with his cap in his hand, 
 explaining that he had just been up to take a 
 look at Mr. Wojnarowski's onion fields and 
 that he had already picked up a part of Miss 
 Ladd's educational establishment and would n't 
 she now permit the other part to be picked up ? 
 And then Teacher, pink and queer as she had 
 never yet appeared in the school, and hesitating 
 as they had never seen her hesitate, and then 
 finally helped in as if she had been made of 
 sugar like the dogs and cats in the Christmas 
 stockings ; and then a brave turn of the wheel 
 and they were off again, Mr. Joyce looking very 
 straight ahead and Teacher's hat in her lap and 
 her bright hair blowing back from the face 
 that she turned towards him. 
 282
 
 THE BLUE OF THE GENTIAN 
 
 When they got to Fernfield Four Corners, 
 where they should have gone to the right, they 
 went quite to the left, and presently they were 
 flying along towards the very hills that had 
 been off in the haze all afternoon. To the two 
 in the back, the swift approach of the hills was 
 quite as much of a miracle as if they had 
 marched majestically down to the Fernfield 
 street; and the marvel of it all was so great 
 that they had no eyes for the flushed face that 
 Mr. Joyce turned to Miss Ladd, with a little 
 laugh and something about" Aileen, ever since 
 I was born," nor for Miss Ladd's smile and her, 
 " the beauty of friendships like that." And when 
 they had climbed so high in the hills that the 
 Fernfield meeting-house spire looked as small 
 as the hand on a watch, and they came upon a 
 high, sunny field that was as blue with gentians 
 as the sky over their heads, it seemed to By and 
 Apollonia that it was all just part of the fairy 
 story that the Teacher had begun to tell them 
 at recess the day that it rained. 
 
 " Suppose we all get out and pick those pretty 
 blue flowers for Miss Ladd," said Mr. Joyce, 
 when they had slowed down a little at the 
 roadside, under a scarlet maple. 
 
 " Suppose we do ! " laughed Miss Ladd. 
 283
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " And I will take a big bunch to Miss Kirk at 
 Miss Hollins's. Have you ever heard of Miss 
 Kirk, the blind lady who has lived with Miss 
 Hollins ever since she began to take board- 
 ers?" 
 
 Mr. Joyce had n't heard of Miss Kirk, al- 
 though he had seen Miss Loomis, the night of 
 the concert, leading some one with a pathetic 
 face, who seemed blind. And during the concert 
 he had looked several times at her. It was a 
 most interesting face. And it was of Miss Kirk 
 that they were still talking when By and Ap- 
 ollonia saw much bluer gentians a little farther 
 down in the field and ran to get them. But when 
 they came back, with the blue flowers bunched 
 quite up to their rosy cheeks, Miss Ladd was 
 talking of Paris and of a friend she had there, 
 and of how, before she went to college, she and 
 her friend had ridden all over those hills. It 
 was from her friend that Miss Ladd had learned 
 of that wonderful field where they were pick- 
 ing, and once he had made a little picture of it 
 for her. And Mr. Joyce had then said that he 
 would give much for a picture of it that day, 
 and then they had all got back into the machine 
 and away they had been whirled down the val- 
 ley road, leaving behind them a beautiful cloud 
 284
 
 THE BLUE OF THE GENTIAN 
 
 of dust, and workers in the onion fields shad- 
 ing their eyes from the lowering sun with their 
 brown, hard hands, to gaze after the rich folk 
 that had nothing to do. 
 
 When they again arrived at Fernfield Four 
 Corners, which is j ust half a mile from the middle 
 of Fernfield proper,, the machine stopped and 
 Mr. Joyce again alighted, while Miss Ladd ex- 
 plained, in most conventional tones, that a little 
 walk would do her lots of good after sitting still 
 all day in school, and that she wanted to stop at 
 the post-office anyhow, and Mr. Joyce said that 
 he understood perfectly. All the time, By was 
 wondering at Miss Ladd's unreasonableness ; for 
 could she not take her walk after the end of the 
 ride, and could she not go to the post-office just 
 as well in the automobile ? Indeed, it seemed to 
 By that nothing could be much nicer than to 
 whirl up to the post-office in that splendid ve- 
 hicle. But neither Miss Ladd nor Mr. Joyce 
 seemed to think that the post-office could be 
 reached so successfully by machine as on foot. 
 So By found himself face to face with a pain- 
 ful alternative when Miss Ladd turned and 
 said, 
 
 " By, will you and Apollonia walk home with 
 me? We are so much obliged to Mr. Joyce, 
 285
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 are n't we ? It has been a lovely ride, has n't 
 it?" 
 
 " I will," Apollonia said promptly, climbing 
 out over the door. 
 
 By caught Mr. Joyce's eye and remembered 
 the dollar. 
 
 "So will I," he added. 
 
 And then there was a gathering-up of books 
 and dinner-pails and gentians, and Mr. Joyce 
 was given a bunch for his sister, and then By 
 and Apollonia and Miss Ladd seemed to be 
 going very slowly along the state road, and Mr. 
 Joyce was just a speck in the distance. 
 
 " Give those to Miss Kirk and your aunt for 
 me, please, Prunella," Olivia said presently, 
 poking a bunch of gentians through Prunella's 
 little window. " What a good time we had at 
 your party ! " Then very carelessly, " Any letters 
 in our box ? " 
 
 " Oh, how perfectly lovely ! " Prunella cried. 
 "Where on earth did you get such big ones? " 
 
 " Oh, that's what comes of being a success- 
 ful teacher ! " Olivia laughed. " Floral offerings 
 all the time. By and Apollonia picked them for 
 me." 
 
 "Aunt Lou and Miss Kirk will be delighted," 
 Prunella said with a gentleness that was new to 
 286
 
 THE BLUE OF THE GENTIAN 
 
 her. " We had a nice time, too, at the party. 
 Were n't the songs beautiful ! Yes, here 's a 
 letter for you, Olivia, and a lot of bulb cata- 
 logues." And she handed out Burpee and 
 Farquhar and Vick and, in their midst, a letter 
 with a Paris postmark.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 HONEY FOR MADEMOISELLE PRUNELLE 
 
 J.N such matters, my dear Miss Lou, it is some- 
 times necessary to to deviate a little from the 
 truth. Not to lie, you understand. But to to 
 prevaricate, perhaps. The very derivation of 
 that word explains my meaning : ' praevaricari, 
 to stretch wide apart, to to walk not quite 
 quite straight.' And in so delicate a thing as a 
 love-affair and when it is Prunella who is 
 concerned ! And of course she has an inherit- 
 ance, my dear Miss Lou. Not from her mother's 
 side, God knows ! But there 's that little streak 
 of of Loomis stubbornness to look out for. 
 And then when we consider that he is Slavic 
 pure Slavic, I confess " 
 
 It was so that Dr. Britton had expressed him- 
 self that very morning when Miss Hollins had 
 met him on the street and told him that Pru- 
 nella had n't slept a wink the night before and 
 that she could n't be persuaded to take hypo- 
 phosphites and drink milk. 
 
 " She 's never still a minute, Dr. Britton 
 just as nervous as a witch. And she won't talk 
 288
 
 HONEY FOR MADEMOISELLE PRUNELLE 
 
 about it. And so I just thought I 'd take mat- 
 ters into my own hands I've had to do it 
 before in my life. And I have just about decided 
 to go and call on that Polish priest and find 
 out the truth about the boy. The priest seems 
 quite sensible but then, of course, I 've never 
 talked to a priest. And then how to keep it 
 from Prunella. That 's what I meant, Dr. Brit- 
 ton, when I asked if I should be justified in 
 in not confining myself to to the truth if 
 Prunella should ask me where I am going." 
 
 It was then that Dr. Britton had -made his 
 nice little discrimination and had derived his 
 Latin verb. A Greek or Latin root was to him 
 a deciding point. And so, fortified with etymo- 
 logy as well as with theology, Miss Hollins de- 
 liberately told Prunella that she was going to 
 see Mary Ladd and sallied forth to see Father 
 Zujewski. It made her conscience a little easier 
 to go the long way round by Mary Ladd's and 
 run in a minute to leave a sponge cake and tell 
 her how beautiful Olivia had been at the tea- 
 party, and hope that some day very soon they 
 could have a long day's visit together. But it 
 had not increased her peace of mind for Mary 
 to declare that times were too radically changed 
 for old friends ever to meet in the same old 
 289
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 way, and that, for herself, she never dared look 
 ahead. Olivia was doing all the looking ahead 
 and the planning and she was quite out of the 
 running. Mary's thin white hands with the worn 
 gold thimble, darning thin old napkins out of 
 the very same workbasket she had carred to sew- 
 ing society when she was a girl, with the same 
 tomato pincushion and the same heart-shaped 
 emery and the same brown morocco spool-case 
 those hands were disturbing enough to Miss 
 Hollins in their pathos without her twinge of 
 conscience when Mrs. Ladd said, in parting, 
 
 " Why can't you sit longer now, Lou ? I 'm 
 all alone. Olivia's days in school leave me much 
 alone. Where are you bound for in this direc- 
 tion, anyhow?" And then a flicker of Mrs. 
 Ladd's youth brushed her lips in a faint smile. 
 " The only places beyond here belong to un- 
 married men Dr. Britton and that Polish 
 priest. It does n't look well, Lou." 
 
 Miss Hollins matched the youthful smile in 
 her quick color. " But you see, Mary, if you 're 
 in the cake business and eggs are scarce, you 
 never know where you may have to go. And I 
 just must have at least two dozen to-day." That 
 was certainly not a lie. She must have the two 
 dozen before night, and she was n't sure Pru- 
 290
 
 HONEY FOR MADEMOISELLE PRUNELLE 
 
 nella could get them. " Good-bye, Mary ! I 'm 
 going to set the day for the visit and you 've 
 got to come." 
 
 " Good-bye ! You 're a dear, Lou, anyhow ! " 
 Mrs. Ladd called after her, standing in the 
 doorway in the clear, keen sunshine and shiver- 
 ing a little. 
 
 And then Miss Hollins heard the door close 
 as she went out of the gate and on down the 
 road to Father Zujewski's. She walked rapidly 
 and paid no heed to the asters like smoke in the 
 pastures, and the watchet of the hills in the 
 September haze. She was too busy arguing with 
 her conscience and planning for the interview 
 that was so dreaded and so imminent. But it is 
 no easy matter to plan what we shall say to, and 
 how we shall behave with, a person who is noth- 
 ing more than a name to us, especially when the 
 name is not very pleasant-sounding or very pleas- 
 antly suggestive. So Miss Hollins went on pic- 
 turing herself as addressing, with reserved yet 
 Christian kindness, either a fat monk with a red 
 nose, and a glass of wine in his hand, such as 
 she had seen pictured on smoking-sets for jovial 
 gentlemen, or a tall, sinister, dark-browed man 
 holding an uplifted crucifix in one hand, and 
 pointing with the other to an Inquisitional pile 
 291
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 of burning fagots, a figure such as she had 
 trembled to contemplate in the history-book of 
 her Academy days. Of the two, she at once de- 
 cided that she would find it easier to discuss the 
 delicate matter with the first ; then, her temper- 
 ance principles made the second seem infinitely 
 preferable. 
 
 However, just as she left the last of Dr. Brit- 
 ton's evergreen hedge behind her, and the small, 
 brown frame church with the cross-tipped bel- 
 fry came into view, flanked by the brown frame 
 rectory in its clump of yellowing apple and crab 
 and plum and cherry trees, with its ragged 
 brown buckwheat field and its pile of pumpkins 
 against the fence, all her preparations of the 
 gospel of peace were arrested and scattered by 
 the most extraordinary of noises. Had she ex- 
 pected any noise in so unexplored a spot, it would 
 have been the " droning chant of Latin hymns," 
 as the history had expressed it, from the church, 
 or, remembering Stefan and his intimacy with 
 the priest, the most lovely and appealing of har- 
 monies from the rectory. The din that so amazed 
 her, however, proceeded from the rear of the 
 house in the shade of the fruit trees, and was 
 of so fearful and barbaric a character that recol- 
 lections of the Tartars and their invasions 
 292
 
 HONEY FOR MADEMOISELLE PRUNELLE 
 
 flashed into her mind. It was the clangor of 
 iron upon tin, of discordant bells, of hoarse 
 voices yelling "Whoa! Whoa!" and it was ac- 
 companied by a thick blue smoke that rose in 
 clouds among the tree-tops. 
 
 Miss Hollins hesitated. Probably it was some 
 sort of outdoor service and her presence would 
 be embarrassing and her visit ineffectual. But 
 she would never dare to make the effort again. 
 She pushed the little gate wider open and 
 stepped in upon the garden path with its border 
 of cornflowers and snapdragon and mignon- 
 ette in an overgrown, half-frosted tangle. Poor 
 little Prunella ! It was n't much to do, after all, 
 when her happiness lay in its issue. And what- 
 ever the strange rites, Dr. Britton spoke highly 
 of the man ! 
 
 Just as her skirts brushed the last of the 
 mignonette and she stood upon the little stoop 
 preparing to ring the doorbell, the din grew 
 even wilder, the smoke thicker, and around the 
 corner of the house rushed what to Miss Hol- 
 lins's nearsighted eyes and excited fancy ap- 
 peared to be an officiating priest. He was heav- 
 ily veiled and thickly gloved and with a strange 
 weapon he seemed to be beating at imaginary 
 aerial foes. Reports in missionary journals flashed 
 293
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 instantly into her thought. But at the sight of 
 her, the man had come to a sudden halt, and by 
 the time she had fumbled for her glasses in her 
 little black bag, he had approached and was 
 saying in a quiet, pleasant voice, and in the 
 slowest and most barbarous of English, " You 
 will forgif us? Ze bees. Zey swarm all sudden 
 up in ze tree. Ze boy an' I, we mek big fight. 
 You will come in an' be so good an' wait fife 
 minutes?" 
 
 Miss Hollins laughed and got on her glasses. 
 
 "Dear me! Of course! I never thought of 
 bees. And swarming now? I thought June was 
 the time for swarming." 
 
 He held his Dixie bee brush gingerly with its 
 half-dozen crawling bees. "June iss ze time. 
 But whe^ ze summer it mek mistake an' stay 
 so long, zey mek mistake, too. Zey sink June 
 here once more again." 
 
 He laughed genially. Through the veil she 
 could see his dark bright eyes and his slow smile. 
 
 " It iss not hard to mek mistake an' be like 
 young again," he added, " when ze wevver it 
 mek June." 
 
 Of course, he could n't be the priest, she was 
 thinking. He fitted into none of her concep- 
 tions of priests. He was neither fat nor lean, 
 294
 
 HONEY FOE MADEMOISELLE PRUNELLE 
 
 nor, as far as she could read through his bee 
 veil and his manner, sinister nor threatening. 
 
 " Oh, I see ! " she said. " I don't know a thing 
 about bees. I 'm deadly afraid of them and all 
 other bugs. Then Father Zujewski is not at 
 home?" 
 
 The beeman laughed aloud heartily. " Zat iss 
 funny. I am Fazzer Zujewski. An' my bees, 
 zey will not sting you, if you will like to come 
 and see ze fun." 
 
 In her amazement she did follow him round 
 the house into the sweet, sun-flecked orchard, 
 with its rows of white hives on the close-cut 
 grass. And there she beheld another man, 
 younger and slimmer and more agile, and like- 
 wise veiled and gloved, perched in the big cherry 
 tree, in the cloud of smoke ascending from the 
 Corneil smoker carefully tended by a bee-acolyte 
 at the foot of the tree, the bee-acolyte being an 
 old woman with a little red shawl pinned over 
 her head. The barbaric clangor seemed to be 
 over, but on the grass under the cherry tree 
 lay a large dinner-bell, a tin dishpan, a tin pail, 
 an iron spoon, and a bulky potato-masher. No 
 doubt the old woman and the young man in 
 the tree and the veiled priest had all been per- 
 formers in the bee symphony. 
 295
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 Miss Hollins sat down upon a wheelbarrow at 
 a discreet distance and lifted up her skirts. It 
 was well to be prepared for flight. But no pre- 
 cautions seemed necessary; for the old woman 
 was gathering up the dishpan and the bell and 
 the pail and the spoon and the potato-masher, and 
 retiring behind the woodbine that covered the 
 back porch, and Father Zujewski stood calmly 
 under the cherry tree conversing in a strange 
 tongue with the veiled young man in the yel- 
 lowing branches. In another few minutes, the 
 young man descended with a box of bees in 
 his hand, and dumped them on a white cloth 
 spread in front of an open hive, and then stood 
 with Father Zujewski watching the little revo- 
 lutionists crawling peacefully back into their 
 quarters. 
 
 So serene and sunny, and so fragrant of ripe 
 apples and clover and catnip and mint and late 
 garden sweetness was the orchard that Miss 
 Hollins began to lose all fear of the interview 
 and to dream a little of nothing at all, as the 
 late summer days trick us into doing, when sud- 
 denly and quite dramatically she was recalled to 
 her mission. The bees, evidently, were all safely 
 housed, for the two beemen were turning away 
 from the hives, and coming across the grass to- 
 296
 
 HONEY FOR MADEMOISELLE PRUNELLE 
 
 wards her. So occupied and interested was she 
 in looking at the unveiled priest, before whom 
 she was so soon to lay her case, that she was 
 wholly unprepared when the younger man took 
 off both veil and hat and stood revealed before 
 her. 
 
 "Zis young man you will know," Father 
 Zujewski was saying, with a little smile. " He 
 iss my friend, Stefan Posadowski, who has so 
 beautifully played for us. He iss a- good boy." 
 
 And then, when Miss Hollins held out her 
 hand to the young man so well recommended, 
 he did what at home, in his own land, he had 
 been taught to do on greeting a lady who is 
 beautiful or good or wise or of high rank ; he 
 bent over her hand and kissed it with a fervor 
 that made Miss Hollins's heart skip a beat and 
 her cheeks grow a pink that was almost as 
 youthful as Prunella's. Then he looked very 
 frankly and directly into her eyes and stam- 
 mered, 
 
 " Fazzer Zujewski, he tell you about me. But 
 I, myself, I will tell how much I lofe ze beau- 
 tiful lady who iss your niece. I will lofe her 
 like" he flushed all over his thin, clear-cut, 
 olive face " like she she ze best friend of 
 of ze Madonna." 
 
 297
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 Tears blurred Miss Hollins's glasses. Pru- 
 nella glimmered in a halo caught from the pure 
 passion of her lover's words. 
 
 " Prunella is everything I have in the world," 
 she said. 
 
 And then Stefan went away over the grass 
 into the house without another word, and 
 Father Zujewski repeated, " He iss a good boy, 
 zat Stefan. His heart iss pure an' so God let 
 him mek gret music. An' will you not come 
 into ze house where we can spick togezzer? " 
 
 So she followed him into the rectory, with its 
 smell of baking bread, and its sunshine through 
 uncurtained windows on bare, well-scoured floors 
 with brilliantly ugly rugs of ingrain carpet, 
 and into a meagrely furnished little office with 
 a great ivy vine running around the white 
 walls, around the big black crucifix over the 
 desk and the pictures of St. Stanislaus and John 
 Sobieski and Leo XIII. 
 
 She began at once, when he had seated her 
 at the window by the starting-point of all the 
 green festooning, the ivy pot, and seated him- 
 self opposite her under the crucifix. 
 
 " You will be surprised at my coming when 
 you know why I have come," she said, going 
 at once to her point. " Your friend Stefan has 
 298
 
 HONEY FOR MADEMOISELLE PRUNELLE 
 
 disturbed my niece Prunella. We are quite 
 alone, Prunella and I, and she has always talked 
 everything over with me. But, you see, she has 
 never had a a " 
 
 "Alofer?" he finished gently. "Of course, 
 zen it is different. Zey must know, ze muzzers, 
 wizout ze young girls to spick, like ze ze 
 flowers under ze snow." 
 
 "Of course, and I do understand, but then, 
 Prunella is is peculiar. She has always been 
 proud and independent and has laughed at 
 at love and all that sort of thing. And of course 
 your young friend is foreign. We know nothing 
 about him, and his people are are not in the 
 least like us. I don't mean to say that Prunella 
 is in love with him. But she's been changed 
 and unlike herself ever since the concert." 
 
 He sat listening with the little smile of one 
 who could very well understand. 
 
 " And it just makes me anxious," she finished 
 quickly. "I must know something about the 
 young man so so that when when I do talk 
 to Prunella I shall know what to say. With 
 Prunella you must have facts, and even then 
 she '11 she '11 do as she pleases. She 's like her 
 father." 
 
 He got up and opened his desk and took out 
 299
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 a small miniature-case that seemed to have been 
 placed there ready to his hand. 
 
 "It iss ze muzzer of Stefan," he said, opening 
 it and handing it to her. " It will not mek you 
 to be afraid zat face." 
 
 And truly it did not make her in the least 
 afraid, that fine, clear-cut, dark face that was so 
 like and yet unlike Stefan's, under its garland 
 of small white roses, with the filmy scarf around 
 the white shoulders. The eyes and the delicate 
 droop of the mouth would have allayed any 
 fears as to what inheritance she had left him. 
 
 " She was ze sister of Wieniaski, name Alexia, 
 an' one great, wonderful voice God gafe her. 
 An' she sing in ze church in ze little village on 
 ze Vistula, an' a gret lady hear her an' she tek 
 her to Varsovie an' she study much an' sing an' 
 sing all ofer ze Czar hear her an' ze Kaiser 
 an' all ofer she sing. An' always in ze church 
 she lof e much to sing. Always was she pure an' 
 good, an' so iss Stefan. An' zen in Petersburg 
 comes Nicholas Posadowski an' he lofe her an' 
 she lofe him, an' he a gret prince in his country. 
 An' Alexia say, ( See here, I will nefer go wiz 
 you wizout we are all married. I good girl, an' 
 if I lofe, always I lofe, but I will be married 
 else I go not.' An' zey were married. Wien- 
 300
 
 HONEY FOR MADEMOISELLE PRUNELLE 
 
 iaski he has ze papers to show. An' ze family of 
 ze prince zey were crazy, an' zey say it iss not 
 marriage. An' in two year ze prince he die an' 
 Alexia an' Stefan are left, an' Alexia, she die 
 because her heart break, an' ze nuns in Var- 
 sovie, zey tek little Stefan. An' he stay by ze 
 nuns till Wieniaski he hear an' he come an' tek 
 him an* bring him here to America. So I haf 
 tole you ze story of Stefan. An' you will see 
 here, please." And he handed her another case, 
 and on the purple velvet lay the gleaming 
 thing that she had seen the night of the concert 
 on the lapel of Stefan's coat. " It iss ze war 
 medal of Prince Nicholas Posadowski," he fin- 
 ished, a little proudly. And as he finished, in 
 the next room the son of the prince began to play 
 a Polish folk-song, as if to remind those who 
 heard that his mother had come of the folk. 
 
 Miss Hollins drew a very long breath. It was 
 infinitely more astonishing than she had ex- 
 pected. It was quite as nice and romantic as any- 
 thing in Mary J. Holmes's novels. What would 
 Dr. Britton say to it all? And Olivia and Mary 
 Ladd ? And to think that her little hard-work- 
 ing Prunella was the heroine of it all ! But then 
 as a family they were entitled to it. 
 
 " Now you fill not afraid ? " he was going on 
 301
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 softly. " But best it iss that Stefan iss a good 
 boy. To be rich it iss much easy zan zan to be 
 unashamed before before angels. And now 
 he will go away to study to his own land. I haf 
 spoken much wiz Wieniaski, an' he haf much 
 onions an' he say ' yes/ an' Mrs. Wieniaski she 
 un'erstan'. An' before he go if if " he hes- 
 itated and colored faintly under his thick olive 
 skin. " I fill sure you need not to haf fear. An' 
 it will keep Stefan to be a good boy." 
 
 Miss Hollins colored, too, faintly, as she got 
 up and held out her hand. "Now," she said 
 firmly, " now I shall put it all into God's hands. 
 It's been taken out of mine. And I thank you." 
 
 "It iss a good place, in God's hands," he an- 
 swered as he returned her hand-clasp heartily. 
 " An' sometimes our prayers a long time zey 
 seem to stay zare in God's hands. But always 
 zey are safe. An' now you will haf a little 
 honey. It iss ze food for young ladies because 
 only of flowers it iss made." 
 
 When he had gone out, Miss Hollins stood 
 staring absently at the crucifix. In the next 
 room Stefan was playing softly as if he were 
 telling the piano many secret things. Leaf shad- 
 ows flickered on the bare floor. It was a large 
 moment. 
 
 302
 
 HONEY FOR MADEMOISELLE PRUNELLE 
 
 " To hive bees it iss much easy zan to guide 
 ze young hearts," he said, coming in with a 
 small basket filled with golden honeycomb in a 
 nest of grape leaves. " Ze bees, zey know always 
 what iss good to mek ze honey an' what iss not 
 good. It iss not always so wiz ze young peoble. 
 Much wisdom my bees gif to me to teach my 
 peoble. An' Mademoiselle Prunelle iss it not 
 so zat you call her ? she iss like a bee. She 
 has know what mek good honey." 
 
 An hour later Mademoiselle Prunelle was 
 spreading the honey on a slice of bread, twisting 
 it round and round in a golden rope on the 
 spoon. 
 
 " And you got it from a Polander on the way 
 to Mrs. Ladd's, Aunt Lou?" she said, biting 
 into the lusciousness. " I think I know the very 
 one you mean. Drives a bony horse in a little 
 red wagon and has a bristly beard ? Peddles 
 chickens, too. He lives out at Fernfield Four 
 Corners and has dozens of children. But it's 
 bully honey, anyhow." 
 
 "Probably," Miss Hollins said vaguely 
 through the little window in the pantry. " Now, 
 Prunella, I'm going to wash these dishes. 
 You've got to keep your hands out of the 
 dish-water."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 " ME HEART SENT ME FLYIN' " 
 
 IT was very late, almost midnight, and the pro- 
 blems in improper fractions seemed endless. 
 Olivia was wondering why in the world she had 
 given them so many problems at once when she 
 knew she would have to work each one out in 
 order to be intelligent upon the subject. If it 
 had been calculus or trigonometry ! But im- 
 proper fractions lined off in interminable little 
 pens in the painstaking little figures! When 
 she came to By Smith's paper she pondered it, 
 smiling. 
 
 " I love you and so does Apollonia," By had 
 carefully printed down the sides of his pens of 
 fraction problems. 
 
 They were her ardent lovers, the two child- 
 ren, with their offerings of last flowers and 
 best apples and little gourds and silky red 
 onions. To them, life out of school meant no- 
 thing but the search for means of passionate 
 expression. Latest had been Apollonia's dried 
 butterfly with its gorgeous yellow and black 
 wings. 
 
 304
 
 ME HEART SENT ME FLYIN' 
 
 The fire was low and she stirred the coals 
 into a little flame. She had brought her work 
 from her father's desk in the far corner by the 
 window, and sat near the hearth in her little- 
 girl rocker, with her papers near her knee. The 
 clock out in [the cold hall struck twelve. Mrs. 
 Ladd had gone up long ago with her little lamp 
 and her nightly, "Don't work too late, dear, 
 and get all tired out." 
 
 "I love you and so does Apollonia," her 
 thought still echoed even after she had put the 
 coveted " 100 " upon the paper and finished 
 the little pile that lay under it. Truly, school 
 was illuminated by the love that looked out of 
 the childish eyes. There was an ecstasy even 
 in improper fractions when they were added 
 and subtracted and multiplied and divided with 
 such hot childish love. And then and then 
 after school ! Even there, in the utter lone- 
 liness and quiet of the old study, even in the 
 highly inadequate light from the far lamp and 
 the dying fire, with only maps of state and 
 county, and engravings of prosy judges and 
 statesmen to look down upon her, even there 
 her heart beat fast and her cheeks burned. 
 After school countless times all during the 
 blue of October in the sweet Indian summer 
 305
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 that glorified November even now, in the 
 strangely gentle days of early December 
 there had been the automobile. It had all hap- 
 pened as quietly, as inevitably, as her going to 
 school in the morning, that he should overtake 
 her on her way home in the afternoon, and, after 
 stowing away two or more enraptured child- 
 ren on the back seat, whirl her off through 
 pale-gold cornfields with their yellow blotches 
 of pumpkins and squashes, past purplish patches 
 of beets, past garnered onion fields with their 
 long windrows of shimmering opalescent onions, 
 away to the far hills that looked so low and near 
 in the afternoon light. And sometimes so far 
 in the hills did they find themselves that a big 
 red hunter's moon hung in the black tree-tops 
 on Toby and gilded the watering-trough at 
 Fernfield Four Corners when they slowed down 
 at the familiar stopping-place. And yet she 
 could swear that they had been wholly imper- 
 sonal in their talk, those two on the front seat. 
 Wholly agricultural had been the purpose of 
 those joyous rides, wholly in accordance with 
 the earnest recommendations of the professors 
 in the Agricultural College two months before. 
 And they had vigorously discussed agricultural 
 problems, slowing up to see the immediate and 
 306
 
 ME HEART SENT ME FLYIN' 
 
 practical treatment of the fields so recently 
 harvested, in the ploughing and the fertilizing 
 with the tobacco stems of the recently garnered 
 crop; peering into the odorous dusk of onion 
 storehouses and doing problems to calculate cost 
 of storehouses and fertilizers and boxes for pack- 
 ing. Sometimes, the problems were passed on to 
 the radiant ones munching stolen apples on the 
 back seat, and the other two would go into the 
 stubbly fields where had grown the tent-tobacco, 
 and where shreds of the tent still fluttered from 
 the lines and poles, and there they would fill 
 their palms with soil and crumble it and compare 
 it ; and then, presently, when they had ridden on 
 a little way, there would be a stop at a brook 
 and Miss Ladd would spring out and run down 
 under the naked, shivering little birches and 
 alders to wash her hands. And one day she had 
 not gone alone ; his hands, too, needed washing 
 after the loam of the fields. And and that 
 was the only day that he had forgotten ! He had 
 stood on one side of the brook in the clear gold 
 of the sunshine, holding his hand to her on the 
 other as she had risen from the little pool, and 
 he had reddened as vividly as the swamp maple 
 behind them. And with a laugh in his eyes that 
 was yet full of something like sadness, he had 
 307
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 said, in a very low tone considering the fields 
 all around them, 
 
 " In my country, to clasp hands across water 
 do you do you know what it is meaning?" 
 
 And then she had burned with quick anger 
 and had turned away and got back to her seat 
 in silence, and going home there had been no 
 talk even of the heavy wagons loaded with bags 
 of onions that made the automobile swing so 
 far out of the road, and she had bitten her lips 
 and vowed never again, never again to go with 
 him. And at Fernfield Four Corners she had 
 not looked at him when little Stefanya and Leo 
 had turned with her away from him down the 
 village street. But she had gone again the next 
 day. It was better not to notice his foolishness. 
 
 Yes, she could swear to it that, except for 
 that day, never once had there been said any- 
 thing that Dacre might not have overheard 
 and Aileen. Somehow he had heard about 
 Dacre, and she had guessed about Aileen from 
 what Bride had said that day at the tea, and 
 then, too, there was that strange silver ring that 
 he wore. It was the fisherman's betrothal ring. 
 He had called it a Claddagh ring and she had 
 looked it up in the encyclopedia at the library 
 and knew all about it. She had told him that she 
 308
 
 ME HEART SENT ME FLYIN' 
 
 knew all about it, and he had got quite red, and 
 had said that perhaps she was too clever in her in- 
 ferences. And of course they both understood. 
 Their side of the affair was quite clear and safe. 
 And then they had been careful about Mrs. 
 Clabby and Prunella. Fernfield Four Corners 
 had always been the end of the ride. 
 
 But there was another side to the affair ; in- 
 deed, there were several other sides. In the first 
 place, her own respect for herself was humiliat- 
 ingly on the decrease. She had gone back on 
 her own principle, her own best judgment, her 
 proudest sense of family and tradition. But she 
 had had the satisfaction of telling him that at 
 first she had hated him, and then he had con- 
 fessed that at first he had hated and feared her. 
 And she had hated him heartily. She remem- 
 bered that first day in the town hall, that day 
 at the Major's funeral when she had so loathed 
 him, and had prayed that he and the other in- 
 vaders would be driven out, those days in the 
 Agricultural College when she had barely en- 
 dured having him in front of her, and then had 
 hated herself when she found that she was en- 
 during him, even tolerating him and not avoid- 
 ing him. And then, in the second place, there 
 had been the fear of what her mother was 
 309
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 thinking. Of course, she had told her mother 
 nothing, except that when on the rainy days 
 Mr. Joyce had brought her home, she had said, 
 lightly. " Was n't it nice of him, Mamma, to 
 bring me home ! " And Mrs. Ladd had looked 
 at her with a little smile and answered, "It is 
 very nice for him that you should permit him to 
 bring you home, dear. Don't let him be falling 
 in love with you. You are n't that kind, Olivia ! " 
 And then she had answered, again very lightly, 
 "How foolish, Mamma! He's engaged his 
 sister said so to an Irish beauty, whose pic- 
 ture hangs in the castle of the Duchess of Con- 
 naught." Oh, there was nothing she dreaded 
 more than her mother's delicate scorn ! And 
 now there were two things for her mother to 
 scorn, but with a very different kind of scorn. 
 If she should come to know about Dacre before 
 the the right time and how far and how 
 dim seemed that right time ! she would die of 
 scorn for Olivia's having been a fool, and she 
 would shrug her thin, graceful shoulders and 
 give a bitter little laugh, and say, " Why, my 
 dear, I 'm not in the least surprised. Even you 
 could not conquer heredity." But if she should 
 come to know of the automobile and the in- 
 vader's entrance into her proud stronghold, she 
 310
 
 ME HEART SENT ME FLYIN' 
 
 would say but little perhaps, " Of course, 
 it is hard for a girl to have none of her own 
 class around her. But then, somehow, Olivia, 
 I did count at least upon your discrimina- 
 tion ! " 
 
 And then the other side, the Dacre side. 
 That was where ghosts walked. Always there 
 the old Major's cold blue eyes looked at her and 
 his high old voice cried, " One generation of 
 ruin is enough. Make a man of him if you can.'* 
 And she was trying to make a man of him, al- 
 though as yet she had not had the courage to 
 " ask old Joyce about the life insurance." The 
 process of making a man of Dacre had seemed a 
 very different matter in the sweet June weather, 
 when she was flushed and confident after her 
 college triumphs, and still tingling with the 
 pain of telling him to go away after all those 
 long years of boy and girl sweethearting, and 
 when he had been there in all his gay master- 
 fulness and his beauty and his faith in her faith 
 in him. Then the process had seemed as sure 
 as that the old fields would yield great crops 
 if they were given their chance. But now ! 
 What was the matter with her ? She buried her 
 face in her hands and tried to think it out, the 
 Dacre side. What was the matter with him that 
 311
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 had not always been the matter? Was it that 
 she was getting her measure of a man ? 
 
 And then there was still another side, the 
 bitter, delicate side ! In June the mortgage 
 would be due. Suppose the old fields should n't 
 make a good showing ! Suppose the tobacco she 
 was counting upon from Wyzocki for her big- 
 gest money suppose it should n't be a suc- 
 cess ! Suppose it 
 
 And as she pondered, Dacre's setter whined at 
 the door, and she got up sleepily to let him in. 
 He had come down from her threshold where he 
 spent the night, probably to see why she had 
 not come to bed. As she opened the door into 
 the cold hall and he ran in, a noise upstairs 
 startled her. Could anything be the matter that 
 her mother was up? She could hear bottles 
 moving and closet doors opening. Then a long 
 dark shadow fell across the ceiling in the up- 
 stairs hall. More bottles rattled and one fell 
 with a little crash. 
 
 " Mamma ! Mamma ! " she cried. " Is any- 
 thing the matter? Are you ill?" It was all 
 quite plain now. Her mother was looking for 
 something in the medicine-chest in the upper 
 hall. " Are you ill, Mamma ? " 
 
 The light upstairs wavered. " The ginger, 
 312
 
 Olivia," came down faintly. " It hurts me to 
 to breathe " 
 
 " Yes, Mamma ! All right ! I 'm coming," 
 she cried. Thank God the tea-kettle was on, and 
 if the kitchen fire had n't gone out ! She caught 
 up the lamp and ran out to see. In the bottom 
 of the kettle there was a lukewarm cupful. She 
 poured it out and fled upstairs. 
 
 Mrs. Ladd had gone back to her room and 
 sat shivering on the side of the high old four- 
 poster, very gray and small in her dark flannel 
 wrapper. 
 
 " Why, Mamma dear ! Why did n't you call 
 before ? " Olivia cried. " There, get back into 
 bed. I have some warm water, and I '11 find the 
 ginger. You see, your bed is cold. That 's what 
 is the matter. Now I 'm going to warm you up." 
 And she lifted her back into bed and tucked 
 her in and found the ginger. " Nasty stuff, isn't 
 it, Mamma!" she said, bringing the glass. 
 
 " You ought to have been in bed long ago, 
 dear," Mrs. Ladd whispered as she drank. "Now 
 I '11 be all right. Go to bed, won't you ! " 
 
 " Right away, Mamma. Just as soon as I 
 heat some water to put into the hot-water bag. 
 There now ! You 're all tucked up. I '11 be back 
 in a minute." 
 
 313
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 And then she flew down again through the 
 dark, chill hall to the kitchen. Now, now the 
 very worst was coming, she was wildly thinking, 
 with her heart in her throat, as she lighted the 
 old kitchen lamp with the tin reflector and went 
 out into the woodshed for chips and kindling. 
 Anything for a quick fire ! Ben was welcome 
 company for her as she ran to and fro in and 
 out of the dark and the loneliness, with this new 
 terror in her heart, lighting the fire, filling the 
 tea-kettle, and then blowing the slow flames into 
 a flicker, alert all the while for the sounds from 
 above. But there were no sounds. The shabby 
 old rooms looked strange and unfamiliar in the 
 stillness and the long shadows of midnight. 
 When at last she bore her steaming pitcher up- 
 stairs, the memory of her father dead there in 
 the long parlors came vividly back to her with 
 a terror that she read as foreboding. 
 
 Mrs. Ladd had fallen into a heavy, quick- 
 breathing sleep, with feverish cheeks. Even 
 when Olivia put the warmth to her feet and 
 lifted her to drink hot water and whiskey, she 
 did not rouse, but drank obediently and then 
 rambled a little about letting out the tucks in 
 Olivia's little skirts. 
 
 The clock struck one. Olivia and Ben brought 
 314
 
 ME HEART SENT ME FLYIN' 
 
 more kindling and coal and built a fire in the 
 long-unused grate in Mrs. Ladd's room, sending 
 strange shadows of bed and canopy and of Olivia 
 herself up and down the walls and ceiling. Then, 
 there on the hearth-rug, they sat, listening and 
 watching during the interminable hours, Olivia 
 realizing and fearing and planning. At dawn 
 some one would surely be passing and she could 
 send for Dr. Barker and and for some one 
 else. But who was the some one else ? Not Mrs. 
 Archibald or Mrs. Clabby or Mrs. Egerton or 
 Sarah Tibbetts. None of them could she let inti- 
 mately near that proud, reserved mother of hers. 
 And Miss Hollins had her boarders and Pru- 
 nella was n't well. If there had only been Mrs. 
 Britton, as there used to be when any one in the 
 village was ill or in trouble ! But there was n't 
 Mrs. Britton or any one like her. And there 
 was school next day and no one to take charge 
 of it. And then she dozed off in the warmth, 
 resting her head against the big halfway house 
 chair, and dreamed that she was in the automo- 
 bile, and there was a child right in the road 
 and she clutched Mr. Joyce's arm and screamed 
 and With a start she awoke and sprang to 
 her feet. The clock was again striking. The 
 windows were gray. Her mother had turned 
 315
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 over and lay in the same feverish sleep with her 
 face to the faded wallpaper. From downstairs 
 there came suddenly the sound of the chopping 
 of wood. Ben's ears pricked. 
 
 It 's Timothy, Ben ! " she said. " He 's 
 come to chop the wood for breakfast. Bless 
 him ! Bless him ! Now we '11 see. We '11 see, 
 Ben." 
 
 It was Timothy, in muffler and mittens, chop- 
 ping kindling by the light of the cracked lan- 
 tern in the woodshed. 
 
 " Begorra, it 's a could mornin'," he cried 
 briskly, "an' not a wink of slape had I f'r 
 thinkin* o* ye widout kindlin' enough t' bile an 
 egg. But y're white as a shate,Miss, an' threm- 
 blin'. For God's sake, what ails y' ?" 
 
 Olivia stood shivering in the doorway. 
 
 " Mamma is very ill," she said tremulously, 
 " and you must get the doctor right away, 
 Timothy, just as fast as you can. I '11 make the 
 fire while you 're gone, and then there '11 be 
 some hot cof " 
 
 " Faix, it's not hot coffee I'm thinkin' of," 
 he broke in, dropping the hatchet and gathering 
 up an armful of sticks. " But it 's who else I '11 
 be bringin' t' help y', child. Y're not fit t' be all 
 alone wid all the cookin' an' the nursin'an' " 
 316
 
 ME HEART SENT ME FLYIN' 
 
 "No, no, Timothy!" she protested. "Don't 
 get any one. I 'm all right. Just the doctor, and 
 quick. Then we '11 do what he says. But I 'm all 
 right, Timothy." 
 
 " God love y', I will," he said vaguely, run- 
 ning to bring in a hod of coal. " I '11 have him 
 here as quick as that ould bone of a horse '11 
 bring him. God love y', child. Don't kill yerseF 
 with worry. It will all come right." 
 
 And then he scurried away in the frosty air, 
 and Olivia sank down by the kitchen table and 
 hid her face close in her hands. Somehow, faith- 
 ful old Timothy had been too much for her. 
 But she pressed back her tears and built the 
 new fire on the embers of the midnight one, 
 and ground the coffee, with breathless inter- 
 missions for listening at the hall door and for 
 running upstairs ; and soon broad daylight 
 filled the rooms. 
 
 In one of the throbbing intervals of listening 
 an unexpected sound startled her. It was a 
 motor-horn with a strangely familiar note. Very 
 clearly and cheerily it shrieked out in the frosty 
 air, growing ever nearer and nearer. Presently 
 it stopped and a machine rounded the corner 
 of the house. And then the tea-kettle began to 
 boil over, and there were voices outside and the 
 317
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 chugging of a big engine. She ran to the side 
 door and opened it. Perhaps it was the doctor 
 in the Joyces' motor-car. It would be just like 
 the Joyces to pick him up and bring him. 
 
 But it was old Timothy that was strutting 
 proudly from the machine, calling out to her, 
 " Faith, the doctor 's comin', but it 's hersel' 
 I Ve brought t' help y'." And following him 
 there came, neither so bravely nor so confidently, 
 but swiftly, and with both hands outstretched 
 to her, Bride Joyce. 
 
 " Y' can send me away an' it '11 be quite all 
 right," she was saying softly, "I'll understand. 
 But as I was going t' early Mass I met old 
 Timothy an' he was after tellin' me, an' me heart 
 sent me flyin' an' an' Pat said to come. It 's 
 very much I 've been with sickness, the way per- 
 haps I can help y', Miss Ladd." 
 
 Olivia leaned very limply against the door, 
 very weary and pale and disheveled. She was 
 becoming aware that at the wheel sat Mr. Pat- 
 rick Joyce and that he was looking at her. 
 
 " Bride would love t' stay with y'," he said. 
 " An' I '11 fly along up to school an' make it all 
 right f'r y'. You will, please?" 
 
 And then somehow Bride's arms went round 
 her and Bride led her into the house, and old 
 318
 
 ME HEART SENT ME FLYIN' 
 
 Timothy poured hot coffee. And when the doc- 
 tor had come and Olivia had taken him upstairs, 
 and there had been those fearful moments in 
 Mrs. Ladd's room with the shutters thrown wide 
 and the cold light and the little black stetho- 
 scope, it was again into Bride's open arms that 
 she went at the foot of the stairs to hear him 
 say, 
 
 " Your mother 's pretty well worn out, Olivia. 
 It 's pneumonia. There 's a chance, of course. 
 You'll stay, I hope, Miss Joyce?" 
 
 " Sure I '11 stay," Bride answered. " An* 
 we '11 take the chance, with God's help."
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 " TO TO SHE WHO ISS MY MUSIC ! " 
 
 ALTHOUGH Miss Hollins had promised to leave 
 matters in the hands of God, she found it very 
 hard not to assist in the management. Prunella 
 herself showed no such exalted intention of 
 abandoning her affairs to Divine Providence. 
 Indeed, she seemed to regard herself as wholly 
 capable of bringing them to a happy and digni- 
 fied conclusion. 
 
 A few days after she had first partaken of 
 Father Zujewski's honey, just as she was going 
 to open the noon mail, she stood at the kitchen 
 door, holding the screen so invitingly ajar that 
 no fly of even the lowest degree of intelligence, 
 would refuse to enter. 
 
 " Aunt Lou," she said abruptly, "it's because 
 you trust me and you don't laugh that I 'm 
 going to tell you. But it does make me feel like 
 a a fool to talk about it, after all I used to 
 say. I Ve thought it all out. You know what I 
 mean. And once a week, every Sunday night, 
 after I close the early Monday mail, I 'm going 
 to let him walk home with me. That 's not too 
 320
 
 TO TO SHE WHO ISS MY MUSIC 
 
 much, considering he 's going away, and and 
 he 's so fearfully respectful. Don't tell a soul, 
 will you, Aunt Lou? Don't whisper it to Olivia." 
 
 " Of course not, Prunella. But do shut that 
 door and keep the flies out. This mild weather 's 
 hatched out a new lot. And of course I trust 
 you absolutely, child. But I do wish you 'd 
 trust me more. I know a little about such 
 affairs." 
 
 " Oh, I do trust you, Aunt Lou. But I seem 
 so so silly to myself. And there's nothing to 
 tell." 
 
 And so Miss Hollins contented herself with 
 reading signs : the flowers and autumn berries 
 that Prunella brought home, her laborious and 
 unmelodious efforts to pick out the scale from 
 the old green " Easy Method for Piano Play- 
 ing," the newly careful and coquettish way she 
 did her curly brown hair, the old white gloves in 
 which she slept or lay awake after copious 
 anointings with Orange Flower Skin Food, the 
 small Polish Primer that fell out of the shabby 
 black cloth bag she carried to and from the 
 post-office, and, most significant of all, the care 
 she took to speak of the new residents of Fern- 
 field as " the Polish people " and not " the 
 Polanders." And as well, on the four or five 
 321
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 Sunday nights between the gladioli Sunday 
 and Stefan's farewell, all the while that Miss 
 Hollins sat trying to put her mind on the 
 Scriptures, she was really listening, with throb- 
 bing heart, for lingering footsteps in the 
 quiet street, and for Prunella's softly murmured 
 " good-night " at the gate. 
 
 And Miss Kirk, too, read signs, but not 
 aloud, except one night in the dark in the up- 
 stairs hall, when she pressed into Prunella's 
 hand a little leather case, whispering, " There, 
 dearest, don't say a word. Just wear it on a 
 little white ribbon around your neck where no 
 one can see it. It will help you with your 
 music." 
 
 Prunella took it breathlessly and ran down 
 to the kitchen where Miss Hollins was making 
 pumpkin pies. 
 
 " Do look, Aunt Lou ! See what Miss Kirk 
 has given me," she cried. "It's a secret, but 
 you'd see it anyhow if I wore it around my 
 neck as she said to do." And then she gave a 
 little gasp and grew rosy as the opening of 
 the little case revealed a small locket of black 
 enamel with a purple and gold diamond-hearted 
 pansy in the middle and a little empty place in- 
 side for a picture. 
 
 322
 
 TO TO SHE WHO ISS MY MUSIC 
 
 " It 's just the thing, Prunella," Miss Hollins 
 exclaimed. "Now you do just as Miss Kirk 
 says." 
 
 And that night in the dark hall Miss Kirk 
 was as much astonished as if bandits had rushed 
 out from the fastnesses of the housemaid's closet, 
 and flourished poniards, for Prunella stole out 
 and kissed her. 
 
 But seemingly, as the days wore on and the 
 North German Lloyd Steamship Company 
 booked Mr. Stefan Posadowski, second class, 
 for the first December sailing, Stefan himself 
 was not content to leave affairs wholly in the 
 hands of Providence. 
 
 Prunella, indeed, intimated as much when 
 she said abruptly, polishing the brass knocker 
 until she herself shone from it in refracted bits 
 of color, 
 
 "Stefan 's coming to see you to-morrow morn- 
 ing, Aunt Lou, about ten, to talk talk over 
 things. And you said to get Sultana raisins and 
 Welcome soap and " 
 
 " For pity's sake, Prunella ! In the morning! 
 Whatever shall I do ! I can't put on my china 
 silk in the morning. I never did such a thing 
 in my life." 
 
 " But why should you, Aunt Lou ? Stefan 
 323
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 does n't care. He does n't know the differ- 
 ence." 
 
 " But the appropriateness, Prunella ! That 's 
 one thing you 've always lacked, dear, a sense 
 of appropriateness. And as a family we 've al- 
 ways had it." 
 
 " Appropriateness ! Dear me ! Poor Stefan ! 
 Mrs. Wieniaski " 
 
 " Mrs. Wieniaski has nothing to do with it, 
 Prunella. Stefan is n't of her blood. He 's Mr. 
 Wieniaski's sister's child, you said." 
 
 " I know I did. But Mr. Wieniaski is n't 
 what you 'd call a a " 
 
 " That does n't make the least bit of differ- 
 ence, my dear ! It 's wholly a matter of appro- 
 priateness. And somehow you need n't say a 
 word I '11 slip upstairs and get on my china 
 silk before he comes." 
 
 And the next morning Prunella was not 
 sorry the china silk graced the occasion, but 
 she was unprepared for the point-lace collar that 
 replaced Miss Hollins's usual frill of net, and 
 for the brooch of clustered diamonds that usu- 
 ally was safely hidden in an old stocking be- 
 tween the mattresses on the fourposter. After 
 the brooch, she was not unduly amazed to see, 
 upon Miss Hollins's delicately turned wrist, the 
 324
 
 TO TO SHE WHO ISS MY MUSIC 
 
 fringed bracelet of ribbon gold that ran through 
 a slide. So arrayed, Miss Hollins sat in the 
 parlor by the centre table, with the family Bible 
 not inconspicuous among the photographs and 
 flowers and little china ornaments. But Pru- 
 nella did not stop for more than a glance when 
 she rushed in from the office and fled upstairs 
 to hide herself. 
 
 However, in the very brief interval between 
 ten o'clock and seven minutes after, when the 
 front gate clicked, Miss Hollins saw various 
 flecks of dust on various objects, and made swift 
 dabs at them with her best pocket handkerchief. 
 After one of these excursions, she had hardly 
 time to compose herself at the table, with her 
 hand on the family Bible, as seemed right and 
 proper, when Robbie opened the front door 
 with perhaps indelicate promptness and ushered 
 Mr. Stefan Posadowski into her presence. The 
 matter of Robbie's answering the bell had been 
 a confidential arrangement. Prunella would not 
 have understood its appropriateness, and Rob- 
 bie had been quite willing to wait in the cloak 
 closet under the stairs. 
 
 And when Stefan entered, Miss Hollins was 
 at once agreeably aware that she had been 
 right in insisting upon the appropriateness of 
 325
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 certain arrangements to such an occasion, and 
 as well that it really was a good deal of an occa- 
 sion. Stefan's pale face and grave bearing, the 
 pink rosebud in his button-hole, and the bunch 
 of full white Druschki roses that he handed to 
 her as he bent over her hand and kissed it with 
 his fervent, "My heart is at ze feet, gracious 
 lady," all this very extraordinary behavior 
 on the part of a guest in the little parlor made 
 Miss Hollins feel very sure that nothing could 
 be too appropriate to such an occasion. 
 
 "Do sit down," she said cordially, when she 
 had recovered her hand. " And thank you so 
 much for the roses. They are most beautiful. I 
 did n't know you could get such roses at this 
 time of year." 
 
 Stefan had seated himself on the extreme 
 edge of the most uncomfortable of the high- 
 backed, spindle-legged chairs. He held his soft 
 gray felt hat in his slender, shapely brown 
 hands. As she spoke, a faint color came to his 
 olive cheeks and he swallowed hard. 
 
 " Ze city," he said. " In ze city I get zem. 
 Zey are nutting." 
 
 " Oh, they are lovely ! " she insisted. " And I 
 have never seen you to thank you for the fine 
 music at our ccmcert." 
 
 326
 
 TO TO SHE WHO ISS MY MUSIC 
 
 He colored more deeply. " I like if you like 
 it," he said. 
 
 And, meanwhile, she was wanting to say 
 every kind thing in the world to this shy, un- 
 comfortable young man with the very clear eyes 
 that looked so frankly, and yet so beseechingly, 
 into hers. She blushed as she realized that she 
 would really like to put her arms around him 
 and kiss his forehead and say to him, " My boy ! 
 My boy ! I 've seen the picture of your beauti- 
 ful mother. You have her eyes." But, of course, 
 she said nothing that was of so sentimental a 
 character, and no one would ever have guessed 
 that she was even thinking it. She did, however, 
 have the inspiration to leave the shelter of the 
 family Bible and seat him less formally. It sud- 
 denly seemed to her that tact and graciousness 
 were the easiest things in the world. 
 
 " Suppose we sit over on the davenport," 
 she said. " Then we can talk much better." 
 
 And when they were side by side she found 
 herself going on surely because Providence 
 was helping her 
 
 " And the other day your priest told me 
 your wonderful story. Your story is like what 
 you play." 
 
 " It iss what I play zat an' my country's 
 327
 
 THE INVADEKS 
 
 story, an' now now, ze uzzer story," he said 
 in a lower tone. " Always now I am playing ze 
 uzzer story." 
 
 " The other story ? " she laughed. " Prunella, 
 you mean? She's a dear child, anyhow." He 
 was crushing his hat-brim in his supple fingers. 
 
 " To me she iss pure like stars, an' beautiful 
 like flowers. I cannot gif her stars. Stars I mus' 
 play to her. But flowers I bring." 
 
 " She is a dear, good child, Prunella is," she 
 repeated. She was getting a little frightened at 
 his grave intensity. Her own heart began to 
 beat too fast. Then quite suddenly so much 
 happened that she forgot everything but an old 
 steel engraving called " The Suppliant Lover " 
 in " The Lady's Keepsake " in the parlor of her 
 childhood. 
 
 Stefan, quite pale again, was the Suppliant 
 Lover. He had once more lifted her hand and 
 kissed it fervently while he sank upon one knee 
 at her side and looked at her with eyes that 
 burned as pure as Grail lights. 
 
 " You will forgif, gracious lady, if too much 
 I ask," he began finely and fervently. Then 
 less finely and even more fervently, " I lofe her. 
 Next by God I lofe her. Not yet I tell her. I 
 wait zat you say ' yes.' An' zis I tell you. I haf 
 328
 
 TO TO SHE WHO ISS MY MUSIC 
 
 of myself all to gif her. I haf no money. 
 That I mek for her. But of myself I haf all 
 all since I was born. Never no uzzer woman. 
 My fazzer, he was prince. But Fazzer Zujewski 
 he say, all time, it iss more high than prince to 
 haf all to gif to a woman I lof e. I haf all an' 
 if you will trus' ! Ze money I mek wiz my fin- 
 gers. An' zen I come back " 
 
 And then it was that Miss Hollins achieved 
 her highest. She leaned forward and put a hand 
 on each of Stefan's shoulders, and kissed him 
 right on his forehead under the lock of hair 
 that would n't lie smooth. 
 
 " My boy ! My boy ! " she murmured. " Of 
 course I'll trust you. Now you wait a minute." 
 And then, while he was getting up from being 
 the Suppliant Lover, she went into the hall and 
 called quite clearly, "Prunella! Prunella! 
 Come quickly ! " 
 
 And Prunella came quickly, flushed, very 
 bright-eyed, tremulous, and stood uncertain on 
 the threshold. 
 
 " I 've kissed him on the forehead where his 
 mother would like to kiss him, dear," Miss Hol- 
 lins said. " Now I 'm going to get him a cake 
 to take away with him." 
 
 And as she went, she knew, although she 
 329
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 did not look back, that Stefan dropped his hat, 
 and took Prunella into his arms, and that Pru- 
 nella did not kiss him on the forehead. 
 
 When presently she returned with one cake 
 all tied up in a box ready for any amount of 
 rushing by land and tossing by sea, and another 
 cut into golden slices on a Canton plate, flanked 
 with little glasses and a small fat decanter of 
 dandelion wine, it seemed as natural as daylight 
 for Stefan to be holding Prunella's right hand 
 and for Prunella at that moment to be gazing 
 at a ring on the ring finger of her left hand. 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Lou ! See ! Is n't it adorable ! It 
 was Stefan's mother's," she cried, half in a 
 dream. 
 
 And it was adorable, the ring made of six 
 fine, fine little rings, each banded with a differ- 
 ent jewel. 
 
 " Ze nuns, when my muzzer die, always have 
 kept it for me," Stefan explained, looking up 
 with his half smile. 
 
 " Of course it 's adorable," Miss Hollins said, 
 putting down her tray next to the Bible. "But 
 it's no more adorable than Stefan's mother 
 was. Wait till you 've seen her picture, Pru- 
 nella. You see, I Ve known all about Stefan 
 for for some time. And I suppose he is too 
 330
 
 TO TO SHE WHO ISS MY MUSIC 
 
 modest to tell you that his father was a prince, 
 Prince Nicholas Posadowski. I've known all 
 about it, of course, Prunella." 
 
 Prunella lifted Stefan's hand and shyly and 
 quickly kissed it. 
 
 " No, he has not told me," she said, still 
 dreamily, looking at him with a deep little 
 smile. " It would be all right anyway." 
 
 Miss Hollins was passing the cake. "Now 
 take a big piece, Stefan," she said. " It 's good 
 cake, if I do say so as should n't. And here 's 
 your wine. Prunella gathered the dandelions. 
 And the glasses my father used when he enter- 
 tained the Massachusetts Bench." 
 
 Stefan sprang up and touched his glass to 
 Prunella's. Then high against the sunny east 
 window he watched it sparkle, his face flushed 
 and smiling into a new Stefan. 
 
 " To to to she who iss my music ! " he 
 said. Then he bent to touch Miss Hollins's 
 glass. " An' to to she what gif me my music ! " 
 he finished as he drained his glass.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 TAKING THE CHANCE 
 
 \\mLE Fate was spinning so fast and so sure 
 for Prunella and Stefan, Olivia and Bride were 
 taking the chance in the sad old house through 
 the gray days that ever threatened snow. And 
 truly not much of a chance did it seem from 
 the very first, with Mrs. Ladd every day more 
 and more of a hoarse, delirious shadow in the 
 high-posted old bed, talking, talking, telling all 
 the close-hid secrets of years, and always with 
 the muttered refrain about the Irish stealing 
 the place from her. At first, when the querulous 
 voice had begun its revelations and its com- 
 plaints, Olivia's impulse had been to keep Bride 
 out of the sick-room and to take all the nursing 
 herself. But Bride, in her noiseless white gown, 
 had gone to the bedside and laid her cool, firm 
 hand on Mrs. Ladd's hot wandering one a mo- 
 ment, and then had lifted her and turned her 
 pillows, and said, " Go to sleep, dear one. Go 
 to sleep. Everything 's all right, sure ! Go to 
 sleep ! " And Mrs. Ladd had gone to sleep, just 
 as if it had not been the brogue that had soothed 
 332
 
 TAKING THE CHANCE 
 
 her and the hand of an Irish invader that had 
 turned her pillows. And then Bride had put an 
 arm around Olivia, nervously sweeping up the 
 hearth, " Sweetheart, y'll not mind me," she 
 had said. " It 's ever since I was a child I 've 
 been with the sick an' I love them. Faith, y* 
 wouldn't mind what they are sayin'. It's what 
 the well say that y' mind." 
 
 And so Bride stayed in the sick-room, in full 
 possession, with her nurse's chart, in which she 
 wrote every detail in her fine convent hand, and 
 her little thermometer, and her bright fire, and 
 her open windows, and in fullest measure, Dr. 
 Barker's confidence. It was not by any means 
 the first Fernfield sick-room in which she had 
 been his mainstay and support. Meanwhile, 
 downstairs Olivia and old Timothy kept up the 
 house and cared for the hot-beds and cold- 
 frames, Olivia thanking the overruling powers, 
 whatever they were, that Bride was so efficient 
 and so tender where she herself could not en- 
 dure to be, and yet longed to be. Never once 
 did she softly turn the knob and tiptoe in with 
 fresh water or squeezed beef juice, or a cup of tea 
 for Bride, or the wood that Timothy left at the 
 door, that her heart did not sicken with the con- 
 flict of longing to stay, and yet of fearing, fear- 
 333
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 ing the changed mother in the bed. So down- 
 stairs she worked savagely, with flaming cheeks 
 and freezing hands and a voice that did not 
 sound to her like her own. That Patrick Joyce 
 was there off and on all day and steadily all night, 
 anticipating every want and need, and ready 
 for every emergency, made no more difference 
 to her than that old Timothy sat in the kitchen 
 with his mittens on and his muffler round his 
 shoulders, as prepared as a fireman for her call. 
 She saw Joyce down a long, long perspective 
 of fear, and the bitter worst that was coming 
 to her seemed like the blight of winter between 
 them. But still, vaguely, far off from her im- 
 mediate consciousness, there was a comfort in 
 his big fur coat on the rack in the hall and in 
 the ring of his motor-horn in the stillness. 
 
 Once, when he found her sitting dejectedly 
 by the kitchen table with her head buried in 
 her arms, he produced a flask from his deep 
 coat pocket, and when she looked up, smiling 
 wanly at him, he went boldly into the pantry 
 and found a glass and poured it red and full, 
 and then came to her and said, quite gravely 
 and firmly, " You must drink this sherry. You 
 must. You can't kill yourself. You must." 
 
 And she obeyed him and nibbled the cracker 
 334
 
 TAKING THE CHANCE 
 
 he brought from further exploration. Then, 
 when he came back after a whispered talk with 
 Bride in the hall, and found her drowsy from 
 the wine and her vigils, he drew the lounge 
 nearer the fire and beat up the cushions with 
 the vigor of a prize fighter, and said, " Come, 
 now, and lie down. That 's a reasonable child. 
 Bride says the temperature 's down quite a bit 
 and she's sleeping. Now you will sleep, too, 
 for a while, in the warmth." And she got on 
 the couch and he put the old red afghan over 
 her and she went to sleep. And not once did 
 she protest. He was too remote for her to care. 
 Dacre, too, seemed far out of her life, so far that 
 the rareness of his letters did not matter to her. 
 Everything seemed far away and in the same 
 dim perspective, except the mother upstairs in 
 the big front room with little Bride taking the 
 chance for her. 
 
 But worst were the vigils at night when 
 Bride unwillingly left for some rest in the room 
 across the hall. Then Olivia sat in the glow of 
 the little night lamp, shrunken into herself in 
 fear, her big eyes on the bed over there in the 
 shadow, sometimes venturing near and, on her 
 knees, taking her mother's hot hand between 
 hers and saying over and over in the depths of 
 335
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 her thought, " Bravest Mamma ! Bravest Mam- 
 ma ! It was to give me everything that you 
 gave all." Then she would turn quickly away 
 with her fingers in her ears, stricken with the 
 rambling talk, the calling upon old names and 
 the terror of old sorrows. 
 
 The neighbors came in to help and to sym- 
 pathize. With them all she was very composed 
 and very confident, and not communicative. 
 In the matter of their coming to stay with her 
 and help, she was very firmly decided. They 
 were very, very kind, but there was not the least 
 need of it. Miss Joyce was most kind and a 
 most experienced nurse. Dr. Barker had asked 
 her to stay. It was a great favor on her part. 
 And there was really very little to do but wait 
 for the crisis. In pneumonia there was so little 
 one could do. With Dr. Britton, however, she 
 was a much less self-possessed Olivia. She talked 
 more freely, and brushed away tears when he 
 spoke of her mother's courage, and even got 
 down on her knees when he ventured to pray 
 with her. But even with him she was quite 
 as firm in her refusal to have Mrs. Archibald 
 or Miss Tibbetts or even Miss Hollins in to 
 help. 
 
 " Mamma would be exceedingly displeased to 
 336
 
 TAKING THE CHANCE 
 
 have any outsider come in," she said. "You know 
 Mamma well enough for that, Dr. Britton." 
 
 " But, my child, Miss Joyce is is very much 
 of an outsider," he ventured. 
 
 " Mamma would not refuse to have the nurse 
 the doctor asked to have," she said finally. 
 
 And so he went away, thinking as he put on 
 his coat out in the cold hall, of all the sad days 
 he had seen in that old house, and praying that 
 God would hold Olivia in the hollow of His 
 Hand. 
 
 " Sometimes, sometimes, He hides us so safe 
 in the hollow of His Hand, and in the shadow 
 of His Wing, that His ways with us are not 
 seen by those who love us and fear for us," he 
 was thinking as he folded in his black silk muf- 
 fler and went down the garden path through 
 the light snowfall. 
 
 When Miss Hollins came, things were very 
 much easier. Miss Hollins was so thankful Bride 
 was there. Bride was very wonderful, equal to 
 anything, and such a dear ! But then she would 
 gladly come, too, if Olivia wanted her. Olivia 
 knew that. Miss Hollins loved Mary Ladd just 
 like a sister. And Prunella was feeling much 
 better, quite like a new Prunella. No, it had not 
 been the tonic and the milk. It had just been 
 337
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 that that things looked different to Prunella. 
 And there were n't many regular boarders ex- 
 cept for meals, and she could come as well as 
 But Olivia would not hear to it yet. If if 
 if things weren't much better soon, then 
 Miss Hollins must come, but not yet, not just 
 now. All the time, as she talked to Miss Hol- 
 lins and the other old friends and neighbors, she 
 was thinking of the secrets that were being 
 chattered out so piteously upstairs in the big 
 front room. 
 
 So Miss Hollins had gone away, and sent 
 back cake and brandy peaches and dandelion 
 wine and baked beans and a mince pie and a 
 roast fowl, all tucked into Bobbie's little red 
 wagon, with Bobbie as motive power, in the 
 purple muffler and mittens she had just made 
 for him between times. 
 
 Then had come the night of the crisis. 
 Strength was at so low an ebb that the poig- 
 nant raving was silenced and only the labored 
 breath and the plucking fingers gave sign of 
 life. Bride was on her knees with bowed head 
 every moment she was not hovering near her 
 patient. The doctor had come at six and would 
 come again at twelve, in spite of the blinding 
 snow that had been falling since dawn, muffling 
 338
 
 TAKING THE CHANCE 
 
 the whole world out from the sad old house. 
 Olivia went up and down, a thousand ages 
 older than herself, with dry throat and flaming 
 cheeks and cold hands. Downstairs, Patrick 
 Joyce tended the fires and walked back and 
 forth, back and forth the length of study and 
 dining-room, and old Timothy, with the dog at 
 his feet, crouched by the kitchen stove, rubbing 
 his hard old hands together nervously in his en- 
 forced idleness and dropping into little dozes. 
 It was a relief that the paths needed shovelling 
 so often and the fires burnt out so soon. 
 
 Presently, with a little gust of cold hall air, 
 Olivia came into the study and shut the door. 
 
 " Won't you won't you rest on the lounge, 
 Mr. Joyce ? " she said. " I 'm quite fresh and 
 ready and you're so tired. I'm just killing you 
 and Bride." She sat down in her little-girl 
 rocker by the hearth and held her cold hands 
 to the blaze he had made so cheerful. 
 
 " Oh, no, indeed ! I 'm not a bit tired. And 
 you 're you 're very good to Bride and me to 
 let us help you. It is what Bride loves above all 
 things, that she can help those that she loves." 
 He leant on the high back of the armchair 
 opposite her and looked at her a moment, and 
 then away from her into the flames. 
 339
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " There 's a chance ! There 's a chance still," 
 she exclaimed breathlessly, clasping her hands 
 tight in her lap. 
 
 " Of course there 's a chance. There 's a 
 great chance. Just keep believing and trusting 
 that." 
 
 " I wish I wish I could do what Bride is 
 doing," she sighed. 
 
 " Faith, I can guess what Bride is doing," 
 he said, with a little smile. " It 's the best thing 
 one can do." 
 
 " Can you do it? Can you? " 
 
 " I can't do it like Bride, the way it 's like 
 like speaking with your Father, so sure it is 
 and so loving. But I can can stammer a bit." 
 
 She started up and sat down again. It was 
 the clock striking eleven. She had grown 
 whiter even in the firelight. She buried her 
 face in her hands. Joyce stood very still 
 watching the low flames shining on her bowed 
 head. She looked up before he had looked 
 away. 
 
 "In one hour!" she whispered. "In one 
 hour ! Oh, I wish I could ! " Then she got up 
 and going to the window pulled back the old 
 red rep curtains. " Wonderful ! Wonderful ! " 
 she whispered on, looking out at the dim white 
 340
 
 TAKING THE CHANCE 
 
 world beyond the drift-piled windows. " Real 
 Christmas weather. And snow 's so good for 
 tobacco fields." 
 
 Then she went into the kitchen, to Timothy 
 asleep by the stove. 
 
 " Why in the world don't you go to bed, 
 Timothy ? " she said. " You '11 make yourself 
 sick. There 's nothing more to do to-night." 
 
 He awoke with a start. "Shure, Miss, an* 
 there 's the paths to shovel for the doctor. And 
 there 's no slape in me eyes." 
 
 " Oh no, no, Timothy. Everything has been 
 done. You go to bed and get a good sleep. 
 But first, here 's some hot coffee and dough- 
 nuts for you. Miss Hollins's doughnuts,Timothy . 
 You know how good they are." 
 
 And Joyce, from his place by the fire, could 
 see her pouring out the coffee and stopping to 
 roll the doughnuts in powdered sugar, and set- 
 ting out the sugar and cream. 
 
 " Let me see, Timothy," she said. " It 's three 
 lumps you take ? " 
 
 " It is, Miss. God love y' ! " 
 
 Then she came back to her little chair for a 
 moment, and stared into the fire, and Joyce 
 went on with his walk. 
 
 " If you you could, please, please, be doing 
 341
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 what Bride is doing," she said, looking up as he 
 came near. 
 
 " I am," he smiled back. " I 'm doing my 
 best." 
 
 " Thank you," she said, almost formally, and 
 then after a long look at the fire, she went 
 softly out and upstairs. 
 
 There things were unchanged. Bride was on 
 her knees by the little table at the head of the 
 bed. The lamplight shone in the glass of water 
 with the spoon across the top. The little round 
 clock ticked sharply. A fresh wind moved the 
 curtains at the half-open west window. She sat 
 down close to Bride in the big armchair. The 
 lamplight turned the soft hair on her bowed 
 head to fine gold. 
 
 She looked up at Olivia with a little smile. 
 
 " I am not praying so hard because it is hope- 
 less," she whispered. " I 'm just begging God 
 because He 's He 's almost willing, I think." 
 
 Olivia put her hand in Bride's. 
 
 So they were sitting when they heard the far, 
 hushed jingle of sleighbells. It stopped at the 
 gate with a sudden tinkle. The study door 
 opened. There were steps in the hall. Olivia 
 went to the window and looked out. A long 
 beam of light fell on the pathway. Dr. Barker 
 342
 
 TAKING THE CHANCE 
 
 was tramping up, stamping the snow off on the 
 steps, talking in low tones to Patrick in the hall. 
 The front door shut. He was coming upstairs, 
 not with a young step, the good old doctor who had 
 brought her into the world in that very room. 
 
 Bride opened the door. Olivia sank on her 
 knees behind the curtains, against the window. 
 The fine snow sifted in, through the crack, on 
 her cheek. What was he going to say? She 
 could not bear it. She put her fingers in her ears. 
 
 "0 God! God! You know all about 
 Mamma. You know all about Mamma," her 
 heart was throbbing. " Don't, God ! Please, 
 please, don't ! " 
 
 Then in the heat and the cold and the 
 throbbing Dr. Barker's arm went round her and 
 his laugh made the fingers fly out of her ears. 
 
 " She 's sweating, child. She '11 pull through," 
 he was saying. " Now be brisk and get us some 
 fresh water." 
 
 " Yes, sir ! " she said, like a child, as the 
 agony slipped off. " Yes, sir ! " 
 
 And then she flew downstairs to the door 
 Joyce opened for her. At the sight of him, she 
 gave a little laugh and swayed a little. 
 
 " Suppose it had n't been ! Suppose it had n't 
 been ! " she cried as he caught her in his arms. 
 343
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 And for a moment she leaned there close, 
 clutching his arm, with her little cry, her head 
 on his shoulder, his hand on her hair. He 
 let her sob and sob, and laugh, and then the 
 tears came and she buried her face deeper on 
 his shoulder. "And she's sweating! She's 
 sweating ! " she cried. " She '11 live. And it 's 
 you and Bride ! It 's you and Bride ! " 
 
 Then suddenly, with another little laugh, she 
 started back, her wet face crimson. 
 
 " Oh ! Oh ! I beg a thousand pardons ! " she 
 cried. " I did not know what I was doing ! I 
 am so glad ! Nothing matters, does it ! It it 
 might have been Timothy ! I should n't have 
 cared. Plucky Mamma ! Is n't she a good one ! 
 And and " She stopped and took the 
 handkerchief Joyce handed her and wiped her 
 face and brushed back her tossed hair. " Oh, it 
 was water I said I 'd get. I must hurry. He 's 
 waiting. Perhaps it 's a drink for Mamma. God 
 bless him ! " 
 
 And then she cried again while Joyce was 
 getting her fresh water from the pump in the 
 woodshed. 
 
 " See ! See how I 've spotted your coat," she 
 said gayly as she took the little pitcher and ran 
 upstairs.
 
 CHAPTEK XXVII 
 
 CALENDAE-DAY 
 
 SOLOMON CLABBY'S pa wprints spotted the driven 
 snow on Mrs. Clabby's front porch. It was 
 New Year's afternoon and Solomon's mistress 
 was celebrating at Mrs. Archibald's, whither 
 she had gone in the early forenoon, bearing a 
 temperance mince pie flavored with cold tea 
 instead of liquor, and a cake made by a recipe 
 that did n't call for eggs. Solomon himself was 
 not of the party. His dinner was in a cracked 
 blue saucer under the kitchen stove, or had been, 
 for he had partaken of every scrap of it, and 
 was seated in the front window close against 
 the pane, licking his paws and then rubbing 
 them meditatively over his nose. Now and then 
 he paused and pricked up his ears at the flocks 
 of sparrows that fluttered down from the cedar 
 trees. There had been an arborvitse hedge in 
 front of Mrs. Clabby's little gabled cottage, but 
 she had had it cut down, for reasons. 
 
 Presently, the sparrows out on the snow scat- 
 tered wildly. A sleigh jingled swiftly by, a cut- 
 ter filled with robes and fur coats, and in the 
 345
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 robes and coats, Olivia Ladd and Patrick Joyce. 
 Solomon did not even stop his massage. He 
 blinked at the sparrows up on the cedar boughs 
 and rubbed a moist paw over both eyes on its 
 way to an ear. 
 
 Mrs. Clabby and Mrs. Archibald were just 
 too late, in their rush to the window at the 
 sound of the bells. 
 
 " Looks t' me like Kittie Dusenberry and 
 that sewing-machine agent over at the Corners," 
 Mrs. Clabby said. " They say he 's sweet on her. 
 For my part, I 'd ruther marry a fireman than 
 a sewing-machine agent. Then you 'd know 
 quick if they was t' die. Sewing machine agents 
 is always away an' you never do know what 's 
 happenin' them." And she flicked the mince pie 
 crumbs off her crocheted jabot. 
 
 " Nor what they 're up to," Mrs. Archibald 
 threw in, swallowing her bite of pie. " Bad 's 
 sailors for flirtin' with the girls. I knew a girl as 
 married a Singer agent an' ef he did n't have the 
 hull back of his wagon full of yes, full " 
 
 Sarah Tibbetts did n't see them either. She 
 was knitting a new kind of edging for white 
 petticoats, with her nose close to the needles. 
 And Mrs. Egerton had her feet on the fender 
 and a nubia round her head, nursing neuralgia. 
 346
 
 CALENDAR-DAY 
 
 But Prunella did. Prunella had been down to 
 Father Zujewski's with a plum pudding. She 
 had taken it down piping hot, just about the 
 time she thought a person would be likely to 
 come to dessert in their New Year's dinner. Be- 
 sides, she had preferred to go at dinner-time. It 
 was a safer hour for people that were heroines. 
 And that was how she happened to see the 
 other heroine. Just at the town hall, when she 
 was preparing, with uplifted skirt, to plunge 
 into the unbroken snow, she saw them jingle 
 swiftly by, Olivia in her father's old sealskin 
 cap with that bright hair of hers flying and her 
 cheeks rosy, just as if she had n't been going 
 through all the strain of Mrs. Ladd's illness, and 
 Patrick Joyce, handsomer even than ever in his 
 furs, holding in a lively, high-stepping bay. 
 They did n't see Prunella. They were laughing 
 and looking at each other. 
 
 Prunella floundered wildly through the drifts 
 and rushed home. Miss Hollins was piling the 
 dishes at the sink, and thinking of other New 
 Years. On one of them a young minister had 
 called upon her and written in her autograph 
 album. She remembered the verse perfectly : 
 
 " In intercourse of mind with mind, 
 The highest, purest joy we find." 
 347
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 He had written it right off out of his head. 
 And then he had gone to the Friendly Islands 
 to spread the gospel, and never 
 
 " Aunt Lou, what do you suppose I 've seen ! 
 What do you suppose ! This village is going just 
 crazy." And Prunella slammed the door and 
 scattered snow all over the kitchen. 
 
 "For pity's sake, Prunella ! What is the mat- 
 ter?" Miss Hollins cried, dropping a buttered 
 knife right into the glass suds. " Just see what 
 a mess you 're making." 
 
 " But Aunt Lou ! Listen ! I 've seen Olivia 
 and Patrick Joyce dashing off in a cutter, all 
 robes and fur coats, and looking so hard at each 
 other that they nearly ran over me. Now, Aunt 
 Lou ! What do you " 
 
 Miss Hollins dropped on the nearest chair. 
 " Thank God ! I knew it ! I Ve been praying 
 for it. Prunella, if you dare to tell a syllable 
 to to to " 
 
 " To whom, Aunt Lou ! To Mrs. Clabby, I 
 suppose you mean. Of course I '11 tell her right 
 away. And now Dacre '11 be off my mind. But 
 I shall write Stefan, Aunt Lou." 
 
 " Stefan 's different, Prunella. Well, of all 
 things. It 's like living in a story, the way you 
 young folks keep things busy. Poor Dacre ! 
 348
 
 CALENDAR-DAY 
 
 I loved his mother. He looks There 's 
 the bell. Who under the sun at this time o' 
 day!" 
 
 Prunella threw off her wraps and her rubbers 
 and went to the door. There was laughter and 
 then the closing door and then a man's voice, 
 and in a minute Prunella's amazed face in the 
 pantry window. 
 
 " It 's Mr. Michael Joyce, Aunt Lou," she 
 whispered dramatically. " He's come to see you. 
 So, you see, things are happening ! " 
 
 Meanwhile, things were happening out on 
 the white fields under Mount Toby, where the 
 big bay carried the jingling cutter so swiftly 
 over the unbroken roads. And yet the two in 
 the cutter were not saying momentous things as 
 the sharp air stung their cheeks and the snow 
 flew out from under their runners and the sun 
 sparkled on the icy trees, and the vines and fern 
 along the walls. 
 
 "It seems awfully selfish to be having all 
 this, and poor little Bride at home shut up with 
 Mamma," Olivia was saying, drawing in a deep 
 breath. 
 
 " But you 've had no air in all these long 
 weeks. Not once would y' go with me till the 
 doctor got on my side to-day, God bless him," 
 349
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 Joyce protested. "And many an outing has 
 Bride had since your mother 's better." 
 
 " And then " she hesitated " then to 
 have to go secretly without Mamma's know- 
 ing about it. It does n't seem right. It would 
 be more more honorable to stay right at 
 home till Mamma 's well enough to know 
 know of all your adorable kindness and just 
 who Bride is." 
 
 " And let y' die in the meanwhile," he cried 
 with a laugh. " Not much for such honor ! " 
 Then suddenly, in quite a different tone, he 
 went on, looking very carefully at the fine 
 spirited ears of the bay as he talked. " Y're 
 sayin' a lot about adorable kindness, and won- 
 dering what y' can be doing to return it. Faith, 
 it 's no return I want f 'r what is like like 
 life t' me. But will y' " and he turned and 
 looked quite directly into the eyes that turned 
 so frankly to his " will y' do something 
 f'r me just just because because we're 
 friends, perhaps, and life 's such a sorry mixup 
 anyhow? " 
 
 She colored slowly even under the rose of 
 the wind, as she still let him look quite di- 
 rectly into her eyes. " Yes," she said. " I will, 
 because because we are friends." 
 350
 
 CALENDAR-DAY 
 
 " Then it 's this. Just let 's have to-day for 
 our day to be merry in. You see, in my people 
 there's just this little wild streak of of reck- 
 lessness. An Irishman can die with a jest on 
 his lips. So to-day will y' just forget not 
 look behind and not look before just at each 
 other and to-day? It was what Deirdre and 
 Naoise did they looked not to the past or the 
 future." So earnestly had he spoken and so 
 slowly that the bay was quite down in the drifts 
 at the roadside, and it took a quick pull 'and a 
 call to get him back into the tracks. 
 
 " I will," she said. " I will. Just have a jolly 
 good time and forget all the cares and the an- 
 xieties and the horrid things ! " " And Dacre," 
 she added to herself. It would not be wrong 
 for six or seven hours to forget him when he 
 himself told in his letters of the rides to Ver- 
 sailles and Fontainebleau and Chantilly with the 
 models and the artists. Surely, on those gay 
 parties, Dacre was not thinking of her. And he 
 had had no fearful four weeks of illness to wear 
 him out, and there were no cares and no hard 
 work like her work waiting for him in the gay 
 Quartier. 
 
 " And, besides," she went on, aloud, with a 
 laugh, " it 's New Year's Day. We 've got to 
 351
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 make a calendar-day for the year, have n't we ! 
 And first will you tell me all that I did n't find 
 in the encyclopedia about your ring." 
 
 " I will," he said. " I will tell y' anything y' 
 ask me," and he laughed and threw back his head 
 until she could not fail to see what nice, strong 
 white teeth he had. "But y'll be disappointed 
 when y' hear, if y're thinking 't was some girl 
 that gave it to me. 'T was my father's ring, 
 the ring my mother gave him and she the 
 daughter of a Galway fisherman. 'T was in the 
 Claddagh she lived, and her people were good, 
 but very simple folk. And it was not at all the 
 match that my father's family were making for 
 him, that he should be marrying a fisherman's 
 daughter. But my father loved her and she 
 loved him, and and that was all. Some day," 
 
 he stopped and colored a little and laughed 
 
 " sometime, please God, I '11 be giving it to 
 
 to the girl that I love." And again he looked 
 carefully and critically at the spirited ears of the 
 high-stepping bay. 
 
 " That is a much nicer story than if if a 
 girl had given it to you. The modern stories 
 are n't half so nice and romantic as the old 
 stories, do you think so ? " And she, too, looked 
 ahead at Sugarloaf with its deep russet preci- 
 352
 
 CALENDAR-DAY 
 
 pices powdered with snow in and out of the 
 little black cedars. 
 
 " The modern stories are quite the same as 
 the old stories," he said. " Faith, there 's just 
 the same joy in them, and the same pain. And 
 our hearts are the same in the aching. Only 
 to-day to-day we're afraid to be speaking 
 the truth to each other." 
 
 " Suppose " she hesitated " suppose we 
 do not know the truth." 
 
 He gave the bay a sharp cut that sent the 
 snow flying up into their faces. u We do always 
 know the truth when we love. That is how we 
 know that it is love because, faith, we know." 
 
 They were turning off from the highway into 
 unbroken snow, under the low branches that 
 arched over a mountain woodroad. On the left, 
 a little brook gurgled and cascaded under the 
 ice, and on the left snowy cedars and pines 
 climbed up the white slopes of Toby. A rabbit 
 scurried out from under the icy fern and leaped 
 across their way. Above them a crow cawed in 
 the cold blue above the black tree-tops. 
 
 " One could forget here," she said with a 
 long breath out of her far-away thought. 
 
 " And know the truth ? " he questioned, very 
 low. 
 
 363
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 "Some people, perhaps," she answered slowly. 
 " Some people who are are free. But we 
 we old village families we are not free. We 
 are born into certain things. We can't get away 
 from our fates. It 's like a a hideous Greek 
 tragedy. We 've got to do the the things our 
 fathers and grandfathers have have fooled us 
 into doing!" She spoke bitterly, and he could 
 see the shine of unshed tears in the eyes that 
 looked ahead up the white winding of the road. 
 
 They were rounding a curve into a bleak 
 clearing with its deserted woodcutter's hut and 
 snow-topped piles of yellow logs. 
 
 Joyce held the lines tight. " Y've not to do 
 that," he said tensely. "Y've just to choose 
 when y'r heart tells y', the way nothing can 
 keep y' apart." 
 
 She made no answer, and they drove on in 
 the hush, with the brook's quiet voice following 
 them and the light snow blowing off the trees. 
 She was afraid to look at him. In her Greek 
 tragedy, his face against the dark pines was like 
 that of a white, stern-lipped Apollo defying the 
 Fates. 
 
 Ahead of them, beyond the clearing, a 
 blasted sycamore stood, gaunt and gray, at the 
 forking of the roads. A little change had come 
 354
 
 CALENDAR-DAY 
 
 over the woods. The first delicate foreboding 
 of night had dulled the sunshine, and the shad- 
 ows lay level along the snow. 
 
 " Which way do we go ? " he exclaimed, out 
 of his long quiet. " Faith, I don't know the 
 right road from the wrong, and not a track is 
 there except that deerprint. Shall we trust to 
 your Fate that y're so mindful of, and see 
 where she '11 lead us. Sure, I don't much care. 
 Do you ? " And he turned and looked into her 
 eyes as he had looked that day across the 
 brook. 
 
 " But, Mamma ! " she said quickly, dropping 
 her eyes. " Just for her I care." 
 
 He loosened the lines and leaned back. The 
 high-stepping bay did not hesitate as to the de- 
 cision of fate. Instinct guided him to the left, 
 across the brook, into a smoother road broken 
 by a wagon track or two, and presently they 
 were jingling as merrily down hill as if they 
 were no smallest part of a Greek tragedy. A cold 
 wind blew sharp in their faces. Joyce turned 
 and pulled the robes up close around her, and 
 stooped and gathered them well over her feet. 
 
 " Y're warm enough, sweetheart ? " he said 
 in a whisper, as if the very woods might blast 
 him for his daring. 
 
 355
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 u Oh, yes," she whispered back, with a surge 
 of color. 
 
 And then they jingled down past other clear- 
 ings, past fields and farmhouses into the valley 
 already gray with the coming twilight. The 
 pleasant smell of newly fed woodfires greeted 
 them, and just ahead, at the meeting of hill- 
 road and highway, a little inn showed cheerful 
 early lights. The high-stepping bay made for 
 the lights and the barn beyond. 
 
 Joyce drew a long breath. " We '11 stop here 
 fora bit of hot tea, if y' will," he said. " D' y' 
 see the firelight there in that little front 
 parlor ? Faith, I 'm thinking the doctor him- 
 self would advise some tea there and some 
 toast." 
 
 And so he parted the robes and helped her 
 out, and she ran in and stood shivering over the 
 fire while he put the sleigh into the stable and 
 ordered the toast and the tea. Dreamily and 
 unseeingly she looked around the little room 
 with the melodeon and the Nottingham lace 
 curtains and the crayon portraits and the cen- 
 tre table with the white crochet cover and the 
 Rogers group. And then she sank down in a 
 chair by the fire and listened to her heartbeats 
 throbbing in her ears, and wondered if Dacre 
 356
 
 CALENDAR-DAY 
 
 had forgotten so long when he went to Ver- 
 sailles, and so so absolutely. 
 
 And then Joyce came in, tossing his coat and 
 cap over a chair and rubbing his hands that 
 were stiff from the driving. 
 
 " Faith, y'll not be taking y'r tea in that 
 great coat y' have on," he said, almost gayly, 
 helping her out of it. "And I've ordered the 
 toast and the tea and the marmalade, just as if it 
 were in the old country itself. And we '11 pull 
 the table up to the fire and be as cosy as kings." 
 
 She caught his mood, and when the tray 
 came in she was very busy with the tea-things 
 while he talked to the landlord about the eight 
 miles back to Fernfield and the full moon that 
 would light them and the early coming of the 
 twilight. And the landlord was very friendly 
 and gave him the exact time, just five-thirty, 
 and brought in the morning paper and a pitcher 
 of homemade cider, and then went out and shut 
 the door. 
 
 " Is n't it fun ! " Olivia said, gay in her turn, 
 but not meeting his eyes. " And such bread 
 and butter ! Lots better than your toast ! And 
 your tea? Did I pour it right? " 
 
 " Just right," he said, absently looking into 
 her eyes. 
 
 357
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " I have n't had a jolly afternoon tea like 
 this, off in a queer little place, since since 
 college, and that seems years ago," she went 
 on quickly. " We girls used to tramp to all 
 sorts of queer little places and have tea, and I 
 love it. I wish Bride were here to have some, 
 too. Are n't you going to drink yours ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," he said, " I 'm going to take 
 mine. An' y' remember y' asked me to tell y' 
 the story of Deirdre, that time in the barn in 
 the storm ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I do remember. Could you tell it 
 to me now, here in this nice firelight, before we 
 go on ? Is it too long a story ? " 
 
 " No, it 's not too long a story. It 's not 
 worth bringing a lamp, the time it '11 take in the 
 telling." 
 
 He drained his teacup and got up and took 
 the low chair at her side on the beflowered 
 hearth-rug. " Y' see, I was telling y' that 
 Deirdre had been kept away in the woods, in a wee 
 house, quite hidden from all men, the way the 
 beauty and the sweetness of her would be mak- 
 ing no harm," he went on in his low voice that 
 seemed to her to tremble a little. Her eyes she was 
 keeping on the tea-leaves in the bottom of her 
 cup. "And then a huntsman heard her singing, 
 358
 
 CALENDAR-DAY 
 
 and he told Conchubar, the king, all about her, 
 the way he could not rest until he had brought 
 her to his court at Emain Macha and she had 
 promised to marry him in a year and a day. 
 And Conchubar got her wise teachers and gentle 
 companions, and every day he was loving her 
 more and counting the days till she would be 
 his wife. Am I tiring y' with the telling 
 sweetheart?" 
 
 She had put her cup down and leaned her 
 chin in her palms as she listened. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " she whispered breathlessly. 
 
 " Sweetheart ! " he murmured again, touch- 
 ing her hair where the firelight touched it. 
 
 And then he went on, with a long breath, 
 " And one day when Deirdre and her gentle com- 
 panions were out in the fields in the sunshine, 
 she saw coming over the hill towards them, 
 three men, and she grew crimson red and she 
 said in her heart, l Faith, I know him. The 
 beautiful one of these men is Naoise, and he 
 the one I've been seeing in my dreams this 
 many a day ! ' And love came into her heart 
 like lightning, the way she could not but follow 
 him. And the two brothers of Naoise saw her 
 coming, and they fearing her because she was to 
 be the bride of Conchubar, the king. And they 
 359
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 did not look back and they widened the distance 
 between them, and Deirdre crying after them 
 in the sweet voice of her, ' Naoise ! Naoise ! 
 Will y' be leaving me ? ' And when she had 
 cried the third time, Naoise heard and and 
 he stopped and turned back to her and met 
 Deirdre all breathless from the running and 
 looked deep into the sweet eyes of her and 
 they they kissing one another three times 
 and " 
 
 And somehow he was on his knees at her 
 side and his arms were round her and his lips 
 on hers, and he was murmuring, " Sure, it 's 
 not Fate that I 'm fearing or kings sweet- 
 heart if if y' love me ! " 
 
 And she did not draw away. For that one 
 wild little moment she did not fear Fate. Why 
 should she care when this this was what she 
 was born for? What did anything matter 
 now that she knew ! 
 
 "It's not Fate that y're fearing now, sweet- 
 heart ! " he whispered, looking deep into her 
 eyes. 
 
 Somewhere a clock twanged six. 
 
 She drew quickly away and started up. " You 
 made me forget," she said, pushing him back. 
 " The day 's done our calendar-day. Don't 
 360
 
 CALENDAK-DAY 
 
 you know about Dacre ? Ever since we were 
 children " 
 
 "That's why!" he broke in hotly. "No 
 choice has been given y'. I know. And so it 
 was with Aileen before my heart cried out f'r 
 
 y'" 
 
 She turned from him and went to the fire, 
 away from his eyes that hurt her so. 
 
 " But, you see," she said slowly, " there are 
 other other things old old family wrongs. 
 I have no choice. You will believe me ! " She 
 turned again to him. In the firelight he could 
 see the trembling of her lips. " You are so great 
 and generous," she went on, very low, and not 
 looking at him. " I will tell you. Long ago, in 
 the summer, my heart began to speak to me. I 
 knew the truth that that I loved you. But 
 I would not give in. And now you will be gen- 
 erous. One cannot break vows. You will not 
 make it too hard now that I know ? " 
 
 "I will not," he whispered hoarsely. And 
 then he opened the door and went out to get 
 the sleigh. 
 
 Presently the landlord came in bringing a 
 lamp under a yellow shade decorated with bril- 
 liant purple grapes, and set it on the centre- 
 table by the open newspaper, and made a little 
 361
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 joke about tea 's being a weak drink for New 
 Year's Day. When he had gone out with the 
 tray, she sat down by the table and tugged at 
 her gloves through eyes blinded with tears. 
 And when the tears had been forced back, she 
 looked unseeingly at the paper there by the 
 lamp, with the news of the wide world in its 
 close-printed sheets. 
 
 And then out of the close print and into her 
 pain there burned a big headline over several 
 smaller lines. She had read it twice before it 
 meant anything to her, the news that said : 
 
 AMERICAN ARTIST KILLED IN 
 AUTOMOBILE ACCIDENT 
 
 CANNES, FRANCE. Dec. 31, 19 . "While 
 speeding on the Grande Corniche Road 
 between Eze and Roccabruna, an automo- 
 bile belonging to Alexis Orloff, a Russian 
 artist now living in Paris, dashed over a 
 precipice into a gorge two hundred feet 
 below. The others in the party were Dacre 
 Welling, an American artist, about whom 
 nothing is known, and two women, names 
 unknown. All were instantly killed. 
 
 When she looked up, Joyce stood in the door- 
 way in his fur coat. He was very white. 
 
 She pointed to the paper. " Do you see 
 362
 
 CALENDAR-DAY 
 
 do you see " she said thickly, "what has 
 been happening while while I have forgot- 
 ten?" 
 
 He grew crimson as he read. 
 
 All the way home in the cold moonlight, she 
 sat silent, far from him, in the sleigh.
 
 CHAPTEK XXVIH 
 "LET'S MAKE IT A HOLIDAY!" 
 
 A HEAVY yellow bee buzzed just outside the 
 window, but By did not look up from " Mother 
 Tongue, Part II." 
 
 " A noun is the name of a person, place or 
 thing; like John, Boston, kite," he murmured 
 again and again. How could a fellow mind bees 
 or hornets or anything when the examinations 
 were next week and Miss Ladd sat at the desk 
 not watching ! A great truster Miss Ladd was ! 
 Now she was sitting with her chin propped in 
 her palm and her eyes away out of the window 
 on the left side of the picture of President 
 Lincoln. If she had been a watcher, or had not 
 been Miss Ladd, and he had not had certain 
 transactions and conversations with Mr. Patrick 
 Joyce before he and his sister went away on 
 their trip, why, then, he might have found in- 
 teresting possibilities in that bee so near Basia 
 Komanski's sleek yellow head. 
 
 Across the room, Apollonia, with close-shut 
 eyes and moving lips, was saying Presidents on 
 364
 
 her fingers, and behind her, Stefanya carefully 
 moved her stubby finger down the columns of 
 her spelling-book. So soundless was the room, 
 and yet so vividly alive and so receptive every 
 child, from big Roman Krasinska down to smil- 
 ing little Marinska, that they seemed only part 
 of the growing world outside, absorbing, breath- 
 ing in, taking root, blossoming. 
 
 Olivia, languidly present at the desk, won- 
 dered how the sturdy little things could work 
 in such heat. The last weeks of May had been 
 like July, and now this first week in June the 
 last school week was like August. It was hard 
 on her and the children, but glorious for the crops. 
 And it was of her crops that she was thinking, 
 with unmanageable little breaks, as she looked 
 out beyond Lincoln at the new pale green of 
 the onion fields. Things were promising beyond 
 her wildest dreams, the tobacco deal with Tony 
 Wyzocki the most promising of all. Ten acres of 
 her rich river bottom already set with husky 
 young plants and half of the proceeds hers ! That 
 looked like being ready to pay off the mortgage 
 that was due in three weeks ! And then came 
 the break in her agricultural calculations. The 
 mortgage the dear Joyces ! And, surely, soon 
 Patrick and Bride would be back from their 
 365
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 long sight-seeing in the South and West. The 
 picture postcards of cowboys and old missions 
 and the Golden Horn and Chinatown and the 
 Grand Canyon all said that they would soon be 
 coming home. And surely no one could be 
 kinder and dearer than Mr. Michael Joyce since 
 they left, and no one more delicate. Even her 
 mother knew now of all the fraud that had been 
 practised upon her during the winter, and 
 laughed about it, and adored Bride, although 
 she always finished her admissions and eased 
 her pride with, " But then there are Irish and 
 Irish ! And the Joyces are really French ! They 
 came from France to Galway in the time of 
 Elizabeth and the name was Norman and was 
 spelt 'Joyes/ So they are very different, 
 Olivia." 
 
 Surely, after all the kindness that was more 
 like blessedness, surely, it was fortunate that 
 she could pay off the mortgage and not have 
 them feel any longer the drain on their good- 
 ness. And then and then when Patrick came 
 home ! There her thought grew hot and in- 
 coherent. What would happen when Patrick 
 came home ? By, watching through the clasped 
 fingers that propped his head, saw the swift 
 color flood her neck and face. What would hap- 
 366
 
 LET'S MAKE IT A HOLIDAY 
 
 pen when Patrick came home, now that the old 
 vow was canceled in that lonely grave by the 
 Mediterranean. 
 
 But about the crops ! She drew a long breath, 
 and sat up, and remembered the young cucum- 
 bers and melons and tomatoes and eggplants 
 now coming out of the hot-beds that she and 
 Timothy had struggled over so valiantly and 
 untiringly during the black weeks after New 
 Year's. Oh, the darling, darling home fields ! 
 How they were smiling and giving back to her 
 the love she put into them ! And her mother, in 
 the invalid chair that Timothy proudly pushed 
 up and down among the beets and cabbages and 
 lettuce and peas and beans and eggplants, and 
 over to the edge of the fields where, after the 
 abundant turnip crop, Dinny and Jerry had put 
 in the corn, or after the winter rye, had seeded 
 down the clover, and even to the tobacco fields 
 where Tony Wyzocki and his wife and his 
 mother and her mother and her mother's sister 
 and a flock of children were weeding and hoe- 
 ing and tending the young plants ! What a tri- 
 umphant moment it was when Mrs. Ladd, on 
 her return, after drinking her port wine that 
 had come with the compliments of Mr. Michael 
 Joyce, said, quite complacently, " I 've been 
 367
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 around a little, Olivia, Timothy and I. It 's quite 
 a miracle, is n't it, Timothy ? " 
 
 Timothy took off his cap and scratched his 
 gray poll. " Begorra, Miss, if the angels an* 
 saints thimselves had druv the ploughs and scat- 
 tered the sade and fanned away the bunds with 
 the white wings of thim, no more beautiful a 
 sight would it be ! " he said fervently. 
 
 "You, Olivia," Mrs. Ladd went on with a 
 satisfied smile, "you have inherited the best 
 traits of of your ancestors. And next year, 
 we we might try onions." 
 
 Next year! When Patrick was there! And 
 again Olivia's vegetable hopes drifted into 
 dreams. 
 
 And then, just as she recalled herself and 
 looked at the clock and saw that it was eleven 
 and time for the Third Class in Reading, some- 
 thing else came into the window where the 
 bumblebee had buzzed. This time By looked 
 up and out and pricked up his nice big ears. 
 Then he looked at Miss Ladd. Had she heard 
 it, standing there with her hand pressed close 
 over her crisp white waist just where her jaunty 
 blue four-in-hand tie ended, and with the color 
 flaming in her cheeks? Apollonia had. She 
 looked at By and he smiled and then she looked 
 368
 
 LET'S MAKE IT A HOLIDAY 
 
 at Miss Ladd. Again it came, not a buzz at all, 
 but a wild, shrill, beloved shriek, nearer, nearer, 
 nearer, round the curve, up to the very school 
 yard. By could see the whole thing. He had 
 sprung up and leaned out of the window, and 
 no one had called for order. And Apollonia 
 was dancing up and down, and every other child 
 was on tiptoe and smiling and whispering. 
 
 "Hello ! " yelled By out of the window. 
 
 " Hello ! " called back a voice from the ma- 
 chine. 
 
 Miss Ladd had sat down, very white and limp. 
 Apollonia came and stood close by her. And then 
 in a flash there happened something that is not 
 part of the daily programme of district schools. 
 
 A school visitor sprang into the room and 
 called merrily, " Hello ! " to the amazed child- 
 ren. Then he took the teacher into his arms 
 and kissed her slowly right on the lips, and 
 looked into her eyes and said, " Faith, sweet- 
 heart, let 's make it a holiday ! " 
 
 The school cheered. Usually they did not 
 care for holidays. And then little Nicholas 
 Brogodzd stole out from the ranks and caught 
 the visitor's other hand, the one that was not 
 around the teacher's waist, and the visitor clasped 
 it tight and said gayly, 
 369
 
 THE INVADERS 
 
 " So it 's a holiday, boys and girls. And sure, 
 if y'd like a lift to town in the back of the ma- 
 chine, it 's welcome y* are ! " 
 
 And presently they were packed in tight, 
 dinner-pails, books, and all, and Miss Ladd, with 
 a little color come back into her cheeks and 
 Nicholas Brogodzd on her lap, was on the seat 
 next the driver, and she was laughing and ask- 
 ing him questions, and he almost running over 
 Mr. Krakinski's pigs for looking at her. And 
 no stop did they make this trip at Fernfield 
 Four Corners. You see, it was mail-time and 
 there were letters to come even if no one wanted 
 to be bothered reading them. So they whirled 
 by the watering-trough and on and on past the 
 town hall and the meeting-house and Mrs. 
 Clabby's and Mrs. Archibald's and Mrs. Egerton's 
 and Sarah Tibbetts's, right up to the post-office. 
 
 And there stood Bride waiting to kiss Olivia 
 and greet all the children. And on the porch 
 Dr. Britton and Father Zujewski were opening 
 their mail, but they shut their pen-knives and 
 came down to the machine to see the district 
 school that seemed to be running away, and to 
 greet the far-traveled Mr. Joyce. And then Pru- 
 nella heard and rushed out to see what in the 
 world the commotion was about, and stood 
 370
 
 LET'S MAKE IT A HOLIDAY 
 
 stock-still and gasped, and then ran down to the 
 car with two big, thick, foreign-looking letters 
 open in her hand. And she shook hands with 
 Mr. Joyce as if he had been her foster brother 
 and was so glad to see him back, and then she 
 leaned into the car and kissed Olivia and said : 
 
 " Oh, Olivia ! Are n't you glad you 're through 
 school ! I am. And have you heard about Stefan 
 Posadowski ? He 's played before the Czar, and 
 His Majesty is crazy about him. I have n't read 
 any further than that, but I just know some- 
 thing grand is going to happen." 
 
 And then Olivia said that she was n't quite 
 through school, and how glad she was, and she 
 begged Bride to come, too, on the ride, but 
 Bride was going right down to see Miss Hollins 
 with Uncle Mike. And while they all chattered, 
 and Mrs. Clabby came panting up to see what 
 under the canopy all the screeching was about, 
 the school in the back of the car was dismissed, 
 and the self-starting Pierce Arrow glided off 
 down the shady street, and Patrick's arm went 
 around Olivia's waist and her eyes to his, and 
 off they sped to the far hills that looked like 
 heaven in the new light. 
 
 THE END
 
 CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
 U . S . A
 
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