Old Chester Tales 
 
 By 
 
 Margaret Deland 
 
 With Illustrations by 
 
 Howard Pyle 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
BOOKS BY 
 MARGARET DELAND 
 
 OLD CHESTER TALES. Illustrated. Post8vo$l 50 
 
 AN ENCORE. Illustrated 8vo 1 50 
 
 THE AWAKENING OF HELENA RICHIE. 
 
 Illustrated Post 8vo 1 50 
 
 DR. LA VENDAR S PEOPLE. HIM. PostSvo 150 
 
 R. J. S MOTHER. Illustrated PostSvo 150 
 
 GOOD FOR THE SOUL 16mo 50 
 
 THE COMMON WAY... ...\Qmonet 125 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK 
 
 Copyright, 1898, by HAKPHR & BROTHERS. 
 All rights reserved. 
 
[Page 62 
 
 " CHANGE IT? MY NAME? SHE SAID 
 
TO 
 
 LORIN DELAND 
 
 October 9, 1898 
 
 225938 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 3 
 
 GOOD FOR THE SOUL 43 
 
 Miss MARIA . . . . , 89 
 
 >THE CHILD S MOTHER 135 
 
 JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 177 
 
 WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 225 
 
 SALLY 267 
 
 THE UNEXPECTEDNESS OF MR. HORACE SHIELDS . . . .313 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " CHANGE IT ? MY NAME ? SHE SAID " Frontispiece 
 
 WENT PLODDING OUT TO SEE HIS PEOPLE WHO 
 
 WERE SICK Facing p. 6 
 
 "SHE SEEMED A TALL WHITE LILY, HE SAID" . . " 14 
 "ALONG THE HORIZON A FEW WHITE CLOUDS WERE 
 
 HEAPED IN SHINING DOMES " " 74 
 
 " AND WHO S GOING TO SUPPORT EM? DEMANDED 
 
 MRS. BARKLEY " " Q2 
 
 ROSE MET HIM AT THE GATE " 126 
 
 " SHE COULD NOT TAKE HER EYES AWAY FROM THE 
 
 CHILD" " 156 
 
 "THEN SHE DROPPED DOWN AT HIS FEET" ... " 170 
 1 THEOPHILUS WENT RIGHT UP THE STEP AND TUGGED 
 
 AT THE BELL" " 182 
 
 " SO YOU RE HANGING THE LOCUSTS? " .... " 194 
 
 " ON THIS HOT AUGUST AFTERNOON " " 232 
 
 " THE GREATER YOU ARE, SAID THE ACROBAT, THE 
 
 MORE FOLKS ENVY YOU " " 246 
 
 "THEY TOLD EACH OTHER ABOUT IT" " 268 
 
 " SALLY WENT ACROSS THE ROAD TO THE GREEN 
 HOUSE" " 274 
 
 THE BURIAL OF JIM SHIELDS " 326 
 
 " MR. HORACE LOOKED AT HER WITH INSTANT SYM 
 PATHY " " 340 
 
 vii 
 
THE PROMISES OP DOROTHEA 
 
N*> 
 
 THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 
 
 OLD CHESTER was always very well satisfied with 
 itself. Not that that implies conceit ; Old Chester 
 merely felt that satisfaction with the conditions as 
 well as the station into which it had pleased God to 
 call it which is said to be a sign of grace. Such sat 
 isfaction is said also to be at variance with progress, 
 but it cannot be denied that it is comfortable ; as 
 for progress, everybody knows it is accompanied by 
 growing-pains. Besides, if people choose to burn 
 lamps and candles instead of gas ; if they prefer to 
 jog along the turnpike in stage-coaches instead of 
 whizzing past in a cloud of dust and cinders in a 
 railroad car ; if they like to hear the old parson who 
 married them or baptized some of them, for that 
 matter mumbling and droning through his old, old 
 sermons ; if they like to have him rejoice with them, 
 and advise them, and weep with them beside their 
 open graves if people deliberately choose this sort 
 of thing, the outside world may wonder, but it has 
 no right to condemn. And if it had condemned, 
 Old Chester would not have cared in the very least. 
 It looked down upon the outside world. Not un 
 kindly, indeed, but pityingly ; and it pursued its 
 
 3 
 
JiESl"ER TALES 
 
 contented way, without restlessness, and without 
 aspirations. 
 
 In saying " Old Chester " one really means the 
 Dales, the Wrights, the Lavendars that includes 
 Susan Carr, who married Joey Lavendar when she 
 was old enough to have given up all ideas of that 
 kind of thing ; it means the Temple connection, 
 though only Jane Temple lives in Old Chester now, 
 and she is Mrs. Dove ; at least that is her name, but 
 hardly any one remembers it, and she is always 
 spoken of as " Jane Temple " ; the Dove is only an 
 incident, so to speak, for one scarcely feels that her 
 very respectable little husband is part of "Old 
 Chester." The term includes the Jay girls, of 
 course, and the Barkleys ; though in my time only 
 Mrs. Barkley was left ; her sons had gone out into 
 the world, and her husband it must have been 
 somewhere in the early sixties that Barkley senior, 
 Old Chester s blackest sheep, took his departure for 
 a Place (his orthodox relatives were inclined to be 
 lieve) which, in these days, is even more old-fash 
 ioned than Old Chester itself. The Kings are of 
 Old Chester, and the two Miss Ferrises ; and the 
 Steeles, and the John Smiths. The Norman Smiths, 
 who own a great mill in the upper village, have no 
 real connection with Old Chester, though the John 
 Smiths are always very much afraid of being con 
 founded with them ; the two families are generally 
 referred to as the "real Smiths" and the "rich 
 Smiths." The real Smiths might with equal accu 
 racy have been called the poor Smiths, except that 
 Old Chester could not have been so impolite. The 
 rich Smiths were one of several families who went 
 to make up what the geographies call the "popula- 
 
 4 
 
THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 
 
 tion " of the village, but they were never thought 
 of when one said " Old Chester." The Macks were 
 in this class, and the Hayeses, and a dozen others. 
 Old Chester had nothing to say against these peo 
 ple ; they were rich, but it did not follow that they 
 had not made their money honestly ; and their sons 
 and daughters, having had time to get used to 
 wealth, had reasonably good manners. But they 
 were not " Old Chester." The very fact that they 
 were not always satisfied with the existing order 
 proved that. One by one these outsiders had bought 
 or built in the village, because they had interests 
 in the new rolling-mills in Upper Chester ; and they 
 had hardly come before they began to make a stir, 
 and try to " improve" things. Then it was that Old 
 Chester arose in its might ; Heaven and the town 
 vote were invoked for protection against a branch 
 railroad to connect the two villages > and the latter, 
 at least, answered with decision. The proposition 
 that gas should be brought from the mill town de 
 stroyed itself because of its cost ; even the rich 
 Smiths felt that it would be too expensive. 
 
 So Old Chester pursued its own satisfied path ; 
 it had a habit of alluding to any changes that the 
 younger generation or the new people might advo 
 cate as "airs." Sam Wright said, gruffly, that what 
 had been good enough for his father was good enough 
 for him. This was when his eldest son suggested 
 that a connection with Upper Chester s water supply 
 would be a good thing. " Young man," said Sam, 
 " I ve pumped many a bucket of water in my day, 
 and it won t hurt you to do the same." " It isn t a 
 question of hurting," said young Sam, impatiently ; 
 " it s a question of saving time." " Saving your 
 
 5 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 grandmother !" interrupted his father; "since when 
 has your time been so valuable, sir? Come, now, 
 don t put on airs ! I guess what was good enough 
 for my father is good enough for you." 
 
 This satisfaction with the Past was especially 
 marked in church matters. When Helen Smith 
 pretty, impulsive, and a dear good child, too, if she 
 was "new" told Dr. Lavendar that she thought it 
 would be a good thing to have a girls club at St. 
 Michael s, the old minister said, his kind eyes twin 
 kling at her, "The best club for girls is their mothers 
 firesides, my dear !" 
 
 At which Miss Smith pressed her lips together, 
 and said, shortly : " Well, if you feel that way about 
 a girls club, I suppose you won t approve of a de 
 bating society for the boys ?" 
 
 " Ho !" said Dr. Lavendar, " boys don t wait for 
 their parson s approval to debate ! There is too 
 much debating already. If our boys here in Old 
 Chester would talk less and do more, if they would 
 stop discussing things they know nothing about, and 
 listen to the opinions of their elders and betters, 
 they might amount to something. No, we don t 
 want any debating societies in Old Chester. They 
 may have their place in big city parishes but here ! 
 Why, there are only a dozen or two boys, anyhow, 
 and I know their fathers, every one of them ; they 
 .wouldn t thank me for making the boys bigger 
 blatherskites than they are already being boys." 
 
 " But, Dr. Lavendar," Helen protested, with height 
 ened color, " you can t say the fathers influence is 
 always good. Look at Job Todd ; his eldest boy is 
 fourteen, and what a home to spend his evenings 
 in ! And there are the two Rice boys no mother, 
 
 6 
 
THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 
 
 and a half-crazy father ; surely some harmless en 
 tertainment " 
 
 "They come to Sunday-school; and the young 
 fry have my collect class on Saturdays," said Dr. 
 Lavendar ; " and the boys in Maria Welwood s class, 
 or Jane Temple s, get all the pleasant evenings they 
 need." 
 
 " Well," Helen said, trying to keep the irritation 
 out of her voice, " I suppose there is no use in say 
 ing anything more, only it does seem to me that we 
 are behind the times." 
 
 " I hope so, I hope so," said Dr. Lavendar, cheer 
 fully. 
 
 But in spite of snubs like this the new people had 
 their opinions in matters ecclesiastical as well as 
 civil. The Hayeses said that they thought a " more 
 ornate ritual would bring in the lower classes ;" and 
 they added that they did wish Dr. Lavendar would 
 have Weekly Celebration. The Macks, who, before 
 they got their money, had been United Presbyterians, 
 said that they could not understand why Dr. Lav 
 endar wouldn t have an altar and a cross. He was 
 very little of a churchman, they said, to just have 
 the old wooden communion - table ; which, indeed, 
 never had any other decoration than the " fair white 
 linen cloth " on the first Sunday of the month. 
 
 " I said so to poor, dear old Dr. Lavendar," said 
 Mrs. Mack, " and he said, We have no dealing with 
 the Scarlet Woman, ma am, at St, Michael s ! Isn t 
 he a queer old dear ? So narrow-minded !" 
 
 And it must be admitted that the dear old man 
 was a little short with ex-Presbyterian Mrs. Mack. 
 The fact was, at that particular time, he happened 
 to have enough to think of besides the whims of the 
 
 7 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 new people. It was that year that Old Chester 
 the real Old Chester had such deep disturbances: 
 There was Miss Maria Welwood s financial catastro 
 phe ; and the distressing behavior of young Rob 
 ert Smith (he was one of the "real Smiths") ; and 
 the elder Miss Ferris s illness, and the younger Miss 
 Ferris s recovery both caused by Oscar King s ex 
 traordinary conduct ; conduct in which, it must be 
 admitted, Dr. Lavendar was very much mixed up. 
 
 II 
 
 The Misses Ferris lived in a brick house a little 
 way out of the village, on the river road. The house, 
 which was very tall and narrow, was on the low 
 meadow-land, just below the bend, where the river 
 widened out into a motionless sheet of water, choked 
 along the shore with flags and rushes. A Lombardy 
 poplar stood at the gate, flinging its long, thin shad 
 ow back and forth across the bleak front of the 
 house, which looked like a pale face, its shuttered 
 windows the closed eyelids, weighted down in de 
 cent death. It was a big, gaunt house, lying in 
 the autumn sunshine, silent and without sign of life, 
 except the shadow of the poplar swaying back and 
 forth like some gray finger laid upon dead lips. In 
 doors one knew how still it was because of the rus 
 tle of a newspaper slipping to the floor, or the scratch, 
 scratch of a pen. Sometimes from the long, holland- 
 clad parlor there would come through the silent 
 house some faint burst of music from the jingling 
 old piano; and Miss Clara Ferris the well Miss 
 Ferris would look up, frowning a little, and saying 
 
THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 
 
 to herself that she hoped Dorothea s practising would 
 not disturb dear Mary ; and there was generally a 
 sigh of relief when the music faltered and ceased 
 and the silence closed in again. Sometimes it did 
 disturb dear Mary, who was the sick Miss Ferris, 
 and she would call out from her dimly lighted room 
 beyond the sitting-room that she was so sorry to 
 interfere with Dorothea, but really And then 
 Miss Clara would rise hastily, and go and tell Doro 
 thea that dear Aunt Mary was very low to-day, and 
 so would she mind not practising? 
 
 If Dorothea minded, she did not say so. Every 
 thing in that house revolved upon Aunt Mary the 
 "sick Miss Ferris," as Old Chester called her; who, 
 thirty years before, upon being deserted by her lover, 
 had taken to her bed, where she had remained ever 
 since. It was her illness, not the Ferris money, which 
 made the two ladies so important in Old Chester. 
 For, of course, a lady whose sensibilities are so 
 delicate as to keep her in bed for thirty years is an 
 important figure in this unromantic world. 
 
 When Dorothea came to live with the aunts this 
 family scandal and grief had been told her by 
 Miss Clara in a proud, hushed voice. " Your dear 
 aunt Mary has never risen (except on Saturdays, 
 when the sheets are changed) from her bed since 
 that fateful day ; and she never will, until she is car 
 ried hence." 
 
 "But what is the matter, Aunt Clara?" Dorothea 
 said, her voice hushed, too, from its pretty girlish 
 note. " Is she sick ?" 
 
 " Sick ? No, certainly not. Why should she be 
 sick? I am sure nobody ever had more constant 
 care. But she was forsaken at the altar, and her 
 2 9 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 heart was broken. It has remained so. Your aunt 
 Mary is so delicate and refined that she could not 
 recover from such a blow. Refinement is a charac 
 teristic of the females of our family, Dorothea. Your 
 aunt Mary would not move even on Saturdays but 
 that it is a necessity ; and then she is assisted, as 
 you know, to a couch." This Saturday moving was, 
 to tell the truth, a thorn in Miss Ferris s side ; she 
 would have preferred entire helplessness. " But she 
 has never recovered," Miss Clara repeated ; " she is 
 entirely crushed." 
 
 Thirty years ! Thirty years of remembering ! It 
 was dreadful to Dorothea even to think of ; the 
 pride which her aunt had in it never touched her ; 
 it was a horror the old, pallid, waxen face there on 
 the pillow in the great four-poster in the best bed 
 room ; the almost helpless limbs lying like sticks un 
 der the covers ; the thin hands that were cool, like 
 the petals of a faded flower. To Dorothea it was 
 all ghastly and repulsive ; and to her young mind 
 the silent house, and the broken heart, and the 
 shadow of the poplar coming and going across the 
 high ceilings of the empty rooms, came to be all a 
 strange, dreamlike consciousness of something dead 
 near her. 
 
 It was into this life that Oscar King came to make 
 love to Dorothea came like a torch among dead 
 leaves. Oscar had gone away from Old Chester about 
 the time that the younger Miss Ferris took to her 
 bed with a broken heart some five years before 
 Dorothea was born ; he came back now, fifty years 
 old, a handsome, determined, gen tie -hearted man, 
 and fell in love with Dorothea the very first Sunday 
 that he saw her at church. Old Chester, regarding 
 
 10 
 
THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 
 
 the back of Oscar s head as he sat in the rectory 
 pew that first Sunday, speculated a good deal as to 
 his future. He had come home with money, it was 
 said, and he probably would not want to live with 
 his brother, Dr. William King, whose house was as 
 small as his income. Old Chester chuckled when it 
 said this, for poor Willy King labored under the 
 disadvantage of having been known in his youth 
 in his babyhood, indeed by most of his patients. 
 And, really, you can t blame Old Chester ; for, when^ 
 you come to think of it, it is hard to receive your 
 castor oil or opodeldoc from one to whom you have 
 administered them perhaps with spankings. Nor 
 was it likely that Oscar would want to settle down 
 and live with his elderly sister, Rachel, and her 
 little adopted child, who would doubtless be a 
 nuisance to a bachelor like Oscar " who has seen 
 a great deal of the world, it is to be feared," Old 
 Chester said, with a sigh. No; the proper thing 
 for Oscar to do was to marry, and have a home of 
 his own. Old Chester was prepared to give him 
 much good advice on this subject : There was Rose 
 Knight, a nice intelligent girl, not too pretty, and 
 a good, economical house-keeper. Or Annie Shields. 
 On the whole, Annie Shields was perhaps more de 
 sirable ; Annie was nearly forty, and suitable in 
 every respect. " She has such admirable common- 
 sense !" Old Chester said, warmly. "How comfort 
 able she would make a middle-aged man like Oscar ! 
 Very likely he has rheumatism, you know, or some 
 thing the matter with his liver he has been knock 
 ing about the world so long. Dear, dear, it s to be 
 hoped he has no undesirable habits !" Old Chester 
 said, sighing ; " but certainly Annie is just the wife 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 for him." And, really, Old Chester s advice was based 
 on reason ; therein was its weakness. Men don t fall 
 in love with women from considerations of reason. 
 The ability to sew on buttons, and nurse husbands 
 through attacks of indigestion, and give good whole 
 some advice, does not attract the male mind ; these 
 evidences of good sense are respected, but when it 
 comes to a question of adoration that is different : 
 a man prefers a fool every time. Well well; one 
 of these days we may understand it : meantime we 
 are all ready to sew on buttons, and keep house, and 
 give advice while Oscar Kings look over at little, 
 vague, mindless girls, and fall in love with them. 
 
 " Who is that girl who sat in the second pew from 
 the front, and looked like a Botticelli Madonna ?" 
 Mr. King said to Dr. Lavendar, when he went home 
 to dinner with the old clergyman. 
 
 " I suppose you mean Dorothea," Dr. Lavendar 
 said. " She doesn t look like any of your popish idols: 
 she is a good child, and she lives with the Ferris girls. 
 They are sucking the life out of her. She has no 
 more will of her own than a wet string. I wish some 
 body would run off with her !" 
 
 " I will," said Oscar King, promptly. 
 
 Ill 
 
 So that was how the train was started which was 
 to cause such violent disturbance in the silent house 
 on the river road. 
 
 Oscar King lost no time in calling on the Misses 
 Ferris. That very Sunday afternoon he walked out 
 into the country, through the warm October haze, 
 
 7.2 
 
THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 
 
 and pushed open the clanging iron gate at the foot 
 of the Ferris garden. Then he stopped, for his Bot 
 ticelli Madonna was standing waist-deep among the 
 golden coreopsis in the garden border. Oscar King 
 stood still and looked at her, and said to himself that 
 he had found his wife. If any one had asked him the 
 reason of this conviction he could not have told 
 them ; but convictions do not imply reasons. Look) 
 at women s belief in their husbands ! 
 
 He went forward, abrupt and commonplace: 
 
 " I am Oscar King ; and I m sure you are Miss 
 Dorothea Ferris. I saw you at church this morn 
 ing, and I have come to call upon your aunts. I 
 wonder if this is the orthodox hour for calling in 
 Old Chester ?" 
 
 She looked at him with eyes that brightened slowly 
 through some vague abstraction, before she saw him; 
 then she seemed a little frightened, and the color 
 came into her cheek. 
 
 " Oh yes," she said, in a fluttered voice. "Aunt 
 Clara is in the parlor, and and please come in." 
 She moved through the yellow cloud of coreopsis and 
 came out into the path beside him, her head bending 
 like a lily on its stalk. She was not a pretty girl: 
 she had the high forehead, the soft, pale hair, parted 
 and smooth on each side of her brow, the delicate 
 lips, and, most of all, the mild, timid eyes, that make 
 a type too colorless for prettiness. But Oscar King, 
 as he walked beside her to the house was stirred 
 through and through. Why ? Who can say ! If 
 Beauty and the Beast is unexplainable, the Beast and 
 Beauty is just as remarkable. 
 
 Not that Oscar was in the least a beast ; but he 
 was a big, active, masculine creature, and this pas- 
 
 J3 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 sionless girl was like an icicle in the sunshine. But, 
 for all that, he wanted her ; he wanted, then and 
 there, to lift her in his arms and kiss her pale mouth. 
 
 " I am going to marry you," he said to himself, 
 watching her while she opened the door and led him 
 into the dark hall ; " I m going to marry you, you 
 saint !" 
 
 " It is Mr. Oscar King, Aunt Clara," Dorothea 
 said, in her little, retreating voice. And then she 
 went and sat down in a corner. Oscar did not see 
 her look at him again that whole hour of his call, 
 though he prolonged it from moment to moment 
 hoping that she would just once lift those vague soft 
 eyes to his. 
 
 Miss Ferris had received her caller with a frigid 
 bend of her body from the waist ; then she sat down 
 on a straight chair, her hands locked upon her lap, 
 her lips pressed together, and waited for him to begin 
 the conversation. 
 
 "How is Miss Mary?" he asked, cordially; "I 
 hope I may see her." 
 
 " I thank you. My sister is as usual. Entirely 
 crushed." 
 
 " Crushed ?" Oscar said, puzzled. 
 
 " You have forgotten," Miss Clara said, icily, " that 
 my sister was deserted at the altar. She has never 
 recovered." 
 
 Oscar King was sympathetic, and murmured his 
 hope that Miss Mary might soon "get about. A 
 man who would do that is not worth regretting I" he 
 said, warmly. 
 
 " Men do very strange things," Miss Clara Ferris 
 said, with precise and cold significance. Oscar King 
 took puzzled. Miss Clara grew colder and more 
 
 14 
 
" SHE SEEMED A TALL WHITE LILY, HE SAID 
 
THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 
 
 monosyllabic. But it was not until she responded 
 to the proposal that he should some day bring some 
 photographs to show Miss Mary, by saying, " I thank 
 you ; my sister does not care for photographs," that 
 he felt departure was no longer a matter of choice. 
 
 "Well, I am afraid I must go," he said, rising, the 
 frank regret of his voice and eyes all directed to 
 Dorothea, who sat by the window, never once look 
 ing towards him. " Won t you come out and give 
 me a bunch of those yellow daisy flowers ?" he asked 
 her. This was a burst of inspiration, for Oscar King 
 did not know one flower from another. Miss Clara 
 opened her lips, but Dorothea replied before her : 
 
 "Oh yes, if you would like some." 
 
 "Good-bye, Miss Ferris," said Oscar, blithely. 
 " Next time I come I hope I can see Miss Mary." 
 
 " I thank you. My sister is " began Miss Clara, 
 but the unwelcome caller was already in the hall, 
 saying something eagerly to Dorothea. 
 
 In the garden he prolonged the flower -picking 
 process by minute and critical choice, and he talked 
 every moment, plunging at once into personalities. 
 He told her how pleasant it was to be back in Old 
 Chester again, to see all his old friends "and make 
 a new one, perhaps," he said. He asked her about 
 herself : was she lonely ? had she many interests ? 
 might he come and see her? was she willing to have 
 a new friend ? Then he told her that she had seem 
 ed, as she stood among the coreopsis when he came 
 in, like a flower "a tall white lily," he said. 
 
 It was a quick, almost rough beginning of his 
 wooing, these personalities. Dorothea, hardly an 
 swering, hardly daring to look at him, her color ris 
 ing and paling, felt as though she had been caught 
 
 15 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 in a great wind that was whirling her along, aston 
 ished and helpless. 
 
 "Yes;" "No;" " I think so" she faltered to this 
 or that tempestuous assertion ; her thoughts were 
 all confused. Suddenly into the monotonous drift 
 of her silent life had come, in a day, in an hour 
 "since dinner-time," she said to herself, this what? 
 Dorothea had no terms ; but she was a woman, and 
 something in her knew that this torrent of words, 
 these kind, warm looks, this big pressure of his hand 
 when he went away, meant something. The girl 
 was really breathless when she went back, alone, to 
 the house. 
 
 " Dorothea !" Miss Clara called, from her aunt 
 Mary s room. 
 
 " Yes, Aunt Clara," she said, obediently. 
 
 The two aunts were evidently agitated. Miss Mary s 
 face was flushed ; Miss Clara was pale. 
 
 " Dorothea," said Miss Clara, " do you know who 
 that person was who has just been here ?" 
 
 " Mr. King?" the girl said, hesitating. 
 
 " Yes. My dear Dorothea, he is an improper per 
 son." 
 
 " Oh, Clara " the invalid remonstrated. 
 
 " My dear, allow me to speak. Mr. King has lived 
 , away from Old Chester for thirty years, in foreign 
 7 parts ; and no one knows what has gone on /" 
 
 " I don t think you ought to say that before Doro 
 thea," sighed Miss Mary. 
 
 " Dorothea doesn t know what I mean," Miss Fer 
 ris replied ; " but you and I know. A man who has 
 lived away from home for thirty years is a suspicious 
 person. I consider that it was a great liberty on 
 his part to call. He had forgotten your unhappy 
 
 16 
 
THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 
 
 affair. He said he hoped you would soon get 
 about. " 
 
 " I wish I might," Miss Mary said, faintly. 
 
 Miss Ferris snorted with contempt. " It showed 
 a coarse mind. He has no understanding of the 
 delicacy of a lady s feelings." 
 
 Miss Mary sighed. 
 
 "Of course you will never get about ; but he had 
 forgotten the whole matter. It just shows what sort 
 of a man he is I You must be polite to every one, 
 Dorothea. But you must always disapprove of im 
 proper persons." 
 
 " Oh yes, Aunt Clara," said Dorothea. 
 
 IV 
 
 Oscar King may have lived in foreign parts, and 
 " no one have known what went on" but he was still 
 sufficiently of Old Chester to realize that he must 
 inform himself upon Miss Mary Ferris s condition, 
 if he would make himself pleasing to the family. 
 Hence he made it his business to see Dr. Lavendar, 
 and be refreshed as to facts. The old minister was 
 very communicative ; he remembered perfectly that 
 June day, thirty years ago, when he in his surplice 
 waited in the vestry, and Mary Ferris in bridal white 
 waited in the vestibule waited, and waited, and 
 heard through the open windows the buzz of the bees 
 in the locust-tree, and by-and-bythe murmur of 
 wonder from the wedding - guests in the church. 
 Then had come the word that the man had fled. 
 "And I had to tell that poor girl ! That s what min 
 isters and doctors are for, I suppose to do other 
 
 17 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 men s dirty work. It was like putting a knife into 
 some helpless dumb creature s throat to tell her. 
 Well, we took her home. She was sick for weeks. 
 Then she began to revive, poor soul ; but the affair 
 had taken hold of Clara s imagination, and she kept 
 saying that Mary was crushed. As soon as she saw 
 any tendency to rise, she sat on her, so to speak. It 
 has been the one interest of Clara Ferris s life. It 
 has been something for her to talk about, you know 
 Mary s delicacy and refinement. Then the brother 
 died you remember Algernon Ferris ? and his lit 
 tle girl came to them. Dorothea was twelve then ; 
 she s twenty-five now, though you wouldn t think 
 it. She s crushed, just as poor Mary is. I wish I 
 knew how to save the child ; it s an unnatural life." 
 
 " I m going to marry her," Oscar said, thought 
 fully ; " I hope that will save her." 
 
 Dr. Lavendar clapped him on the shoulder. " My 
 boy, you ll be a Perseus to Andromeda ! Couldn t 
 you manage to take Mary too ?" 
 
 " I ll leave her for you, sir," Oscar informed him, 
 gravely. 
 
 When Mr. King next presented himself at the 
 Ferris house, it was with diplomatic commiseration 
 for the lady whose heart had been so irreparably 
 broken. Miss Clara became slightly less icy at this 
 interest, though her doubts concerning his European 
 exile never faded. 
 
 It was not until he had made several calls that 
 she began to have certain dark suspicions : Could 
 it be that Mr. King meant to include Dorothea in 
 his visits ? The day that this possibility changed 
 into probability, Miss Clara was standing at her sis 
 ter s window, looking down at Oscar King saying 
 
 18 
 
THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 
 
 good-bye to Dorothea on the front steps. His fare 
 wells took a long time, it must be admitted. He 
 stood on the door-steps talking and talking ; then, 
 suddenly, he reached out (this was what Miss Clara 
 saw) and took Dorothea s hand and held it, saying 
 something which made the girl turn away a little, 
 and put her other hand up to her eyes. 
 
 "Good heavens I" said Miss Clara, and sat down 
 as though faint. 
 
 "What is it?" cried the younger sister from the 
 bed. " What is the matter ? Oh, if I had my legs !" 
 
 "You haven t, and you never will have," Miss Fer 
 ris replied, faintly ; " and the reason of it is the same 
 as as what s going on now !" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " He has taken a liberty with Dorothea ; that s 
 what I mean ! I saw him saying good-bye. Good 
 bye . he didn t say good-bye to me that way ; he 
 held her hand " 
 
 " They do that," murmured the other. 
 
 " It is terrible 1 There he s gone. I heard the 
 gate close. Well, it is time," said Miss Ferris, in an 
 awful voice "it is time. I shall speak to Dorothea 
 at once." 
 
 " Oh, sister," protested the other, " I wouldn t. 
 Perhaps he didn t mean anything. And suppose he 
 did ? It s nothing wrong " 
 
 " Nothing wrong ! Well, Mary, I don t know what 
 you call its effect on you " 
 
 " But it isn t always so," said Miss Mary, beginning 
 to cry ; " and if she loves him " 
 
 " She doesn t. She is too young he has been 
 abroad no one knows " Miss Clara was so agi 
 tated that she was incoherent. " I must compose 
 
 19 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 myself before speaking to her," she said. u I will go 
 to my chamber for a little while, and then she may 
 come to me." 
 
 She passed Dorothea in the large sitting-room, 
 into which Miss Mary Ferris s bedroom opened, but 
 she was too disturbed to look at the girl. Perhaps 
 it was as well. Dorothea s face was burning ; her 
 eyes shone, but they were dazed, and there was a 
 glitter of tears in them. She took up some work 
 and went over to her little window -seat, but she 
 walked as one in a dream. 
 
 " Dorothea !" Miss Mary called, in her weak, flute- 
 like voice. 
 
 The girl started, and answered, tremulously. 
 
 " Come in here, my child," the old aunt said. Dor 
 othea came, still blushing, and with dazzled eyes. 
 
 Old Miss Mary Ferris lay back on her pillows, 
 frail and faintly pretty, like some little winter-blos 
 soming rose ; all these years of having been shut out 
 from the sun and wind of daily living had not made 
 her ill ; they had only "preserved" her, as it were. 
 
 She looked up at Dorothea with strange curiosity, 
 as perhaps the dead look upon the living. 
 
 "Dorothea, your aunt Clara says she thinks she 
 saw tell me, is it so ? Did he speak ?" Her eager, 
 shivering voice was like the touch of something 
 cold. . 
 
 " I don t know what you mean, Aunt Mary," Dor 
 othea faltered. 
 
 " Did he speak of love ?" She took the girl s limp 
 little hand in her own cool, satin-smooth ringers, and 
 pulled her, with a vampirelike strength, until she sat 
 down on the edge of the bed. 
 
 " I think so," Dorothea stammered. 
 20 
 
THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 
 
 Miss Mary dropped her hand and covered her own 
 face. 
 
 " Oh, Dorothea ! it is so long ago ! Do you love 
 him ? Tell me." 
 
 " I I don t know, Aunt Mary." 
 
 " Did it make you happy to have him speak to 
 you ?" 
 
 "I think so," Dorothea said, crying. 
 
 "Then," Miss Mary said, "you love him"; and 
 stared at her with vague eyes that seemed to look 
 beyond her ; " you love him." 
 
 She drew a long breath, and turned over on her 
 side ; she seemed to forget Dorothea. 
 
 It was a pity Miss Clara should have sent for the 
 child just then ; she was like some little weak chick 
 en being helped, perhaps a little roughly, out of its 
 shell ; and now the assistance ceased. 
 
 Miss Clara was quite composed when Dorothea 
 came into her bedroom to stand before her and an 
 swer her searching questions. There was a moment 
 of awful silence before the questions began. Miss 
 Clara sat in a big chintz-covered arm-chair, which 
 had side pieces like ears, against which she leaned her 
 head, overcome by emotion and fatigue. Dorothea 
 stood at the foot of the bed, following with nervous 
 fingers the carving of a pineapple on the tester-post ; 
 she was twenty-five years old, but she looked eigh 
 teen. 
 
 " Dorothea," Miss Clara said, " I saw the gentle 
 man who called this morning upon your aunt and 
 me, speaking to you in the porch. I observed him 
 take your hand. Why did he do this, Dorothea ?" 
 
 " I don t know, Aunt Clara," the girl said, panting. 
 
 j 4 You are young, and, very properly, inexperienced, 
 21 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 my dear, therefore you do not know why such things 
 arc done, nor what they portend. But, my dear, I 
 would not be doing my duty to my dead brother s 
 child if I did not tell you that it was a liberty on Mr. 
 King s part ; and warn you that that was the way 
 your dear aunt Mary began. And see the result ! I 
 do not, of course, mean to imply that gentlemen s at 
 tentions invariably end in this way. But the person 
 who called here this morning has lived abroad for 
 many years, and we do not know what has gone on. 
 Therefore I do not wish you to permit him to take 
 such liberties, or say good-bye to you again in this 
 manner. I trust no words were uttered that I should 
 have objected to ?" 
 
 Dorothea turned red, and white, and red again. 
 
 " Dorothea ! Did he say anything to lead you to 
 suppose that he entertained sentiments of affection 
 for you?" 
 
 " I think so," Dorothea confessed, beginning to 
 cry. 
 
 " I am shocked ! I hope, I trust, you answered as 
 your poor aunt Mary s niece should ? What did you 
 say?" 
 
 " I said I didn t know." 
 
 " Didn t know what ? You don t know anything, 
 of course. But what was it that you * didn t know ?" 
 
 " He asked me if I cared. And I said I didn t 
 know." Miss Clara gave a sigh of relief. 
 
 "Very proper, my dear. Of course you don t 
 know. But I know, and I will tell you : you do not 
 care, Dorothea. I have read all the best books on 
 Uhe subject of love, besides having observed your 
 dear aunt, and I am able to judge, as you are not, 
 whether a young woman cares. I rejoice that you 
 
 22 
 
THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 
 
 do not, for I should feel it necessary to say that you 
 must at once desist. But as you do not, all is well." 
 
 Dorothea did not look as though all were well ; 
 Miss Clara s voice took a note of anxiety. 
 
 " There are many ways of judging of the state of 
 a young lady s affections ; many tests ; for instance, 
 do you, or do you not, feel that if this person went 
 away, you would be heart-broken, like your dear aunt 
 Mary, and would lie, as she has done, for thirty years, 
 crushed by grief, upon your bed?" 
 
 " Oh no. Aunt Clara," the girl said, shrinking ; 
 " no, I couldn t." 
 
 " Well, you see !" said Miss Clara, triumphantly. 
 " Now, my dear, that settles it ; so think no more of 
 the matter. It is very indelicate for a young lady to 
 dwell on such subjects. I will communicate with 
 Mr King, and then we will say no more about it ; but 
 promise me to remember what I have told you." 
 
 " Oh yes, Aunt Clara," said Dorothea, wretchedly, 
 " I promise." 
 
 And then Miss Ferris kissed her, and tapped her 
 cheek playfully, and all was pleasant again. 
 
 Miss Ferris lost no time in communicating with 
 Mr. King. Her letter, couched in majestic but most 
 genteel phrase, reached him Friday evening ; and 
 Oscar, in his room at the tavern, read it, standing by 
 the lamp, his shadow falling, wavering and gigantic, 
 on the wall behind him. Then he sat down in one 
 of the rickety chairs, put his hands in his pockets, 
 thrust his feet out straight in front of him, and 
 
 23 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 thought hard for ten minutes. Then he rose with a 
 spring that made the lamp flare, and went whistling 
 about the room. 
 
 " I won t waste time at my age," he said to him 
 self. " First I ll see the aunt ; then I ll see Dr. Lav- 
 endar ; then I ll see /^r>" 
 
 He saw the aunt that night, and received her as 
 surances that Dorothea was indifferent to him ; but 
 that if she were not, her aunts would not permit her 
 to regard him with sentiments of esteem. 
 
 " You are not suited to my niece," said Miss Clara, 
 " and I cannot but regard it as a liberty on your 
 part to address her. You are much older than she, 
 and you have lived abroad very many years." 
 
 " I don t see what that s got to do with it," Dor 
 othea s lover insisted. 
 
 Miss Clara pursed up her lips and looked modest. 
 
 " Well, Miss Ferris, I suppose there is no use argu 
 ing such a question ; and, after all, Dorothea must 
 be her own judge." 
 
 "My niece s judgment always coincides with 
 mine," said Miss Clara, rising. 
 
 Oscar King rose too, smiling. " Well, I will abide 
 by her judgment." 
 
 " I hardly see how you can do otherwise," Miss 
 Clara commented, dryly. 
 
 "T/iat s over," Mr. King said to himself as he 
 strode along in the dusk to the rectory. But the 
 second part of the programme was not so quickly 
 carried out ; it was midnight before he came out 
 into the moonlight again and went back to his room 
 in the tavern. 
 
 " Sunday morning Dorothea !" he said to himself. 
 24 
 
THE PROMISES OP DOROTHEA 
 
 " But if the aunt comes to church with her, I ll have 
 to wait another twenty-four hours. Confound the 
 old lady !" 
 
 But Miss Clara had no thought of going to church. 
 A small cold rain began to fall at dawn, and she 
 would have been horrified at the idea of taking the 
 horses out, and of course at her time of life she could 
 not go trudging along the country road under an 
 umbrella, as Dorothea might ; but, besides that, Miss 
 Ferris was quite prostrated by her interview of Fri 
 day night. 
 
 "I am suffering because I have defended you, 
 Dorothea," she said, faintly, to her niece ; "but I am 
 sure you are grateful, my dear, and that is all I 
 want." 
 
 But when did youth know gratitude ? Dorothea 
 only murmured, " Yes, Aunt Clara," in a wretched 
 voice. 
 
 In these days, when young people not only have 
 opinions, but express them, unasked, Dorothea s un 
 resisting plasticity seems scarcely natural. But that 
 only means that Old Chester is not of these days. The 
 girl who makes one think of a violet still exists there. 
 Dorothea was silenced, trembling like a little bird in 
 some strong hand, just because her aunt did not hap 
 pen to approve of the man who made love to her, and 
 whom she would one say "loved"? The fact is, 
 the man who falls in love with one of these negative 
 young creatures hardly takes the trouble to ask 
 whether she loves him ; he loves her. And he wants 
 to have her for his wife to do as he wishes, to think 
 as he thinks, to echo his opinions, and to admire his 
 conduct ; gentle, silent, yielding such a combination 
 is almost the same as adoring. At all events, it an- 
 3 25 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 swers just as well, in the domestic circle. And it 
 wears better, conjugally. 
 
 Anyhow, Oscar King had made up his mind. 
 Poor little Dorothea had no mind to make up ; so 
 she walked along to church in the fine chill rain, 
 feeling a lump in her throat, and her eyes blurring 
 so that once or twice a hot tear overflowed, and ran 
 down her cold, rain - wet cheek. Dorothea s little 
 heart was beating and swelling with misery and 
 wonder and joy ; but if one had said the word 
 " love " to her, she would not have recognized it. 
 She was very wretched when she reached the 
 church ; she knelt down and hid her face, and 
 swallowed hard to get rid of the tears ; then she 
 took her prayer-book and read the marriage service, 
 and thought that it was not for her. If Dorothea 
 had not been so entirely behind the times, she would 
 have decided to enter a sisterhood, or go and nurse 
 lepers. As it was, she only saw before her long, pale 
 years of obedience, and silence, and thin, cold au 
 tumnal rains. Yet all the time that her inward eye 
 was fixed on Melancholy she was giving swift, low 
 glances about the dark church. And when she saw 
 Oscar in the rectory pew, a wave of lovely color rose 
 and spread up to her smooth forehead, and down to 
 the nape of her neck, and her hands trembled, and 
 she could not see whether the psalter for the day 
 was for morning or evening prayer. 
 
 After all, there is nothing like that first wonderful 
 beginning of love. But, nevertheless, when the girl 
 is just that sort of girl that a man like Oscar King 
 wants, she does not know that it is love ; she only 
 knows it is pain. 
 
 Oscar waited for her at the porch door, and 
 26 
 
THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 
 
 opened her umbrella in the most matter-of-fact 
 way. 
 
 " I am going to walk home with you." 
 
 " Oh I don t think Aunt Clara would like it," she 
 protested, faintly. 
 
 " But I m not going tD walk home with Aunt 
 Clara. Dorothea, won t you look at me ?" 
 
 " Oh, I think I d rather not," poor Dorothea said, 
 trembling. 
 
 " Dear, your aunt Clara won t let you be engaged," 
 he said, guiding her steps along the church-yard path 
 to the street" (look out ! there is a puddle ; come 
 over here). She won t let us be engaged, and so we 
 are going to be married." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. King!" 
 
 "Yes, you little love. To-morrow morning." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. King, Aunt Clara" 
 
 " Never mind Aunt Clara. I only wish Miss Mary 
 could come to the wedding " 
 
 " She can t," poor Dorothea said, panting, seeing a 
 possible means of escape ; " she has never been out 
 of bed, you know, since the time she was going to be 
 married " 
 
 " Well, you see, dear, how dangerous it is not to be 
 married. To-morrow morning you are to meet me, 
 and we ll go to Dr. Lavendar." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. King, I can t, I can t /" Her anguished 
 tone of fright went to his heart. 
 
 " You little sweetheart ! I hate to have you wor 
 ry about it for twenty-four hours longer ; I wish it 
 could be to-day ; but the license is made out for to 
 morrow. Dearest, you are to walk along the river 
 road about nine o clock." 
 
 " Oh,Aunt Clara won t allow me to, I m sure," she said. 
 27 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 "Well, then, dear, we will have to go right back 
 to Dr. Lavendar now," he told her, with his kind, 
 determined smile. " Promise to meet me, darling, 
 or I ll have to get married at once." He stood still, 
 looking down at her, amused and threatening. 
 
 44 Oh, I ll promise just to meet you," she said, 
 faintly. 
 
 44 Ah, you little love, you little angel !" he mur 
 mured ; and did nothing but talk this masculine 
 baby -talk all the way to the Misses Ferris s gate, 
 Dorothea blushing, and murmuring little soft, 
 frightened 44 Ohs." 
 
 44 You will meet me at nine to-morrow morning at 
 the bend in the road," he said when he left her, 
 44 and then we ll talk things over." 
 
 44 1 don t mind just talking," she said, 4< but that 
 other thing " 
 
 44 Oh, that doesn t need to be talked about," he re 
 assured her ; 44 now promise, dearest, to meet me, or 
 I ll have to come into the house with you now. I 
 won t leave you until you promise." 
 
 44 Oh, please /" poor Dorothea said. 4t Oh yes, Mr. 
 King, I ll promise. But I don t know how but yes, 
 yes. Oh, please, go away. I promise." 
 
 VI 
 
 Dorothea slipped into the house, noiselessly, but 
 as she closed the front door softly behind her she 
 heard an awful voice : 
 
 44 Dorothea /" 
 
 There was a pause, and then two other words 
 dropped from the upper landing : 
 
 23 
 
THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 
 
 " Come here." 
 
 The girl felt her heart really and literally sink in 
 her breast. Her lips grew dry, and her breath flut 
 tered in her throat so that she could not speak. She 
 came into Miss Clara s room and stood, her eyes 
 downcast, guilt in every line of her face. 
 
 Miss Ferris was sitting very erect in her big chair. 
 
 " Dorothea, I observed you from my chamber 
 window." 
 
 The girl looked at a little hole in her glove ; her 
 hands trembled. 
 
 " Dorothea, what do you mean ? I ask you, what 
 do you mean by such conduct ?" 
 
 " What conduct, Aunt Clara ?" asked Dorothea, in 
 a very little voice. 
 
 " I tell you, I observed you ! Do not seek to de 
 ceive me and add the sin of a lie to that of impro 
 priety !" 
 
 The girl swallowed, took off her glove, and pulled 
 the fingers smooth and straight. 
 
 " Do you hear me, Dorothea ?" 
 
 "Yes, Aunt Clara." 
 
 " Then see that you heed me. I am pained and 
 humiliated to find that it is necessary to instruct a 
 niece of mine, a niece of your aunt Mary s your 
 aunt Mary, so refined that her disappointment at the 
 altar laid her upon her couch, from which she has 
 never risen (except on Saturdays). I am pained, 
 Dorothea, to have to tell her niece that when a 
 young woman refuses a gentleman, it is not becom 
 ing to walk home from church with him afterwards. 
 It is indelicate. It is immodest. He takes a liber 
 ty when he offers to accompany her. Need I say 
 more ?" 
 
 29 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 "Oh no, Aunt Clara." 
 
 But Miss Clara said more : 
 
 " I had not thought it necessary to forbid your 
 seeing this person. I had not, for that matter, 
 thought it necessary to forbid your stealing, or 
 murdering ; all the females of our family have been 
 perfectly modest and delicate, so I did not suppose 
 such a command necessary. But it appears that I 
 was mistaken. It is necessary. I forbid your seeing 
 this person. Do you hear me, Dorothea?" 
 
 There was no answer. Dorothea, deadly pale, 
 lifted her terror - stricken eyes to her aunt s face, 
 and then looked down again, speechless. 
 
 " I regret," said Miss Clara, with dreadful polite 
 ness, " that I must ask you to promise this. It ap 
 pears, if you will pardon me for saying so, that 
 otherwise I cannot trust you." 
 
 Still silence. 
 
 " Come, Dorothea, let us have no further delay. 
 Promise." 
 
 Dorothea s face suddenly quivered ; her voice 
 broke, steadied, and broke again. 
 
 "I think I won t, Aunt Clara." 
 
 " Won t what ? Won t see him ?" 
 
 "Won t promise, Aunt Clara." 
 
 Miss Ferris, her lips parted to speak, stared at this 
 turning worm. 
 
 " You won t ?" 
 
 " I think I d rather not, please, Aunt Clara." 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " Because I promised I would." 
 
 There are no exclamation points which can tell 
 Miss Clara Ferris s astonishment. 
 
 " You promised him ?" 
 
 30 
 
THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 
 
 44 Yes, Aunt Clara." 
 
 " You had no right to make such a promise ; 
 therefore you must break it. Do you hear me ?" 
 
 " Yes, Aunt Clara." 
 
 "Very well ; then promise." 
 
 " 1 think I won t." 
 
 There was a moment of stunned silence. Miss 
 Ferris opened and closed her lips in a breathless 
 sort of way. And certainly the situation was try 
 ing. The sensation of finding a command of no 
 avail is to the mind what sitting down upon a sud 
 denly withdrawn chair is to the body. Miss Ferris 
 said, faintly, 
 
 " Dorothea, do you mean to defy me ?" 
 
 " Oh no, Aunt Clara !" 
 
 " Then you will promise me not to see or speak to 
 this bad man again. He is a bad man, to have pro 
 duced in a hitherto obedient girl such awful, such 
 wicked, such such indelicate conduct !" 
 
 She waited ; she dared not risk another command, 
 but she waited. There was no reply. 
 
 The silence grew embarrassing. And with the em 
 barrassment there was the bewilderment of discover 
 ing that there is nothing in the world which can be 
 quite so obstinate as a yielding, mild, opinionless girl. 
 
 "Is this all you have to say?" Miss Ferris de 
 manded. She paused ; still silence. Then she amend 
 ed her question, to save her dignity. 
 
 "//"this is all you have to say, you may retire to 
 your chamber. I hope reflection and prayer you 
 need not come down to dinner will bring you to a 
 better frame of mind." 
 
 She waved a trembling hand in the direction of the 
 door, and Dorothea fled. 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 It was well that no clairvoyance made it possible 
 for Oscar King to see his sweetheart lying, crying 
 and shivering, upon her bed that long, dreary, rainy 
 Sunday afternoon. He might have relented, and 
 repented having wrung a promise from her ; or he 
 might have stormed the cold, silent house, and car 
 ried her off, then and there. 
 
 VII 
 
 Probably Miss Ferris trusted for obedience to the 
 traditions of the past ; at all events, she did not lock 
 Dorothea s door. What prayer and reflection might 
 have accomplished, in connection with a key, who can 
 tell ? As it was, the next morning, Dorothea, white 
 and trembling, came down-stairs, and went quietly 
 out of the house. The child was not clandestine ; 
 she proposed returning in the same open way. She 
 also proposed telling Mr. King that she would make 
 no more promises. 
 
 It was a dull, dark day ; the mud on the river road 
 was ankle-deep ; in the woods shreds of mist had 
 caught on the bare branches, and the clouds hung 
 low and bleak behind the hills. 
 
 Oscar King sat in a buggy drawn up at the side of 
 the road, just out of sight of the Ferris house. He 
 flecked with his whip at the dripping branches of 
 /a chestnut, or neatly cut off the withered top of a 
 i stalk of golden-rod, and all the while he looked in- 
 / tently down the road. When he saw her coming his 
 face lighted ; he jumped out, backed his horse a lit 
 tle, and turned the wheel. 
 
 * You darling ! Come, get in." 
 32 
 
THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 
 
 " Get in ?" faltered Dorothea ; but already he had 
 lifted her like a feather and put her on the seat. 
 
 " Sweet, everything is arranged. Here, let me tuck 
 this rubber apron around your little feet. I suppose 
 it didn t occur to you to bring any things ? It doesn t 
 matter in the least. We can buy all you need in 
 Mercer." 
 
 "But, Mr. King, I m going back in a minute. I 
 only came to tell you Oh, Aunt Clara frightened 
 me so !" 
 
 He was in a hurry, and alert for the sound of pur 
 suing wheels, but he stopped his horse, and put his 
 arm round her and kissed her, his face darkening. 
 
 " Dearest, never think of her again. You are mine 
 now. We are going to be married, my sweet. Do 
 you hear ?" 
 
 " Oh," said Dorothea, pushing away from him and 
 sitting up very straight, " you don t mean now ?" 
 
 " Yes, now. I wish it had been three weeks ago ; 
 it s just so much time wasted !" 
 
 She began to say she couldn t, she mustn t, Aunt 
 Clara would be, oh, so dreadfully angry ! 
 
 But Oscar King interrupted cheerfully : " Now, 
 Dorothea, listen when I take you to Dr. Lavendar 
 you won t back down if he asks you whether you 
 want to get married?" 
 
 " Oh, if Dr. Lavendar disapproves, I umstgo home," 
 cried poor Dorothea, in anguish. 
 
 "He ll disapprove if you break my heart, Dolly," 
 he told her, gravely ; then he went over all his plans. 
 He did not entreat or plead ; he announced. They 
 were in Old Chester by this time, and it must be ad 
 mitted that Mr. King had some anxieties as to the 
 outcome of this high-handed wooing, for Dorothea, 
 
 33 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 when he stopped for breath, still protested, faintly. 
 If Dr. Lavendar thought that she was not as deter 
 mined as her lover, he would certainly induce her to 
 go back and ask Miss Ferris s consent ; which would 
 mean Oscar King was ready to believe it would 
 mean a dungeon and bread and water ! He checked 
 his horse a little, slapping the wet rein on the bay s 
 steaming back, and meditated. 
 
 "Dolly, dear, Dr. Lavendar wanted to marry us, 
 instead of letting the justice of the peace do it in 
 Upper Chester. He made me promise to bring you 
 to him. He said it was proper. Of course you don t 
 want to do anything that isn t proper ?" 
 
 " Oh no," Dorothea answered, with agitation. 
 
 " So I promised ; and you see I can t break my 
 word." 
 
 Dorothea looked frightened. 
 
 " So you must tell him you want to marry me. 
 You do, don t you, Dolly ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, Mr. King," she answered, tremulously, 
 " but not just " 
 
 "Never mind about that. Just tell him you do 
 want to, Dolly. Never mind about the time. Prom 
 ise me you will tell him you want to be married ? 
 After to-day you shall never make a promise again 
 as long as you live. If Dr. Lavendar asks you if you 
 are doing this of your own free will, you say * yes. 
 Because you are, you know. I will stop the buggy 
 right here, if you want to get out." 
 
 He drew up in a hollow of the road, where the 
 water stood in a puddle from one side to the other. 
 " You can get out, dear." Dorothea looked over the 
 dripping wheel tired in mud. " Promise just to 
 say yes if he asks you." 
 
 34 
 
THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 
 
 " Oh !" said Dorothea. They were almost at the 
 rectory gate. Oscar King had a worried line be 
 tween his eyes. 
 
 " Dolly, I ll tell you what : when Dr. Lavendar 
 asks you anything I ll repeat it, and you answer me ; 
 will you ? Come, now, I m not asking very much ! 
 Promise." 
 
 " I promise," faltered Dorothea. 
 
 When Oscar King, leading Dorothea, pushed open 
 the door and came in, it was like a gust of west wind 
 and a gleam of pale sunshine. Dr. Lavendar looked 
 up from his lathe, a little irritated at being inter 
 rupted ; but seeing who it was, he smiled and frowned 
 together. He had on his queer old dressing-gown, 
 and his dog was tucked into his chair behind him. 
 
 "What !" he said. "You ve got her, have you?" 
 And then he looked very grave. " Dorothea, my child, 
 I need hardly tell you that this is a serious thing you 
 are thinking of doing." 
 
 " You know it s serious, Dolly, don t you ?" Mr. 
 King said, gently. 
 
 "Oh yes, Mr. King," Dorothea answered, almost 
 with passion. 
 
 " My dear," proceeded Dr. Lavendar, " I don t ap 
 prove of runaway marriages, as a rule. I made 
 Oscar promise to bring you here, because I couldn t 
 have one of my children married by anybody else. 
 You are of age, and you have a right to be married, 
 and I believe Oscar to be a good man, or else I 
 wouldn t let you do it, if I had to lock you up in that 
 closet ; but I must be sure first, my dear, that you 
 realize what you are doing, and that you love Oscar 
 with all your heart, and that is why you want to 
 
 35 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 marry him. Not merely to get away from conditions 
 which are, I know, hard and unnatural." 
 
 " Do you love me, Dolly ?" 
 
 The room was very silent for a moment ; a coal 
 fell out of the grate upon the hearth ; Dorothea drew 
 a long breath and looked up at him, a sudden reality 
 dawning in her face. 
 
 " Why I do !" she said, vague astonishment thrill 
 ing in her voice. 
 
 " You are not going to marry me on your aunt 
 Clara s account, are you, Dolly ?" he asked her, per 
 suasively. 
 
 "Why, no, Mr. King," she said, in a bewildered 
 way. 
 
 " You are not being overpersuaded ?" Dr. Laven- 
 dar insisted, anxiously. 
 
 She looked at her lover, who, smiling, shook his 
 head. " No," she repeated, faintly. 
 
 " Now, sir," Oscar broke in, cheerfully, " I don t 
 want to hurry you, but we haven t any time to 
 waste " 
 
 " Well," the old man said " well, I suppose there 
 is nothing more for me to say, but " 
 
 "But Amen ! " Oscar assured him, with a glance 
 out into the rainy mist. Suppose Miss Ferris should 
 appear ! " Never mind a surplice. Come, Dolly, give 
 me your hand, my dear 
 
 " Of course I shall mind a surplice, sir !" said Dr. 
 Lavendar. " Any child of mine shall be married de 
 cently and in order. Here, show me your license." 
 
 Then he went away, and came back in his surplice, 
 with his prayer-book, and in ten minutes the Amen 
 was said. 
 
 36 
 
THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 
 
 VIII 
 
 "Why," said Miss Clara Ferris afterwards " why 
 I did not swoon when I discovered Dorothea s deceit, 
 and That Person s baseness, and Dr. Lavendar s im 
 proper conduct, I shall never know ! Providence, I 
 suppose, sustained me." 
 
 Miss Ferris had breakfasted in bed that morning, 
 for the prospect of meeting Dorothea at the break 
 fast-table was not attractive ; so it happened that the 
 girl s absence was not discovered until Oscar King s 
 letter announced it, and her marriage also. There 
 was, of course, an instant and agitated departure for 
 Old Chester. 
 
 " I will save her," Miss Clara told Miss Mary, 
 weeping ; " she shall desert him if it were on the 
 steps of the altar !" 
 
 " But it s all done," protested the invalid, also 
 weeping ; " they ve left the altar." 
 
 " Well, I ll tell James Lavendar what I think of 
 him ; I ll tell him he has taken a great liberty in in 
 terfering in my family affairs !" Miss Ferris de 
 clared, shrilly, and went whirling into Old Chester 
 as fast as the two fat horses which never went out 
 in the rain could take her. 
 
 Miss Mary, lying in her bed, heard the whir of 
 wheels beneath her window ; for a moment she 
 thought, passionately, how it would seem to be 
 driving into this blowing fog of rain, feeling the wet 
 wind against her face, and smelling the dead, dank 
 leaves underfoot. Then her mind went back to this 
 amazing news and her sister s anger : Clara would 
 kill the child ! Oh, if she could only walk ! If she 
 
 37 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 could only go and save her ! Where was she ? 
 Clara would drag her home, and another Ferris 
 heart would be broken ! Miss Mary moaned aloud 
 in her grief and helplessness. 
 
 " Oh, if I had my legs !" she said to herself ; and 
 then suddenly she stopped crying, only whimpering 
 a little below her breath, poor old soul ! and slid 
 along towards the edge of her bed slid along until 
 her feet touched the floor, and she stood, shaking, 
 quavering, holding on to the foot of the bed and 
 looking about her. 
 
 " But I haven t any clothes," she said, plaintively ; 
 " Clara has taken my clothes." 
 
 Somehow, on her tottering, long-unused feet, she 
 crept across the room to her sister s wardrobe. She 
 moaned under her breath ; her heart beat horribly. 
 Yet somehow she began to put on some of Miss 
 Clara s clothing. She had almost forgotten how to 
 do it ; the feeling of stockings and shoes upon her 
 feet was as strange as would be any harsh contact 
 with one s face ; but she put them on, flushing and 
 breathing hard, and half sobbing. Then she looked 
 about for a cloak, and went out into the hall, creep 
 ing and thrilling with this strange sensation of being 
 fastened into something. Miss Mary had not seen 
 that upper hall since the day she had come up the 
 stairs dazed and bewildered and deserted ; she looked 
 about her with a sudden horror of all the dead and 
 stifled years since that vital day. How she got down 
 the stairs no one ever knew ; she clung to the hand 
 rail, sliding, slipping, half falling, and reached the 
 lower hall. It seemed to her that the shoes she had 
 put on were like leaden cases ; she felt the shoe 
 strings cutting into her instep ; she felt the weight 
 
 38 
 
THE PROMISES OF DOROTHEA 
 
 of her skirts about her ankles. She sat down on the 
 bottom step, panting with exhaustion and overcome 
 with memory, but determined to save Dorothea. 
 And then she fainted. 
 
 Miss Ferris found her there when she came back 
 from the journey, which had revealed Oscar King s 
 wickedness and Dorothea s undutifulness, and Dr. 
 Lavendar s complicity found her, and realized that 
 the illusion and the interest of her life had been de 
 stroyed : Miss Mary was no longer crushed I 
 
 Miss Clara fell ill, poor lady, through excitement 
 and chagrin ; and Miss Mary, acquiring her legs and 
 some clothing, nursed her tenderly. But life was 
 never the same for the two sisters afterwards. To 
 poor old Mary there came a dreadful suspicion of 
 herself ; perhaps, after all, her heart had not been 
 broken? perhaps her fine delicacy had not existed? 
 perhaps perhaps ! There was no end to her moral 
 and physical distrust of herself a distrust that made 
 her shamefaced and silent, afraid to say she had a 
 headache or a twinge of rheumatism, lest Clara 
 should turn and look at her and doubt ! 
 
 Miss Clara, for her part, had no pangs of con 
 science, but she suffered agonies of mortification. 
 If she had a consolation, it was that Oscar King s 
 conduct in marrying Dorothea justified her opinion 
 of persons who had lived abroad very many years. 
 
 As for Oscar, he told his wife once that it was hard 
 on poor old Clara to have Miss Mary get well ; and 
 Dorothea opened her mild eyes, and said : 
 
 " Why, Oscar, what do you mean ?" 
 
 Which goes to show that she still retained the men 
 tal characteristics which endeared her to her lover. 
 
 39 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 IT was about twelve or thirteen years before Dr. 
 Lavendar startled Old Chester by helping Oscar 
 King elope with that little foolish Dorothea Ferris 
 that, one night, in the rectory study, with Mary and 
 his brother, Joey Lavendar, as witnesses, he married 
 Peter Day. Peter, with a pretty girl on his arm, 
 drifted in out of the windy and rainy darkness, with 
 a license from the Mayor s office in Upper Chester, 
 and a demand that Dr. Lavendar perform the mar 
 riage service. Both the man and the woman were 
 strangers to him, and the old minister looked at them 
 sharply for a minute or two he had misgivings, 
 somehow. But the girl was old enough, and looked 
 perfectly satisfied and intelligent, and the man s face 
 was simple and honest besides, the license was all 
 right. So he asked one or two grave and kindly 
 questions : " You ve thought this well over ? You 
 know what a solemn thing marriage is, my friends ? 
 You are well assured that you are acting soberly, 
 discreetly, and in the fear of God ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Peter Day ; and the girl, a pretty, 
 sick - looking creature, opened her big brown eyes 
 with a glimmer of interest in them, and said, also : 
 
 43 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 "Yes, sir." So Dr. Lavendar did his duty, and 
 found a surprisingly large fee in his hand, and went 
 back to smoke his pipe and write at least a page on 
 his great work, The History of Predates Stones. 
 
 That was the last he saw of the unknown bride 
 and groom for many a long year. Once he heard of 
 a new threshing-machine that was being tried at the 
 Day farm, in the next county, and was interesting 
 two or three farmers in his own parish ; but he did 
 not connect the rich and successful farmer of Graf- 
 ton, a village near Upper Chester, with the man he 
 had married that stormy July night. So, though 
 his neighbors had found them interesting enough, 
 Peter Day s affairs had never come to Dr. Lav- 
 endar s ears. 
 
 Peter had been commiserated for forty years : 
 His farm was prosperous ; it kept pace with all the 
 new machinery, fertilizers were not despised, and 
 there was no waste ; the Day heifers had a name all 
 through the State ; and a thousand acres of haying- 
 land meant a capital as reliable as government bonds. 
 " I guess he s worth seventy-five thousand dollars if 
 he s worth a cent," his neighbors said ; " but the old 
 lady, she won t let on but what they re as poor as 
 poverty." Certainly there was no doubt that Peter 
 Day was prosperous ; but, nevertheless, he was com 
 miserated he had a mother. 
 
 " The farm is the best farm in Westmoreland 
 County," his neighbors said, "but whether Peter 
 can keep it up when the old lady goes, that s an 
 other question." 
 
 " He may not keep the farm up, but he can let 
 himself down," Henry Davis, who was the black- 
 
 44 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 smith, declared ; " and I ll be glad of it ! Before 
 Peter Day goes to heaven I guess there s no 
 doubt of Peter s going there in due time ? he ought 
 to know something about the earth. He s acquaint 
 ed with the Other Place, dear knows, with the old 
 woman ! not that I d say anything against her now 
 she s on her death-bed." Henry put a hand on the 
 bellows, and a roar of blue flame burst through the 
 heap of black fuel on the forge. " Don t you let on 
 to anybody, but I doubt if Peter 11 ever be more an 
 three years old. His mother s bossed him every 
 breath he breathed since he was born, and he ll be 
 just real miserable learning to walk alone at forty." 
 
 It must be admitted that here was cause for com 
 miseration : All his forty years Mrs. Day had dom 
 inated her son s life ; she had managed his farm, and 
 he had fetched and carried and improved according 
 to her very excellent judgment. She had formed 
 his opinions or, rather, she had given him her 
 opinions ; she had directed his actions, she had 
 bought his clothes, she had doled out every dollar 
 he spent, and taken scrupulous account of the spend 
 ing ; she had crushed, long ago, any vague thought 
 of marriage he may have had ; and she had assured 
 him over and over that he was a fool. A hard, 
 shrewish, hideously plain, marvellously capable old 
 woman, with a temper which in her later years drew 
 very near the line of insanity. Then she died. 
 
 The August afternoon that the little train of silent 
 people carried her out of her own door up to the 
 family burying - ground in the pasture (the Days 
 were of New England stock, and had the feeling of 
 race permanence in their blood, which shows itself 
 in this idea of a burying-ground on their own land) 
 
 45 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 that August afternoon was sunny and still, except 
 for the sudden song of a locust in the stubble, stab 
 bing the silence and melting into it again. Some 
 sumacs were reddening on the opposite hill -side; 
 and the blossoming buckwheat in the next field was 
 full of the murmur of bees ; its hot fragrance lifted 
 and drifted on any wandering breath of wind. Peter 
 Day walked behind the coffin in his new black 
 clothes, with his hat in his hand ; then came the 
 friends and neighbors, two by two. A path had 
 been mowed through the thin second crop of grass ; 
 but the women s skirts brushed the early golden-rod 
 and the tangling briers in the angles of the snake- 
 fence. Up in the pasture, where the burial-lot, en 
 closed by a prim white paling, lay under a great oak, 
 a bird, balancing on a leaning slate headstone, burst 
 into a gurgling laugh of song. The oak dropped 
 moving shadows back and forth on the group of men 
 and women who stood watching silently that solemn 
 merging of living into Life of consciousness and 
 knowledge and bitterness and spite, of human nat 
 ure, into Nature. This ending of the mean and 
 pitiful tumult which is so often all that individuality 
 seems to be, this sinking of the unit into the uni 
 verse, is like the subsidence of a little whirling gust 
 of wind which for an instant has caught up straws 
 and dust and then drops into dead calm. There is a 
 sense of peace about it that is not exactly human ; it 
 is organic, perhaps ; it only comes where there is no 
 grief. They felt it, these people who stood watching, 
 silently, unbelieving in their hearts that they too 
 would some time go back into sun and shade and 
 rolling world. There was no grief, only curiosity 
 and interest and the sense of peace. When it was 
 
 46 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 over, they walked slowly back again, pausing for 
 some low-voiced talk at the Day doorway, and then 
 leaving Peter, and drawing a longer breath perhaps, 
 and raising their voices to chatter together of the 
 dead woman s temper and meanness and the money 
 she had left. 
 
 The little whirl of shrewish wind had fallen into 
 calm ; it was " all over," as the saying is and so 
 much greater is Life than living that it was as 
 though it never had been. Except to Peter Day. 
 The house had the stillness of that grave he had left 
 up in the pasture. He heard some one moving 
 about out in the kitchen, and the clock ticking in 
 the hall. But there was no strident old voice to bid 
 him do this or that ; no orders to obey, no fierce and 
 insane fault - finding. The silence was deafening. 
 He sat down in the parlor the occasion seemed to 
 demand the dignity of the parlor. The chairs had 
 been put back in their places, but the open space in 
 front of the fireplace struck him like a blow ; and 
 the lingering scent of the flowers made him feel 
 sick. 
 
 He was a short, sturdy-looking man, with a soft 
 black beard, and kind, quiet, near-sighted eyes, which 
 his round spectacles magnified into lambent moons. 
 There was no weakness in his face ; but there was 
 patience in every line ; just now there was bewilder 
 ment. 
 
 " Dead ?" He was trying, dumbly, to adjust him 
 self to the fact ; to understand it, or at least to be 
 lieve it. He felt something swell in his throat, and 
 very likely he thought it was grief. Habit does 
 much for us in this way ; a carping, uncomfortable 
 companionship of forty years is yet a companionship. 
 
 47 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Life runs in rough grooves, but they are grooves ; 
 and when it leaves them there is a wrench and jolt, 
 and perhaps even a crash and very often it is all 
 mistaken for grief. Peter, in his simple way, called 
 it grief. As he sat there in his black clothes, looking 
 at that open space where the coffin had stood, he was 
 vaguely conscious that he wished he had his dog Jim 
 beside him ; but after forty years of being told that 
 he " could not bring dogs and cattle into the house," 
 and that " he was a fool to want to," he would have 
 found the effort of freedom absolute pain. So he sat 
 still until it grew dusk, trying to believe that she was 
 dead, thinking about heaven for he was a religious 
 man and saying to himself that she was " far better 
 off." But never saying that he was" far better off," 
 too. 
 
 Of course, as the weeks passed, he adjusted himself 
 to the difference in his condition ; he grew accus 
 tomed to certain reliefs. Yet he did not realize that 
 he was free. He was like a horse who slips his halter 
 in a tread-mill, but goes on and on and on. He was 
 not harassed by the goad of the strident voice, but 
 he did the same work, in the same way, in the same 
 harsh and unlovely surroundings and he did not 
 bring Jim into the house for company ! He spent 
 his money on meagre essentials of food and fuel, and 
 on the necessary improvements of the farm ; but he 
 missed his mother s judgment and shrewd foresight 
 in such matters. He went to church, and slept 
 heavily during the service ; but he never went to 
 the church sociables. His mother had despised 
 them, and he was too old to acquire social habits. 
 He made no effort to be intimate with his neighbors. 
 Mrs. Day had quarrelled with them all, and would 
 
 48 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 not have their names spoken in her presence if she 
 could help it ; so, if Peter had a capacity for friend 
 ship, these speechless years had made it dumb. 
 Hence he was singularly isolated, untouched by the 
 interest or the gossip or the knowledge of the life 
 about him. He spent his days as he had always 
 spent them, following the lines his mother had laid 
 down for him. He went through the usual round of 
 daily work. In the evenings he read his agricultural 
 paper or an old book of sermons. There was no one 
 to tell him to go to bed ; and once he fell asleep, his 
 arms stretched on the table in front of him, and 
 wakened in the cold early light, stiff and bewildered, 
 and heavy with fatigue. But there was one point on 
 which Peter Day was perfectly clear : he might, 
 through stupidity or dulness, go on in the tread 
 mill now that the halter was slipped, but he was 
 glad to miss the goad ! 
 
 The final awakening to a knowledge that he was 
 free came some ten months later. It was in June ; 
 a hot, sparkling day, when every hand on the farm 
 had twice as much as he could do. Something had 
 gone wrong about the mower ; and Peter, with Jim 
 at his heels, went into the village to get the black 
 smith to weld a broken rod together. It was a loss 
 of time, this hanging about the blacksmith s shop 
 waiting for the work to be done, and the old habit of 
 uneasiness, because of his mother s rage at any de 
 lay, made him tramp about, frowning, and looking 
 up the road as though expecting some messenger 
 sent to bid him hasten. 
 
 The shop was dark, except for the red flicker when 
 the smith thrust his pincers into the heap of ashes 
 with one hand and started the bellows with the 
 
 49 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 other. Then a shower of sparks flew up the great 
 black cone of the chimney, and Peter could see his 
 piece of broken iron whiten in the flames. He 
 looked at his watch and walked to the door and 
 back. 
 
 "Ain t you most done?" 
 
 " I ain t. And I won t be for a half-hour," Henry 
 Davis said. " What s the matter with you, Peter, 
 anyway ? What s your hurry ? It wouldn t kill any 
 body if you didn t get back till to-morrow. Your 
 other machine s going. There ain t no dyin need of 
 this here one, anyhow." 
 
 "Well, I ain t one to waste time," Peter said. Jim 
 yawned, and stretched himself on the bare black 
 earth of the floor. He, at least, was in no hurry. 
 
 " Well, whose time are you wastin ?" the smith 
 insisted, good-naturedly. " It s your own, ain t it ? 
 I guess you got a right to loaf. There s no one to 
 say you nay," he ended. 
 
 " That s so," said Peter. But he still tramped back 
 and forth, until the smith, turning the bar about on 
 his anvil, cried ; 
 
 " For the Lord s sake, Peter Day, get out ! Go up 
 the street and get a shave. Get out o here, anyway." 
 
 Peter laughed, and went, saying that he would be 
 back in ten minutes. "And mind you have that rod 
 done !" 
 
 He loitered along, looking at his watch more than 
 once, and coming to a standstill before the window 
 of a grocery-store. He did not go in. All these 
 years the curb of his mother s will had held him away 
 from the shiftless and friendly gatherings about the 
 stove or around the back counter, and it held him 
 yet. So he only looked into the dusty window. There 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 were wooden rakes stacked up at one side, and boxes 
 of cotton lace, and two jars of red and white sticks of 
 candy, and some fly-specked cups and saucers in thick 
 earthen-ware ; there were two advertisements of 
 poultry food pasted against the glass, and a print of 
 a new mower. He took these in absently, wondering 
 if the rod was nearly done. And then his eye caught 
 a colored lithograph propped up against a pile of 
 dusty tin-ware : a row of girls, smiling, coquettish, 
 marching, each with slippered foot well advanced, 
 holding out a gay skirt with the thumb and fore 
 finger of one hand, and flirting with the other a huge 
 feather fan across arch and laughing eyes. The flut 
 ter of the pink and blue and white skirts, the slender 
 ankles, the invitation and challenge and imper 
 tinence of the upward kick, seemed to Peter Day 
 perfectly beautiful. He gazed at the picture, ab 
 sorbed and entranced. The owner of the shop, stand 
 ing in the doorway, watched him, grinning. 
 
 " You better go see em, Mr. Day. They re to be 
 here to-night. The parson s mad, I tell you." 
 
 Peter came to himself with a start, and read the 
 announcement of the production in the town-hall, on 
 such a date and at such an hour, of " Sweet Rosy." 
 The notice below the picture set forth : 
 
 The Four Montague Sisters will Perform their Charming, 
 Refined, and Side-splitting Farce, with all Accessories of 
 Magnificent Scenery, Exquisite Music, and Elaborate Cos 
 tumes. The Ballet is pronounced to be the most Beautiful, 
 in Loveliness of Form and Perfection of Grace, ever seen in 
 America. 
 
 YOUTH. GRACE. BEAUTY. 
 ADMISSION, 35 CENTS. 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " We ve never had one of these here shows up here," 
 said the storekeeper ; " but of course I ve seen em. 
 I always go when I m in the city, because my ex 
 ample can t injure nobody there. Here it s different. 
 Why don t you go and see em, Mr. Day ?" 
 
 Why didn t he ? Peter Day went back to the black 
 smith s shop for his rod, and walked home " study 
 ing." Why shouldn t he go to see the show ? He did 
 not ask himself whether there was anything wrong 
 in such shows he never had asked such questions. 
 There was nothing abstract about Peter. He had 
 simply ducked and winced under his mother s tongue, 
 and accepted her decisions of what was right or 
 wrong, avoiding, by a sort of instinct, the things that 
 roused the furious temper which lay always ready to 
 flash and roar and shake the house down at the most 
 trivial excuse. In ten months he had gotten more or 
 less used to peace, even if he had not taken advantage 
 of it. But why shouldn t he take advantage of it ? 
 
 He looked through his round spectacles with absent 
 intentness at Jim, jogging along in the dust in front 
 of him. " I m going to see them," he said to himself; 
 " why not ?" 
 
 II 
 
 The town-hall in Grafton stood in the square ; win 
 ter rains had washed and washed against its narrow, 
 faded old bricks until the plaster between them had 
 crumbled and their angles and edges had worn down. 
 The white paint on the facings and on the great 
 beam that made the base of the pediment, had flaked 
 and blistered ; a crack ran from a second-story win- 
 
 52 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 dow down towards the front door, which sagged a 
 little in its battered white frame. Inside, the wooden 
 steps were so worn that the knots stood out on them : 
 innumerable town meetings, fairs, lectures, and all 
 such entertainments as this of the Montague Sisters, 
 made much travel over the wide, shallow staircase. 
 The walls were bare, the plaster stained and cracked, 
 even broken in two or three places, and studded with 
 nails for all the different decorations of pine or flags 
 or crape or flowers which had gone up and come 
 down in more than fifty years. There were lanterns 
 in brackets along the walls, and eight lamps in a 
 dusty chandelier cast flickering shadows down on the 
 bare floor and the rows of wooden settees, which, 
 when Mr. Day arrived, were quite empty such was 
 his anxiety to get a good seat. The audience came 
 stamping and scuffling in, with a good deal of laugh 
 ter, and much loud, good-natured raillery, and some 
 cat-cries. Very likely the parson had reason for 
 " being mad." " Sweet Rosy ; or, The Other Man " 
 was the play, and there was a suggestiveness in the 
 names of the acts which would have forewarned any 
 body but Peter. He had no experience in indecencies. 
 
 He was tingling with excitement ; the sudden and 
 unusual concentration of thought and feeling was 
 not without pain it was, mentally, like the awaking 
 of a hand or foot which has been asleep. 
 
 The curtain rolled up, caught and displayed a 
 pair of slender ankles, and opposite them two Welling 
 ton boots, fiercely spurred rolled on, and showed a 
 man decorated with stars and sashes and sword, 
 which informed the audience that he was a soldier ; 
 and a girl, in fluffy pink skirts, high-heeled pink slip 
 pers, low pink satin skin-tight bodice, pink lips, pink 
 
 53 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 cheeks, pink hat and feathers. Her neck and bosom 
 were as white as swan s-down, and glittered with 
 " diamonds," that did not seem any more sparkling 
 than her arch brown eyes, which laughed over her 
 pink fan laughed and winked, and looked right down 
 at Peter Day in the front seat. Peter s mouth fell 
 open ; he looked at his programme, the flimsy sheet 
 rustling in his big hands until his neighbors frowned 
 at him with impatience. 
 
 " Bessie Montague." That was her name Bessie ! 
 The soldier, it appeared, was Bessie s brother, who 
 was instructing her about the " Other Man," Mr. 
 Wilson, who was shortly to appear hampered, in 
 deed, by a Mrs. Wilson ; but if Bessie and her sisters, 
 Minnie, Nellie, Mamie, would play their cards prop 
 erly, the mere incident of the wife would make no 
 difference. They would go to a picnic with the Other 
 Man, and then, and then, and THEN ! came a rollick 
 ing chorus, with Minnie and Mamie and Nellie danc 
 ing round and round, Bessie the gayest of them all, 
 and the Other Man and the Incident coming on to be 
 hoodwinked, in sober and decent clothes and sancti 
 monious air. The audience roared at each innuendo ; 
 and Peter, smiling and palpitating like a girl, took it 
 all to mean that the four girls wanted the fun of the 
 picnic, and were going to get the old dodger with the 
 hay seed in his hair to give it to them. At least, when 
 he thought about the play at all, that was his con 
 struction of it ; but he hardly thought of it the 
 dancing enthralled him. It seemed to him that 
 Mamie and Minnie said things that weren t just mod 
 est sometimes, but a girl doesn t understand half the 
 time what words mean ; very likely they didn t know 
 why the masculine part of the audience roared so, 
 
 54 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 Nellie had almost nothing to say, and Bessie was the 
 premiere danseuse, and only joined in the choruses. 
 To Peter, from the first moment, she was the most 
 fascinating figure on the stage. Her dancing and 
 coquetting and pirouetting, her glances and gurgling 
 laughter and gestures, went to his head. He saw 
 nothing else ; the tawdry scenery, the soiled cotton 
 velvet and flimsy crumpled satin, the reek of vulgarity, 
 never touched his innocent mind. He looked at her 
 open-mouthed, breathless. The play was about half 
 over, when it seemed to him that this angel, or fairy, 
 or whatever she was, flagged and began to look 
 tired. Once the soldier frowned, and made a gest 
 ure to show that she had done something wrong, 
 and he saw a frightened wince under the smiles and 
 paint on the girl s face. Peter Day ground his teeth. 
 How dared the brute look that way at his sister ? 
 That was no way for a brother to act ! From that 
 point he only looked at Bessie ; he saw her growing 
 white and whiter, though he noticed that the color 
 in her cheek was as bright as ever which seemed 
 to him a very unhealthy sign. 
 
 " It s that way in consumption," he thought. He 
 felt impelled to leap up on the stage and tell her 
 brother he ought to take better care -of her ; and 
 then her dancing fascinated him so that he forgot 
 her pallor for a while then noticed it, with sharp 
 compunction. 
 
 The last whirl and pigeon-wing, the last kick and 
 flurry of gauze skirts, the last leer then, standing 
 on one leg, each sister kissed her hand, bit her lip, 
 looked down into the audience and winked, and 
 it was over ! 
 
 Peter Day sat like a man in a dream. Somebody 
 55 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 cuffed him on the shoulder and said, " Did they put 
 you to sleep?" and there was a guffaw of laughter. 
 
 He shook his head silently and got up ; he looked 
 about in a dazed way for a minute, and then went 
 stumbling out into the cool night. 
 
 As for " Bessie," she sat down on an overturned 
 soap-box behind the scenes and panted. 
 
 " You ve got a mash, Liz !" one of the girls called 
 out, beginning to wash off the paint. 
 
 " Oh, I m so tired !" she said, faintly. "Oh, this is 
 a dog s life !" 
 
 " Guess he s waiting at the side door," Mamie sug 
 gested; "he looks good for a supper, anyway. Make 
 him stand up to us all, Liz, will you ?" 
 
 " Shut up !" the girl said. " I m nearly dead." 
 
 " You ll hear that from Dickinson, I bet," one of 
 the "sisters" informed her; and then, with rough 
 kindliness, brought her a dash of whiskey in a dirty 
 tumbler. " There, brace up ! I don t believe he ll 
 say anything. My God, I thought you were going 
 to drop there once ! Did you see Johnny Mack glare 
 at you when you crossed behind ? If he ll keep his 
 mouth shut and not complain, I guess you won t 
 hear from it. I wish you didn t have to move on 
 to-morrow, though." 
 
 Ill 
 
 However, they did move on ; that is what it means 
 to be "on the road" and have one-night stands. The 
 " Montague Sisters" moved on, and Peter Day moved 
 with them. 
 
 The first step into liberty had been taken when 
 he went to the play ; then some door seemed to shut 
 
 56 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 behind him ; the automatic life stopped short ; he 
 felt, for the first time since he was twenty (when his 
 mother had nipped in the bud certain tendencies 
 towards love-making), the consciousness that he had 
 a life of his own. And he began to live it. He an 
 nounced that he was going away for a week or two. 
 
 " What ! now ?" ejaculated one of the hands. 
 "Why, we re that busy " 
 
 " I m going," his employer said, and set his lips in 
 a dogged way that he had learned under his mother s 
 scoldings ; it meant that he had no explanation to 
 give, and no retort ; but it meant, too, in this in 
 stance, will. So he packed a valise made of Brussels 
 carpet crimson roses on a cream -colored ground 
 and said good-bye to Jim, and started. 
 
 The Montague Sisters went to Mercer, and on to 
 two or three smaller places, and then back again 
 on the circuit towards Old Chester. It took nearly 
 three weeks, and Peter Day never missed a perform 
 ance. The company grew hysterical with laughter 
 over him ; the "sisters" played to him, and winked 
 at him, and kicked their high-heeled slippered feet 
 in his direction, and threw kisses to him over their 
 white shoulders that were so dangerously above 
 their bodices ; but it was more than a week before 
 he made the acquaintance of the manager and was 
 introduced to them. 
 
 " It s a dead mash for Liz," the manager an 
 nounced. " Say, Liz, can t you get him to give you 
 a theatre? Come, now, don t forget the company 
 when you strike it rich." Liz laughed, and groaned, 
 and dropped down on the broken springs of the 
 horse-hair couch in the parlor of the little hotel. 
 
 " Somebody d better give me a grave," she said, 
 s 57 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " Say, Dickinson, I m played out." She began to cry, 
 and the manager told her, good-naturedly, not to be 
 a fool. 
 
 " I ll send you up something that ll make you feel 
 better," he said. But the cocktail and the kindness 
 only made her cry the more. 
 
 " I don t know what s going to become of me," she 
 told the " sisters." " I can t keep this up ; there s no 
 use talking !" 
 
 Mamie sat down on the table, swinging her legs 
 back and forth, and looking concerned. "Well, now, 
 can t you go home awhile ?" she said. 
 
 Bessie looked up impatiently. " I haven t any 
 home. I haven t had for six years. I came into 
 this to support mother, and when she died, I didn t 
 have any home. As for relations, I ve got some re 
 lations somewhere, but they re too good for the likes 
 of me ! No, no !" She got up, the tears dried and 
 her dark eyes sparkling wickedly ; the cocktail had 
 brought a little color into her cheeks, and she was 
 as pretty as when she stood before the foot-lights 
 in vivid rouge and snow-white powder. She took 
 two dancing steps. " No no ! 
 
 " I care for nobody, 
 And nobody cares for me !" 
 
 " Except Hayseed," Mamie reminded her, with a 
 thoughtful frown. " He cares, it appears. I say, 
 Liz, I suppose you could lay off, and " 
 
 The girl turned on her savagely. "Now look here; 
 shut up ! He s good." 
 
 Mamie shrieked with laughter. "Oh, he doesn t 
 bite, doesn t he ?" 
 
 58 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 " He doesn t try to make me bite," the other said, 
 sharply ; then suddenly broke down again, and flung 
 up her arms, and said she wished she was dead. 
 " Talk about a home ! If I could stop, if I could 
 have a little house of my own, and maybe a garden 
 well, there ! I m a fool. You needn t tell me ; I 
 know it. But I tell you what, Mame, it s hell ; that s 
 what it is, this road business putting yourself up 
 to be insulted by every man that pays fifty cents to 
 see you dance. I m dead tired of it. Oh, my God, 
 I wish I was dead !" But even as she said it she 
 burst into a laugh, her brown eyes crinkling up with 
 fun. " Mamie, what do you suppose ? He asked me 
 to-day what my sisters thought of my working so 
 hard. * Sisters ? I said I was so tired, I was just 
 dead stupid. Sisters ? I says. * I haven t any sis 
 ters. He looked dumb-struck. Then I caught on." 
 
 " He is an innocent !" Mamie said. 
 
 " He s good," the other, answered, with a sob. 
 
 She was as inconsequent and unmoral, this little, 
 flashing, suffering, pretty creature, as the sparkle of 
 sunshine on a rippling wave. And she was, just 
 now, almost at the limit of her strength. The sim 
 ple-hearted man who, through his big steel-rimmed 
 spectacles, looked at her every night from the first 
 row, and came to see her every morning, as silent 
 and as faithful as a dog, saw in her all the beauty 
 and grace and good-nature of which his harmless 
 life had been starved. He thought to himself, over 
 and over, how pleasant she was. He had had little 
 enough pleasantness in his forty arid years, dear 
 knows ! so it was easy to recognize it when he saw it. 
 
 He was bewildered, and dazzled, and happy, and 
 tumultuously in love. He felt as if he wanted 
 
 59 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 to play with her ; to romp, and run, and laugh, as 
 though they were boy and girl. He was getting 
 young, this sober, elderly man, and the warm-heart 
 ed, quick - witted little actress, with her peals of 
 laughter, her funny winks, and grimaces, and good- 
 natured raillery, was the cause of it. He never knew 
 how hotly she defended him from the suspicions of 
 the rest of the company ; she was so quick to recog 
 nize his "goodness" that she turned white with an 
 ger when his motives were assailed. When he told 
 her once, blushing, that he was glad she just only 
 danced, because some of the things the other young 
 ladies said weren t just according to his notions, she 
 winced and set her white teeth. " I don t like those 
 jokes," she said ; "truly I don t, Mr. Day." 
 
 He laughed at that, in his soft, big voice, his eyes 
 beaming at her through his spectacles. 
 
 " You ! Well, you needn t tell me that, Miss Mon 
 tague. You don t understand, even. Well, now, a 
 girl seems to me just like one of those white butter 
 flies that s always round milkweed. You know em? 
 * Brides, the young ones call them. Their wings 
 you can t hardly breathe on em but what they re 
 spoiled i Well, it s like touching their wings to have 
 girls sing trashy songs ; and I m right sorry the 
 other ladies feel obliged to do it." 
 
 " Oh, if J ever had time to go to walk in the coun 
 try and see the brides !" she said, her eyes suddenly 
 wet. "I m pretty tired of this kind of life." 
 
 He made an impulsive gesture, and opened his lips ; 
 but he dared not speak. As for her, she went into the 
 hotel parlor, and sat on the horse-hair sofa under the 
 steel engraving of the " Landing of the Pilgrims," 
 and told Mamie she wished she was dead. 
 
 60 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 Peter Day knew no better than to make his pro 
 test to Dickinson, who winked at the barkeeper to 
 call his attention to the joke. " I m thinking of get 
 ting up a Sunday-school play for em next season," 
 he said. 
 
 Peter was no fool ; he did not pursue the subject; 
 but he had his own views. In his cramped, unlovely 
 life, the single exponent of the everlasting feminine 
 had been his mother. Yet he had his ideals : he be 
 lieved in goodness and in purity in a way that even 
 a man who had known them in their human limita 
 tions might not have done. In his grave and simple 
 way, he knew the world was wicked. But he would 
 not have those white-winged creatures whom he re 
 vered have even so much knowledge as that. 
 
 At the end of the third week the Montague Sisters 
 came to Old Chester ; they had two nights here, and 
 it was on the second night that Bessie broke down 
 absolutely, and fainted dead away. They were all 
 very kind to her the manager and the other " sis 
 ters." They were in and out of her room all that 
 night, and Dickinson would have given her all the 
 whiskey the tavern afforded if it would have done any 
 good. But business is business ; the troupe was ad 
 vertised to appear in the next town, and they had to 
 move on. So, with protestations, and most honest 
 anxiety, and the real, practical kindness of leaving 
 some money for her board with the tavern-keeper, 
 they moved on. But Peter Day stayed behind. 
 
 He saw her every day for a week ; he went up to 
 her room, and washed her little hot face and hands, 
 and fed her with cracked ice, and told her about 
 Jim ; and his eyes, behind his magnifying spectacles, 
 beamed like two kindly moons. 
 
 61 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " I m going to marry her," he told the tavern- 
 keeper, " just as soon as she can get out." 
 
 It was a week before she could sit up ; when she 
 did, in a big wooden rocking-chair, with roses painted 
 on the back, and slippery linen covers tied on the 
 arms, he came and sat beside her and put his hand 
 on hers. 
 
 " Miss Montague," he said, his voice trembling, " I 
 am going to ask a a favor." 
 
 " My name isn t Montague," she told him, her eyes 
 crinkling with a laugh ; " that s only my stage 
 name." 
 
 " Oh !" he said, blankly ; " I thought it was. Still, it 
 doesn t matter; because because, Miss Montague " 
 
 " Donald," she interrupted, smiling. 
 
 " Because, Miss Donald, I was going to ask you to 
 to change it." 
 
 " Change it ? My name ?" she said. " You don t 
 mean " 
 
 " I want you to marry me," he said, his hand sud 
 denly closing hard on hers. She drew back with a 
 cry ; looked at him with wide eyes ; then she put her 
 hands over her face and began to cry, poor child, in 
 a wailing, heart-broken way. To cry and cry and 
 cry, while he just put his arms about her and drew 
 her head down on his breast, and stroked her soft, 
 dark, curling hair, soothing her and cuddling her, 
 and saying : " There there ! I frightened you. 
 Never mind ; it s only me. It s only Peter. There, 
 there, there !" 
 
 She tried to say : " No ; oh no ! he must not think 
 of it. He he didn t know her. Oh no no! She was 
 not good enough. No, she couldn t, she couldn t !" 
 
 But he gathered her up in his arms, and put his 
 62 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 cheek down against her hair, and said, " There, there; 
 it s all right, and I ll get the license." 
 
 She was so weak that suddenly she fainted, and 
 Peter was like a madman until young Dr. King had 
 been rushed in, and had said it was all right, and she 
 would be none the worse the next morning. Which, 
 indeed, she was not. Something had braced her ; 
 perhaps it was the human kindness that went to her 
 heart like wine. 
 
 " I ll be good to him ; I ll make it up to him," she 
 said, crying peacefully to herself. " Oh, I will be 
 good to him ; and I m so tired tired tired. And 
 I ll do everything for him. And I can rest ; for all 
 my life, I can just rest." 
 
 So that was how it came about that, the evening 
 of the first day she was able to go out, Peter took her, 
 carried her almost, to Dr. Lavendar s study, where 
 they were reminded that marriage was not to be en 
 tered into lightly or unadvisedly but soberly, dis 
 creetly, and in the fear of God. 
 
 IV 
 
 Of course it is perfectly obvious how a " sober and 
 discreet " marriage of this nature must end. The 
 elderly, simple-minded, plain countryman, and the 
 little actress whose past had never been laid under 
 her neighbor s eyes what could happen, says the 
 wise world, but disaster and pain ? 
 
 And yet neither befell. 
 
 He took her home, this gentle, passionate, pitying 
 husband, and nursed her, and petted her, and played 
 with her. All the checked and stunted youth in him 
 
 63 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 blossomed out. He told her his thoughts for in his 
 slow way he had thoughts. He let her see his sim 
 ple adoration of the ideals which she embodied 
 gentleness, and prettiness, and purity. He was jeal 
 ous to shield her from every rough wind, from every 
 cruel knowledge ; all the love of all his bleak un 
 lovely life was poured into her lap. And she was 
 very " pleasant " with him. She felt towards Peter 
 that warm-hearted admiration which begins in appre 
 ciation and ends in love. He was so good to her 
 that was the first thing the wife felt ; and then, he 
 was so good ! 
 
 She laughed at him and sung to him, and even put 
 on her pink dress and danced for him sometimes. 
 And she brought Jim into the very parlor itself ! 
 At first, very likely, it was all part of the play of life 
 to her. She could appreciate, if Peter could not, the 
 stage setting, so to speak the bare, ugly parlor, with 
 its landscape-papered walls and faded photographs of 
 dead relatives hanging in oval black frames very 
 near the ceiling ; the lustres on the high wooden 
 mantel-piece ; the big Bible on the crocheted mat of 
 the centre-table ; the uncomfortable horse-hair sofa, 
 and the rosewood chairs standing at exact angles in 
 the windows ; and Peter, with Jim s head on his knee, 
 sitting, gaping at her gaping at the incongruous, 
 joyous, dancing figure, with the pink skirt twirling 
 over pink gauze petticoats ! At first the fun of the 
 contrast was a keen enjoyment ; but after a while 
 
 However, that came later. 
 
 Meantime she rested. Sometimes on his knee, with 
 her head on his shoulder, while he tried to read his 
 agricultural paper, but had to stop because she teased 
 him into laughter ; sometimes on a little couch out 
 
 64 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 under the trees, on the sunny side of the house, where 
 she could see Peter working in the garden. She 
 found not only rest but intense interest in this gar 
 den, which, to be sure, was rather commonplace. 
 There were clumps of perennials in the borders, upon 
 which each year the grass encroached more and more; 
 and there were shrubs, and some seedlings sown as the 
 wind listed, and there were a dozen ragged old rose 
 bushes. But Bessie Day threw herself into taking care 
 of all the friendly, old-fashioned fragrance, heart and 
 soul, and body too, which made her tired and strong 
 and happy all together. She used to lie awake those 
 summer nights and plan the garden she was going to 
 have next year ; and she pored over seedmen s cata 
 logues with a passionate happiness that made her 
 bright face brighter and brought a look of keen and 
 joyous interest into her eyes. 
 
 That was the first year ; the second, the ballet 
 dress was put away, for there was a baby ; and by- 
 and-by there were two babies a young Peter and a 
 young Donald. And then a little girl that the father 
 said must be named Pleasant. It was then that 
 Bessie got dissatisfied with her own name, and in 
 sisted that she be called Elizabeth. So the old name, 
 like the old pink satin dress and fan and high-heeled 
 slippers, was put away in the past. Sometimes Peter 
 talked about them, but Elizabeth would scold him 
 and say she was tired of them, and she wouldn t al 
 low them to be mentioned. "I ll steal your spec 
 tacles, Peter, if you tease me," she would threaten, 
 gayly ; " I go to church, nowadays, and the minister 
 says it isn t right to dance though I don t know that 
 I just agree with him," she would add, a little gravely. 
 
 " Anything you ever did was right right enough 
 65 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 for a minister to do himself !" Peter would declare, 
 stoutly. 
 
 " I wouldn t like to see the parson in pink petti 
 coats," Elizabeth would retort, her eyes twinkling 
 with fun. 
 
 She always went to church with Peter, and he kept 
 awake to look at her pretty face in her Sunday bon 
 net ; and later, when the children were old enough 
 to come, too, he had his hands full to keep the boys 
 in order, and not let them read their library books 
 during the sermon. Elizabeth, in her best lavender 
 silk, which had little sprigs over it, and an embroid 
 ered white crepe shawl, and a bonnet with soft 
 white strings, sat at the top of the pew, with Pleas- 
 ant s sleepy head against her shoulder, looking so 
 cheerful and pretty that it was no wonder Peter 
 looked oftener at her than at the parson. 
 
 As for the neighbors, social life came slowly, be 
 cause of Peter s long indifference to it ; but it came, 
 and people said they liked Mrs. Day because she was 
 so different from other folks " always real pleasant," 
 her neighbors said. " I never heard Peter s wife say 
 a hard word about anybody," Henry Davis said once; 
 " and when a woman s got a smart tongue, like she 
 has, they most always say funny things about other 
 folks that make you laugh, but would hurt the folks 
 feelings if they heard em. But Mrs. Day she s just 
 pleasant all the time." 
 
 So the placid years came and went, and by-and-by 
 Peter s wife was no longer slight ; but she was as 
 light on her feet as a girl, and her face was as bright 
 and pretty as ever, and her laugh was like the sunny 
 chuckle of a brook ; her children and her garden and 
 her husband filled her life, and she made theirs. 
 
 66 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 It was nearly ten years before that shadow, of 
 whose coming the world would have had no doubt, 
 fell, little by little, into the dark bright eyes and 
 across the smiling lips. Fell, and deepened and 
 deepened. 
 
 " You re not well, wife ?" Peter said, anxiously. 
 
 " Nonsense !" she said, smiling at him. 
 
 But when he left her, her face settled into heavy 
 lines. 
 
 " If you don t look better to - morrow," Peter 
 threatened, " I ll have the doctor." 
 
 " The doctor !" his wife cried, laughing. " Why, I 
 am perfectly well." 
 
 And, indeed, the doctor could not discover that 
 she was ill in any way. " Then why does she look 
 so badly ?" Peter urged, blinking at him with anxious 
 eyes. 
 
 " Oh, she s a little overtired," the doctor assured 
 him, easily. " I think she works too hard in that 
 garden of hers. I think I d put a stop to that, Mr. 
 Day." 
 
 And having done his worst, this worthy meddler 
 with the body departed, to prescribe physical ex 
 ercise for a brain-worker at the point of exhaustion. 
 But Peter was grateful for some positive instructions. 
 
 " The children and I will take care of the garden, 
 and you can just look on. What you need is rest." 
 
 So, to please him, she tried to rest ; but the shadow 
 deepened in her eyes, and the fret of thought wore 
 lines in her smooth forehead. She shook her head 
 over Peter s offer to take care of the garden. 
 
 " What ! trust my precious flowers to a mere 
 man?" she cried, with the old gayety, and bur 
 lesque anger. " Indeed I won t !" 
 
 67 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 The garden Peter had made for her was a great 
 two-hundred-foot square, sunk between four green 
 terraces ; it was packed with all sorts of flowers, and 
 overflowing with fragrance ; all the beds were bor 
 dered with sweet-alyssum and mignonette, and with 
 in them the flowers stood, pressing their glowing 
 faces together in masses of riotous color the glit 
 tering satin yellow of California poppies, the heav 
 enly blue of nemophila ; crimson mallow, snow-white 
 shining phlox ; sweet - pease and carnations, gilly 
 flowers and bachelor s-buttons, and everywhere the 
 golden sparks of coreopsis ; there were blots of burn 
 ing scarlet, sheets of orange and lilac and dazzling 
 white. Elizabeth used to sit down by some border 
 to weed, smiling at her flowers, putting her fingers 
 under some shy sweet face, to raise it, and look down 
 into it, rejoicing in the texture and color and per 
 fume and then, suddenly, her pleasant eyes would 
 cloud and her energy flag, and she would sit there, 
 absent and heavy, the pain wearing deep into her 
 forehead. 
 
 By the time another year had come her whole face 
 had changed ; her eyes so rarely crinkled up with 
 fun that one had a chance to see how big and sad 
 and terror-stricken they had grown, and her mouth 
 took certain pitiful lines, and seemed always about 
 to open into sad and wailing words. Another year 
 they had been married twelve years now had cer 
 tainly brought this husband and wife nearer to that 
 dreadful verge of disaster, which the sober looker-on 
 must surely have prophesied on that night when the 
 man and woman stood up to be married in Dr. Lav- 
 endar s study. 
 
 It was in June that Elizabeth Day said to her hus- 
 68 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 band, gayly, that she had a plan. " Now don t scold, 
 Peter, but listen. I suppose you will say I m crazy ; 
 but I have a notion I want to go off and take a 
 drive, all by myself, for a whole day." 
 
 " I ll drive you," he said, " anywhere you want." 
 
 " No," she said, coming and sitting on his knee ; 
 " no ; let me go by myself. I ll tell you : I think I m 
 a little nervous, and I ve a notion to take a drive by 
 myself. I think maybe I ll feel better for it." 
 
 " Well," he said, wistfully, " if you want to ; but 
 I d like to go with you." 
 
 But she would not listen to that ; and she was so 
 cheerful at the very prospect of her drive "just 
 real senseless glad !" her husband called it, anxious 
 ly that he began to think that perhaps she was 
 right, and it would do her good. 
 
 " Like giving a sick person what they ve got a 
 longing for," he told himself. " I know mother told 
 me how she knew of a child that was getting over 
 scarlet-fever, and wanted a pickle, and teased and 
 teased for it ; and they gave it to her and she got 
 well. Very likely Elizabeth just has a kind of crav 
 ing to ride round for a day. Well, she shall. Mercy ! 
 she shall have just anything in the Lord s world, if 
 I can get it for her ! I wish the buggy wasn t so 
 shabby. I must be getting a new one for her." 
 
 Still, when the moment came for her to start, he 
 was anxious again. 
 
 " Suppose you take one of the children along for 
 company ?" he said, as he helped her into the buggy. 
 (Oh, how light she was ! What a thrill and tremor 
 he felt in her hand when his big fingers closed over 
 it!) "Take Pleasant," he entreated. And she 
 agreed, with a sigh. 
 
 69 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " I don t mind, if you want me to, Peter." 
 
 So Pleasant, uttering shrieks of joy, ran for her 
 hat, and began to climb up to join her mother, too 
 excited to wait for her father s helping hand. 
 
 Elizabeth Day gathered up the reins and gave a 
 little flickering look up at the front of the house at 
 the two boys sitting on the porch steps at her hus 
 band standing beside the buggy, stretching over the 
 wheels to tuck the duster around her feet. It was 
 early she had stipulated for an early start the dew 
 stretched like a cobweb over the grass, and in the 
 border a cloud of scarlet poppies were beaded with 
 drops like silver ; the honeysuckle at the end of the 
 porch was pouring its fragrance from curved and 
 polished horns. She had planted that honeysuckle 
 twelve years ago. How happy she had been then ! 
 Now, faithful wife, tender mother, modest, careful 
 housewife good, too, she thought to herself, humbly 
 she was not happy. Oh, most miserable, most 
 miserable f 
 
 How strange it is that the tree whose fruit is suf 
 fering and pain, is the knowledge of good as well as 
 of evil ! Perhaps the single knowledge of either 
 would not mean anything ; or perhaps there cannot 
 be knowledge of one without knowledge of the 
 other. Here is a great mystery : we poor little 
 creatures cannot understand that He both makes 
 peace and creates evil for his own purposes for sin 
 is the prerogative of God. This poor girl, in her 
 pure and placid life here on the farm, had eaten of 
 this tree, and the anguish of the knowledge of good 
 ness had fallen on her. She groaned under her 
 breath, looking at the dear house and at the dear 
 love. . . . 
 
 70 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 Elizabeth shook the reins and nodded, smiling : 
 " Good-bye, boys, don t bother father ; be good chil 
 dren. Good-bye, Peter." 
 
 " When will you be back ?" her husband said, his 
 hand on the bridle the horse backed and fretted, 
 and his wife scolded good-naturedly. 
 
 " I ll never get off i Come ! go on, Captain. Oh, 
 well, then to-night, maybe." 
 
 "To-night!" Peter echoed, blankly. "Well, I 
 should say so ! Pleasant, take care of mother ;" 
 and he let her start, but stood looking down the 
 road, watching the hood of the buggy jogging up 
 and down, until the light dust hid it. 
 
 Elizabeth leaned back in her seat and drew a great 
 breath of relief. Pleasant, smiling all over her little 
 round face, looked up at her. 
 
 " Mother, may I hold the reins ?" she said. 
 
 "Take the ends of them," Elizabeth said ; " moth 
 er will keep her hands in front of yours, for fear 
 Captain should take a notion to run." 
 
 Pleasant, beaming, and crinkling her eyes up as 
 her mother had done before her, shook and jerked at 
 the ends of the reins, saying, " Get up, there !" and 
 clucked as she had heard her father do ; then, squar 
 ing her elbows, she braced her feet against the dash 
 board. " If Captain was to run, mother, this is the 
 way I d stop him," she said, proudly. 
 
 " Yes, dear child," the mother answered, mechani 
 cally. She drove without any uncertainty or hesita 
 tion as to her route, and carefully sparing her horse 
 as one who has a long journey before her. It was 
 growing warmer ; the dew had burned off, and the 
 misty look of early morning had brightened into 
 clear soft blue without a cloud. There was a shal- 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 low run beside the road, which chattered and 
 chuckled over its pebbly bed, or plunged down in 
 little waterfalls a foot high, running over stones 
 smooth with moss, or stopping in the shadows under 
 leaning trees, and spreading into little pools, as clear 
 and shining and brown as Pleasant s eyes. 
 
 " It would be nice to wade, wouldn t it, mother ?" 
 the child said ; and the mother said again, mechan 
 ically, 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 But she did not look at the run, which by-and-by 
 widened into a creek as it and the road went on 
 together ; and when Captain began to climb a long, 
 sunny slope, she only knew the difference because 
 the sweating horse fell into an easy walk. Pleasant 
 chattered without ceasing. 
 
 " It s nice to come with you, mother. Where are 
 we going? Mother, I think I must have been unu 
 sually good, don t you, for God to let me have this 
 ride, and hold Captain s reins ? I wonder if Captain 
 knows I ve got the ends of the reins? He doesn t 
 try to run, you see ; I guess he knows he couldn t, 
 with me to help you hold him. Oh, look at the bird 
 sitting on the fence ! Well, I m glad I ve been good 
 lately or else, probably, I wouldn t have come with 
 you. Donald was bad yesterday ; he pulled the kit 
 ty s tail very hard ; so I notice God didn t let him 
 come. I never pull the kitty s tail," Pleasant ended, 
 virtuously. Then she said, "Get up, Captain !" and 
 jerked the reins so hard that her mother came out 
 of her thoughts with a start. 
 
 "Don t, Pleasant ! Don t pull so, dear." 
 
 " Mother, when you were a little girl, did you ever 
 go and drive with your mother, like me ?" 
 
 72 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 "Yes, Pleasant." 
 
 " Was she nice was she as nice as you ?" 
 
 "A great deal nicer, Pleasant." 
 
 " My !" said Pleasant. " I suppose she let you drive 
 altogether not just with the ends of the reins?" 
 
 Elizabeth did not answer. Pleasant slipped off 
 the seat and leaned over the dash-board to pat Cap 
 tain ; then tried sitting sidewise with her legs un 
 der her. 
 
 " This is the way the cat sits ; I never understood 
 before what she did with her back legs. The tail is 
 easy ; she just lays it over her front legs." Then she 
 slid down again to sit on the floor of the buggy and 
 hang her head over the wheel to see the tracks in 
 the dust. Elizabeth came out of her dream at this, 
 and bade the child get up on the seat. 
 
 "Where are we going?" Pleasant said, climbing 
 up joyfully ; but she had to repeat her question be 
 fore her mother heard it. 
 
 " To Old Chester, dear child." 
 
 " Oh, that s miles and miles away !" Pleasant said, 
 excitedly ; and turned and knelt down on the seat 
 so that she could clasp her mother s neck with both 
 little warm, loving arms. " Oh, I am glad we re go 
 ing so far away ; it s so interesting to take a long 
 journey. I was afraid you would be turning round 
 pretty soon. Who are you going to see, mother ?" 
 
 ** I m going to see a minister who lives there, 
 Pleasant." 
 
 Pleasant looked serious, as befitted the mention of 
 a minister. 
 
 "Why are you going to see a minister?" 
 
 " Pleasant, you must not ask so many questions ! 
 I never knew a little girl talk so much." 
 6 73 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Pleasant looked troubled, and drew a long breath. 
 "Well, mother, it s my thoughts. If I didn t have 
 so many thoughts, I wouldn t talk. Do you have 
 thoughts, mother?" 
 
 Elizabeth laughed. "Well, yes, Pleasant, I do." 
 
 " Well, you see !" cried Pleasant, triumphantly. 
 " Tell me a few of your thoughts, please, mother." 
 
 " Oh, my dear child, do be quiet !" the mother en 
 treated. " Oh, my God /" she said, under her breath. 
 There was something in her face that did silence the 
 child, for a time at least. Elizabeth drew up at a 
 spring under the trees by the road-side, and brought 
 out a lunch-basket and gave the little girl something 
 to eat. She did not eat herself, but sat absently 
 flecking at a weed with her whip, and watching Cap 
 tain plunging his nose down into the trough. Pleas 
 ant climbed out to get a drink, putting her lips 
 against the mossy wooden pipe from which a single 
 sparkling thread of water fell into the great hollowed 
 log. They could hear some one whetting a scythe 
 in a field higher up on the hill, above the woods. 
 The sunshine sifted down through the thick foliage, 
 and the yellow flower of the jewel - weed, just on 
 the edge of the trough, caught it, and glittered like 
 a topaz. Captain stamped a little among the wet 
 stones and mud, and pulled at the reins ; and Eliza 
 beth said, " Well, go long, Captain." 
 
 The horse started in a steady jogging trot, keep 
 ing carefully on the shady side of the road. A fresh 
 wind had sprung up, and along the horizon a few 
 white clouds had heaped themselves into shining 
 domes, but the sky was exquisitely and serenely 
 blue. The creek had widened into a little narrow 
 river, deep and brown, and fringed with sycamores ; 
 
 74 
 
V 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 men were haying in the meadows and in the or 
 chards on the hill-sides, and the hot smell of newly 
 cut grass was in the air. 
 
 Elizabeth Day drew up beside a mile - post, and 
 leaned out of the buggy, trying to read the nearly 
 effaced figures. " It s only three miles more, Pleas 
 ant," she said, breathlessly. 
 
 " Shall we get some dinner in Old Chester ?" Pleas 
 ant asked, with anxiety. 
 
 " Why, my dear child, you ve just had some din 
 ner. Still, there is more in the basket, if you want 
 it. You can eat it while I get out and visit with the 
 minister. You must be a good girl, Pleasant, and 
 wait outside in the buggy. I ll hitch Captain." 
 
 " I ll hold the reins," Pleasant declared ; "he won t 
 try and run if you hitch him and I hold the reins. 
 Captain is a good old horse good Captain ! good 
 boy !" she continued, hanging over the dash-board 
 to stroke his black tail. Captain switched it, with 
 mild impatience, and Pleasant drew back, offended ; 
 then tried sliding off the seat : " But the dash-board 
 gets in the way of my knees," she complained. Her 
 mother did not notice her. The little warm body 
 pressing against her, the sudden embraces, the 
 bubbling words, the overflowing activity and rest 
 lessness, were like the touch of foam against a 
 rock. 
 
 "Mother," Pleasant began, "one of my thoughts 
 was, whose little girl would I be if you hadn t mar 
 ried father ? Would I live with him, or would I live 
 with you? It s very interesting to have thoughts 
 like that," said Pleasant. 
 
 " It s very foolish," Elizabeth said, sharply ; and 
 again the child was silenced, looking sidewise at her 
 
 75 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 mother, not knowing whether she had been naughty 
 or not. 
 
 It was nearly twelve when they reached Old Ches 
 ter. Pleasant was quite cheerful again, and bubbling 
 over with questions. 
 
 Mrs. Day was pale, and her whole body tingled 
 and trembled. How familiar it all was : The stone 
 tavern with the wide porch that had been her win 
 dow, the one in the corner. She had sat there, in 
 the painted rocking - chair, when Peter told her he 
 wanted to marry her. And that was the church ; 
 right beyond it was the minister s house. She re 
 membered that they had walked across the green in 
 front of the church to go to the rectory. It sudden 
 ly came over her, in a wave of terror, that he might 
 be dead, that old man ! She took out the whip, and 
 struck Captain sharply ; he leaped forward, and the 
 jerk fairly knocked the breath out of Pleasant, who 
 was in the middle of a question. Elizabeth felt, 
 poor woman, that she could not bear one instant s 
 more anxiety : if he were dead oh, what should 
 she do ? He had been an old man, she remem 
 bered. 
 
 Captain went briskly down the street, and Eliza 
 beth was so weak with misery and apprehension she 
 could scarcely stop him at the parsonage gate. 
 
 " Will you be quiet, Pleasant, and not get out ?" 
 Elizabeth said. She got the oat-bag from the back 
 of the buggy, and then pulled the weight from un 
 der the seat and fastened the catch into Captain s 
 
 76 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 bit. He put his soft nose against her wrist, and she 
 stopped, trembling, to pat him. 
 
 Then she went up the path between the garden 
 borders : she and Peter had walked along that path. 
 Oh dear, she was beginning to cry ! She could not 
 speak to the minister if she was going to cry. She 
 had to wait and wipe her eyes and let the tremor and 
 swelling of her throat subside before she rang and 
 asked if she might see Dr. Lavendar. 
 
 " He s goin to have his dinner in about fifteen 
 minutes," Mary said, sourly. She did not mean to 
 have the rectory meals delayed by inconsiderate peo 
 ple arriving at twelve o clock. "And she ll worry 
 the life out of him, anyhow," Mary reflected : Mary 
 had seen too many tragic faces come to that door 
 not to recognize this one. 
 
 " Who s there ?" demanded Dr. Lavendar from the 
 study ; and then came peering out into the hall, which 
 was dusky, because the vines hung low over the lin 
 tel, letting the light filter in green and soft across 
 the threshold. When he saw the strange face he 
 came forward to welcome her. He had on a flowered 
 dressing - gown, and his spectacles had been pushed 
 back and rested on his white hair, which stood up 
 very stiff and straight. " Come in," he said, abrupt 
 ly ; and Mary, feeling herself worsted, retired, mut 
 tering, to the kitchen. 
 
 Mrs. Day followed the minister into the study, but 
 when he closed the door behind her and pointed to a 
 chair, and said, cheerfully, "And what can I do for 
 you, ma am ?" she could hardly find her voice to an 
 swer him. 
 
 She was conscious of a sense of relief that the room 
 did not look as it did the night that she and Peter 
 
 77 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 had stood up to be married. The furniture had been 
 moved about, and there was sunshine instead of 
 lamp-light, and through the open window she could 
 see Pleasant hanging over the dash-board stroking 
 Captain, who was tossing his feed-bag up to get at 
 his oats. 
 
 " I suppose you don t remember me, sir ?" she said. 
 
 " I m afraid I don t," he confessed, smiling. " An 
 old man s memory isn t good for much, you know." 
 
 She tried to smile too, but her face felt stiff. 
 
 " You married us, sir ; my name is Day. Peter 
 Day is my husband." 
 
 Dr. Lavendar reflected. " Day ? The name is fa 
 miliar, but I don t recall Let me see ; when was 
 it?" 
 
 "It s twelve years ago next month, sir," Elizabeth 
 said, and added that she had come from Grafton, and, 
 with a little pride in her voice, that her husband was 
 well known in Upper Chester. " Why you must 
 have heard of Peter Day !" she said. 
 
 But Dr. Lavendar did not commit himself. He 
 hoped Mr. Day was well ? And was that little girl 
 in the buggy hers ? Had she other children ? And 
 all the while he looked at her with his kind, shrewd 
 old eyes, that were always beaming with his good 
 opinion of his fellow-men an opinion that grew out 
 of his belief that the children of his Father could 
 not be so very bad, after all ! 
 
 " I came to see you," Elizabeth began, in a waver 
 ing voice, "because because I thought you would 
 give me some advice." 
 
 " I find it s easier for me to give advice than for 
 people to take it," he answered, good-humoredly ; 
 but now she did not even try to smile. 
 
 78 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 " I m in great trouble, sir ; I I thought you were 
 the only person who could help me. I ve thought of 
 coming to see you for the last year." 
 
 "Have you had any dinner?" demanded Dr. Lav- 
 endar, looking at her over his spectacles. 
 
 " No ; I don t want any, sir. I only want " 
 
 "You want food," he declared, nodding his head ; 
 and called Mary, and bade her bring in dinner. " Yes, 
 you must have some food ; the advice of one empty 
 stomach to another isn t to be trusted. Come ! you ll 
 feel better for a cup of tea." Then he stopped, and 
 put his veined old hand on her arm : " You haven t 
 the worst trouble in the world," he said ; " be sure of 
 that." 
 
 Afterwards she wondered what he meant. What 
 trouble could be worse than hers ? But he said no 
 more about trouble. He called Pleasant, and he 
 made his two visitors sit down with him ; he talked 
 about his bee-hives, and promised to show Pleasant 
 his precious stones, and let her give his shaggy little 
 dog Danny a crust of bread. Then he asked her 
 whom she was named after. 
 
 "Why, after mother!" said Pleasant, astonished 
 that he did not know. " Mother s front name is 
 Elizabeth, but father says he named me Pleasant be 
 cause mother s eyes were pleasant, and her voice 
 was, and her face was, and her " 
 
 " Pleasant, you must not talk so much," Elizabeth 
 protested, much mortified. " My husband is such a 
 kind man, sir, he says things like that," she ex 
 plained. 
 
 But Pleasant, excited by the strangeness of the oc 
 casion, could not be restrained ; she was bubbling 
 over with information Captain, and her two broth- 
 
 79 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 ers, and mother s garden, and father s dog Jim, that 
 had a grave in the orchard, and a really marble 
 tombstone that said, "Jim a good friend." "He 
 died before I was born, so I don t remember him very 
 well," she said ; but father had given mother a new 
 dog, named Fanny ; and he had given her, Pleasant, 
 a duck, for her own, which hatched chickens. " And 
 their own mother can t make em swim !" Pleasant 
 informed her hearer, excitedly. " Father said I 
 mustn t try and teach em (though I would just as 
 leave), because it would worry mother. Would it 
 worry you, mother ?" 
 
 " Pleasant, dear, I think you had better run out 
 and sit in the buggy now " 
 
 " For fear Captain will run away ?" suggested 
 Pleasant, eagerly. 
 
 " She talks a great deal, sir," Elizabeth apologized. 
 " She s our only little girl, and I m afraid we spoil 
 her." 
 
 Perhaps Dr. Lavendar had gained what he wanted 
 from the child ; he made no protest at her dismissal, 
 and she went frolicking out to climb up into the 
 buggy and sit in the sun, chattering to Captain, and 
 weaving three long larch twigs together to make a 
 wreath. 
 
 Mrs. Day and the minister went back into the 
 study. Her heart was beginning to beat heavily. 
 She sat down where she could look through the open 
 window and see Pleasant, and the light fell on her 
 pretty, worn face. She was rolling up the corner of 
 her pocket-handkerchief, and then spreading it out 
 on her knee and smoothing it with shaking ringers. 
 She did not once raise her eyes to his face. 
 
 u It s this way, sir : I wanted to ask you I thought 
 SQ 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 I d come and ask you, because you married us, and 
 you are a stranger to us (and you are a minister) 
 oh, I thought I d ask you what I must do." 
 
 Dr. Lavendar was silent. 
 
 "There s something I ve got on my mind. It s 
 just killing me. It s something my husband don t 
 know. If he wasn t just the best husband in the 
 world, it wouldn t kill me the way it does. But there 
 never was anybody as good as Peter no, not even 
 a minister is any better than him. We ve been mar 
 ried twelve years, and I ought to know. Well, it 
 ain t only that he s just the kindest man in the world 
 it s his being so good. He isn t like other men. 
 He don t have the kind of thoughts they do. He 
 don t understand some things not any more than 
 Pleasant does. Oh, Peter is so good if he only wasn t 
 so good !" 
 
 She was red and then white ; she held her shaking 
 lip between her teeth, and looked out at Pleasant. 
 
 " It seemed as if you could help me if I told you ; 
 and yet now it seems as if there wasn t any help any 
 where." 
 
 " There is help, my friend." 
 
 She seemed to grasp at his words. 
 
 " Oh, sir, if you ll tell me what to do Well, it s 
 this : you see, you married Peter and me suddenly ; 
 he didn t really know anything about me ; he fell in 
 love with me, seeing me in a play. Well, before I 
 met Peter that s what I want to tell you " 
 
 " Do not tell me." 
 
 " Don t tell you ?" She looked at him in a bewil 
 dering way. 
 
 "Is there any reparation to make? Is there any 
 thing to be set right ?" 
 
 81 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " No," she said, with a sob ; " oh no ! nothing can 
 make it right." 
 
 " Then it is not necessary for me to know, to ad 
 vise you. Let us say, for the sake of argument, that 
 it s the worst thing that could be. Now, my dear 
 Mrs. Day, the worst thing that could be differs for 
 every one of us. It might be murder for one person ; 
 it might be a lie for another person ; it might be the 
 preaching of the gospel for somebody else. But say 
 it s your worst. Do you doubt your husband s for 
 giveness ?" 
 
 " I don t think he d even call it forgiveness," she 
 said, after a pause, twisting and untwisting the 
 corner of her handkerchief with trembling fingers. 
 "Peter just loves me; that s all. But it would 
 oh, it would hurt Peter so !" 
 
 " You have a good husband, I am sure of that," he 
 said, quietly. " And your question, as I understand 
 it, is, shall you tell him some grievous fault, commit^ 
 ted before you knew him ? I can say at once " Eliza 
 beth looked ghastly " that you ought to have told 
 him before you married him." 
 
 " So I ought to tell him now ?" she said, in a whis 
 per. 
 
 " Do you want to tell him ?" 
 
 " Oh, sometimes it seems as if I would die if I 
 didn t," she said. " It would be such a relief. I think, 
 if he knew it, I could forget it. I lie awake nights, 
 thinking and thinking and thinking how I can tell 
 him, till my mind s sore, it seems to me. I think to 
 myself that I ll tell him as soon as he wakes up." 
 She stopped, and swallowed once or twice, and 
 pressed her lips together as though to force back 
 tears. " And then, again, I feel as though I would 
 
 82 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 die if I told him. Why, Peter thinks I am about 
 perfect, I believe. It sounds foolish to say that, but 
 it s true, sir. It would be like like I don t know 
 what like stabbing him. I don t mean he d be un 
 kind to me, or anything like that. It isn t that that 
 scares me. But it would be like putting a knife into 
 him. But perhaps that s part of my punishment," 
 she ended, wretchedly. 
 
 " Mother," Pleasant called from the garden path, 
 "may I go and see the minister s bees ?" 
 
 Dr. Lavendar went to the window and told her 
 cheerfully that she might. " But you must not touch 
 the hives, remember," he cautioned her. 
 
 Then he came and sat down again at his table. 
 He took off his spectacles and put them into a little 
 shabby leather case ; then he passed his hand over 
 his eyes once or twice. 
 
 " Part of your punishment. You would not wish 
 to escape any part of it, of course ? There is a great 
 satisfaction in punishment." 
 
 A quick understanding came into her face. " I 
 know what you mean. I ve thought sometimes I d 
 like to be a Catholic and have penances ; I could beat 
 myself to death, and call it happiness !" she ended, 
 passionately. 
 
 u Yes ; you must not shirk your punishment," he 
 said, slowly. " But there s one thing we must find 
 out : does your husband deserve any punishment ?" 
 
 " Peter !" she cried. " Why, he never did anything 
 wrong in his life !" 
 
 " Then have you any right to make him share 
 your punishment ? You say that if he knew this old 
 sin of yours, you could forget it ; but would he for 
 get it? You would pay a great price for forgetful- 
 
 83 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 ness, my dear friend, if you brought him into the 
 shadow in which you walk. Have you ever thought 
 you might be selfish in not being willing to bear this 
 weight alone ?" 
 
 " What r she said, breathlessly" not tell him ?" 
 
 " Listen," he said, with a sudden stern dignity ; he 
 was the priest, instead of the kindly old man : " you 
 have sinned long ago. I don t know how I don t 
 want to know. But it is passed, and there is no 
 reparation to make. You have sinned, and suffered 
 for your sin ; you have asked your Heavenly Father 
 to forgive you, and He has forgiven you. But still 
 you suffer. Woman, be thankful that you can suffer; 
 the worst trouble in the world is the trouble that 
 does not know God, and so does not suffer. With 
 out such knowledge there is no suffering. The sense 
 of sin in the human soul is the apprehension of Al 
 mighty God. Your salvation has drawn nigh unto 
 you ! Now take your suffering ; bear it, sanctify it, 
 lift it up ; let it bring you nearer to your Saviour. 
 But do not, do not, put it on shoulders where it does 
 not belong. Do not stab your husband s heart by 
 weakly, selfishly selfishly, mind you ! telling him 
 of a past with which it is too late now for him to 
 concern himself." 
 
 She drew a long breath. " But you don t know 
 what it was. If you knew 
 
 " It does not matter what the sin was. All that 
 matters is, what your love is." 
 
 " But I am afraid oh, I am afraid that in my 
 heart I don t want to tell him. Oh, I may be de 
 ceiving myself if I call it a duty not to tell him !" 
 
 " No, you are not deceiving yourself. You don t 
 want to tell him because it is your instinct to spare 
 
 84 
 
GOOD FOR THE SOUL 
 
 him. Perhaps, too, you have the instinct to spare 
 yourself, in his eyes. But silence does not really 
 spare you don t you know that? It only spares 
 him ! Silence is agony to you sometimes. Well, 
 then, bear the agony for his sake. Don t you love 
 him enough for that ? You talk about penance my 
 friend, such silence will be worse than any penance 
 of the Romish Church !" 
 
 She clung to his hands, crying now unrestrainedly. 
 "And I am not to keep thinking, Shall I tell Peter? 
 I m not to keep thinking I m deceiving him ?" 
 
 " My child, you are not deceiving him. He thinks 
 you are a good woman : you are. Look back over 
 these years and see what wonderful things the Lord 
 hath wrought in you. Go down on your knees and 
 thank Him for it. Don t deny it ; don t be afraid to 
 own it to yourself that would be ingratitude to 
 your Father in heaven. Instead, thank Him that you 
 are good / And now listen : I charge you bear the 
 burden of silence, because you love your husband, 
 and he is good." 
 
 Elizabeth looked at him, rapt, absorbed. " I am 
 not to be afraid that it is for my own wicked fear 
 that I am not telling him ? No, it isn t that, it isn t 
 that ! I know it isn t. For his sake for his sake " 
 
 " Yes, for his sake." 
 
 But he looked at her pityingly. Would this com 
 fort of deliberately chosen pain be temporary? 
 " Try," he said, " and think that you stand between 
 him and pain ; take all the misery yourself ; be glad 
 to take it. Don t let it reach him." 
 
 " If I think of it that way," she said, breathlessly. 
 " I I can love it !" 
 
 "Think of it that way always." 
 85 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 He made her sit down again, and went out to find 
 Pleasant, leaving her with the peace of one solemnly 
 elate at the recognition of the cross on which she 
 must agonize for the happiness of some other soul. 
 
 " Suppose," said Dr. Lavendar, watching the buggy 
 pulling up the hill " suppose I hadn t found her a 
 good woman, and a good wife, and a good mother 
 should I have told her to hold her tongue? Well, 
 I m thankful it wasn t that kind of a question ! Lord, 
 I m glad Thou hast all us puzzled people in Thy wise 
 keeping. Come, Danny, let s go and see the bees." 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 Miss MARIA WELWOOD S house was on Locust 
 Street the street that climbs the hill, and melts into 
 a country road, and then joins the turnpike over 
 which the stage used to come every day from Mer 
 cer. It was such a house as one sees so often in 
 Pennsylvania and Maryland stone and brick 
 mostly stone, so that the bricks seemed to be built 
 in in patches, to help out. It stood back from the 
 street, behind a low brick wall that was crumbling 
 here and there where the plaster had fallen out; but 
 the vines heaped on the coping and trailing down 
 almost to the flag -stones of the foot-path outside 
 hid the marks of years and weather, so it never 
 seemed worth while to repair it. In the spring these 
 flag-stones were white with falling blossoms of the 
 plum-trees just inside, and petals from the Pirus 
 japonica drifted over and lay among them like little 
 crimson shells ; later in the season Persian lilacs 
 waved their delicate purple plumes over the head 
 of the passer-by, who could see, for the wall was 
 low, a pleasant old garden at one side of the house. 
 To be sure, it held nothing more choice than old- 
 fashioned perennials, that showed their friendly faces 
 7 89 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 year after year peonies, and yellow iris, and the 
 powdery pink of queen -of -the -meadow and be 
 tween them what annuals might sow themselves, 
 with here and there a low bush of old-man, or musk, 
 or clove-pink. The house itself was low and ram 
 bling, and much bigger than Miss Welwood needed 
 her family being herself and a cousin, Rose Knight. 
 A nephew, Charles Welwood, lived with her until he 
 was twenty -four, and, for that matter, considering 
 the number of his visits, continued to live with her, 
 now that he was thirty. But the nominal household 
 was herself and Rose ; a " good girl," Old Chester 
 called Rose, sensible, and modest, as a girl should 
 be, and not too pretty, for that inclines to vanity. 
 As for Miss Welwood, she had certainly been pretty 
 when she was young ; and now that she was fifty 
 she was like some little ruddy winter apple ; there 
 was the touch of frost on her brown hair, but her 
 cheek had a fresh color, and her eyes were bright 
 and smiling. She was little, and had a pretty figure, 
 which she held very erect. " Because," she used to 
 explain, " when I went to Miss Brace s academy, my 
 dear, I was obliged to carry atlases on my head to 
 make me stand straight." Miss Maria would have 
 liked to put atlases on Rose s head ; but, alas ! Rose 
 did not agree with her ; and there it ended, for Miss 
 Maria was one of those people who always want 
 other people to do what they want to do. This char 
 acteristic does not belong to the reformer, but it is 
 agreeable to live with. "Dear Maria Welwood," Old 
 Chester called her except Mrs. Barkley, who called 
 her, generally, "a perfect fool." Now Mrs. Barkley 
 loved Miss Welwood, that was why she called her a 
 fool ; and, besides, she limited this opinion to Miss 
 
 90 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 Maria s way of allowing herself to be imposed upon. 
 When you come to think of it, there is nothing 
 which makes us so angry at the people we love as 
 their way of letting themselves be imposed upon. 
 
 Charles Welwood and his little income of about 
 $300 a year had come to Miss Maria as the legacy 
 of a dying brother, and for twenty-three years she 
 had devoted herself and her pocket-book to him. 
 When Charles was nearly sixteen, Rose, the orphan 
 daughter of a far-away cousin, was also left, as it 
 were, on her door-step probably on the principle 
 of to him that hath shall be given. "And if you 
 don t call that an imposition !" Mrs. Barkley said. 
 " She s got those two children on her hands, and it 
 will interfere with her chances of marrying you see 
 if it doesn t !" 
 
 Perhaps it did ; certainly Miss Maria had not mar 
 ried. There had been a time, when she was about 
 twenty-eight, and Mr. Ezra Barkley, Mrs. Barkley s 
 brother-in-law, came to live in Old Chester, that she 
 may have had hopes ; but nothing came of them. 
 Miss Maria began by admiring Mr. Ezra because of 
 his learning ; and then his kindness to everything 
 and everybody went to her own kind heart. But, 
 to tell the truth, except for that kindness, which 
 made him excessively polite to her as well as to 
 everybody else, Mr. Ezra did not notice Miss Maria 
 very much. She used to look at the back of his 
 head in church, and listen, awe-struck, to his con 
 versation when she came to tea with Mrs. Barkley ; 
 and she was apt to take her afternoon walk Charles 
 clinging to her hand down the street by which 
 Mr. Ezra returned from his office. But though Mr. 
 Barkley offered her a hymn-book once or twice, and 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 bowed with great friendliness whenever they met, 
 and politely saw her home, with a lantern, when she 
 spent the evening with his sister-in-law, she could 
 not feel that there was anything significant in his 
 attentions. He offered the same civilities, with the 
 same gentility of manner, to every lady in Old Ches 
 ter. So Miss Maria hid her little fluttering tender 
 ness in her own heart, where it lay, like a fly in am 
 ber, while the placid years came and went. But the 
 memory of the buried hope was like some faint soft 
 fragrance in her life. She never forgot it. 
 
 As for her two young people, when they arrived 
 at those years of indiscretion of which matrimony 
 is often the outward and visible sign, propinquity 
 suggested that they might marry ; but for once it 
 would appear youth was prudent. Neither display 
 ed any tender symptoms. 
 
 Charles was absorbed in making water - color 
 sketches, in the hope that he might one day be an 
 artist, and had no time, he had been heard to say, 
 contemptuously, for sentimentality. As for Rose, 
 she had never "taken to Charles," as Miss Maria 
 used to express it, sadly ; besides, all such possibili 
 ties ended when Charles, at twenty -four, still de 
 pendent on his aunt, save for his $300, married, sud 
 denly, a nice, inefficient sickly girl, without a cent, 
 who promptly presented him with twins. 
 
 " And who s going to support em ?" demanded 
 Mrs. Barkley. " I declare twins!" 
 
 " But you can t blame dear Charles for that," Miss 
 Maria protested. 
 
 " Not blame Charles ? Well, I d like to know 
 who " Mrs. Barkley began ; but ended by telling 
 
 92 
 
AND WHO S GOING TO SUPPORT EM? DEMANDED MRS. BARKLEY " 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 Miss Maria again that she was a perfect fool about 
 that boy. "You ve always spoiled him, and you 
 always will !" 
 
 Miss Welwood had spoiled Charles, according to 
 Old Chester rules ; and yet, he really was the one 
 child to whom the "spare-the-rod" precept did not 
 apply he was naturally good. Unnaturally good 
 might be a better term. If he had died young (as 
 Miss Maria always feared he would) he might have 
 had a memoir written about him, which would have 
 been in all the Sunday-school libraries ; for in those 
 days the anaemic child was a great part of spiritual 
 literature. He had a sort of angelic beauty when 
 he was five or six, with his pink cheeks, his large 
 blue eyes, and his yellow hair that every afternoon 
 was curled up into a long, sleek roll called a "roach," 
 and tied with a blue ribbon ; he looked "good," and 
 he was fond of hymns, and used to say things about 
 heaven that brought tears to your eyes. Dr. Laven- 
 dar once compared him to little Samuel, and said 
 he was a " godly child." Afterwards, Dr. Lavendar 
 may have apologized to Samuel; though Charles 
 never was a naughty boy. He never robbed birds 
 nests, or smoked behind the barn, or played marbles 
 on Sunday. Perhaps that was why Dr. Lavendar was 
 apologetic. But be that as it may, he kept on being 
 good in spite of prophecies that a child who had 
 never been tied to a bedpost, or sent supperless to 
 bed, must turn out badly. He was a " good young 
 man," too ; and by-and-by he was a good husband, 
 and a better or at least a more extensive father 
 every year ; for when he was thirty, he and his poor 
 foolish wife had themselves and five children to 
 look after. The way in which Charles looked after 
 
 93 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 them was to bring them, whenever things were go 
 ing badly with him, to visit Miss Maria. But never 
 mind that : he certainly did do everything a mortal 
 husband could do for his sickly Edith, and he loved 
 each of the five babies dearly, and was ready and 
 willing to love five more, if the Lord sent them to 
 him for Charles was a religious man, and believed 
 that the Lord was responsible for bringing into the 
 world all these delicate little children, whose father 
 could not support them. He had also a sincere 
 affection for his aunt, and meant it in all simplicity 
 when he told her that it was very sweet to him to 
 take favors from her hands. 
 
 "Why don t you tell him," demanded Mrs. Bark- 
 ley, when Miss Maria, touched and beaming, repeated 
 this to her " why don t you tell Charles Welwood 
 that it would be very sweet to you to take favors 
 from his hands ?" 
 
 The color came into Miss Welwood s face, but she 
 only said, mildly," You never did appreciate Charles." 
 
 " Oh, I appreciate him," Mrs. Barkley said, grimly. 
 Mrs. Barkley sat straight up in her chair darning 
 stockings ; she was a little woman, with a thin, mel 
 ancholy face, and a very high crown to her head. 
 Her hair, which was still brown, was parted in the 
 middle, or a little to one side of the middle, and 
 brought down over her cheeks in loops and then 
 twisted up behind fier ears. She had very bushy 
 eyebrows, which twitched when she talked in a way 
 that, being coupled with a deep and masculine voice, 
 inspired her listener with a sort of alarmed respect. 
 " Now, Maria," she went on, " this is the sixth time 
 he has come to stay with you since he was married ; 
 and those children " 
 
 94 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 " Bless their little hearts," said Miss Maria, "they 
 are such pretty children !" 
 
 " They re well enough. I only hope you won t 
 spoil them as you did their father." 
 
 " Well, he is very unselfish, Matty, anyhow," Miss 
 Maria defended him, " and amiable ; never a word 
 of complaint ! There are not many men who would 
 not rebel at having a sick wife on their hands." 
 
 " Maybe their aunts might rebel," Mrs. Barkley 
 said. 
 
 " I think it was noble in Charles to marry Edith 
 to take care of her," cried Miss Welwood. 
 
 "Then why doesn t he take care of her? And 
 look at all those children ; he is perfectly delighted 
 with this last one !" 
 
 "Well, I should hope so !" said Miss Maria, with 
 spirit. " Matty, how can you pretend to be so heart 
 less ? Would you have a parent indifferent to his 
 offspring?" 
 
 " Indifferent ?" cried Mrs. Barkley, with a snort. 
 "What do you call bringing five children into the 
 world, just to starve em ? I call it something worse 
 than indifference." 
 
 Miss Welwood held up her hands, horrified. 
 
 " My dear Matty, I can t think that is quite del 
 icate." 
 
 " If they were kittens, he could drown em. As it 
 is, he just gives them to you." 
 
 " My dear Matty !" said poor Miss Welwood again. 
 She said to herself that some time she would cer 
 tainly lose her temper with Matilda Barkley. 
 
 "There s no use getting into a passion, Maria. 
 I m only speaking the truth. You know I am al 
 ways perfectly open with you. You seem to like 
 
 95 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 being imposed upon ; I suppose that s why you are 
 supporting Charles s family though my opinion is 
 that a man hasn t any business to have a family if he 
 can t support it. He is worse than an infidel " 
 
 " Matty" 
 
 "That s the Bible. I suppose I may quote the 
 Scriptures ?" 
 
 Miss Welwood sighed. Mrs. Barkley pushed her 
 spectacles up on the bridge of her nose, and said, 
 " How s Rose ?" 
 
 "Why," said Miss Maria, "she s very well, the 
 dear child !" 
 
 After that there was peace, for Mrs. Barkley liked 
 Rose as much as she disliked Charles, and she lis 
 tened with a grim chuckle when Miss Maria told her 
 that Rose had done this or that put up ten quarts 
 of strawberries, or made over her best dress so that 
 it would do for another season. " She won t let me 
 buy her a new one," said Miss Maria, beaming ; 
 " such an obstinate child !" 
 
 " Pity Charles hasn t a little of her obstinacy," 
 Mrs. Barkley retorted. At which the color came 
 into Miss Maria s face; but she only said it was time 
 for her to go home. 
 
 Afterwards she felt she had been severe with Mat 
 ty ; and when she said her prayers that night, she 
 asked for grace to control her temper. 
 
 II 
 
 Mr. Ezra Barkley was a fat, placid man, rather 
 bald, with that look of aged youth which is so con 
 fusing. He might have been fifty or thirty with 
 
 96 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 equal probability ; in point of fact, he was nearly 
 fifty. He was a good deal of a dandy ; and though 
 not exactly wordly, was supposed to have rationalis 
 tic tendencies believing, it was said, that the world 
 had been created in six periods of time instead of six 
 days. Thus the awful interest of the freethinker 
 was attached to him, and it was known that Mrs. 
 Barkley made his conversion a subject of special 
 prayer. 
 
 Perhaps Miss Welwood prayed for him too ; but 
 she never said so. 
 
 Mr. Barkley s deplorable rationalism was the out 
 come, his sister-in-law thought, of his learning, and 
 she was apt to remind him, in a sad bass, that the 
 wisdom of men was foolishness with their Creator. 
 His wisdom, it must be admitted, was almost entire 
 ly confined to statistics ; but that did not shake Old 
 Chester s belief that he was a learned man. Beside 
 his knowledge, he was further distinguished by his 
 genius for listening. Now there are few things that 
 are more endearing than the grace of listening with 
 attention ; indeed, it is more than endearing, it is 
 impressive for no one knows what wisdom lies con 
 cealed in silence ! 
 
 As for Ezra Barkley, he listened to everybody, and 
 never interrupted ; when he did speak, it was gen 
 erally to give some small, quite irrelevant piece of 
 information of a statistical nature ; but he expressed 
 no opinions of his own. This had led his sister-in- 
 law, in the course of years, to the conclusion that he 
 had no opinions. But that was her mistake. 
 
 " What do you suppose," Mrs. Barkley demanded, 
 the evening of the day that she had been so candid 
 with Miss Maria u what do you suppose, Ezra? 
 
 97 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 That boy Charles has put every cent of his money 
 into some patent oil-can ! I only hope he won t in 
 duce Maria to put hers into it. I know she s giving 
 him money to live on now he hasn t anything to 
 do. How different he is from Rose ! She is so sen 
 sible and industrious." 
 
 Mr. Ezra Barkley crossed his legs, as one who 
 would assent, comfortably. 
 
 " Well, Maria said that Charles said it troubled 
 him dreadfully to be dependent on her even for a 
 little while ; and then, if you please, she said that 
 nobody was more sensitive in such things than 
 Charles was. I told her I was glad to hear it very 
 glad indeed to hear it !" said Mrs. Barkley, in a 
 dreadful bass. 
 
 Ezra rose and went over to a large wicker cage 
 which held some of his pets ; he opened the door and 
 took out two little green paroquets, and balancing 
 one on each forefinger, he came back to his arm 
 chair. He expressed no opinion concerning Charles s 
 dependence upon his aunt ; he seemed absorbed in 
 scratching the head of one of the little parrots, which 
 uttered small, shrill cries of approval. But he was 
 listening. 
 
 " And then what do you suppose she said ? She 
 said that it was very difficult for the artistic tem 
 perament to consider earning money. I just said, 
 Maria Welwood, the artistic temperament is an 
 other name for dishonesty ! (You know, Ezra, I 
 make a point of being perfectly open with Maria.) 
 There is too much of this "genius" that doesn t 
 pay its debts, or lets its female relations support it, 
 I said. And just think of all those children, Ezra !" 
 
 Ezra shook his head in melancholy assent. " Are 
 98 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 you aware," he said, " that the word lullaby your 
 reference to Charles s family suggests the fact the 
 word lullaby is thought to be derived from the name 
 of Adam s first wife Lili Abi ? She was said to be 
 queen of the succubae devils who had taken the 
 female form." 
 
 " I told her," Mrs. Barkley continued, as though 
 Mr. Ezra had not spoken, " I just wished Charles had 
 half the spirit Rose has !" 
 
 Ezra watched the paroquets climbing up his leg, 
 heels over head, so to speak, for the little creatures, 
 grasping at his trousers with beak and claw, lifted 
 themselves up and up until they gained his welcom 
 ing hand and were fed with small crumbs of sugar. 
 
 " Rose is a superior girl, Ezra," Mrs. Barkley an 
 nounced, in the tone of one who dares a contradic 
 tion. Mr. Barkley scratched one of the little green 
 heads too hard, and the bird bit at him angrily. 
 " But she is an expense to Maria," Mrs. Barkley 
 went on, "and I wish I wish she had a home of her 
 own, Ezra." 
 
 " She converses somewhat rapidly," observed Mr. 
 Ezra ; "at times I find it difficult to" 
 
 " To follow her ? Oh, well, one would get used to 
 that." 
 
 " to apprehend her. Nevertheless, she is a very 
 pleasing young lady." With this Mr. Ezra Barkley 
 put the parrots back in their cage. Now Mr. Bark- 
 ley could put two and two together as well as any 
 body else : Rose was a superior girl ; he was an un 
 married man. He had listened to Mrs. Barkley too 
 many years to doubt either of these propositions or 
 the obvious deduction ; but he still continued to 
 listen, and stroke his parrots heads, and look blind. 
 
 99 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 On this particular evening, however, he was really 
 interested in what his sister-in-law said of Miss Wei- 
 wood and Charles. The fact was, Ezra Barkley knew 
 that Miss Maria believed in that oil-can to such an 
 extent that she wanted to put every bit of her 
 money into her nephew s hands, that he might in 
 vest it for her and they might both grow rich to 
 gether. She had met him only the day before, and 
 had told him of Charles s project. She was to con 
 tribute the money to start the enterprise, she said, 
 and Charles was to contribute time, and they were 
 to divide the profits. That she was getting the best 
 of the bargain she never doubted. 
 
 " Charles says he is going to divide all the profit 
 with me," she said ; " but of course I sha n t allow 
 that ! At least I ll leave it all back again to those 
 precious children." 
 
 " But suppose he does not acquire this, as you 
 might say, fortune ?" Mr. Barkley inquired. " If you 
 will permit me to say so, Miss Maria, I cannot but 
 feel ah anxious." 
 
 But Miss Welwood s confidence could not be 
 shaken. " If there was any doubt about it, my dar 
 ling boy wouldn t want me to invest my money in 
 it, you know." 
 
 Mr. Ezra said nothing, and Miss Maria felt she had 
 silenced him by her logic, but she hoped she had not 
 hurt his feelings. He certainly did not look wound 
 ed ; he bowed politely, and asked her if she had any 
 idea how many eggs there were in a shad roe. She 
 said, with immediate interest, she supposed quite a 
 number over two hundred, perhaps ; and when Mr. 
 Barkley gave what he called the " approximate num 
 ber," she threw up her hands in the greatest aston- 
 
 100 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 ishment, and said : " Dear me ! You don t say so ! 
 You have so much information, Mr. Ezra." 
 
 Later in the evening Miss Maria repeated what 
 she had learned concerning shad roe to Rose, and 
 added that it was very improving to talk with Mr. 
 Barkley. 
 
 " I m sure it must be," Rose said, gravely, " but it s 
 very serious to think of eating so many little fish at 
 a time." 
 
 Miss Welwood looked at her young cousin side- 
 wise ; it seemed to her Rose was making fun of Mr. 
 Barkley. 
 
 " Well, there is nobody so kind as Mr. Ezra, any 
 how," she said, with spirit ; " and I only wish I knew 
 half as much as he does !" And then Miss Maria be 
 gan to talk about the oil-can and her future wealth 
 (" for I won t have Ezra laughed at," she said to 
 herself). 
 
 As for the oil-can, Miss Welwood had made up her 
 mind to put almost half of her little capital into 
 Charles s hands. The fact was, her nephew s enthu 
 siasm about the oil-can was as sincerely hopeful as 
 though he had been the inventor, instead of merely 
 the promoter. 
 
 " Why," he said, his big visionary blue eyes shining 
 with excitement, " there is absolutely no doubt. It 
 can t fail. It simply can t. Why, just see : the 
 country population of the United States is, well, say 
 so much : now supposing there are nine souls to a 
 family well, say ten it s easier to divide by ten, 
 and it s better to be on the safe side ; though, of 
 course, there are a great many families where there 
 are only five or even two, like you and Rose. But 
 it s more conservative to say ten souls to a fam- 
 
 101 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 ily : you see at once how many families there 
 are ?" 
 
 "And every family must have an oil-can?" cried 
 Miss Maria. 
 
 " Ah ! but wait," Charles said. " That s the coun 
 try population. Now the number of villages in the 
 United States where they don t have gas You see 
 what I am trying to get at ?" 
 
 " Why, of course !" his aunt said. " Why, here is 
 Old Chester, for instance ; I m sure Matty would 
 take two. We must give one to Dr. Lavendar, 
 Charles ; he mustn t buy it." 
 
 Charles, proceeding with his calculation, did not 
 stop to think of the profit on Mrs. Barkley s purchase. 
 " We can reckon certainly on such and such a num 
 ber to be sold in small villages, to say nothing of the 
 poor people in cities." 
 
 " Can t we have some cheaper for the poor ?" Miss 
 Maria asked, sympathetically. 
 
 But Charles would not stop to answer questions. 
 " You see," he said, " it s perfectly easy to figure the 
 profits !" 
 
 Edith was so excited that she began to laugh 
 hysterically, and Miss Maria caught up the youngest 
 from the floor, and cuddled him, and kissed him, and 
 bade him go to sleep : 
 
 "And when you awake, 
 You shall have a cake, 
 And a coach and six little horses !" 
 
 sung Miss Maria, "because we are all going to be rich, 
 you precious little Theodore !" And the fifth, being so 
 named because he was, Charles said, "a gift from God," 
 cooed and gurgled, and everybody was very happy. 
 
 102 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 Except Rose. Rose had shown no inclination to 
 trust the oil-can ; not because she had any superior 
 wisdom, but just because Charles advocated it. 
 
 " But never mind, my darling child," Miss Maria 
 said ; " when my profit comes in Charles says it will 
 be certainly ten times what I invest I will give half 
 of it to you !" 
 
 " Oh, Rose don t believe in any of my projects," 
 Charles said, in a wounded voice. " Rose thinks, 
 Edith, that we ought to stay in the tavern, instead 
 of visiting Aunt Maria." 
 
 " Oh, now, my dear Charles," protested poor Miss 
 Welwood, putting the gift of God down on the floor 
 " my dear children, please " 
 
 "Well, Charles, I must say," Rose retorted, "I 
 don t see how you can be under such obligations to 
 Cousin Maria." 
 
 " Oh, my dear Rose," sighed Miss Welwood, 
 " please" 
 
 Edith, as usual, began to weep. " Charlie always 
 paints a picture for aunty when we ve been making 
 her a visit," she defended her husband. 
 
 " It is very sweet to me to owe everything to 
 aunty," Charles said, stung and helpless. " Where 
 one loves, one can accept." 
 
 " Well, you must love a good deal," Rose flung 
 out. 
 
 " I do," Charles declared. " And just let me say, 
 Rose, that it is the little nature that is afraid of an 
 obligation. Aunt Maria has made me what I am ; I 
 admit it I am proud to admit it. And when the 
 money comes in, it shall all be hers." 
 
 " Oh, but Charlie," Edith whimpered, " sha n t we 
 have a little ?" 
 
 103 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 At which there were tears and protests and ex 
 planations, and Rose went whirling out of the room, 
 angry and ashamed, her young heart bursting with 
 the sense of her own dependence. 
 
 Ill 
 
 It was in February that these dreams of affluence 
 first began to dazzle Miss Maria s eyes ; and they 
 grew more dazzling as the spring went on. Charles 
 had gone back to Mercer, so that he might be " on 
 the spot," to look after the family interests, and 
 Edith had been sent South to escape the March 
 winds. As Charles had pointed out, the expense of 
 her journey would be covered ten times over when 
 the first dividend came in. When Miss Maria re 
 peated this to Rose, the girl dropped down upon her 
 knees beside the little, trim, upright figure, and 
 hugged her. 
 
 "And in the mean time you pay her expenses?" 
 she said. 
 
 " That has nothing to do with it," said Miss Maria, 
 affronted. 
 
 " It strikes me that it has a great deal to do with 
 it," Rose retorted. " Cousin Maria, what should you 
 do if if the oil-can exploded ?" 
 
 " Oh, it is to be very strong," Miss Welwood ex 
 plained. 
 
 And then Rose explained : " I meant if it failed, 
 dear ?" 
 
 "Oh, Charles says it can t fail!" Miss Maria de 
 clared, cheerfully. " Charles says it s absolutely 
 sure." 
 
 104 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 "But if if?" Rose persisted, patting Miss 
 Maria s hand, and putting it up against her cheek. 
 
 "Nonsense !" cried the other, and then bade Rose 
 move back a little from the fire. " It s bad for your 
 complexion to scorch your cheeks, my dear. When 
 I was young, we were never allowed to come nearer 
 the fire than the outside edge of the hearth-rug." 
 
 " Is that the reason your complexion is so pretty ?" 
 said Rose. 
 
 And Miss Maria said " Nonsense !" again, and 
 blushed, and said that once Mr. Ezra Barkley had 
 paid her a compliment on her color. " He was re 
 marking upon the number of tons of roses used every 
 year, and he said something about my cheeks. Of 
 course he said it in a very polite and genteel way." 
 
 " Why, Cousin Maria !" cried Rose. " Well ! When 
 is it to be ?" 
 
 "Fie, fie!" protested Miss Maria. "At Miss 
 Brace s, Rose, we were always told that jests upon 
 the affections were indelicate. Not that you meant 
 it so, my darling, of course." 
 
 " The question is, what does Mr. Ezra mean ?" said 
 Rose. " I shall certainly ask him his intentions." 
 
 Miss Welwood gasped with dismay. "Miss Brace 
 used to say that any allusion to matters of the heart 
 was exceedingly unladylike, " she declared; but she 
 half sighed. " He s always very kind, Rose, but he 
 is too superior for for such things. I think learned 
 men are apt to be." 
 
 It seemed as though her fresh face fell into lines 
 of age, and Rose, looking at her, felt a sudden pang 
 of pity. " Let s talk about the oil-can," she said ; 
 and Miss Welwood was ready and eager for the sub 
 ject. 
 
 8 105 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Indeed, as the spring went, Miss Welwood talked 
 of little else. Her confidence grew with the season ; 
 in May she was eager to give Charles still another 
 thousand dollars for the enterprise, which " needed 
 pushing," the profits being, Charles said, merely a 
 matter of proportion. 
 
 " The more you push, the more you ll get," he said. 
 " It s self-evident." 
 
 " Why, of course /" said his aunt. " I think, Charles, 
 I ll put in two thousand instead of one ; it seems 
 foolish to simply cut off future profits because of a 
 little present inconvenience." 
 
 "That s perfectly true," he told her, admiringly, 
 " but there are very few women who would have the 
 business keenness to see it. Still, dear, you must be 
 your own judge. I consider you quite as good a 
 judge in business matters as I am, and I wouldn t 
 urge you for the world." 
 
 "Do you hear that, Rose?" cried Miss Maria. 
 " Charles says he considers me as good a judge in 
 business matters as he is (of course I m not) ; but 
 what do you think of that ?" 
 
 " I think that Charles is quite right," Rose said,dryly. 
 
 However, the two thousand dollars were given, arid 
 still another two. By this time more than three- 
 quarters of Miss Maria s eggs were in one basket 
 from which, indeed, no chickens had yet been 
 hatched; hence the "present inconvenience" became 
 very obvious, not only to Miss Maria and Rose, but 
 to Mrs. Barkley and consequently to Mr. Ezra, who 
 played with the paroquets, and listened, and at last 
 gratified Mrs. Barkley by nodding silently when she 
 observed that if Rose were married, things would be 
 easier for Maria. 
 
 106 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 They were sitting in the grape-arbor, with a little 
 table between them ; it was just after dinner on 
 Sunday, and, as was Mrs. Barkley s habit when the 
 weather permitted, the coffee had been brought out 
 to this shady place, and now it was being stirred and 
 sipped, and the sermon discussed. A little later, 
 when the sun should burn through the leaves and 
 look in at the western end of the arbor, Mrs. -Barkley 
 would grow drowsy, and pick up her religious paper, 
 and go off to take a nap ; but just now she was alert. 
 She had said what she thought of Dr. Lavendar s 
 sermon, and added, significantly, that though he was 
 growing old he was remarkably edifying in matters 
 of doctrine. Then she said that she declared it was 
 too bad, Maria Welwood hadn t got a new bonnet yet! 
 
 " I don t know where this is going to end," said 
 Mrs. Barkley. " Maria is really pinched for money. 
 Rose is a good, economical girl, but she does eat, and 
 she has to have clothes." Mrs. Barkley s eyebrows 
 twitched, and she looked at her brother-in-law with 
 anxiety. 
 
 Ezra took off his glasses and examined them ; then 
 he rubbed the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. " Were 
 you aware, Matilda, that glass was discovered by the 
 accident of " 
 
 " No, I wasn t. Now, Ezra, I m always perfectly 
 open with you, so I m going to give you some ad 
 vice. I never shrink from giving advice. Some peo 
 ple do. I once heard Dr. Lavendar with my own ears 
 say he did not like to advise people. He said he al 
 ways hoped they would do the other thing which 
 was very foolish in him, for why shouldn t he advise 
 the other thing, to begin with? However, I only 
 wanted to say that you are really getting on in years 
 
 107 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 yourself ; and and Rose Knight is certainly a su 
 perior girl. A very superior girl, Ezra !" 
 
 Ezra breathed on his glasses and polished them 
 with his handkerchief, and then held them up to see 
 if they were bright. 
 
 " She s twenty-five. I call that just the right age 
 for a man of fifty, Ezra ; and she s a good, capable 
 girl, and she has about as much religion as you like. 
 (Dear me, Ezra you know my prayer for you in 
 that regard?)" 
 
 Ezra coughed. 
 
 " I mean, she isn t like Grace Smith, running to 
 church all the time, when she ought to be at home 
 looking after things." 
 
 " You may be interested to know," said Mr. Ezra, 
 mildly, " that the scientific researches of Bishop Co- 
 lenso prove that the children of Israel could not 
 have " 
 
 " Ezra !" said Mrs. Barkley, with proper indigna 
 tion, u not in my presence, if you please ! / avoid 
 profane and vain babblings, and oppositions of sci 
 ence falsely so called! (You ll find that somewhere 
 in ist Timothy, Ezra ; I advise you to look it up.) 
 But to go back to Rose : Maria has brought her up to 
 have the greatest respect for you ; I ve heard her 
 myself tell Rose that your conversation was most im 
 proving." 
 
 Mr. Ezra was plainly gratified, though he pooh- 
 poohed the compliment. "I fear that I can scarcely 
 hope that my conversation would be of interest to so 
 bright a young lady as Miss Rose." 
 
 " Fiddlesticks," said Mrs. Barkley. " Of course it is. 
 What you said at breakfast to-day about chairs being 
 used in Egypt 3300 years before Christ would interest 
 
 108 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 any young person who is quick to learn, as Rose is. 
 No, Ezra ; Rose is all I could expect to find in any 
 girl out of our own family. And if she were married, 
 Maria could live with her at least until she gets 
 back that oil-can money that that Charles has stolen! 
 I call it stolen. I told Rose so frankly. I m perfectly 
 open with Rose about Charles." 
 
 Mr. Ezra recalled, silently, the reply that he had 
 heard Miss Rose make to this remark "As forgetting 
 back the money for the oil-can, I m afraid she can t!" 
 And then Rose had flung up her head and laughed ; 
 and Mr. Ezra believed that there was a joke some 
 where. But just now his heart was heavy at the 
 thought of Miss Maria s troubles. 
 
 " Do you apprehend," he said, laboriously, " that 
 Miss Welwood s circumstances are really, as you 
 might say, straitened?" 
 
 " I know they are !" his sister-in-law said, her eye 
 brows twitching. " Ezra, she s sent away Jane. You 
 know Jane s been with them since why, it s seven 
 teen years if it s a day ! and Maria and Rose (good, 
 capable girl !) do all the work. Maria looks worn 
 out," said Mrs. Barkley, nearly crying, " and it s all 
 that Charles ! Somebody ought to do something. 
 Of course we can t give Maria money ; she wouldn t 
 take anybody else s money, though she thinks it s all 
 right for that boy Charles to take hers. But then 
 she likes to be imposed upon. Oh dear ! Well, she 
 is a perfect fool. I ve told her so. Well, Ezra, I m 
 going up-stairs to lie down. But just remember, 
 Rose is a superior girl. It s queer no man has had 
 sense enough to take her. But men haven t any 
 sense !" ended Mrs. Barkley, with a snort. 
 
 As for Ezra, he went and got his cat, and settled 
 109 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 back in his chair, rubbing Pussy s ears with an ab 
 sent hand, and reflecting. It was warm and still in 
 the arbor ; a honeysuckle swaying in some warm, 
 wandering breath of wind threw a lacing shadow 
 over the pool of sunshine that, at the western end, 
 began to widen over the uneven flags. 
 
 u Well," said Ezra Barkley to himself, " it is cer 
 tainly very distressing very distressing ;" and after 
 a while he added that it certainly would be very 
 pleasing to have an agreeable young person in the 
 house. And so Miss Maria had brought her up to 
 have a great respect for him ? The thought increased 
 his respect for Miss Maria. It occurred to him that 
 if Rose liked " facts," he could certainly interest her. 
 He decided to make researches in the line of ladies 
 clothing ; he would tell her when gloves were intro 
 duced into England ; he would divert her with the 
 height of the head-dress in the fifteenth century. 
 Yes, it would be very agreeable indeed to have a 
 bright young creature like Rose eager to listen to his 
 facts. Poor Miss Maria ! she was anxious, no doubt, 
 and was worrying over money matters. " Ladies 
 ought not to have such anxieties," thought Mr. Ezra. 
 "Poor lady! Well it was very hard. Yes; something 
 must be done something must be done." His eyes 
 narrowed with thought, and he sighed once or twice. 
 He scratched the cat under her chin, which caused 
 her to shut her eyes and wave her tail and purr 
 loudly. The pool of sunshine widened to his feet ; 
 the arbor was hot and still, and the heavy fragrance 
 of the tall white lilies crept like some tangible sweet 
 ness into the shadows under the grape leaves. Mr. 
 Ezra nodded a little ; his hand sunk into the soft 
 warm fur, and he and the kitten slept soundly. 
 
 no 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 IV 
 
 The summer passed, and still Miss Maria did not 
 get a new bonnet. Indeed, the time of new bon 
 nets seemed postponed and postponed. However, 
 four of Charles s children came to pay her a visit, as, 
 in the business anxiety of the last month, Charles 
 had felt unequal to the care of them ; and Edith was 
 preparing for another gift from God, and so really 
 could not (" and should not," Miss Maria said) have 
 the burden of her entire household on her shoulders. 
 It was while they were with her that the oil-can ex 
 ploded, to use Rose s metaphor. 
 
 When their father s letter came bringing news of 
 the catastrophe, there came also a little package 
 (" Charles never forgets these darling children !" 
 said Miss Maria) a doll for small Edith, a book for 
 one boy, a transparent slate for the other, a rattle 
 for Theodore. The distribution of these gifts de 
 layed the reading of the letter with its big engraved 
 heading, " The Universal Oil-Can Co." The children 
 had been painting : it was a rainy afternoon, and 
 Miss Maria had rummaged in the garret among the 
 possessions of her youth, and brought down her old 
 paint-box, and the four little people had been very 
 happy over it. Dear me ! don t we all know those 
 old paint-boxes of our maiden aunts with cakes of 
 dried and flaked water-colors, rubbed down, some of 
 them, sidewise, or with holes worn through them by 
 pointed feminine brushes and the saucers, with 
 their cracked films of crimson lake or gamboge still 
 clinging to them ! 
 
 " I used to paint when I was a young lady," Miss 
 in 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Maria said ; " I studied the Berthollet method at 
 Miss Brace s. Dear me ! I m afraid I ve forgotten a 
 great many things we learned at Miss Brace s. We 
 used to have a class in making alum baskets, and we 
 painted on velvet. It was certainly very elegant. I 
 don t believe there are such schools nowadays. My 
 paints are nearly worn out, but these precious chil 
 dren won t mind that will you, my darlings?" 
 
 The children did not mind in the least ; so they 
 were all put down around the dining-room table, each 
 one with an old magazine full of wood-cuts, which 
 gave great choice as to the subject to be colored. 
 They were hard at work when Charles s letter and 
 the package of presents arrived. At the mention of 
 presents the four artists, greatly excited, slipped from 
 their chairs, leaving the pictures of " Little Dorrit " 
 half finished, and their brushes standing in dauby 
 tumblers of colored water. Rose, on her knees among 
 them, looked at the dolly s shoes, and drew on the 
 transparent slate, and promised to read the book 
 aloud, all the while raging at the tender father who 
 bought presents out of Miss Maria s money (and yet 
 he was a tender father nobody could possibly deny 
 that). Miss Maria, smiling at the children s joy, and 
 cuddling Theodore, read the letter with a startled 
 look that changed into absolute bewilderment : The 
 enterprise had failed ; Charles was bankrupt ; the 
 money was lost her money (and Charles s time as 
 well). She read with Theodore clinging about her 
 neck, and had to stop to kiss him, and listen to his rat 
 tle, and cuddle him, yet her bewildered eye followed 
 Charles s bold handwriting with dreadful clearness. 
 
 " Rose," she said tremulously, " I m afraid it s bad 
 news, my dear ; I m afraid it s a little serious." 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 Of course then it had to be read aloud to Rose. 
 This was a terrible task Rose kneeling on the 
 hearth-rug, playing with Charles s children, and say 
 ing not one word ; but Miss Maria saw the girl s 
 cheek grow rigid over her set teeth, and little Edith 
 shrunk away from her, frightened at the anger in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Yes, it is a little serious," Rose said, grimly. The 
 children, squabbling joyously over their possessions, 
 felt the sudden cloud, and looked up, wondering. 
 
 " Of course it s serious ; but never mind, my dear," 
 Miss Maria said ; " we ll get along." Then, her hands 
 shaking, she opened the letter again and tried to 
 take in the facts : an infringement ; a miscalculation 
 as to the amount of alloy in the metal, necessitating 
 a much higher price than had been reckoned ; the 
 plant now almost worthless ; unfortunate litigation 
 necessary. Possibly, only possibly " but we must 
 leave no stone unturned," Charles said, courageously 
 possibly a little more money might set the thing 
 on its feet. (" But I haven t any more," said Miss 
 Maria to herself.) However, that it was the Lord s 
 doing Charles had no doubt. " Dear boy ! what a 
 lesson he is to me !" said Miss Maria, her eyes full of 
 tears. "What should I do if he were rebellious, or 
 did not put his trust in his Heavenly Father ?" The 
 submission in her face silenced Rose s bitter tongue. 
 The girl squeezed her hands together, and did not 
 open her lips. 
 
 " He bears it so beautifully," said Miss Maria, 
 wiping her eyes. " Did you notice, Rose, on the 
 third page, where he says let me see, here it is 
 but we know the Lord will provide ? Dear, pre 
 vious boy ! What an example he is !" 
 
 H3 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 "What kind of an example?" Rose said, curtly; 
 and then burst out crying, and knelt down at Miss 
 Maria s side, and put her arms around her waist, and 
 asked to be forgiven. " You re an example ! I wish 
 I were a quarter as good." 
 
 As for Miss Maria, she was afraid she had been 
 harsh, and kissed Rose s brown head, and said : 
 " Come, come ! Never mind ; it will all be right !" 
 
 But Rose could not hold her tongue. 
 
 " Charles meant well, I suppose, Cousin Maria ; but 
 it isn t enough in this world just to mean well. I 
 hate him ! How could he let you suffer ?" 
 
 And then Miss Maria had to scold her again, and 
 then apologize again, and then bid her cheer up and 
 look after those precious children. After that she 
 went up-stairs to her bedroom, leaving the children 
 to Rose and their toys. She wanted to be alone and 
 get her breath. It was growing dusk, and the vines 
 grew so close about the windows, drooping even in a 
 green fringe from the lintels, that the room was dark 
 too dark to read again the bleak facts of Charles s 
 letter, or the words of sacred comfort that she had 
 known and lived on these many years long enough 
 before Mr. Charles Welwood had adopted them as his 
 own. 
 
 " I haven t any more money ; and what are we go 
 ing to do ?" she said to herself, in despair. And 
 then she remembered what her nephew had said. 
 " Yes, He will provide ; these darling children are 
 His," said Miss Maria, and got up in the dark 
 ness, and knelt down beside her big four-poster, 
 and hid her face on the soft, lavender - scented 
 pillow. When she got up rather stiffly, for she 
 had knelt there a long time she wiped her eyes, 
 
 114 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 and went smiling down-stairs to the children and 
 Rose. 
 
 "My darling Rose," she said, "of course it s unfort 
 unate. But it isn t the worst thing in the world. 
 Suppose some of you were dangerously sick ! Would 
 I think of mere money then ? No, indeed ! We ll 
 get along nicely ; and and we mustn t let Charles 
 know how serious it is ; he would feel so badly. Be 
 sides, it isn t so very bad, so never mind ! Now 
 don t let s talk about it any more. These precious 
 children must have their supper and play with these 
 nice presents their dear father has sent them, and 
 have a happy time. When they ve gone to bed, we ll 
 talk it all over." 
 
 At first Miss Maria shut the appalling fact that she 
 was penniless in upon herself and Rose. Charles 
 came flying down to Old Chester to explain and to 
 protest at fate. He made no excuses ; why should 
 he ? He, too, had lost everything he possessed, 
 although a new baby came just at that moment to 
 comfort him a new baby that was to be called Maria. 
 He had lost all he had in the world, so he certainly 
 was not to be blamed, he told his Edith ; besides, as 
 she would remember, he had distinctly said he would 
 not urge his aunt Maria to invest. " It was her own 
 judgment, you know, Edith, "said Charles ; " I really 
 can t feel myself responsible." 
 
 Charles was in hopes of getting a place as a clerk 
 in a railroad office. But before going to work he 
 came (on borrowed money) to condole with his aunt 
 and to advise. He thought it would be well, he said, 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 for her to mortgage her house and invest the money, 
 living on the interest, less the interest on the mort 
 gage. 
 
 " I m sure I could get ten per cent, for you on some 
 perfectly conservative stock," he said. 
 
 " But mightn t there be a little risk, dear Charles?" 
 Miss Maria objected, mildly. "Not that I don t trust 
 your judgment absolutely," she added, quickly, for 
 she thought he looked hurt. 
 
 " But what are you going to live on ?" Charles 
 faltered, his blue eyes staring at her in dismay ; 
 " what are you going to do ?" 
 
 Alas ! how many times had Miss Welwood asked 
 herself that very question, her gentle heart sinking 
 lower and lower at the blank reply of silence in her 
 own mind. She did not consult any one, but she 
 spent a good deal of time on her knees beside her 
 high bedstead ; and of late she thought a glimmer of 
 light had fallen on the subject. 
 
 "You ve got to have something to live on," 
 Charles repeated, in a bewildered way. 
 
 "Well, I have an idea," she said. " No, I am not 
 going to tell you ; it shall be a surprise. But I m 
 sure it s going to be a good thing." 
 
 She had told Rose her " idea " ; she had to tell her, 
 for the girl had been in a frenzy of anxiety to do 
 something ; " anything," Rose said, and meant it 
 for she had a very determined plan of going to Mer 
 cer, to get a place in a shop. " There s nothing in 
 Old Chester for a girl to do," Rose said, impatient, 
 and loving, and raging at poor well - meaning 
 Charles. 
 
 It was to prevent this Mercer project that Miss 
 Maria confided her idea. " For you can help me, my 
 
 116 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 darling," she told the girl ; " indeed, I couldn t do it 
 without you you are so much fresher in some of the 
 things than I am. For instance, Rose, what is the 
 length of the Amazon River ? I m ashamed to 
 say I ve forgotten." And then she explained her 
 plan. 
 
 Miss Maria had hoped, at first, to keep the knowl 
 edge of the catastrophe to herself, thinking in some 
 irrational, tender, feminine way that if she gave no 
 reason for her project of self-support, Charles would 
 not be connected with it, and so would not be 
 blamed. But of course the disaster had to be known. 
 By its very nature an oil-can does not explode in the 
 dark. In a week Old Chester knew that Miss Maria 
 Welwood had lost almost all her money. 
 
 "And what s she going to live on?" Old Chester 
 said, with a gasp of dismay. " What on earth is she 
 going to live on ! What is she going to do ?" 
 
 It was poor Miss Maria s question over again : 
 " What am I going to do to earn my living?" Now 
 this question, asked by the suddenly impecunious, 
 middle-aged, unmarried woman, is ghastly ; it was 
 especially so in a place like Old Chester, where 
 the demand for women in the industries was un 
 known. It is a wretched enough question even in 
 the great busy world, where there is so much to be 
 done, but where, alas ! this frightened feminine voice 
 is lifted up in such a gathering chorus. No one can 
 quite understand the misery, the sick hopelessness of 
 the inquiry but the woman herself. She begins by 
 reckoning up her abilities : She can sew ; yes, but 
 who wants her sewing ? Nobody ! She can keep 
 house, in a small way ; yes, but for one such posi 
 tion a hundred applicants are already entreating 
 
 117 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 younger, cleverer, better-looking, perhaps. Nursing ; 
 yes, in the tender, ignorant, old-fashioned way. But 
 see the crowd of women educated in the science and 
 business of caring for the sick : who will take her, 
 when a dozen trained nurses are ready at every doc 
 tor s elbow ? Teaching ? Yes ; but come now, can 
 you or I, at fifty, remember the multiplication table ? 
 And contrast the curriculum of the private school 
 to-day with that which prevailed fifty or sixty years 
 ago ! No ; we middle-aged folk have the education 
 of life, truly ; we know the multiplication table of 
 anxieties and sorrows, the subtraction table of loss, 
 the division table of responsibility. Deportment and 
 religion we might, perhaps, impart ; but who is 
 ready, at a moment s notice, to instruct eager and 
 irreverent youth in dear me ! what does not youth 
 study nowadays ? Yet it was to teaching that Miss 
 Maria Welwood looked to provide bread for herself, 
 and bread and butter for Rose, and bread and butter 
 and jam for Charles s children. 
 
 " There s nothing else I can do, Matty," she plead 
 ed to Mrs. Barkley, who sat snorting with anger and 
 misery. 
 
 " Maria," said Mrs. Barkley, her eyebrows twitch 
 ing violently, " you are a perfect fool !" 
 
 Miss Welwood had sought to soften the blow which 
 she knew the knowledge of her poverty would be to 
 Mrs. Barkley by bringing a little present with her. 
 It was no more than a slipper-bag, which, before this 
 grim fact of poverty had taken possession of her 
 thoughts, she had made for her friend ; since then 
 she had been so anxious and confused she had for 
 gotten to present it. 
 
 " I promised it to you a month ago," she said, " and 
 118 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 I am ashamed to say I forgot to bring it over, 
 Matty ; but here it is now." 
 
 " You needn t apologize," said Mrs. Barkley. " I ve 
 lived all my life without a slipper - bag ; I guess a 
 week or two more won t hurt me. Besides, I don t 
 wear slippers. Still, I m obliged to you." 
 
 " I ve had so much on my mind," said Miss Maria, 
 nervously ; and then confessed. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Barkley ! She was so angry and so 
 wretched that, for once, she could not speak ; so 
 Miss Welwood got in her explanations and inten 
 tions almost without interruption. She and Rose 
 were going to support themselves by teaching. 
 Then it was that Mrs. Barkley called her a fool. 
 
 " In the first place, all the children go to Miss 
 Bailey s, or else to the public school," she said, with 
 two little hot tears trickling down her nose. " I 
 wish Charles Welwood had to go out and break 
 stones ! But you ll see that he has his trips South, 
 and all his children dressed in in gold," said Mrs. 
 Barkley, in a flight of angry and terrified fancy, " but 
 you, you poor, dear Maria " and then Mrs. Barkley 
 snorted, and wiped her eyes on the slipper - bag, 
 and observed that, for her part, she never could 
 waste her time making things like that ! Miss Maria 
 came and put her arms about her neck and kissed 
 her. 
 
 " Oh, Matty," she said, " what should I do without 
 you ? I do thank my Heavenly Father that I ve got 
 such a friend !" 
 
 " Well, then," retorted Mrs. Barkley, " be guided 
 by me. Come and live here. It will be a blessing 
 to me. The greatest blessing. Maria, I shall think 
 it all providential if you ll only come." 
 
 119 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " Matty," said the other, the tears running over 
 her cheeks, " it s worth while to be poor ! But I 
 couldn t come here ; no, dear Matty, no ; you must 
 not urge it. As for Miss Bailey, I wouldn t interfere 
 for the world ; I don t mean a child s school. I mean 
 an academy for young ladies. You know Mrs. Dale 
 had to send Ellen away to boarding-school; and 
 Mrs. Wright told me herself once that it was a 
 great expense to her to have to educate Lydia 
 away from home, and she didn t know how she 
 would manage with Mary and Agnes ; and then 
 the new people have girls, the rich Smiths have 
 two ; and Rachel King would send Anna, I 
 know." 
 
 " Did you mean to have a boarding-school ?" Mrs. 
 Barkley demanded. 
 
 " I mean an academy, dear Matty, on the lines of 
 Miss Brace s ; of course it never could be so fine, 
 but I ll do my best. The young ladies may board, 
 or they may return to their families at night, if 
 their parents prefer." And then Miss Maria pro 
 duced her trump card : " In fact, Matty, my dear, I 
 have arranged an advertisement of the school, and 
 it is to appear in the Globe next Saturday. This is 
 a proof. (The gentleman to whom I gave my notice 
 called it a proof .)" She fumbled in a reticule at 
 her side a black bag with a band of flexible bead 
 embroidery representing flowers and blue stars and 
 produced the notice ; the bit of paper was flimsy and 
 inky, and it had several typographical errors, but it 
 displayed the advertisement, enclosed in a black 
 border of inverted urns, which, in an upright posi 
 tion, formed the usual frame for the funeral notices 
 in the Globe : 
 
 120 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 MISS MARIA WELLWOOD 
 
 Begs leave to Intimate to her friends and the Inhabitants 
 
 of Old Chester that She Intends to Open an Academy 
 
 On Monday, 2Oth of November, for the Instruction 
 
 of Young Ladies, in Grammar, Arithmetic, Geography 
 
 (with the use of the Globes and Mapping), Chronology, 
 
 Drawing, French, Painting on Velvet, Berthollet Art 
 
 System, Painting on Glass, Mezzotinto, Alum Baskets, 
 
 Wax Flowers, Plain and Ornamental Needle-Work. 
 
 Especial Attention will be given to 
 
 Deportment and Religion. 
 
 Miss WELLWOOD, 
 Locust Street, Old Chester. 
 
 " You know, Matty," Miss Maria said, eagerly, 
 " we had all those things at Miss Brace s. Dear 
 me ! can t you just see Miss Brace when she opened 
 the classes in September, with those white curls and 
 her turban ! Oh, my gracious, how we girls used to 
 shiver when she pointed her forefinger at us ! I 
 sha n t do that, anyhow." 
 
 " Nobody would shiver if you did," Mrs. Barkley 
 assured her. " Miss Brace was very genteel and dig 
 nified; but if you think, Maria Welwood, that you " 
 
 " Oh," Miss Maria said, with eager humility, " of 
 course not ! but I ve got my notes, and I m going 
 to say just the same things. I was looking over her 
 remarks on art this morning I took em down in 
 my commonplace-book and I ve committed em to 
 memory : The making of wax floivers is an art most 
 suitable for young ladies ; frost and snoiv may reign 
 around us, and nip the tender blossoms in our gardens, 
 but our homes may still be made elegant by delightful 
 representations of Flora s children We began with 
 
 9 121 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 the pomegranate flower," Miss Welwood ended, with 
 a happy sigh of memory. 
 
 " Well," Mrs. Barkley said, morosely, " I don t be 
 lieve anybody would pay twenty-five cents to learn 
 how to make a pomegranate flower, nowadays ; / 
 wouldn t. Anyhow, I don t believe you remember 
 it, Maria. I tell you, the only thing for you to do is 
 to come here. Now, Maria I I wish you would," 
 said Mrs. Barkley, with a sob. 
 
 But Miss Welwood only patted the hard old hand, 
 and said, cheerfully : " Of course I shall have to 
 brush up a little. I wasn t quite sure about the 
 alum baskets, but I tried one to - day, and it came 
 out pretty well. History is the only thing I m ner 
 vous about, but Rose is pretty fresh in that. As 
 for arithmetic, of course I ll have all the answers 
 in the book, so I can tell when the sums are not 
 right." 
 
 " Well " began Mrs. Barkley, slowly, and then 
 burst out : " Suppose Rose were to get married ? 
 You couldn t get along by yourself, so what s the 
 use of beginning ?" 
 
 "Rose get married?" said Miss Maria. "Well I 
 don t see any prospect just now ; not but what any 
 gentleman might be glad to have her." 
 
 " If she did, you d go and live with her," said Mrs. 
 Barkley, decidedly, "so why not both of you come 
 here until then ?" 
 
 " I wouldn t think of living with her," cried Miss 
 Maria, with spirit ; " no, indeed ! If my darling 
 Rose gets married, and leaves the academy, I ll 
 I ll just get something else to do. Or maybe by 
 that time I ll have brushed up so I can keep along 
 by myself. But no young gentleman is waiting on 
 
 122 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 Rose. Why, there aren t any young gentlemen in 
 Old Chester !" 
 
 Mrs. Barkley took off her spectacles, and looked at 
 Miss Maria sidewise. 
 
 " Suppose Ezra took a fancy to Rose ? 
 
 "To Rose?" Miss Welwood looked at her open- 
 mouthed. 
 
 " Yes, Rose," Miss Barkley repeated, with a snap. 
 "That s what I said." 
 
 " Rose !" Miss Maria faltered. And then she said, 
 with a certain sharpness, " He s twenty-five years 
 older than Rose." 
 
 " Well, well," Mrs. Barkley interrupted, crossly, " I 
 only said suppose " 
 
 Miss Maria, with the color hot in her face, said 
 again something of age and youth ; " and, anyhow, 
 they never, either of them, thought of such a thing !" 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Barkley, " very likely I was mis 
 taken. I was only supposing, anyway. But there s 
 another thing (somebody s got to talk sense to you !) 
 I don t believe you d get pupils enough to pay for 
 your shoestrings. Miss Brace was very superior, of 
 course, but schools are very different now I ve been 
 told." 
 
 "True," Miss Welwood admitted; "too true ; and 
 it is high time that things should improve. If I may 
 be the humble instrument in educating young wom 
 en as we were educated, Matty, to respect their 
 parents, and honor their God, and learn how to walk 
 across a room properly, and remember dates (Do 
 you recollect, * Now Semiramis, Beautiful Sinner 
 that stood for 1050 B.C., you know N.S.B.S. Think 
 how I ve remembered that out of Miss Brace s old 
 chronology) if I can teach them these things, I shall 
 
 123 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 feel that the Lord had a purpose in taking away my 
 money." 
 
 " The Lord," cried Mrs. Barkley, angrily ; " don t 
 put it on the Lord s shoulders !" 
 
 Afterwards, when she repeated this conversation 
 to her brother - in - law, Mrs. Barkley added that it 
 was bad enough to think that the Lord was respon 
 sible for creating "that Charles ! though maybe He 
 isn t," said Mrs. Barkley, in a deep bass ; " maybe its 
 Somebody Else !" Which bold theology was quite 
 startling, even to a man who had gone so far tow 
 ards infidelity as to say that the size of a whale s 
 throat would have precluded the passage of a man of 
 average size " And we are not told in Holy Writ 
 that Jonah was a dwarf," Mr. Ezra had said, in one 
 of those rationalistic flights which so shocked Old 
 Chester. 
 
 "That Charles!" said Mrs. Barkley. "Think of 
 Maria, at her time of life, having to earn her own 
 living !" 
 
 Mr. Ezra frowned and sighed. " I fear," he said, 
 " that Miss Welwood will not find that appreciative 
 demand for " 
 
 " An academy ?" Mrs. Barkley finished. " Of course 
 not !" 
 
 " demand for alum baskets," Mr. Ezra continued. 
 He had not meant to finish his sentence in that way, 
 but it was as good as any other ; and it was his own. 
 " But I cannot but admire," he proceeded, " Miss 
 Maria s desire for independence ; it commands my 
 respect. Were you aware that the number of school 
 teachers in the United States was " 
 
 " Ezra," said his sister-in-law, slowly, looking at 
 him over her spectacles, " to be perfectly open : if 
 
 124 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 you are thinking of settling, I must say that Rose is 
 a girl in a thousand. I don t want to urge or influ 
 ence you, but I must say that 1" 
 And Mr. Ezra listened. 
 
 VI 
 
 Mr. Barkley came home from his office early in the 
 afternoon. He had a careworn expression natural to 
 a man who has a heavy task before him ; he stopped 
 to look at the paroquets, climbing with beak and 
 claw up the wires of the cage and squeaking shrilly 
 at his approach ; but he did not give them any sugar 
 or scratch their heads. He was thinking to himself 
 that in two hours it would be over ; he would be 
 back again, and could sit peacefully down in his arm 
 chair, and let the parrots walk about over his shoul 
 ders and knees. 
 
 " I do not," he thought, " understand this feeling 
 of enlargement in the region of my throat. And my 
 respiration is hastened. I think I am indisposed. 
 At such a moment I should be especially calm. Per 
 haps it would be well to arrange the interview to 
 some extent." 
 
 Any immediate action is a relief ; and Mr. Ezra 
 went up-stairs to his room, to get his brief together, 
 so to speak. He dressed slowly, and just before he 
 put on his coat he opened his watch, and standing 
 before the little tipping glass on his high bureau, so 
 that he might watch his expression, timed himself : 
 
 " I will open the subject by remarking upon the 
 weather. These October days are very agreeable. 
 4 Yes, Mr. Ezra, she will reply. * I trust your occu- 
 
 125 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 pations do not keep you in-doors too much ? I will 
 say. Here I might introduce some interesting data 
 as to exercise. (Allow a minute.) Then I will try 
 and bring up financial matters, and speak, perhaps, 
 of the hardships of life. (Allow five minutes.) And 
 then I must " the perspiration started to Mr. Ezra s 
 brow " I must remark that I should be pleased to 
 smooth the path of life for her feet. Ending with 
 the request that she should accept my hand." 
 
 Mr. Barkley looked at his watch. Fourteen min 
 utes. Very good. Her reply would no doubt take 
 another minute allowing for the ladylike hesitation 
 which would probably precede it. Mr. Ezra grew 
 more careworn every instant. 
 
 However, he had to go. It was already a good 
 half-hour later than he had planned to start. So he 
 took his stick, and set his teeth, and, opening the 
 front door, let himself out into the still October sun 
 shine. His sense of the seriousness of his object im 
 parted dignity to his rotund and somewhat jaunty 
 figure ; he wore a full-skirted frock-coat, and his 
 high, bell-crowned hat was set just a little on one 
 side. As he walked he kept repeating to himself the 
 form of his proposal. When he reached Miss Wei- 
 wood s gate he had only gotten so far as the " hard 
 ships of life," and he debated with himself for a mo 
 ment as to whether he had not better walk on and 
 finish his silent rehearsal before he put it to the 
 touch. But while he stood hesitating, Rose came 
 down the garden path, and when she saw him there 
 came that flicker of fun into her eyes that was so dis 
 concerting to Mr. Ezra. " You ll find Cousin Maria 
 in the parlor, Mr. Barkley," she said. " Oh, quite so, 
 quite so," replied Mr. Barkley, alarmed, but so polite 
 
 126 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 that before he knew it he found himself ushered into 
 the parlor and into Miss Welwood s presence. 
 
 Miss Welwood was seated at a spindle-legged table 
 drawn close to the window, struggling, it appeared, 
 to make wax flowers. She was deeply depressed. 
 Her advertisement was to come out in two days, and 
 the academy was to open in less than a month, and 
 here she was " brushing up " her accomplishments, 
 only to discover that her hand had lost its cunning ; 
 for even Miss Maria could see that the heavy dark 
 red spirals stuck to shaky green stems were as unlike 
 the flowers she meant to make as the painty smell of 
 the wax was unlike the fragrance of roses. Her fin 
 gers were clumsy and trembling, and a dull feeling 
 of fright was growing up in her breast. Suppose she 
 should find she had forgotten the use of the globes ? 
 Suppose that she could not remember Berthollet s 
 method ? Suppose she should not be able to recall 
 the ornamental needle-work with which young ladies 
 should be taught to while away the time? She 
 looked over at the whatnot, where a little air-castle, 
 made of squares of perforated card-board, worked in 
 single zephyr and caught together at the angles, was 
 dangling from a knob on the top shelf ; how was it 
 made ? Miss Maria sobbed under her breath. 
 
 Then she looked up and saw Mr. Ezra stumbling 
 among the chairs and tables, for the room was shad 
 owy, even though the autumn nights had thinned 
 the vines about the windows, and some of the broad 
 five-fingered leaves of the Virginia creeper were 
 stained crimson. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Ezra !" she said, " it is indeed a compli 
 ment to have a call from a gentleman in the after 
 noon. How is dear Matty ?" 
 
 127 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Mr. Ezra Barkley took off his hat and wiped his 
 forehead. " I fear I am interrupting your delight 
 ful work," he said, politely. 
 
 " Oh no, indeed," she said. " You couldn t inter 
 rupt me, Mr. Ezra. I am making wax roses. I hope 
 you think they re pretty good ?" She looked at 
 him wistfully. 
 
 " Oh yes ; just so ; quite so ; most beautiful ;" he 
 assured her, kindly. " These ah October days are 
 very agreeable, Miss Maria ?" 
 
 " Yes," she agreed, " I suppose they are, but I ve 
 had a good deal on my mind ; I have not noticed 
 them, I am afraid. You know I am going to open 
 an academy, Mr. Ezra ?" 
 
 " Yes," he said, eagerly ; this was more direct than 
 he could have hoped the reference to exercise might 
 be omitted, and he could proceed at once to financial 
 matters and the hardships of life. This he did, with 
 several statistical allusions to which Miss Welwood 
 listened with deep attention. 
 
 " Dear me," she said, " if I only had some of your 
 learning, Mr. Ezra, I am sure my academy would be 
 successful !" 
 
 " Well, now, for the matter of the academy," said 
 Mr. Barkley, changing color violently, " may it not 
 be possible that some other arrangement may be 
 made ? In fact, I had in mind a ah plan which 
 would make it possible for you to give it up. It is 
 of this I came to speak this afternoon." (Here Mr, 
 Ezra looked at his watch.) 
 
 " If you mean coming to live with Matty," she said, 
 touched and smiling, " it s just the kindest thing in 
 the world for you both to think of it ; but indeed I 
 couldn t do it. Why, what would become of Rose ?" 
 
 128 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 "Oh, Miss Rose would be there too," Mr. Ezra 
 said, warmly ; " in fact, personally, I would find her 
 presence a most agreeable addition to the house 
 hold." 
 
 Miss Maria smiled, but shook her head. " You are 
 both of you just as kind as you can be ; but I m 
 going to work, Mr. Ezra." Miss Maria took up a 
 strip of pink wax, and rolled it into a coil for the 
 heart of a rose. " Indeed I do appreciate what Mat 
 ty offered," she said ; " I shall never forget it. And 
 and your kindness, too." She looked at him as she 
 spoke, and her lip quivered. 
 
 " Miss Maria," said the little gentleman, " I was 
 not referring to Matilda s plan." 
 
 " Oh," said Miss Maria, blankly. 
 
 " No, ma am," said Mr. Ezra ; " I have an idea of 
 my own, which seems to combine my sister s wishes, 
 with greater, as I may say, convenience, and and 
 suitability. Miss Maria, you may not be aware that 
 the average life of the married man exceeds that of 
 the bachelor by some years ? And I it my sis 
 ter " Mr. Ezra was very unhappy ; he turned red, 
 and put on his hat; stammered, and took it off again. 
 As for Miss Welwood, she sat up very straight, and 
 squeezed her hands together under the table. She 
 had forgotten Mrs. Barkley s suggestion about Rose, 
 but it all came back to her : he was going to offer 
 himself to Rose ! Her face grew white, but she did 
 not speak. Mr. Barkley continued, bravely : " I have 
 given the subject much thought, and I am con 
 vinced that my my plan will be a desirable ar 
 rangement. I venture to hope that Miss Rose will 
 not object to it, if you do not." 
 
 " Rose is very young," Miss Welwood said, in a 
 129 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 low voice. " I m sure I don t know her her senti 
 ments." 
 
 " Very well, then," said Mr. Ezra, and drew him- 
 self up, and looked at her with a kindly eye. "Miss 
 Welwood, I have long felt the deepest esteem for 
 you, and your present courageous attitude in this 
 distressing financial crisis has added admiration to 
 esteem. Miss Welwood, though in matters so deli 
 cate as the affections I dislike haste, the exigencies 
 of the present moment must be my excuse for so 
 abrupt a statement of my my of my ah as you 
 might say, regard. Miss Welwood, will you do me 
 the honor to accept my hand ?" 
 
 Miss Maria put down the roll of wax on the table, 
 and stared at him. 
 
 " You see," he said, " it will be to me, an agree 
 able solution of this somewhat difficult situation. 
 May I hope that your sentiments towards me are 
 not unkind ?" 
 
 " Why," she said, in a whisper, " I don t under 
 stand !" 
 
 " I am aware that my request may seem sudden," 
 Mr. Barkley explained, " and I should have been 
 glad to lead up to it with proper decorum ; but I 
 assure you, Miss Maria, of the warmth of my my 
 sentiments." There was silence for a moment. Mr. 
 Ezra s face was red and anxious. " I trust I have 
 not offended you by the as you might say, blunt- 
 ness of my address ?" 
 
 " No ; oh no," Miss Maria assured him, faintly. 
 Then she added, in a low voice, "But Matty? 
 perhaps Matty would have wished something 
 else ?" 
 
 " Miss Rose will live with us," said Mr. Ezra, with 
 130 
 
MISS MARIA 
 
 calm directness ; " that will be a gratification to 
 Matilda, beyond a doubt." 
 
 " I don t know what to say," Miss Maria said, be 
 ginning to roll a piece of wax in her trembling fin 
 gers. " I never thought of such a thing at least 
 not lately." 
 
 Then suddenly she put her head down on the table 
 on the strips of red and pink wax, and covered her 
 eyes with her shaking fingers. It had come her 
 long -delayed romance. Her little hope had risen 
 on glittering wings out of the amber of the past, 
 where it had lain so long. Mr. Ezra had spoken ! 
 
 She looked over at him, and put her hand out 
 across the table and touched his arm timidly. " Ezra," 
 she said, " you do care for me ?" It seemed to Miss 
 Maria, in the stress and reality of her calamity, that 
 this was all unreal all a sort of play; as if she were 
 looking at Mr. Ezra through the wrong end of a 
 magnifying-glass. 
 
 Her poor little words pierced the haze of Mr. 
 Ezra s mild and kindly wish with a shock ; he, too, 
 looked at her, silent. 
 
 "Why " he said, and stopped. After all, the days 
 when such a question would have had meaning for 
 Ezra were very far back ; perhaps there never had 
 been such days ; kindly, silent, dull, with few 
 thoughts and many facts, perhaps he never knew 
 the answer a man might make to such a question. 
 All he knew now was that here was &fact: a lady 
 for whom he had great esteem was in need. But as 
 he looked at her, suddenly he blushed, and breathed 
 a little more quickly ; a break came in his calm, kind 
 voice. " I hope you will think favorably of my 
 offer?" he said. He took her hand and patted it. 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 with evident agitation. " I entreat you, Miss Maria," 
 he said. 
 And Miss Maria smiled through her tears. 
 
 Mrs. Barkley nearly swooned, she told Miss Wei- 
 wood afterwards, when Ezra came home and told her; 
 and she added that, to be perfectly frank, Ezra was as 
 stubborn as a mule. " But upon my word," said 
 Mrs. Barkley, " I believe he was right ! Everybody 
 is sometimes right, by chance ; and I think, after 
 all, that this is the best arrangement. But why 
 didn t I think of it myself? I was a perfect fool !" 
 
 As for Rose, the gayety leaped back into her voice; 
 and she laughed with all the old flashing looks and 
 rapid words, and declared that she was ready to say, 
 u Bless you, my children," right away. 
 
 But all the same she held on to a quiet plan of her 
 own in regard to some work Dr. Lavendar had pro 
 posed for her, which later was, it must be admitted, 
 a blow to Mr. Ezra. 
 
 Charles was delighted. He sent his aunt a wed 
 ding-present, bought from her last loan to him, and 
 wrote her a most beautiful letter, which he ended 
 by protestations of unaltered affection, and the 
 statement that, as things had turned out, it proved 
 just what he had said : " The Lord would provide /" 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 THE winter of the " long frost" has never been for 
 gotten in Old Chester. The river was frozen over 
 solidly from the frightfully cold Sunday, just after 
 Christmas, when Dr. Lavendar stayed at home and 
 Sam Wright read the service, until the February 
 thaw. Not that the thermometer was unreasonable; 
 once in a while, to be sure, it did drop below zero, 
 but for the greater part of the time there was only a 
 dark, persistent cold, with high bleak winds ; it was 
 too cold for the soft silencing of snow-storms, though 
 the flakes came sometimes, reluctantly, in little hard 
 pellets, which were blown from the frozen ruts of the 
 roads in whirls of icy dust. It was a deadly sort of 
 cold that got into the bones, the old people said. 
 Anyhow it got on to the nerves ; certainly there 
 never was a winter in Old Chester when so many 
 things went wrong. There were happenings among 
 his people that bowed Dr. Lavendar s heart down 
 with sorrow and pain. Brave, high-minded, quick 
 tempered old James Shields died. The Todds quar 
 relled violently while that black cold held ; and 
 the eldest Miss Ferris was very, very ill. It was 
 that spring that the "real Smiths " eldest son 
 
 135 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 brought disgrace upon their honest name ; and that 
 Miss Jane Jay, to the scandal and grief of her sis 
 ters, made up her mind not to go to church any 
 more. And in the midst of all this perplexity and 
 pain Mrs.Drayton, a little foolish hypochondriac with 
 a bad temper, became so anxious about her spirit 
 ual condition that she felt it necessary to see her 
 clergyman several times a week. To be sure, her 
 solicitude for her soul was checked by Dr. Lavendar s 
 calling her " woman," and telling her that it was 
 more important to be amiable in her family than to 
 make her peace with God. 
 
 " He has no spirituality," Mrs. Drayton said, weep 
 ing angrily ; and did not send for him again for a 
 fortnight. 
 
 It was early in December that old Mrs. King died, 
 and though that meant that her daughter Rachel 
 might draw a free breath after years of most wearing 
 attendance, it meant also the grief of the poor 
 daughter, whose occupation was gone. 
 
 Yes, it was a hard, dreary winter, "and the old 
 minister s heart was often heavy in his breast ; and 
 when one day there came to him a sorrow and a sin 
 that did not concern any of his own people, he had a 
 curious sense of relief in dealing with it. 
 
 " It doesn t touch any of em, thank the Lord !" he 
 said to himself. Yet there was a puzzle in it that 
 was to grow until it did touch and very near home, 
 too. But Dr. Lavendar did not see that at the be 
 ginning, fortunately. 
 
 It was one Monday. Dr. Lavendar never had 
 " blue Mondays " perhaps because he preached old 
 sermons ; perhaps because he was so dogmatically 
 sure that the earth was the Lord s, and so were all 
 
 136 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 the perplexities in it, and all the sorrows, too. On 
 this particular Monday, just after dinner, he sat 
 down by the fire (he had been out all the morn 
 ing in the sleet and snow, so he felt he had 
 earned a rest) ; he put on his preposterous old 
 flowered cashmere dressing-gown, and sat down by 
 the fire, and lighted his pipe, and began to read 
 Robinson Crusoe. Dr. Lavendar had long since lost 
 count of the number of times he had read this im 
 mortal book, but that never interfered with his en 
 joyment of it ; he had lost count of the number of 
 times he had smoked his pipe, if one comes to count 
 ing things up. He had a way of sniffing and chuck 
 ling as he read, and he was oblivious to everything 
 about him even to the fire going out sometimes, or 
 his little grizzly dog climbing up into the chair be 
 side him, or the door opening and shutting. The 
 door opened and shut now, and he never heard it ; 
 only, after a while he felt an uncomfortable sense of 
 being watched, and looked up with a start that made 
 Danny squeak and scramble down to the floor. A 
 girl was sitting opposite him, her heavy eyes fixed on 
 his face. 
 
 "Why when did you come in ?" he said, sharply. 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 " I m Mary Dean, sir. I come in a few minutes 
 ago. I didn t want to disturb you, sir." She said it 
 all heavily, with her miserable eyes looking past him, 
 out of the window into the falling sleet. It was plain 
 what was her trouble, poor child ! The old man looked 
 at her keenly, in silence ; then he said, cheerfully : 
 
 " Come, come, we must have a better fire than this. 
 You are cold, my dear. Suppose you drink a cup of 
 tea, and then we will talk." 
 
 10 I 37 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " I don t want no tea, sir, thank you," she answered. 
 " I thought you might help me. I come from Upper 
 Chester," she went on, vaguely. She looked about 
 her as she spoke, and a little interest crept into her 
 flat, impersonal voice. " Why are them swords 
 hangin over the mantel ?" she asked ; and then 
 added, sighing, " I m in trouble." 
 
 " How did you come down from the upper village 
 in such weather?" Dr. Lavendar asked her, gently, 
 after a minute s pause. 
 
 " I walked, sir." 
 
 He exclaimed, looking at her anxiously. "You 
 must have dry clothing on, my child," he said, "and 
 some food, before you say another word !" 
 
 The girl protested, weakly : " I ain t cold ; I ain t 
 hungry. I only thought you d tell me what to do." 
 
 But of course she had to be taken care of. If his 
 Mary had not had thirty years experience of his 
 "perfectly obsolete methods," as the new people ex 
 pressed it, she might have been surprised to find her 
 self waiting on this poor fallen creature, while Dr. 
 Lavendar urged her to eat and drink, and showed 
 her how Danny begged for bread with one paw on 
 his nose and one outstretched. Afterwards, when, 
 fed and clothed, the girl was comforted enough to 
 cry, the old man listened to her story. It was not a 
 new one. When one hears it, one knows the heads 
 under which it divides itself : vanity first ; love (so 
 called) next ; weakness in the end. It is so pitiful 
 and foolish that to call it by the awful name of sin is 
 almost to dignify it. The girl, as she told it, bright 
 ened up ; she began to enjoy what was to her a 
 dramatic situation ; she told him that she " had 
 always been real respectable, but she had been de- 
 
 138 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 ceived"; that she hadn t a friend in the world "no 
 body to take no interest in her," as she put it for 
 her father and mother were dead ; and, oh, she was 
 that unhappy ! " I ain t slept a wink for most a 
 month. I cry all night," she burst out. " I just do 
 nothing at all but cry, and cry !" 
 
 " Well, I guess it s the best thing you can do," he 
 answered, quietly. 
 
 Mary looked disappointed, and tossed her head a 
 little. Then she said that of course she hadn t let on 
 to anybody in Upper Chester what was wrong with 
 her, because all her lady and gentlemen friends had 
 always respected her. " That s why I come down 
 here ; I didn t want anybody at home to know," she 
 explained, rocking back and forth miserably. 
 
 And then, perhaps because his face was so grave, 
 she said, with a little resentment, that, anyway, it 
 was her first misstep ; " there s lots of girls worse 
 than me ; and he s a gentleman" she added, lifting 
 her head airily. Her glimmer of pride was like the 
 sparkle of a scrap of tinsel in an ash heap. He 
 would have married her, she went on, defending her 
 self, only he was married already ; so he really 
 couldn t, she supposed. 
 
 Dr. Lavendar did not ask her the man s name, nor 
 suggest any appeal to him for money ; he had cer 
 tain old-fashioned ideas about minding his own busi 
 ness in regard to the first matter, and certain other 
 ideas concerning the injury to any lingering self- 
 respect in the woman if the man bought his way out 
 of his responsibility. He let her wander on in her 
 vague, shallow talk. It was hard to see what was 
 romance and what was truth. She had so far re 
 covered herself as to laugh a little, foolishly, and say 
 
 139 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 once more she " had made a mistake, of course," but 
 if Dr. Lavendar would just help her, it should never 
 happen again. " This time I ll keep my promise," 
 she said, beginning to cry. 
 
 " This time ? " said Dr. Lavendar to himself. 
 44 Ho!" 
 
 " But what am I going to do ?" she said. " If my 
 mother was to hear it, I suppose she d kill me " 
 
 " Your mother ?" he repeated. " You said " 
 
 But she did not notice her slip. 
 
 44 Oh dear ! I don t know what s going to become 
 of me, anyhow. And I haven t but ten cents to my 
 name !" 
 
 With shaking ringers she opened her flat, thin 
 pocket-book, and disclosed a few cents. This, at least, 
 seemed to be true. " I d die before any of my friends 
 should know about it !" she sobbed. 
 
 Dr. Lavendar let her cry. He looked at her once 
 or twice gravely, but he did not speak ; he was won 
 dering what woman in the parish he could call upon 
 to help him. He was not stern with her, and he was 
 not repelled or shocked by her depravity, as a 
 younger man might have been in his place. He was 
 old, and he was acquainted with grief, and he knew 
 that this poor creature s wretchedness had in it, as 
 yet, no understanding of sin ; she was only incon 
 venienced by the consequences of wrong-doing. But 
 the old man believed that the whip of shame and pain 
 could drive her, as the Lord means it shall, into an 
 appreciation of the expediency of morality that first 
 low step up to the full realization of the beauty of 
 holiness. Being old, he knew all this, and was 
 patient and tender with the poor fool, and did not 
 look for anything so high, so awful, so deep, as what 
 
 140 
 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 is called repentance. And then, beside the knowledge 
 of life, which of itself makes the intellect patient, the 
 situation was one which appealed profoundly to this 
 old man who had never known the deep experience 
 of paternity. The woman so inextricably deep in 
 the mire, the soul of her killed, almost before it had 
 been born, the chances of her moral nature torn out 
 of helpless, childless hands that did not know enough 
 to protect them a kitten drowned before its eyes 
 were open ! And the child the baby, unborn, un- 
 desired, weighted with what an inheritance ! There 
 was no baseness in this poor, cheap, flimsy creature 
 that could arouse a trace of scorn in him. He let 
 her cry for a while, and then he said, mildly : 
 
 " Where is your other child ?" She started, and 
 looked over her shoulder in a half-frightened way : 
 
 "Why ! how did you know ? Oh, well, my soul ! I 
 won t deceive you : I I left it in Albany with my 
 sister. She s supporting it." 
 
 Dr. Lavendar sighed. " It s a pity you can t be 
 truthful, Mary. I could help you better, you know. 
 However, I won t ask you to tell the truth. I ll only 
 ask you not to tell me any lies. That s easier, I 
 guess. Come, now, promise me you won t tell me 
 any more lies, and then I will know how to help 
 you." 
 
 Of course she promised, sobbing a little, and finger 
 ing her poor empty pocket-book. After all, that was 
 the important thing. How was he going to help 
 her ? She had no money, and she could not get any 
 work ; and if this minister wouldn t look after her, 
 she would have to go to the workhouse. 
 
 But he was going to look after her : that was Dr. 
 Lavendar s way. For, it must be admitted, Dr 
 
 141 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Lavendar did not understand many things ; he was 
 only a little, feeble, behind-the-times old clergyman. 
 Out of his scanty salary he was half supporting one 
 shiftless woman with an enormous family, and a 
 paralytic old man, and a consumptive girl. He did 
 not stop to reflect that he was inviting mothers to 
 burden society with their offspring, and encouraging 
 old men to become paralytics, and offering a premium 
 to consumption. No ; he fed the hungry and clothed 
 the naked, and never turned his face from the face 
 of any poor man. He was not scientific ; he was 
 only human. He hoped and he believed that salva 
 tion was possible for every one and so for this poor 
 fallen woman with the empty pocket-book, whom he 
 was going to look after. But he had to think about 
 it a little while ; so he bade her wait, while he went 
 and fumbled among his papers and memoranda, and 
 found the address of a worthy woman in Upper Ches 
 ter who would take her to board and give her the 
 care and attendance that she was going to need. 
 Then he made a little calculation in his own mind 
 that had reference to a certain old book upon His 
 torical Sapphires, that he had long desired to own ; 
 then thrust out his lip and said, " Foolishness, fool 
 ishness !" under his breath ; and brought a little roll 
 of money and put it into her hand. 
 
 " You can go back on the stage to Upper Chester, 
 and then you are to go to this street and number, 
 and give this note to the kind woman who lives 
 there. She will take you in, my child, and I will 
 come and see you in a few days." 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 II 
 
 If Susan Carr had been in Old Chester that winter, 
 Dr. Lavendar would have handed Mary Dean over 
 to her, but she was paying a long visit in Mercer, 
 and there seemed to be nobody to take care of the 
 young woman but himself. Certainly he could not 
 ask Miss Maria Welwood ; she would have been most 
 anxiously, tremulously kind, but her consciousness 
 of the impropriety of the situation would have made 
 her useless. Mrs. Dale was too stern ; Mrs. Wright s 
 large family took up all her time ; Rose Knight was 
 too young to know about such matters ; and so was 
 Sally Smith. Rachel King well, yes, there was 
 Rachel King. But her mother had just died, and 
 Rachel needed a little time to breathe without any 
 duty. 
 
 " Bless her heart !" he said to himself, " she sha n t 
 have any more work to do for a while, anyhow." 
 
 There was nothing for it but to look after the girl 
 himself. So he put her into Mrs. Wiley s charge at 
 Upper Chester, and took the long stage ride twice a 
 week to visit her, and paid her board, and begged 
 baby clothing for her, and watched over her in his 
 queer, kind, dogmatic way. 
 
 " He s awful fond of fussin ," the girl said, wearily. 
 
 Mrs. Wiley had always a string of complaints 
 ready for him : Mary was such a dreadful liar ! She 
 was that ungrateful, Mrs. Wiley had never seen the 
 like of it ! She hadn t any decent feelings, anyhow, 
 for she made eyes at the baker s boy till Mrs. Wiley 
 said she d put her out on the sidewalk if she didn t 
 behave ! 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " Wait ; wait," he would say. " She ll love the 
 child, and she ll be a better girl." 
 
 " It don t follow," said Mrs. Wiley, with a signifi 
 cant toss of her head. " She allows she left her first 
 child in New York with an aunt, and I can t see as it 
 reformed her any." 
 
 However, neither Mrs. Wiley s deductions nor the 
 conflict in poor Mary s stories prevented Dr. Laven- 
 dar from hoping. After the baby was born, he was 
 eager to see the mother, peering into her face with 
 anxious eyes, as though he thought that the benedic 
 tion of a baby s hand must have blotted out shifti 
 ness and sensuality and meanness. But Mary only 
 came out of the experience of birth with her smooth, 
 shallow face prettier than ever. Then Dr. Lavendar 
 bade Mrs. Wiley wait yet a little longer. "Wait 
 until she begins to love it, and then we ll see !" he 
 said. 
 
 " Oh, she loves it enough," Mrs. Wiley conceded, 
 grudgingly. " I don t deny she loves it. When I 
 take it up, she looks at me just like our old cat does 
 when I touch her kittens. Yes, she loves it fast 
 enough ; but she s a bad girl, that s what she is, 
 Dr. Lavendar !" 
 
 As for Dr. Lavendar himself, he was immensely 
 entertained by the baby, though somewhat afraid of 
 it. He used to hold it cautiously on his knee, chuck 
 ling to himself at its little, pink, clawlike hands, 
 which grasped vaguely at him, and at its funny, 
 nodding, bald head, and its tiny, bubbling lips. 
 Mary would watch him languidly, and would laugh 
 too, as though it was all an excellent joke. 
 
 " If it was a boy, I d name it after you," she said, 
 with coy facetiousness. At which Dr. Lavendar 
 
 144 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 came out of his sunny mood, and said " Ho !" 
 gruffly, and put the baby down. The girl was so 
 utterly devoid of any understanding of the situation 
 that, in spite of his hopefulness, she shocked him 
 again and again. However, he kept on "looking 
 after her." 
 
 The child was baptized Anna, though Mary had 
 suggested Evelina. " Mary," Dr. Lavendar said, 
 solemnly, " was your mother a good woman ?" 
 
 " My mother ?" the girl said, wincing. " She s 
 dead. She was good. My land ! if she d lived I 
 wouldn t a been here !" For once the easy tears 
 had not risen ; she looked at him sullenly, as though 
 she hated him for some glaring contrast that came 
 into her thoughts. "That s honest," she added, simply. 
 
 " Then we will name the baby after her, because 
 she was good/* he said ; and " Anna," was accord 
 ingly " grafted into the body of Christ s church." 
 
 As soon as she was strong enough, he found a place 
 for Mary to work, where she might have the baby 
 with her. " The child and good honest work will 
 save her," he would say to himself ; but he used to 
 shake his head over her when he sat smoking his 
 pipe and thinking about his little world. " And that 
 poor baby !" he would say, looking, perhaps, at his 
 wrinkled forefinger, and thinking how the baby had 
 clutched it. 
 
 Once he told Rachel King about it all, and how 
 pretty the child was that was when it was five 
 months old, and the red and clawing stage was past, 
 and the small bald head was covered with shining, 
 silken rings of hair, and its eyes, no longer hid in 
 creases of soft baby flesh, were blue and smiling, and 
 its little mouth cooed for kisses. 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " Oh," cried Rachel King, " to think that such a 
 creature should have it !" 
 
 Not that Rachel King was hard, or that she had 
 the shrinking that good Miss Maria Welwood would 
 have had ; but her whole heart rose at the mention 
 of a baby. " The little darling," she said ; and the 
 color came up into her face, and her eyes gleamed. 
 " I don t believe she loves it a bit." 
 
 " Oh yes, she does," said Dr. Lavendar, with a 
 sigh ; " yes, she does in her way. And, Rachel, the 
 baby may save her, you know. Yes, I believe she 
 loves it." 
 
 " I don t," said Rachel King, stoutly ; " not if this 
 last story of her * keeping company with somebody 
 is true. Why doesn t she devote herself to the 
 baby ?" 
 
 Rachel was sitting out in the garden with Dr. 
 Lavendar ; he had been smoking and watching the 
 bees, and she had dropped in to gossip awhile. She 
 was a large, maternal-looking woman of thirty-five. 
 Silent and placid, with soft, light-brown hair parted 
 in the middle and drawn smoothly down and back 
 from a wide forehead, under which shone mild and 
 brooding gray eyes the eyes of a woman who was 
 essentially, and always, and deeply, a mother ; that 
 look that can only come from experience. 
 
 But what had she mothered in the last nineteen 
 years ! 
 
 When Rachel was sixteen years old, Mrs. King fell 
 ill ; it was one of those illnesses from which we turn 
 away our eyes, shuddering and humbled. Oh, our 
 poor human nature ! the pity of it, the shame of it, 
 yet the helplessness and innocence of it ! Rachel s 
 mother gradually but swiftly came to be a child in 
 
 146 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 everything but years. She had lost a baby, and the 
 grief had shaken the foundations of life. They first 
 suspected how things were with the poor mind by 
 the way she pored over the little clothes the dead 
 child had worn, folding them and unfolding them, 
 and talking to them, with little foolish laughter. It 
 was then that some one whispered to some one else 
 that Ellen King was not herself. So it went on, 
 little by little at first knowing, and rebelling with 
 horror and with disgust ; then, after a while, pas 
 sively, she sank down into the bog of the merely an 
 imal. When Rachel was eighteen the last glimmer 
 of the woman died out ; there was left an eating, 
 breathing, whimpering thing. She had her doll by 
 that time, and Rachel used to tuck a bib under the 
 poor shaking chin and feed her, and push down the 
 naughty hands that tried to grasp the spoon, and 
 wipe the milky lips, and kiss her, and honor her. 
 This was her baby, her duty, her passionately tender 
 occupation but it was her mother; and Rachel 
 King s days ought to be long in the land ! When 
 she was about twenty-one a lover appeared, but she 
 sent him away. " I can t leave mother. Father 
 can t take care of her, you know, and Oscar is away ; 
 and Willy will be getting married some day. But 
 it wouldn t be right that you should have to live 
 with her," she said, wistfully. The lover protested ; 
 but she heard the weak note behind the affectionate 
 words, and after that she was quite firm. " No ; it 
 can t be. I see that it couldn t possibly be." When 
 he had gone, she went up to her mother s room and 
 put her arms around her, and hid her eyes on hef 
 breast. " Oh, mother, mother !" she said, " can t you 
 speak to me just once ?" 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Mrs. King stroked the soft straight hair for a mo 
 ment, and then plucked at it angrily, and cried and 
 screamed, and said she wanted her dolly. . . . That 
 had been Rachel s life for nineteen years ; for Mrs. 
 King had lived, and lived, and lived. All around 
 her in the anxious, heavy-laden world sweet and 
 buoyant and vital souls were sucked down into 
 death ; but the imbecile old woman went on living. 
 Mr. King died in the early part of his wife s illness ; 
 and about eight years before the end came, William, 
 the only son who lived at home, married, and went 
 to a house of his own. He married a Mercer girl, 
 who commended herself to him by her great good 
 sense. Old Chester was not quite pleased that Willy 
 should leave his mother and Rachel all alone, though 
 it said, approvingly, that Martha Hayes would make 
 the doctor a good wife. But what could the young 
 man do ? The sensible Mercer girl said, frankly, 
 that she was very fond of Willy, but she simply 
 iv on Id not live in the same house with his mother. 
 Indeed, such was her Mercer sense (it certainly was 
 not of Old Chester) that she said, during the latter 
 part of her engagement, that she did not think it 
 was quite prudent for a young married lady to live 
 in the same house with such a frightful old creature ! 
 
 So Rachel was left all alone with her child. It was 
 a busy life, in its constant attendance ; yet some 
 how it is the busy people who can always do a little 
 more. If there was sickness in a neighbor s family, 
 Rachel King took possession in a tranquil, sensible 
 way ; when there was death, her large, gentle hands 
 were ready with those sacred touches that are so 
 often left to hirelings ; when there was sorrow, her 
 soft breast was a most comforting pillow. So year 
 
 148 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 by year went by, until the final flicker of her moth 
 er s life dropped into mere breathing into silence 
 into death. And year by year the lines of mater 
 nity deepened in the daughter s face, until she was 
 all mother. 
 
 Then, she was childless. 
 
 Oh, after such shame, how humanity raises itself 
 in glorious death ! Even Rachel, mourning and be 
 wildered by the loss of occupation, felt it dumbly 
 the dignity, the mercy, the graciousness, of death ! 
 And to the poor soul, fettered in gross flesh, stum 
 bling, stifling, struggling, what must it have been 
 to emerge into the clean spaces of the stars ! 
 
 After that, of course, Rachel could live her own 
 life. But there was no question of a lover now ; he 
 had a wife and five children in another State. She 
 could not go and live with Willy ; her sensible sis 
 ter-in-law (against this day) had for years been say 
 ing how foolish it was to live in other people s fami 
 lies ; and Rachel had taken the hint. There were 
 no nephews and nieces to love nobody, indeed, to 
 whom she was a necessity. Of all the bitter and 
 heavy things in this sorry old world, the not being 
 necessary is the bitterest and heaviest. With a deep, 
 simple nature, a nature of brooding love, Rachel 
 King had nothing in her life but the crumbs that 
 fell from richer tables: the friendly acceptance of 
 those services she was so happy to give. But she 
 had nothing of her very own. 
 
 " To think that that creature has a baby !" she said. 
 " Well, well ; we ll hope it will save her," Dr. Lav- 
 endar repeated. 
 
 " But think of the baby," Rachel insisted. " What 
 149 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 kind of a bringing-up will it have ?" She sighed as 
 she spoke, not knowing that the necessity of her own 
 empty arms and wide lap and deep soft bosom dic 
 tated the words. 
 
 " Well, Rachel, if we took the infants away from 
 all the unworthy mothers, we d have a pretty large 
 orphan-asylum," Dr. Lavendar said, chuckling, "and 
 it wouldn t be only the Mary Deans who would have 
 to give em up, either. No, no ; I believe the Lord 
 understands this matter better than we do. The 
 baby will make a woman of Mary yet !" 
 
 " Suppose she teaches it to tell lies ?" Rachel King 
 suggested. 
 
 " Ho ! Suppose it teaches her to tell the truth ?" 
 he demanded. " No, Rachel. That baby is a mis 
 sionary; a domestic missionary, as you might say. 
 I ve great hopes for Mary great hopes." 
 
 Ill 
 
 But Dr. Lavendar s hopes were greatly tried. In 
 spite of the saving grace of a baby, bad reports came 
 from the family for whom Mary Dean worked she 
 was an inveterate liar ; she was untidy, and coarse 
 in mind and body; she was dishonest not in any 
 large way, but rather in small meannesses. 
 
 "The only good thing about her is she is fond of 
 that blessed baby," her exasperated mistress said 
 once. " She kisses it sometimes as if she were pos 
 sessed. But then, again, she ll slap it real hard if it 
 slops its dress, or, maybe, pulls her hair when it s 
 playing. It s a great baby to play," the good wom 
 an said, softening as she spoke. 
 
 150 
 
THE CHILD vS MOTHER 
 
 However, Dr. Lavendar kept on hoping. Then 
 came a time when he could hope no longer. It was 
 one night in August his Mary s night out, as it 
 chanced. Dr. Lavendar came home from Wednes 
 day evening lecture, plodding along in the darkness, 
 a lantern swinging in one hand and his stick in the 
 other. He was humming over to himself, with 
 husky clearings of his voice at the end of each 
 line, the last hymn : 
 
 " The spa cious fir mament o-on hi-gh, 
 And a-all the blue ethereal sky 
 
 Then he fumbled for his latch-key and came up to 
 his own door-step, where was lying a little heap that 
 moved and said, "Goo oo oo." 
 
 Dr. Lavendar stood still for a moment, and felt 
 very cold. Then he stooped down and held the lan 
 tern over the baby s face. At that there was an un 
 mistakable wail of fright that sharp " A-a-ack /" 
 that pierces the unaccustomed ear with such curious 
 dismay. Fathers and mothers bear this cry with 
 equanimity, and even seem to find it a cause for 
 pride, but to the unbabied adult it is so piercing 
 and so unpleasant that it almost seems as though 
 there was something to be said for Herod. Not that 
 Dr. Lavendar had any such inhuman thoughts ; he 
 lifted the baby up and carried it into the study, 
 where he put it down in his arm-chair, and stum 
 bled about for matches to light the lamp. In his 
 anxiety he did not even take off his flapping felt 
 hat, which encircled his face like a black nimbus. 
 Holding the lamp in his hand, he came and stood 
 over the bundle in his chair ; the baby stopped cry 
 ing and sucked in its lower lip, and returned his 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 gaze. It was Mary s child. He recognized it at 
 once, and did not need the dirty scrap of paper 
 pinned on its breast : 
 
 " Mr. Lavendar i cant do for baby no longer it cries nights 
 and do keep me awake and i got to do my work next day all 
 the same and i cant stand it no longer and i cant do for it 
 no longer i am sorrie i pittie poor baby to be left alone and 
 i love my baby just as much as if i was married but i have 
 to put it away i will never come back any more so get it a 
 home and please excuse no more at present from your friend 
 Miss Mary Dean P S i have decided to name it Evelina." 
 
 He read it, and then he looked at the baby blink 
 ing at the lamp-light, in his arm-chair. " If you ll 
 just wait a minute," he said, in an agitated voice, 
 " I ll I ll get a woman !" 
 
 The baby yawned ; he saw the roof of its small 
 pink mouth, like a kitten s. " I ll return immediate 
 ly," he assured it ; and hurried, almost running, out 
 to the kitchen. But his maid-servant was not there. 
 " What shall I do ?" he said. " Very likely it ought 
 to be fed, or something. Perhaps it wants to be 
 held. I ll get Rachel." 
 
 It was easy to get Rachel King, as she lived but a 
 stone s-throw away ; she was locking her front door 
 when, half-way down the street, he called her and 
 waved his lantern ; and Rachel, in her placid mind, 
 foresaw a sudden illness somewhere, and a night s 
 watching before her. His breathless explanation 
 sent her hurrying, faster than he could walk, back to 
 the parsonage. When he got there she had the baby 
 on her knee, and was taking off the faded shawl that 
 the mother had wrapped around it, and mumbling 
 her lips over the little dimpled arm. 
 
 152 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 " There s a pin somewhere that has scratched her," 
 she said. "There, you little darling. Oh, dear me, 
 Dr. Lavendar, that shawl is so dirty ! And look at 
 this scratch on her little hand. There there there. 
 Why, her little feet are as cold as stones !" She 
 gathered the small feet into her hand, and cuddled 
 the child up against her breast. " I feel her shiver !" 
 she said, angrily. " I believe that wretched girl has 
 given her her death of cold leaving her on that 
 stone step. There, dear ; there there. Dear baby, 
 bless your little heart ! She says she was frightened 
 all alone in the dark ; frightened most to death/ she 
 says. Yes, darling, yes. I was scared, she says, 
 and I was drefful cold. There, now, are your little 
 feet warm ?" 
 
 Dr. Lavendar stood looking down at her, greatly 
 relieved. 
 
 " But what am I going to do with it to-night ?" he 
 said, anxiously. 
 
 " Oh, I am going to take her home, sir. Dr. Laven 
 dar, give her to me ?" 
 
 " Oh, well, Rachel, I hope the mother will come 
 back, you know. And, in fact, I suppose our first 
 duty is to get hold of her and make her take it." 
 
 "What !" she interrupted, " when she deserted her? 
 Give a child back to such a mother ? No ! she doesn t 
 deserve her !" 
 
 " But, perhaps," he ventured, " the work really was 
 too hard ? There s her letter. You see what she 
 says. I certainly ought to try to get a different kind 
 of place for her, where she won t have so much to 
 do. It is hard to be kept awake at night and then 
 have to work, you know. We must try to make it 
 possible for her to keep her child, poor girl." 
 " J 53 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " Dr. Lavendar, any woman who could write such 
 a letter ought not to be allowed to have a child." 
 Rachel said. " But I don t believe we ll ever hear 
 from her again. Anyhow, I m going to take this 
 precious baby home with me ! Little darling ! do 
 you want to come home and have some hot milk, 
 and go sleepy ? Well, you shall ! there, there, 
 there !" 
 
 " I wish you would take her home, my dear, I wish 
 you would," Dr. Lavendar said, " and to-morrow we 
 can decide what we ought to do." 
 
 Rachel smiled, her eyes narrowing a little, but she 
 said nothing. She wrapped the child up in her skirt, 
 " I won t have that shawl touch her," she said, de 
 cidedly. 
 
 " Won t it cry if you take it out in the dark ?" Dr. 
 Lavendar inquired, meekly. 
 
 Rachel laughed. 
 
 " * It !" she said. " She won t cry in my arms." 
 
 That night was a wonderful one to Rachel King. 
 The washing of the soft, uncared-for baby flesh ; the 
 feeding of the warmed and comforted little body ; 
 then the putting the child to sleep, sitting in a low 
 chair, and rocking slowly back and forth, back and 
 forth, crooning, crooning, crooning, her shadow dip 
 ping and rising across the ceiling of the faintly 
 lighted room. When the baby was asleep Rachel 
 looked over the rough, grimy clothing, shaking her 
 head, and touching the little petticoats with disgusted 
 fingers. 
 
 " Ach dirty !" she said. " They sha n t touch her 
 again ; she s as clean as a flower now." 
 
 And then she took her lamp and went up through 
 the silent house to the garret. Whenever Rachel 
 
 154 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 came up here under the rafters of the old house, she 
 thought what a place it would be for children to play 
 on rainy days. Well, now, perhaps a little child 
 should play here ; a little girl might use that old 
 doll-house set back against the big brick chimney. 
 Rachel s breath quickened as this thought leaped up 
 in her heart. She put the lamp down on a chest, and, 
 from under the eaves, pulled out an old horse-hair 
 trunk ; when she opened it a scent of dried roses and 
 sweet clover came from the clean old baby linen that 
 had been lying there some twenty years. Poor Mrs. 
 King, staggering from reason to imbecility, had put 
 the little dothes away ; and every spring, for her 
 sake, Rachel took them out, and aired them, and" put 
 them back again. 
 
 On top of the baby clothes lay a battered old doll ; 
 when she lifted it Rachel drew in her breath as 
 though something hurt her. Then she began to sort 
 out the things she needed for the little rosy child of 
 dishonor and sin. The lamp flickered in the draught 
 from the open door, and cast her great shadow across 
 the ceiling as, gently, she took up one little garment 
 after another. As she shook out the knitted shirts 
 and brushed some rose leaves from the folds of the 
 yellowing slips, a sense of providing for her own 
 came warmly to her breast. Her baby ! She took 
 her lamp and went down - stairs again, the pile of 
 clothing on her arm. 
 
 The baby slept, warm and quiet, on Rachel s bed ; 
 she bent over it to feel its soft breath on her cheek ; 
 then she gathered its feet into her hand to be sure 
 that they were warm, and lifted the arm which was 
 thrown up over its head and put it under the cover. 
 It seemed as though she could not take her eyes 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 away from the child, even that she might undress 
 and lie down beside it. And when she did it was not 
 to sleep ; a dozen times she raised herself on her 
 elbow to look down at the little figure beside her 
 and listen for its breathing, and lift its small relaxed 
 hand to her lips. Sometimes she thought of the wom 
 an who had deserted it : but never as if any of her 
 shame were connected with the child s personality. 
 Only with indignation and thankfulness ! 
 
 It was a night of birth to this childless woman. 
 
 In those first days she did not ask Dr. Lavendar 
 whether he was taking any steps to find the baby s 
 mother, but she lived breathlessly. " I ll biiy her, if 
 that creature comes back," she said to herself, over 
 and over. But the creature did not come back, 
 though Dr. Lavendar tried his best to find some trace 
 of her, to urge upon her the duty of caring for her 
 child. And after a while Rachel s plan and plea 
 seemed to the old minister the only way out of the 
 matter : Rachel wanted the baby ; and its own 
 mother evidently did not ; so it had best remain with 
 Rachel. Certainly for the child there could be no 
 question as to which lot in life was best for it. 
 
 But it was several months before Rachel King felt 
 assured possession. "The mother may come back 
 for it," Dr. Lavendar reminded her many times, "so 
 don t let s be in a hurry." But in the end it was set 
 tled as Rachel wished. The mother drifted off into 
 the world ; and the little waif, which had drifted into 
 a home, grew into a flowerlike child, pretty and happy 
 and good. 
 
i 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 IV 
 
 It was a most peaceable Old Chester childhood that 
 came to little Anna, for Rachel preserved the tradi 
 tions of the town in bringing her up and that 
 meant love and obedience, and the sweet, attendant 
 grace of reverence, of which, alas, childhood is so 
 often robbed in these emancipated days. In Old 
 Chester the bringing up of their children occupied 
 the women in a way at once religious and intel 
 lectual. Practically they had no other interest ; in 
 dividualism and the sense of social responsibility, 
 those two characteristics of the modern woman, were 
 not even guessed at indeed, they would have been 
 thought exceedingly unladylike. But the care of 
 the individual child and the sense of responsibility 
 for its morals made the interest and excitement and 
 occupation of the mothers lives. The great fear was 
 that children might be "spoiled"; hence it was a 
 subject for prayer that no sinful human instinct, no 
 mere maternal feeling, should be allowed to interfere 
 with discipline. Infants were punished, children 
 were trained, youth was admonished, with religious 
 devotion. It was a matter of pious pride to Old 
 Chester that Mrs. Dale s first baby had cried himself 
 into a spasm on being forced to drink the skin on 
 scalded milk. It was perhaps unfortunate that Mrs. 
 Dale should have tried to make the child take the 
 crinkling scum in the first place ; but having tried, 
 having called in several serious mothers to advise and 
 wrestle with the ten months baby, having forced tea 
 spoons between small, wet lips, and held little fight 
 ing, struggling hands, it was imperative that she 
 
 157 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 should succeed. She succeeded. To be sure, later on, 
 young Eben Dale quarrelled with his mother and 
 sowed enough wild oats to feed the Augean stables ; 
 but he reformed in time to die at thirty in the odor of 
 sanctity his conversion being, Mrs. Dale believed, 
 due to that rigid discipline of his youth (and the 
 mercy of God). Old Chester children were prayed 
 for, and agonized over, and sent supperless to bed, 
 with a chapter in the Bible to be committed to 
 memory by the light of one uncertain candle shining 
 through their hungry tears. And most of them are 
 grateful for it now. 
 
 As for Rachel King, she observed these traditions 
 in the way in which she cared for Anna ; but it was 
 always with tenderness. And Anna was a dear and 
 happy little child. She never knew that her aunt, as 
 she called Rachel, thought, and planned, and fairly 
 lived in her life. It would have been contrary to 
 Rachel s principles to allow the child to feel herself 
 important ; but nothing escaped the kind eyes, the 
 far-seeing love, that punished and praised with 
 that calm justice which children so keenly appre 
 ciate. The little girl s physical well-being was of 
 absorbing interest to Rachel, but her spiritual well- 
 being was a religion to the quiet, matter - of - fact 
 woman, who did not look anymore capable of spirit 
 ual passion than did some gentle, ruminative cow 
 lying under a big tree in a sunny meadow. Anna s 
 possible inheritance was a horror to Rachel, and when 
 the child told her first lie her foster-mother was 
 nearly sick with dismay and anxiety. It was only 
 one of the romancing lies as common to childhood as 
 playing. Anna recited a long tale of how she went 
 to Dr. Lavendar s and rung the bell, and then tried 
 
 158 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 to reach up to the knocker, and tumbled down, and 
 saw a large toad looking at her from beside the front 
 steps, and how she was so frightened she ran every 
 step of the way home. Rachel, when she found this 
 was pure invention, nearly broke her heart. Alarmed 
 and stern, she carried the story to Dr. Lavendar, 
 who chuckled over it, and blinked his eyes, and said: 
 
 " And she never left the yard, you say, the whole 
 afternoon ? Well, well ! what an imagination !" 
 
 " But, Dr. Lavendar, it was a lie," Rachel said, 
 staring at him with dismay. 
 
 " My dear, you can t say a child of four is a liar. 
 Did you mean to punish her ?" 
 
 Rachel nodded, and sighed. 
 
 " Don t you do it ! Laugh at her. That s all she 
 needs. Tell her it s foolish to say things happened 
 that didn t happen. Time enough to punish her 
 when she does it to gain an end. Don t you see it 
 was a tale to the child ?" 
 
 " But her the woman who deserted her lied so !" 
 
 u Her mother ?" 
 
 Rachel winced. " Yes, thatthat woman." 
 
 " That s true ; poor Mary didn t seem able to tell 
 the truth. Well, I suppose it s natural for you, 
 Rachel, to be afraid of the inheritance from her 
 earthly mother ; but mind you don t forget her in 
 heritance from her Heavenly Father, my dear." 
 
 Rachel bent her head, solemnly, listening and 
 comforte^l. 
 
 " Dear me, dear me !" Dr. Lavendar ruminated. 
 " How He has provided for one of the least of His 
 little ones : the deserted child of a woman who was 
 a sinner ! Rachel, I wonder where she is. Suppose 
 she were to come back ?" 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Rachel King had gotten up to go, comforted and 
 smiling, though the tears were near the surface ; 
 her face hardened instantly. " She won t come 
 back ; if she did, it would be nothing to me." 
 
 " She might want to know about the child where 
 she is, and all that." 
 
 "You wouldn t tell her?" Rachel said, with a 
 gasp. 
 
 Dr. Lavendar put his pipe down, and stuck out 
 his lips in a way he had when he was puzzled. " I ve 
 never spoken of it to you, Rachel, but I ve wondered 
 about it. Not that I think we ll ever hear from her, 
 poor creature " 
 
 " * Poor creature ?" Rachel interrupted, violently. 
 " Lost creature ! wretch ! fiend !" It was like the 
 sudden show of teeth and claws the way in which 
 the face of this slow, mild woman flamed with rage. 
 " I hope she s dead !" 
 
 Dr. Lavendar looked up at her, open-mouthed. 
 
 "Well, now, Rachel, aren t you a little harsh, 
 maybe? As for Anna, she is that poor sinner s 
 child" 
 
 " No, no !" Rachel King broke in. " No, Dr. Lav 
 endar, I can t hear you say that ; I can t ! She is 
 my child." 
 
 " Now, my dear, you know that is really foolish," 
 he said, shaking his head. " That girl who gave her 
 birth is her mother ; ye can t get around that, 
 Rachel." 
 
 "That woman, is only the mother of of her 
 body," Rachel King said, in a low voice. " I am her 
 mother, Dr. Lavendar. Anna is mine. No ; that 
 creature will never come back ; but if she did, it 
 would make no difference ; it would make no more 
 
 160 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 difference to me than it would to Mrs. Wright and 
 her Lydia, or or any mother. My child is mine." 
 
 " I wonder what the law would say ?" Dr. Laven- 
 dar ventured, meekly. 
 
 " The law ?" Rachel said. " What do I care for the 
 law ? That s man s word. God gave me that child, 
 and only God shall take her from me !" 
 
 " But, Rachel," he protested, " a mother has a nat 
 ural right ; if she wanted her child (supposing she 
 could feed it and take proper care of it), I think any 
 body would agree that she ought to have it." 
 
 Rachel King turned on him, panting ; her hands 
 were trembling, and her large face a dull, angry red. 
 " Is food the only thing she needs, Dr. Lavendar ? I 
 would rather Anna was dead, I would sooner kill her 
 with my own hands, than have her go to that 
 creature !" Without another word she turned and 
 walked away from him. 
 
 As for Dr. Lavendar, he sat still, perfectly con 
 founded by her violence. 
 
 " How people do surprise you !" he said to himself 
 at last. "Well, it appears Solomon knew what he 
 was talking about. It was the real mother who said, 
 in no wise slay it. Curious how nature can always 
 be relied on to tell the truth. But how Rachel did 
 surprise me !" 
 
 However, Rachel did not surprise him in this way 
 again ; indeed, though she came to see him on this 
 matter or on that, things were not quite the same 
 between them. A deep resentment and distrust 
 grew up in her mind. Dr. Lavendar had, to her 
 way of thinking, showed an unfriendly and unfeel 
 ing disposition which she had never suspected in 
 him. She did not speak of this resentment, of 
 
 161 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 course ; but it burned and smouldered, and never 
 quite went out. The anger of slow, mild, loving 
 people has a lasting quality that mere bad-tempered 
 folk cannot understand. Rachel used to reproach 
 herself for the hardness of her heart, and say that 
 she must remember that Dr. Lavendar was getting 
 old, and could not understand things " or else he 
 would know that God gave Anna to me," she would 
 say, over and over ; her simple creed permitting the 
 idea that her Creator had made a depraved mother 
 commit the sin of abandoning her child so that an 
 other woman might have a child to love and care 
 for. But she never again let the maternal passion 
 burst out in such fierce words of possession. 
 
 Dr. Lavendar, however, pondered those words in 
 his heart. He used to sit blinking at the fire, and 
 rubbing Danny s ears, and thinking about it : after 
 all, to whom did Anna really belong? Over and 
 over he discussed it with himself, but only as an ab 
 stract proposition that interested him as any philo 
 sophical, impersonal question might. The first moth 
 er was gone, having resigned the baby to the chance 
 of kindness ; the second mother, so to speak, had 
 taken her empty place, and was doing her neglected 
 duty ; thanks to her, little Anna was being brought 
 up as a member of Christ, the child of God, and an 
 inheritor of the Kingdom of Heaven. But to whom 
 did she really belong ? 
 
 He pottered about over this question with the 
 same mild intellectual enjoyment with which in his 
 salad days he had discussed (and disposed of) the 
 errors of the Socinians and the Pelagians. And by- 
 and-by he made up his mind, and decided, in his dog 
 matic way, that " there was no question about it " : 
 
 162 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 By the inalienable claim of nature Anna belonged 
 to the woman who had brought her into the world. 
 
 So little Anna grew into a pleasant child. She 
 was looked after a little more strictly than other 
 children, and perhaps punished more ; but it seemed 
 as though she were loved more too. She had a very 
 happy childhood : sewing on a hassock at Rachel s 
 feet, her hair parted smoothly over her round, pure 
 forehead, and her bright eyes eager as any other 
 child s to be through with her task and get out to 
 play ; romping in the garden with other little girls ; 
 playing with her doll an old doll given her by 
 Rachel, whose eyes, when she put it into Anna s 
 hands, were wet, and who stroked the dolly s head 
 as if she loved it ; learning to read at Rachel s knee 
 out of a brown book with two fat gilt cherubs on the 
 cover, called Reading Without Tears. However, 
 Anna s childhood had its tears, fortunately. Ra 
 chel s love was not of that poor fibre that spares the 
 wholesome salt of tears in the bread of life. So 
 little Anna laughed and cried and played, and grew 
 into a dear, good child. 
 
 And when she was ten years old, all this was 
 weighed in the balance against the " inalienable 
 claim of nature." 
 
 It was on Saturday, and the children were strag 
 gling up the street to the rectory for their catechism 
 and collect class. Dr. Lavendar had had this class 
 for forty years ; the preceding generation had sat on 
 the little hard benches in the dining - room, and 
 
 .163 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 learned that a collect was divided into three parts, 
 the invocation, the petition, and the conclusion, just 
 as this generation was learning it. Fathers and 
 mothers, thirty years before, had recited in concert 
 that their sponsors in baptism had renounced for 
 them the devil and all his works, the pomps and 
 vanities of this wicked world, and all the sinful lusts 
 of the flesh ; and now they were permitting their 
 children to be reminded, once a week, that a like 
 futile renunciation had been made for them. 
 
 On this particular Saturday it was raining, and 
 was cold and blustery. But Old Chester children 
 were brought up to believe that they were neither 
 sugar nor salt ; and so, when it was time to start, 
 they trudged along through the rain and mud to 
 the rectory. They were a sturdy, rosy set, very shy, 
 quite clumsy, and stupidly, stolidly silent except 
 when they were alone ; then they chattered like 
 sparrows. The class met in the dining-room, the 
 table being pushed over into one corner, and some 
 benches placed in two rows in front of a blackboard. 
 There was always a dish of apples on a side-table 
 (or jumbles, if it was summer); and the five or six 
 boys and seven or eight girls kept an eye on it, to 
 cheer them through the half-hour of the old minis 
 ter s talk. Dear me ! how that dish kept up a sink 
 ing heart when its owner was asked (no one ever 
 knew where the lightning was going to strike, so 
 there was no such thing as cramming beforehand), 
 "What is tJiy duty toivards thy neighbor?" When 
 collect class was over, the apples or jumbles were 
 handed around, and each child took one, and said, 
 "Thank you, sir." And then Danny was brought in 
 and put through his tricks; and sometimes, if every- 
 
 164 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 thing had gone very well, and " What desirest thou 
 of God in this prayer?" and "What is thy duty to 
 thy neighbor ?" had been answered without a mis 
 take, and Dr. Lavendar was especially good-natured, 
 they were taken into the study and shown the lathe, 
 and the little boxes of garnets and topazes and 
 amethysts ; and perhaps oh, very rarely, maybe 
 three times a year one boy and one girl were 
 chosen, turn about, to put a foot upon the treadle 
 and start the lathe. And then how the collect class 
 stood about, gaping with interest and awe ! 
 
 This class met at two, and was such an institu 
 tion of Old Chester that nobody ever thought of 
 calling, or getting married, or being buried, at two 
 o clock of a Saturday afternoon. But on this rainy 
 January Saturday, a little before two, a carriage 
 drove up to the rectory gate, and a fat, sleepy-look 
 ing man helped a very pretty young woman to alight. 
 He held an umbrella over her in a stupid, uncertain 
 way as they walked up the garden path, and she 
 scolded him sharply, and told him to look out, the 
 water was dripping on her hat ! 
 
 " What s the odds ?" he said, good-naturedly. " I ll 
 get you all the hats you want, Mamie." 
 
 " Here s the house," the young woman said. " Now, 
 Gus, you sit out in the hall, and I ll talk to the old 
 man." 
 
 " Why can t I come in too ?" 
 
 " Oh, well, I d rather see him alone," she said. 
 
 " All right," he responded, with a foolish grin, 
 
 Dr. Lavendar was in the dining-room, fussing over 
 the arrangement of the little low benches, and print 
 ing the collect on the blackboard. The * orb " 
 and the "2Umm" were always written in very large 
 
 165 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 letters, and the question, "What does Amen mean?" 
 was always asked of the youngest Todd child, who 
 was, poor boy, " wanting," and could only remember 
 that one answer, which he recited as "Sobcct." 
 
 "There s a man and woman to see you, sir," Mary 
 said. " I believe they re strangers. I guess they 
 want to be married." 
 
 " Ho ! What do they mean by coming at this 
 hour ?" said Dr. Lavendar. 
 
 " I told em you had the children coming," Mary 
 defended herself Mary was always defending her 
 self ; it is a characteristic of her class " but they 
 allowed they had to get back to Mercer to get a 
 train for Australia, and they couldn t wait." 
 
 " If they go by rail to Australia they ll do well," 
 said Dr. Lavendar. " Well, I guess I can marry em 
 in ten minutes. Just be ready to come in, Mary, 
 will you ?" 
 
 Then he went shuffling out into the hall, where 
 the man was sitting, holding his hat on his knees. 
 
 " No, sir ; it s not me ; it s my wife wants to see 
 you. She s in beyont." 
 
 So they didn t want to get married. Dr. Laven 
 dar saw Neddy Todd coming, rolling and stumbling 
 and grinning, along the street, and made haste to 
 go into his study. 
 
 Of course, as soon as he entered the room, Dr. 
 Lavendar knew the woman. She had grown a little 
 heavier ; she was very well dressed, and was perhaps 
 prettier than ten years before. It was the same face 
 mean and shallow and simpering ; but there was 
 a hungry look in it that he did not understand. 
 
 " I don t know as you recognize me," she began, 
 airily. " I was" 
 
 1 66 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 " I recognize you. You are Mary Dean." 
 
 " Well, I was. I m Mrs. Gus Larkin now. I m 
 married." She laughed a little as she spoke, with 
 a coquettish toss of her head. " That s him out in 
 the hall. We re going to live in Australia. We sail 
 on Tuesday. He s a mechanical engineer, and he 
 gets real good wages. Well, he says I can take 
 baby. So I come to get her." Her face, as she spoke, 
 changed and grew anxious, and her breath came 
 quickly. "She s well?" she said. "She s alive? 
 Why don t you say something ?" she ended, shrilly. 
 " My baby ain t dead, is she ?" 
 
 " No ; oh no ; no," he said, feebly. Then he sat 
 down and looked at her. Two umbrellas, bobbing 
 against each other, came up the path. Two more 
 children. He wondered who they were. 
 
 Mary was instantly relieved and happy. "Of course 
 it s a long time since I ve seen her," she began; "but 
 there ! there hasn t been a day I ain t thought of 
 her. Is she pretty? Well, about two months ago 
 he married me, and as soon as I got a home of my 
 own I just thought I d have baby. That was my 
 first thought, though of course I was real glad to be 
 respectable. But I ll have baby, I says to myself. 
 Well, he s real kind ; I ll say that for him. And he 
 said I could have her. So I ve come to get her. 
 We re going back to Mercer to-night, because we ve 
 got to start to-morrow morning. And Tuesday we 
 get on the ship. Baby well, there! She ain t a 
 baby now ; I suppose she s grown a big girl ? She ll 
 be real interested in seem a ship. I am myself. I 
 never seen a ship or an ocean. Oh, well, sir, you 
 don t know what it is to me to get my baby back 
 again !" 
 
 167 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Her face moved suddenly, with tears, but she 
 smiled. Dr. Lavendar felt a curious faintness ; the 
 suddenness of the thing an abstraction violently 
 materialized, so to speak gave him a physical as 
 well as a moral shock. The real mother, a married 
 woman, " respectable," as she said, was asking, natu 
 rally, simply, for her child. And of course she must 
 have it. 
 
 "I do not think," he said, slowly, his voice deep 
 and trembling, " that you really love your child : 
 ten years of indifference to her fate does not show 
 much love !" He began to get his breath, and sat 
 up straight in his chair, glowering at her under stern 
 brows. 
 
 "Well," she defended herself, "of course I see how 
 it looks to you. But there ! I couldn t have her 
 with me. Why, how could I ? and me the way I 
 was ? Why, I cvouldn t. I loved her, though, all the 
 time. I don t know as you ll believe me?" 
 
 Dr. Lavendar said to himself that he did not be 
 lieve her ; but deep down in his heart, in a fright 
 ened way, he knew that she was speaking the truth. 
 " How long have you been married ?" he said. She 
 told him ; and added that " he " was perfectly respect 
 able. 
 
 "What do you call respectable?" Dr. Lavendar 
 said ; and even in his alarm and confusion he knew, 
 with shame, that there was contempt in his voice 
 "what ^.Q you call respectable?" 
 
 "Well, Gus never was took up, and he never kept 
 company with them that was took up," she said, 
 proudly; " and he gets good wages. Before we broke 
 up to go to his place in Australia we had a Brussels 
 carpet on our parlor floor, and a piano (we were 
 
 1 68 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 getting it on instalments, but then it s all the same; 
 it was standing right in our bow-window). Baby 11 
 have a good home. He had twenty-two dollars a 
 week, and he s going to have forty dollars in Mel 
 bourne. I ll dress her pretty, I can tell you !" 
 
 Respectability : " not to have been arrested !" 
 Well ! well ! Anna, ten years old, trained in every 
 sweet old-fashioned delicacy of thought and speech, 
 in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, was to 
 be thrown into such "respectability !" 
 
 " Mary," he said, clearing his throat, but speaking 
 huskily and with a shaking voice, " you gave your 
 child away. Why do you want her now ? She is in 
 a good home, and has good friends. Why don t you 
 leave her there?" 
 
 She listened to him in amazement, and then burst 
 out laughing. " Leave her ? Well, I guess I won t ! 
 I m willing to pay the folks for her board, if they 
 ask it. But a child don t eat much, and I guess 
 they ve made her work ; a bound-out child works her 
 passage every time. Still, I ll pay. As for leavin 
 her why, I married him more to get her a good 
 home than anything else !" 
 
 The room darkened with a splash of rain against 
 the window. Some more children came up through 
 the garden, their umbrellas huddled together, and 
 their little feet crunching the wet gravel of the path. 
 He could hear the murmur of their chatter, and 
 caught Theophilus Bell s shrill inquiry, "Say, Lydia, 
 * what is required of persons to be baptisted ? " They 
 came clattering into the hall ; and then the house 
 was silent again, except that the man waiting out 
 side coughed, and moved about restlessly. 
 
 " I never signed papers to adopt her out did I ? 
 169 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Well, then, the law d give her to me. I m her 
 mother." 
 
 Her mother ! Sacred and invincible word ! There 
 came keenly to his mind a phrase Rachel had used 
 " only the mother of her body." Of course Rachel 
 was wrong ; but why hadn t she adopted Anna ? for 
 in the security of years, foolishly enough, the ques 
 tion of legal adoption had not been raised. 
 
 "Mary," h e said, "think think what you are 
 doing ! to take her away from a good home. I I 
 hope you won t do it ?" 
 
 She shook her head violently. " You needn t talk 
 to me about good homes ; I ve got a good home for 
 her. And I m respectable." 
 
 " Oh, do give it up, Mary," he said, his voice 
 shaking with agitation " do consider her welfare ! 
 Mary, let me put it to your husband. He is kind, 
 as you say, to be willing to take her ; but let me 
 tell him " 
 
 " No." She went and stood in front of the door, 
 with a frightened look. " No !" 
 
 " Let me tell him how it is," he insisted. He had 
 it in mind to offer these people money. 
 
 Mary caught him by the wrist. " No, you you 
 mustn t. He I told him it was my sister s child. 
 He don t know." 
 
 Dr. Lavendar fell back, but his face cleared. "A 
 lie!" he said. "Mary, you re not worthy of her. 
 What do I care if you gave her birth? You are 
 nothing but her mother ! She shall stay where she 
 is!" 
 
 Mary turned white; then she dropped down at 
 his feet. " Give me my baby," she said. " Oh, Mr. 
 Lavendar, give me my baby !" She put her arms 
 
 170 
 
r 
 
 THEN SHE DROPPED DOWN AT HIS FEET 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 about his knees and looked up at him, her voice 
 hoarse and whispering. " I must have her I must 
 have her !" She dropped her face on the floor, 
 moaning like an animal. He looked down at her, 
 the difficult tears of age standing in his eyes. 
 
 "Mary," he said, trying to lift her, "stop stop 
 and think of An of the child s best good. And, 
 besides, you have another child ; why not get it?" 
 
 "Dead," she said, brokenly ; "dead." 
 
 "I believe," he said, solemnly, "it is better dead 
 than with you. Alas that I must say so ! And as 
 for this child, that you deserted ten years ago, when 
 I say she must stay where she is, I am not thinking 
 of of the people she is living with, who would be 
 heart-broken to part with her ; I m thinking of her 
 future " 
 
 "Well, but," she interrupted, passionately, "what 
 about me? Haven t I any future? You ve got to 
 give her to me !" 
 
 But he knew from her confession that her hus 
 band was ignorant of her past, and that he held the 
 situation in his hand : she could not force him to 
 give Anna up unless she betrayed herself ; and that, 
 it was plain, she would not do. 
 
 "I tell you," she insisted, "I ll give her as good a 
 home as anybody. Oh, my little, little baby ! I 
 want my baby ! Oh, you haven t a heart in you, to 
 kill me like this ! My baby " Again she broke off, 
 gasping and sobbing. It was horrible and heart 
 breaking. A timid knock at the door came like a 
 crash into their ears. 
 
 " Mamie !" 
 
 Mary leaped to her feet, brushing her hand over 
 her eyes, and panting, but holding herself rigid. 
 
 171 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 (" Don t tell him," she said, rapidly ;) and then 
 laughed, in a silly, breathless way. " Go way, Gus ; 
 I ain t through yet." 
 
 " I thought I heard you takin on," he said, peer 
 ing suspiciously into the room. 
 
 " Oh, get out with you !" she answered. "No; I 
 was just talking. Go back, I ll be out in a minute." 
 The man withdrew, meekly. 
 
 Dr. Lavendar stood looking at her ; he had no 
 doubts now. " Not that which is natural but that 
 which is spiritual," he thought to himself. He 
 wondered if the children had all come ; he wondered 
 if Anna was sitting on one of the little hard benches, 
 saying her catechism over to some other child. 
 Mary talked on, passionately, but in a low voice. 
 She urged every conceivable reason for the custody 
 of her child, ending by saying, in sudden anger for 
 Dr. Lavendar only answered her by a slow, silent 
 shake of the head 
 
 "Well, I shouldn t think, if I m so bad I can t 
 have her, that the folks that has her would want a 
 child with such bad blood in her !" She was trem 
 bling again, and ready for another wild burst of 
 tears. 
 
 But as she spoke, Gus knocked once more. " Say, 
 Mame : we ve got to go ; we ll miss the train." 
 
 "Shut the door," she said. Then looked full 
 into Dr. Lavendar s face. " Will you give me wy 
 child?" 
 
 " No," he said, pityingly. 
 
 She stared at him a moment, her eyes narrowing, 
 hate and fear and misery in her face. "Then I ll 
 go to hell !" she said ; and turned and left him, shut 
 ting the door behind her softly. 
 
 172 
 
THE CHILD S MOTHER 
 
 " Come on," she told the meek husband. 
 
 Gus followed her out into the rain. 
 
 "Are you goin after the young one now?" he 
 said. 
 
 " No. He won t let me get her. He says she d 
 ought to stay with the folks that took her when my 
 sister died." 
 
 Gus opened the carriage door for her, and chuckled. 
 " Well, now, Mame, it would be quite a change for 
 her. We re strangers to her, and she might be 
 homesick. I didn t let on to you, but I thought of 
 that. I don t know but what the old gentleman is 
 right. And, you know, maybe " He whispered 
 something, looking at her out of his stupid, kindly 
 eyes, his loose, weak mouth dropping into its mean 
 ingless smile. 
 
 Dr. Lavendar went to a little closet in the chimney 
 breast, and took out a chunky black bottle and a 
 glass. His hands shook so that the bottle and 
 tumbler clinked together. He had to sit down a 
 few minutes and get his breath and strength ; the 
 struggle had profoundly exhausted him ; he looked 
 very old as he sat there and swallowed his thimbleful 
 of brandy. 
 
 " Solomon didn t know everything," he said to 
 himself; "but may God forgive me if I ve done 
 wrong !" 
 
 In the dining-room the children were yawning 
 and squabbling and hearing each other repeat the 
 Collect and u your duty to your neighbor." It was 
 nearly three. Theophilus Bell had instituted a 
 game of " settlers escaping from Indians," which in- 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 volved diving under the table, and leaping over the 
 benches ; but the girls felt that such levity was sac 
 rilegious. 
 
 "There s prayer-books here," Anna King said, "so 
 it s just the same as church." 
 
 "A prayer-book," returned Theophilus, scornfully, 
 " isn t anything but a book ; it s the prayers out of 
 it that makes the church, and" But his voice 
 trailed off into quick subsidence as Dr. Lavendar 
 came in. 
 
 "Well, children," he said, "you had to wait. I m 
 sorry. I think, though, as it s so late, we won t have 
 any lesson " 
 
 (" Bully !" said Theophilus, under his breath.) 
 
 " but we ll repeat the Collect, all together, and 
 then you may go home." 
 
 "Aren t we going to have our apples?" remon 
 strated Theophilus. 
 
 "Oh, dear me, yes. Yes, yes. Come, Anna, my 
 child, and kneel down here beside me. Children, let 
 us pray : 
 
 " O Lord, we beseech Thee mercifully to receive the 
 prayers of Thy people ^vho call upon Thee ; and grant 
 t/iat they may both perceive and know what things 
 they ought to do, and also may have grace and power 
 faithfully to fulfil the same ; through Jesus Christ 
 our Lord. 
 
 "Amen!" said Dr. Lavendar. 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 I 
 
 THE orchard sloped down the hill-side from the 
 Judge s house to the dusty turnpike that bent around 
 the estate like an arm an arm that ended in a 
 threatening fist where, in Mercer, the road broadened 
 into the square before the court-house and the gray 
 granite jail. The road itself was pretty enough, ex 
 cept where it passed through Mercer s squalid mill 
 suburbs ; it kept near the river, wandering across 
 the meadows, and then up and over the hills, through 
 the shadows of buttonwoods and chestnuts ; but it 
 lost its prettiness again where, just this side of Old 
 Chester, it held, in a little bend, a cluster of shape 
 less houses, with patched walls and unsteady stove 
 pipes, and muddy foot-paths where grunting pigs 
 refused to stir to give room to the passer-by. The 
 men who worked in the brick-kilns lived in this set 
 tlement, and paid an exorbitant rent to the Judge ; 
 their unsightly hovels were not visible from his mel 
 ancholy old house on the hill, because the road came 
 between them, and then a fringe of elderberries and 
 sumachs, and then the orchard, where the trees, un- 
 pruned for many a year, were thick with bunches 
 of twigs and gray with lichen. The brickmakers 
 
 177 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 village was not beautiful to look upon, but it meant 
 no irony when it named itself " Morrison s Shanty- 
 town." Indeed, it had a certain pride in having a 
 landlord who was rich and powerful ; and it boasted 
 about his money and his " big house " in a way that 
 would have greatly astonished the Judge, who, plod 
 ding along on his big, rangy Kentucky horse, used to 
 turn his head away when he passed the group of 
 houses self-christened with his honorable name. 
 
 It was this neighborly pride, rather than any 
 malice, that made the Judge s orchard a place where 
 Morrison s Shantytown took its outings and its 
 apples. As for the latter, they were poor enough 
 hard, gnarly russets, or small, bitter rambos. The 
 time was long past since the orchard was in its 
 prime ; in those days there had been boys and girls 
 in the " big house," and the Judge himself, the eldest 
 brother, was a serious young man who wore a stock 
 and a flowered waistcoat. The serious young man 
 turned into a serious elderly man, and the brothers 
 and sisters scattered off into the world ; and the 
 orchard grew rankly, and the brickmakers began to 
 huddle together at the foot of the hill below the great, 
 dilapidated old house where, with his sister Hannah, 
 the Judge lived, absorbed in his profession, and, 
 when he was not contemptuous, indifferent to all the 
 world besides. If he had a purely human emotion, 
 it was pride that he had never been so great a fool 
 as to care for any human creature; he endured his 
 fellow-beings, and was just to them he said ; but he 
 never knew a man, woman, or child who could not 
 be bought and sold like a bale of cotton. " I could 
 probably be bought myself," he said, " if I could 
 think of anything I wanted enough as a price." 
 
 178 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 This was the atmosphere into which Theophilus 
 Bell came to live. A silent child, with mild, wide 
 brown eyes, and straight, silken brown hair parted 
 over his candid forehead. Theophilus s mother had 
 been the Judge s younger sister. He had liked her, 
 in his way; at least, he liked her better than his older 
 sister, Hannah, who, besides being a woman, was a 
 fool he had so informed her many times. The 
 Judge had supposed that Theophilus s mother was 
 going to keep house for him, and be the meek, sub 
 ject woman that their mother had been to their 
 father. Instead, when she was over thirty, she sud 
 denly married a poor, good-for-nothing, amiable fel 
 low, an artist a scallawag, the Judge called him 
 who had not even kept her alive, for she died in a 
 year, leaving this one child, whom she, with silly, 
 feminine sentiment, had chosen to name after her 
 eldest brother. 
 
 "Thinks I ll leave my money to him," the Judge 
 said to himself when he was informed of the com 
 pliment that had been paid him ; and his eyes nar 
 rowed into a sort of laugh. 
 
 " You are welcome to call him Theophilus," he 
 wrote the mother, "but I should think the name 
 would kill him. And perhaps I had better take this 
 opportunity of stating he need have no expecta 
 tions from me ; all my money will go in public be 
 quests." 
 
 Theophilus survived the name, but his mother did 
 not long survive the letter. As for his father, when 
 the child was ten years old, the poor, gentle, sickly 
 gentleman realized that he too was going to leave 
 the boy, so his future must be provided for. So he 
 gave Theophilus two charges : " Now, boy, remem- 
 
 179 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 ber, when father isn t here remember all your life : 
 Don t cry; and play fair / " and then he made his 
 will, bequeathing his only possession in the world, 
 Theophilus, to the Judge. 
 
 He informed his brother-in-law of this fact by 
 letter. Then he died. The Judge s astonishment 
 and ire made him take a few days to reflect how 
 he was to decline this unexpected gift ; and while he 
 reflected, the scallawag was buried and Theophilus 
 arrived. 
 
 The stage dropped Theophilus at the gate at the 
 foot of the orchard. 
 
 " The Judge lives up on the hill," said the driver, 
 pointing with the handle of his whip ; then the old 
 yellow coach creaked, and sagged forward, and went 
 rumbling into the evening dusk. 
 
 The little boy stood looking after it with straining 
 eyes. It seemed to be his last friend disappearing 
 around the shoulder of the hill. 
 
 As Mr. Bell s funeral had been nobody s business in 
 particular, except an inconvenienced landlady s, who 
 wished to get it over as soon as possible, and an offi 
 ciating clergyman s, who was in a hurry to go to a 
 parishioner s tea party, there had been nobody who 
 thought it worth while to prepare Mr. Justice Morri 
 son s mind for his nephew s arrival. The landlady 
 u shipped " the child the morning after the funeral, 
 and the undertaker mailed the bill for his services 
 at the same time. Theophilus was sent through like 
 an express parcel, and dropped here on the road 
 side with his big valise, which held all his belong 
 ingsand held also, squeezed into a corner by the 
 little boy when the landlady was not looking, his 
 
 1 80 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 father s old pipe. The landlady missed the pipe 
 afterwards when she evened up her account with 
 the poor deceased gentleman. She said she was sure 
 that the undertaker had stolen it, and she felt an 
 added resentment at Mr. Bell for his inconsiderate- 
 ness in dying in a boarding-house. 
 
 The country road was very quiet ; the orchard on 
 the hill-side was full of shadows, and the path up to 
 the house was almost hidden by the fringe of grass 
 on either side. Theophilus wondered if his uncle 
 had any dogs. He thought the orchard looked very 
 dark ; he thought the valise was pretty heavy ; he 
 wanted his father. Theophilus hunted in his pocket 
 for his handkerchief. He was a very little boy ; he 
 was dressed in an old-fashioned way, and had the 
 nervous and silent exactness of a child who has 
 shared an older person s experiences and anxieties. 
 When he had squeezed his handkerchief against his 
 eyes, and swallowed hard, he folded the small square 
 neatly up and put it back into his pocket ; then he 
 tugged at the bag, and got it on his shoulder, and 
 began to climb the hill. 
 
 The house loomed up black and desolate in the 
 autumn twilight. Across the closed and shuttered 
 front there was a portico, with wooden columns that 
 had once been white, but from which the blistered 
 paint had cracked and flaked ; the ceiling of this 
 porch had been plastered, but the plaster had broken 
 here and there, and fallen, and the laths showed 
 gaunt and dusty ; mud - swallows had built their 
 nests in the corners, and a gray ball showed that 
 the paper-wasps liked the crumbling shelter. There 
 had been a garden once in front of the house, but 
 now there was only a vague outline of box-borders, 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 dead and broken down, or growing high and stiff 
 in favored spots. There were a good many trees 
 around the house, and in some places their dense 
 foliage kept the ground beneath so shadowed that 
 it was bald and bare, or slippery with green mould. 
 Theophilus, panting up the orchard path, crossed the 
 weedy driveway and came up to the porch steps. There 
 was not a light anywhere in the forbidding front. It 
 was very still up there on top of the hill, and it is 
 pretty dark on an October evening by six o clock. 
 Theophilus felt his heart come up into his throat ; he 
 stepped stealthily, and started when a twig snapped 
 underfoot. The dark shuttered house, brooding in 
 the twilight, and the little boy with his heart in his 
 mouth, confronted each other. Theophilus looked 
 over his shoulder breathlessly. Suppose he should 
 run down the hill just as hard as he could? His 
 very legs felt the impulse to run ! But what dread 
 ful thing might be behind him if he started? He 
 sobbed once, hauled at the valise, went right up the 
 steps, and tugged at the bell. 
 
 The Judge and Miss Hannah were at supper. The 
 dining-room was at the back of the house ; in fact, in 
 the liberal days of the Morrison family,- before the 
 Judge got rich, this room had been the kitchen ; 
 now, Miss Hannah did the cooking in the wash- 
 house, and her brother came in the back way ; the 
 front part of the house the hall, and the double 
 parlors on each side of it had been shut up for 
 many years. 
 
 There was a lamp on the table by the Judge s 
 book, but the rest of the room was dark. " Don t 
 waste oil," Miss Hannah had been instructed long 
 
 182 
 
"THEOPHILUS WENT RIGHT UP THE STEP AND TUGGED AT 
 THE BELL" 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 ago ; so she fumbled about in the dim light, and 
 brought her brother his bread and butter and meat, 
 and pecked at bits from the plates as she carried 
 them in and out, like a thin gray bird with frightened 
 eyes. Then she sat down at the farther end of 
 the table, watching her brother, and ready to jump 
 if he looked up from his book. The Judge s head 
 stood out gray and wolfish against the nimbus of 
 light from the lamp. The wrinkles on his shaven 
 face spread like threads from the corners of his eyes, 
 and were drawn down in deep sharp folds from his 
 nostrils ; his cold, mean mouth was puckered, as if a 
 drawing-string had been run around it, then pulled 
 up tightly. The book he read was a French novel. 
 Miss Hannah ate her bread-and-butter, and wonder 
 ed when he would be ready for his tea. 
 
 Then they both looked up with a start. 
 
 The rusty wire running along the ceiling jerked, 
 snapped, and the bell at the end of it jangled faint 
 ly, and then swung back and forth soundless, as if 
 breathless from exertion. The brother and sister 
 looked up at it open-mouthed. 
 
 "What s that?" said the Judge. 
 
 " The bell," Miss Hannah faltered. 
 
 " I inferred as much," the Judge said. " Well, go 
 see who it is." 
 
 Miss Hannah got up nimbly, as a horse jerks for 
 ward at the crack of a whip ; she went trotting 
 through the dark hall, but waited a moment before 
 she turned the key in the lock. " Who s there ?" she 
 said, faintly. 
 
 A small voice answered through the key - hole : 
 14 Theophilus." 
 
 Miss Hannah caught her breath and stood pant- 
 183 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 ing ; it took her a good minute to draw the bolt and 
 unlock the door, and when she did, the little boy 
 fell forward into the hall, he had been so crouched 
 against the door, for terror of the night, and the 
 stillness, and the great shadows under the roof of 
 the porch. 
 
 " Does my uncle live here ?" said Theophilus, sob 
 bing. At that Miss Hannah knelt down in front of 
 him and kissed him, and strained him to her with 
 her trembling old arms. 
 
 " I don t know why you re crying," Theophilus re 
 monstrated. " Did I hurt you when I ran against 
 you? The door opened unexpectedly. Are you 
 my uncle s cook ?" 
 
 At this Miss Hannah got up with a start, as 
 though she heard the whip crack, and looked over 
 her shoulder. " Oh dear !" she said, "what shall we 
 do?" And as she spoke the cold, precise voice called 
 out : 
 
 " Hannah ! tell whoever it is that messages come 
 to the back door. I m ready for my tea." 
 
 "What had you better do?" gasped Miss Hannah. 
 
 Theophilus tugged at his valise. " If you ll help 
 me carry this," he said, politely, "I ll ask my uncle 
 to pay you. It s very heavy." 
 
 " Oh, don t," poor old Hannah entreated. " Oh, 
 do oh, my ! What will he say?" But she followed, 
 helping with the valise, irresponsible and inconse 
 quent. 
 
 As for Theophilus, he made his way to the room 
 where the Judge was waiting for his tea. 
 
 " Hannah, you are slower than " Then he looked 
 up and saw Theophilus. 
 
 "Uncle," said the little boy, "father said to tell 
 184 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 you that I wouldn t be any trouble. He said I was 
 a pretty good boy," said Theophilus, his voice shak 
 ing, "and I ve come to live with you. Is that youf 
 cook ? I nearly knocked her down when I came in ; 
 but I didn t mean to. Shall I have my supper now, 
 uncle?" 
 
 " Who the devil Is this that man Bell s brat ? 
 Hannah, what does this mean ?" 
 
 " Oh, brother, it s Mary s child," old Miss Hannah 
 said. " Don t you see ? her eyes ! and oh, brother, 
 he was named after you." 
 
 " Oh, you re my aunt, are you ?" Theophilus in 
 quired. " Father said " but the tears came at the 
 name ; " my father, he said " 
 
 " There, dear ; there," Hannah whispered ; " don t 
 do I wouldn t brother won t like " 
 
 " I m not going to cry," said Theophilus ; " father 
 told me not to. Uncle, may I have my supper ?" 
 
 " Hannah, get me my tea. Can t you shut him 
 up? Give him some food and send him to bed. 
 What the devil " And the Judge took his novel 
 and the lamp and went abruptly out of the room. 
 Miss Hannah and Theophilus, left in the darkness, 
 heard the stairs creak under his angry foot, and then 
 the bang of the library door. 
 
 " Oh dear ! ought I to take his tea up to him ?" 
 panted Miss Hannah, fumbling about for matches 
 and a candle. " Oh, my dear little boy, why did you 
 come?" 
 
 " He isn t very pleasant, is he, aunt ?" said The 
 ophilus. " Father said he was a pagan." 
 
 " A pagan !" Miss Hannah repeated, shocked. 
 " Why, no, indeed ! A pagan is a heathen, and your 
 uncle is a Christian. You mustn t say such things, 
 13 185 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 my little boy. Pagan ! why, not at all indeed he 
 isn t." Miss Hannah was frightened and ruffled and 
 crying all at once. 
 
 "I think," said Theophilus, shyly, "father only 
 meant a brute. I d like my supper a good deal, 
 aunt." 
 
 II 
 
 This was the beginning of Theophilus s life with 
 the Judge or, rather, in the Judge s house. Miss 
 Hannah, palpitating with fright, bade the boy " keep 
 out of brother s way " ; and Theophilus was quite 
 willing to do so. The first day or two poor old 
 Hannah scarcely dared to breathe, for fear of re 
 minding the Judge of her existence, and so, inci 
 dentally, of his nephew s ; she lived in terror of 
 being told that the boy must be sent away " to the 
 poor-house ; or to the devil !" her brother was capa 
 ble of saying. 
 
 For the Judge was sharply angry ; all the more 
 so because he found himself unable to dismiss the 
 whole thing by packing the child off. " I don t know 
 why I put up with it," he snarled to himself. "Why 
 should I support other people s brats? And as for 
 leaving him anything of course that s what Bell 
 was up to " And then the Judge chuckled, and 
 thought of his will. But in a minute he gritted his 
 teeth with anger. Bell had gotten ahead of him, 
 and he couldn t get at him to express his opinion. 
 " Contemptible !" he said. " These men who go off 
 to play on their golden harps, and leave other men 
 to support their progeny, are religious tramps ! One 
 of these days we ll get civilized enough to legislate 
 
 186 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 on this matter of offspring ; every child that can t 
 be supported properly by its parents will have its 
 neck wrung ! and the father s and mother s too, if I 
 had my way." 
 
 At which Miss Hannah blanched, and hid The- 
 ophilus away still more carefully. But that was 
 how it was conceded that he might remain. So Miss 
 Hannah got her breath, though she was always look 
 ing over her shoulder, so to speak, for fear the Judge 
 should 4 legislate." 
 
 As for Theophilus, he was very quiet and obe 
 dient. He missed his father with all his little mind 
 and heart, and used to take the pipe out of his valise 
 every night, and hold it in his hands, and sometimes 
 he would blink and draw in his breath in the dark, 
 and remember that he had promised not to cry ; but 
 he never spoke of his loss to Miss Hannah, who said 
 to herself that she was glad he "had gotten over it." 
 Theophilus helped her a good deal in her pottering 
 work about the untidy, dilapidated house, and took 
 his food in the wash-house when the Judge had fin 
 ished his meals, and played about by himself, and 
 crept noiselessly up -stairs to go to bed in a little 
 closet of a room far away from his uncle s. He 
 seemed fond of Miss Hannah, and used to sit and 
 hold her hand, and play with the thin old fingers, 
 and lean his head against her knee. He did not talk 
 much, and never about himself ; but his soft ways 
 quite hid from his aunt that he was not a confiding 
 child. 
 
 When the winter came he used to trudge in to Old 
 Chester every morning to the public school Miss 
 Hannah would not have dreamed of asking her 
 brother for money to send him to Miss Bailey s 
 
 187 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 little private school. He used to go to Dr. Laven- 
 dar s collect class on Saturdays, and he went to 
 church with Miss Hannah every Sunday ; but he 
 made no friendships among the Old Chester chil 
 dren. 
 
 " He s so shy," Miss Hannah used to explain. But 
 though Theophilus held her skirt in a nervous grip, 
 he looked out from behind it calmly, with far less 
 shyness than was visible in Miss Hannah s own face. 
 He was perfectly silent, unless spoken to, and then 
 answered in gentle monosyllables. 
 
 That winter the Judge hardly spoke to him. The 
 first time he had any conversation with him was 
 once when he found Theophilus in the stable, patting 
 the big Kentucky horse. He began to frown imme 
 diately, being especially ready to frown because the 
 horse had gone lame the night before. 
 
 "Uncle," said Theophilus, "Jack had a stone in 
 his shoe. I took it out." 
 
 The Judge grunted. Then he felt Jack s leg, and 
 thought to himself that it was the only time since 
 the boy had been in the house that he had been good 
 for anything. 
 
 " I don t want you hanging round the stable, 
 young man. Do you hear me ?" he said. But he 
 looked at Theophilus once or twice ; and that night 
 he said to his sister, sharply : " Hannah, what the 
 devil do you hide that child away for ? Have him 
 take his meals in the dining-room. Do you hear? 
 Let him sit with me, or he ll grow up a barbarian, 
 with no manners !" 
 
 And Miss Hannah was far too thankful for this 
 grace on her brother s part to feel any humor in 
 reference to manners. 
 
 1 88 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 The Judge s remark about hanging around the 
 stable did not deter Theophilus from playing there 
 all that winter. If grown people will remember, 
 box-stalls are admirable forts in which to hide dur 
 ing the attacks of Indians ; and an old carriage, un 
 used for many years, the cushions slit and dusty, is 
 an excellent vehicle in which to journey to Asia or 
 the north pole, as fancy may chance to drive. Miss 
 Hannah used to wonder sometimes what Theophilus 
 did with himself, all alone in the barn. When she 
 asked him, he would think a while, and then say, 
 vaguely, 
 
 " Oh, just play, aunt ;" and Miss Hannah was con 
 tented. 
 
 She never dreamed of " bringing him up," as Old 
 Chester expressed it ; all that the boy did, and the 
 little that he said, were perfect in her mild, fright 
 ened eyes. She treated him as an equal, if not as 
 a superior which, if Old Chester had known it, 
 would have been a cause for anxiety and prayer. 
 She used to talk to him a great deal in her incoher 
 ent way, telling him her troubles about the cost 
 of things, and her worries over the Judge s food. 
 And Theophilus listened, and said, " Yes, aunt," and 
 " No, aunt"; and Miss Hannah felt that at last she 
 had a confidant. 
 
 After a while Theophilus began to wander down 
 through the orchard and look at Shantytown dirty, 
 good-natured, friendly Shantytown; and later in 
 the winter he slipped across the road and made ac 
 quaintance with the pigs and chickens, and then 
 with the children, and by-and-by he constructed a 
 society of his own, of which Katy Murphy was the 
 choicest spirit. 
 
 189 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 The Murphys lived in the second house on the 
 other side of the road. There were seven dirty, 
 happy children, and a big, rosy, comfortable mother, 
 and the usual drunken, bad-tempered father, and 
 two pigs, and a cat, and the hens such tame hens 
 they were, too, Theophilus noticed, walking all about 
 the room when the family was at table ! The house 
 was a series of little pens, without any ventilation 
 to speak of ; its earthen floors were laid in refuse 
 bricks, and it was cheerfully and openly dirty. Of 
 course the Murphys ought, by rights, to have been 
 sick. Willy King told Dr. Lavendar that there 
 would be a terrible outbreak of typhoid in Shanty- 
 town some day. But so far it had not appeared; 
 which must have been very mortifying and disap 
 pointing to Willy. 
 
 Theophilus had made acquaintance with Katy by 
 offering her silently over the gate a tumbler of snow 
 ice-cream. Katy, as silently, ate the slushy mixture 
 of sugar and milk and snow, looking with big eyes 
 at Theophilus. After that they became friends 
 quite speechlessly, however. It was not until spring, 
 when she showed him how to make licorice-water 
 in a bottle, and he taught her one of the child lan 
 guages : " willvus youvus playvus withvus mevus?" 
 that their friendship began to be eloquent. 
 
 But Theophilus said nothing about Katy or Shan- 
 tytown to his aunt. Miss Hannah sometimes saw 
 the flutter of a ragged petticoat or a shock of tan 
 gled hair under a dirty cap ; and once she asked him 
 anxiously if he didn t think perhaps he was seeing 
 too much of those rowdy children ? 
 
 " No, aunt," said Theophilus ; which closed the 
 subject though Miss Hannah did suggest, hesitat- 
 
 190 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 ingly, that perhaps he had better not let his uncle 
 see him playing with the Shantytown children, be 
 cause he might be displeased. 
 
 " He s almost always displeased, isn t he, aunt ?" 
 Theophilus said, meditatively, but had no thought 
 of committing himself to a promise. 
 
 At first all the Murphy children played with him 
 in the orchard, and there were the usual squabbles 
 and bickerings. Katy, however, followed Theophi- 
 lus s lead in all their games, and never had any ideas 
 of her own. She used to look at him with her mouth 
 open and her eyes wide with wonder, but she never 
 made an objection. So, by degrees, Nelly and Tom 
 my and the other children were gently but firmly 
 dropped. Theophilus found that friendship a deux 
 was quite enough for him, so Katy became his con 
 stant companion. It was through this love for Katy 
 that the Judge first really wounded the child, and 
 laid up wrath against the day of wrath. It was the 
 summer of the seventeen-year locusts. Old Chester 
 will not soon forget that summer. On every leaf, 
 on every stalk of blossoming grass, on all the clover 
 tops, were the locusts ; the hot, still air was full of 
 their endless z-z-z-ing^ like the sharpening of scythes. 
 The children of Shantytown added largely to family 
 incomes by collecting the locusts, picking them by 
 the hatful or the basketful, as though they were 
 berries, and being paid by the farmers a few cents a 
 peck. Theophilus, however, forbade Katy s taking 
 part in this industry ; which caused her soft eyes to 
 well over with tears. 
 
 "They kick," said Theophilus; "don t touch em." 
 
 "They re ateing things up," Katy murmured, 
 longingly. 
 
 191 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 The two children were sitting on a stile making 
 bur baskets. Later, these baskets were to be filled 
 with the little whity - green seeds of the mallow, 
 which are " cheeses," and are eaten when one eats 
 the white ends of early grass and calls it celery. 
 Theophilus was frowning with anxiety, because the 
 handle of his basket, made with burs which were 
 I showing the blossoming pink at the end, would 
 i break, no matter how carefully he lifted it. His 
 head ached with the worry of it, and with the sun, 
 and the smell of the burdocks, so he was glad to 
 think about the locusts. "They are eating things 
 up," he said, " and they are pretty wicked, so I ll 
 tell you what you may do : you may catch a few ; 
 catch twelve, and put em in a flower-pot for a dun 
 geon. And bring em up into the orchard this after 
 noon," he added, as an afterthought. Then he kiss 
 ed Katy tenderly, and put the bur baskets in the 
 shadow under the stile, and went home to dinner, 
 absorbed in thought. 
 
 When Katy met him in the orchard with the im 
 prisoned locusts, he had decided their fate. 
 
 " My uncle s a judge," he said, "and he hangs 
 wicked people. So we ll hang these prisoners ; for 
 they certainly are bad. Only, first," he said, his face 
 beginning to glow, " we must build the gallows !" 
 
 Katy opened her mouth, speechless. Theophilus, 
 however, expected no comment. He led the way, 
 knee-deep through a rustling patch of May-apples, 
 to a shady spot, where he proceeded to drive two 
 laths into the ground as uprights, laying another 
 lath over them for a cross-piece. 
 
 " There, now !" he said, breathlessly. "Of course, 
 Katy, we must give them warning first, so that they 
 
 19? 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 may prepare to die. My uncle does that when he 
 hangs people. Give me the flower-pot, and I ll tell 
 them." He lifted the shingle which formed the door 
 of the prison, and surveyed the captives, tumbling 
 and crawling over each other, each with the ominous 
 black J^on its membraneous wings that W which 
 meant war, Katy s mother had said. " It means 
 wicked, I guess," Theophilus said, sternly. And then, 
 in an awful voice, he bade the prisoners "prepare 
 to die." " I hope it won t hurt em," he added, 
 slowly. 
 
 " What, Theophilus ?" Katy inquired. 
 
 " To hang them, you know." 
 
 " Oh !" said Katy. 
 
 "Do you think it will?" 
 
 " I don t know just how it do feel," Katy ad 
 mitted. 
 
 Theophilus opened and shut his hands nervously. 
 " I don t like to put the rope around their necks," 
 he faltered. 
 
 " Oh, lemme," Katy said. 
 
 " It isn t fair to make you do it. Oh, Katy, let s 
 let em escape ! If we take the stone off the top of 
 the shingle, they can get out, and we can play it was 
 an accident. Play one of them is a great general ; 
 play he plans an escape " 
 
 "They re wicked, Theophilus," Katy reminded 
 him. 
 
 "That s so," said Theophilus, with a troubled face. 
 
 "And I don t mind putting the thread on em," 
 Katy coaxed. 
 
 " Rope, " Theophilus corrected her. "Are you 
 sure you don t mind? Had you just as lieve?" 
 
 " I just as lieve ; I rother" Katy said, eagerly, 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " Well," the little boy said ; but his voice was re 
 luctant. " They are wicked there s no use playing 
 they re not ; and if you don t mind touching em 
 
 " I d like to," Katy said, with animation. 
 
 So Theophilus produced a spool of black sewing- 
 silk which he had secured from Miss Hannah s work- 
 basket, and measuring off enough "rope" for each 
 victim, instructed Katy how she should fasten it 
 round what he called the "necks" of the unfort 
 unate insects ; then he turned his back, shivering 
 and clinching his hands, his face pale with emotion. 
 
 " Katy, don t forget: they are wicked" he kept re 
 minding her, " and so they ought to be punished ; 
 it s fair. Are the prisoners ready?" 
 
 "Yes, Theophilus ; I ve fixed em," said Katy, joy 
 ously. 
 
 " You must say, Yes, my lord, " Theophilus said, 
 in an imperative aside. 
 
 " Yes, my lord," repeated Katy. 
 
 Theophilus, with a majestic tread, turned to the 
 gallows, and began to tie each piece of thread to the 
 cross-tree ; but his hand shook. " I wonder if un 
 cle says anything to em when he hangs them ?" he 
 murmured. He was so wretched that Katy was 
 moved to say, 
 
 " Theophilus, let me tie em up for you? I d just 
 as lieve." 
 
 " No," he answered " no ; I m a judge, like un 
 cle ; and the judge has to hang people ; my uncle 
 does it every day." He tied the last thread, and the 
 wicked locusts began to spin round and round in 
 their black silk halters. 
 
 The two children were holding the court of jus 
 tice down in the orchard ; it was a still, warm after- 
 
 194 
 
" so YOU RE HANGING THE LOCUSTS? " 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 noon, the sky was deeply blue and without a cloud ; 
 the grass under the apple-tree where the gallows 
 stood was beaten down, but it grew so high outside 
 that they did not see Judge Morrison coming up the 
 path, and he stood still a moment looking at them, 
 and, as it happened, heard Theophilus s last remark. 
 At first he did not understand the laths and the un 
 happy locusts swinging back and forth ; but his 
 nephew s words enlightened him. He laughed, si 
 lently, thinking of his peaceful Orphans Court. 
 "The Judge doesn t have a chance, unfortunately," 
 he said to himself; and then brought his cane 
 smashing down on the gallows. 
 
 "Here, what are you about?" 
 
 The two children jumped apart, guiltily. 
 
 "Who s this girl?" the Judge demanded. 
 
 " It s Katy Murphy," Theophilus said, with white 
 lips. 
 
 " Well, clear out," Judge Morrison said. " I don t 
 want you loafing on my place. Do you hear me?" 
 
 Katy ducked, and ran as fast as her bare, fat legs 
 could carry her, bounding across the orchard grass, 
 and scrambling over the gate at the end of the 
 path. 
 
 "So you re hanging the locusts?" inquired the 
 Judge, contemptuously. 
 
 " Oh," said Theophilus, in a low voice, " I do not 
 like you ;" then he turned and ran after Katy, leav 
 ing his uncle feeling as though a humming-bird had 
 suddenly attacked him. His tight, wrinkled mouth 
 relaxed in a sort of smile. "Well!" he said; "he 
 doesn t like me !" He cackled to himself once as he 
 climbed the hill. He had not been so diverted in a 
 long time. 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 III 
 
 So that was how the Judge began to get acquainted 
 with his nephew. The mimic court of justice in the 
 orchard tickled him immensely, and Theophilus s 
 enraged candor in saying he did not like him awoke 
 a sense of humor that generally only responded to 
 the bitternesses and meannesses of his court-room. 
 "O most excellent Theophilus," he said, "how many 
 people feel that but don t say it !" 
 
 He began to watch the boy, and sometimes threw 
 a condescending word at him. As for Theophilus, 
 he spoke when he was spoken to, and once or twice 
 in his small voice, unasked, expressed opinions which 
 were not complimentary to the Judge : 
 
 " Uncle, why don t you say Thank you to Aunt 
 Hannah ? Father told me always " 
 
 " Hold your tongue !" said the Judge. 
 
 "You re not very polite," said Theophilus, his 
 heart beating hard, but his voice calm. The Judge 
 put down his book and looked at him, the drawing- 
 string around his puckered mouth relaxing. 
 
 "Well!" he said, with a chuckle. The child s 
 courageous dislike entertained him greatly. As for 
 Miss Hannah, she was so frightened she could only 
 murmur : " My dear little boy ! Oh do oh don t 
 oh, brother, he doesn t mean it." 
 
 Theophilus did not corroborate this statement ; he 
 ate his bread-and-butter in silence, and planned his 
 plays with Katy, and thought how pleasant it would 
 be if his uncle should die, and Aunt Hannah should 
 marry some kind gentleman, like father, and have 
 six little boys and six little girls for him to play 
 
 196 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 with. He told Miss Hannah so, thoughtfully ; and 
 her old, worn face colored faintly, and she said, 
 
 " Oh, Theophilus, now do now don t now, you 
 musn t " 
 
 " Well," he said, " I m going to get married myself ; 
 I m going to marry Katy, and we ll live here and 
 take our meals in the wash - house, and not with 
 uncle ; for Katy don t like uncle." 
 
 Miss Hannah was horrified ; but very likely The 
 ophilus did not hear her agitated reproof ; he was ar 
 ranging a new play. It was of such elaborate char 
 acter revolving, as it did, upon the capture of Katy 
 by cannibals, and her rescue by Theophilus that the 
 next afternoon, when he and Katy acted it out, sup 
 per-time came and went and he was all unconscious 
 of it. When hunger and Katy reminded him of this 
 oversight he went into the Murphys kitchen, and 
 had a piece of fried meat and a potato, sitting by the 
 stove, and waited upon by Mrs. Murphy, who cuffed 
 her children away from his chair, and put a stool 
 under his feet, and told him he was the darlin boy, 
 if ever there was one. 
 
 "Ach, Katy, ye spalpeen, ye! ye ve got the fine 
 sweetheart ! When are ye s going to set up house 
 keeping the two of ye s?" 
 
 "Very soon," said Theophilus. "I d like some 
 more tea, Mrs. Murphy. Katy, we ll get married 
 next week, I think." 
 
 Mrs. Murphy winked at her husband, who was 
 filling the room with clouds of bad tobacco smoke, 
 and clapped Theophilus on the shoulder with her 
 kind big hand. " An what 11 the Judge say ?" 
 
 "Oh, I don t mind what he says," Theophilus an 
 swered, calmly. " Katy and I don t like him. He s 
 
 197 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 an unjust judge. Father said you must be polite, 
 no matter how you felt inside. So I m polite to him. 
 But he spoke cross to Katy, and I don t like him." 
 Then he got down from his chair and embraced 
 Katy tenderly. " It s pretty dark out-of-doors," he 
 said, with a sigh ; and Katy offered to escort him 
 home. He looked at her longingly, for the shadows 
 under the apple-trees on the hill were very black, 
 but shook his head, and went timorously out into 
 the twilight. 
 
 Meantime Miss Hannah had some bad moments : 
 
 "Where s that child? Hannah, if that boy can t 
 be on time for his meals, he can go without. Do 
 you hear ?" 
 
 Then the Judge opened his book, and added some 
 thing in a sharp voice about a boarding - school. 
 Poor old Hannah s knees trembled ; she looked 
 stealthily out of the window between every mouth 
 ful ; but it grew darker and darker, and there was 
 no sign of Theophilus. 
 
 "Where is that child?" the Judge said again, an 
 grily. Miss Hannah looked over at him with a start, 
 her cowering mouth opening in astonishment. His 
 voice was anxious ! It was such an amazing revela 
 tion that she could not speak. "Why, brother s 
 worried !" she said to herself. 
 
 The Judge did not, apparently, miss her response. 
 He got up and went out of the room ; in the upper 
 hall he stopped, and, leaning over the banisters, called 
 down to her : 
 
 "Where does that child sleep?" 
 
 She told him, tremulously ; and a moment after 
 wards heard him tramping overhead, and then the 
 door of Theophilus s room opened and shut. Evi- 
 
 198 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 dently he had thought the boy might be there ; but 
 he came tramping back again. 
 
 " Has he come in yet?" he called down. 
 
 " No, brother. Oh yes, brother ! Here he is. 
 Oh, Theophilus, where" 
 
 The library door banged. 
 
 " Theophilus, brother has been asking about you," 
 Miss Hannah said, breathlessly. " My dear little 
 boy, don t you think you ought, perhaps, to be a 
 little more punctual? I ve saved some supper for 
 you " 
 
 " I don t want any. Katy s mother gave me some. 
 What was uncle in my room for ? I saw the light " 
 Theophilus was out of breath, for the orchard had 
 been very dark ; but without waiting for a reply 
 he ran up-stairs, and was back again in two minutes. 
 " Aunt, he has taken He s a thief ! He s stolen 
 my pipe /" Then he burst out crying, shaking with 
 sobs, and stamping with anger. " He s a thief ! It 
 was on the mantel-piece. It s no fairs, going to my 
 room. He s stolen my pipe !" 
 
 Miss Hannah was at her wits end. " If brother 
 hears him, he ll send him to school," she thought, in 
 despairing terror. Then suddenly Theophilus was 
 calm. 
 
 " I won t cry any more," he said, in a shaken 
 whisper ; " but " 
 
 And Miss Hannah was satisfied, hearing nothing 
 threatening in that " but." 
 
 That night, when she was asleep, the little boy 
 arose, and, creeping from his closet of a room across 
 her floor, gained the entry ; beyond, on the right of 
 the wide hall, was the Judge s library. Theophilus 
 
 199 
 

 OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 went stealthily over the boards, stopping when one 
 creaked loudly under his bare feet, and panting 
 and then creeping on again. It seemed to the child 
 that it was after midnight, so long had he been lying 
 awake, hating his uncle ; but it was scarcely eleven 
 o clock, and Judge Morrison was working hard over 
 his papers, with no thought of bed for a couple of 
 hours. Theophilus softly turned the knob of the 
 door, and pushed it a little, and then a little more. 
 The instant blur of light confused him ; he had ex 
 pected to feel about for his pipe in the darkness. 
 But he did not see his uncle standing in a shadowy 
 alcove of the room. The Judge was drawing a book 
 from one of his shelves. As the child entered he 
 stopped, his hand in mid -air, and watched him. 
 Theophilus, breathing hard, and clinching his hands, 
 went at once to the library table. It was piled with 
 documents; four or five battered japanned filing- 
 cases held brown linen envelopes tied with red 
 tapes, and stuffed in, in overflowing and convenient 
 disorder ; in the middle was a dusty inkstand, with 
 a bunch of quills beside it ; in front of it the papers 
 were pushed to the right and left to make room for 
 work. Purdon s Digest was open, propped on an 
 unsteady heap of other books ; on the floor, leaning 
 up against the desk in tottering piles, were stacks of 
 reports ; every chair, except that which the Judge 
 used, was full of pamphlets, and an old sofa was lit 
 tered with bundles of papers ; everything was thick 
 with dust, and in inextricable disorder. The Judge, 
 being master in his own house, allowed no woman to 
 "red up"; so he knew just where everything was. 
 
 Theophilus opened a drawer in the writing-table 
 softly, and looked in ; and then another ; no pipe. 
 
 200 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 There was a desk on the table one of those old- 
 fashioned desks with a flap that folds back, making 
 a slope, covered with frayed and ink-spotted velvet. 
 He tried to lift the inner lid, which stuck yielded 
 and then : 
 
 " Well, young man ?" 
 
 The lid dropped, clattering. Theophilus stared 
 at him, speechless. His uncle s eyes narrowed, and 
 he showed his yellow old teeth in a noiseless laugh. 
 
 "You are beginning early, most excellent Theophi 
 lus ; you ll end as your locusts did." The Judge was 
 more diverted than he had been in many a long day. 
 "Very likely you will come before me, sir ; and you 
 may be sure I will do my duty !" 
 
 Theophilus looked as though he were going to 
 faint ; but he did not ask for mercy. 
 
 " Yes ; you are beginning early smoking, house- 
 breaking What was it, by-the-way, you hoped to 
 steal ?" 
 
 "You," said Theophilus, his teeth chattering in his 
 head, "are a thief. You took my pipe." 
 
 " Hah !" said the Judge ; " you mean to file a cross 
 suit ? Very good, sir. What is this about a pipe ? 
 I don t allow boys to smoke in my house." 
 
 " I don t smoke," said Theophilus, in a whisper. 
 
 The Judge dropped his banter. 
 
 " Now don t lie. If you re a liar, I ll " 
 
 " Oh," cried the child, " you are certainly a very 
 bad man. You stole my pipe, and say I tell stories. 
 You tell stories yourself ; and you are a thief ; it s 
 no fairs. Give me my pipe or" the little boy was 
 deadly pale, sJiaking with anger and hate "or very 
 likely I shall probably be obliged to to kill you, 
 you know." Then he burst into a storm of tears. 
 14 201 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 The Judge looked at him with a sort of pride : 
 courage, temper, truth he ought to amount to 
 something. 
 
 " If you don t smoke, why do you have a pipe ?" 
 
 Silence. 
 
 "Answer me, you cub !" 
 
 No reply. 
 
 "Answer me, or you won t get your pipe. Why 
 do you have it?" 
 
 Theophilus looked at him, but said nothing. 
 
 The Judge was more and more pleased. " Well, 
 you can clear out. I shall keep the pipe, and after 
 this I ll lock my door. Clear out ! I ve had enough 
 of you. Wait a minute. Why were you late for sup 
 per? As long as I feed you, sir, you will be on time 
 at your meals. Do you hear? Where were you ?" 
 
 "At Mrs. Murphy s," said Theophilus. 
 
 His uncle s face darkened. " You are not to have 
 anything to do with those people. If I hear of your 
 playing with any of those Shantytown ragamuffins, 
 I ll I ll attend to you !" 
 
 Theophilus shuffled back across the room, and 
 shut the door softly behind him. 
 
 The Judge sat down at his table, and his mean, 
 cold face relaxed into something like a smile. 
 
 " Spunk !" he said. " Confound him, he ll amount 
 to something !" 
 
 IV 
 
 " It s my father s pipe," Theophilus told Katy 
 afterwards, " and uncle is a wicked man." 
 
 u But if you re not usin of it, Theophilus," she said, 
 wonderingly, " I wouldn t be takin on about it." 
 
 202 
 
K 
 
 JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 He looked at her wistfully, but he did not try to 
 explain. Instead, he told her that he wished to get 
 married at once. 
 
 " I d just as lieve," said Katy. 
 
 "We ll get married, and I ll keep you up in the 
 garret," said Theophilus. " He ll not know. Then, 
 when I get some money, we ll go away. Let s play 
 this morning that you are a princess turned into a 
 dragon. Play I am a prince coming to rescue you, 
 and you roar and eat me ; then you turn into a 
 beautiful princess no, because where would I be if 
 you had eaten me ! Play you roar, and I ll cut off 
 your frightful head ; then I ll die, and we ll both 
 come to life, and you ll be a princess." 
 
 Katy nodded. 
 
 " Play we re dead first," said Theophilus, changing 
 his plot as he proceeded. " We ll dig our graves, and 
 lie down in em to see how it feels to be dead." 
 
 Katy opened her mouth with interest. Theophi 
 lus reflected that it would be hard to dig his grave in 
 the matted orchard grass, and led Katy up into the 
 deserted and neglected garden. It would be easy to 
 make a hole in the soft black earth under the larches, 
 where the grass grew thin and pale. They picked 
 some dandelions on the way, and Theophilus tore 
 the long hollow stems into shreds, and passed them 
 between his lips to make them curl. " They re aw 
 fully nasty and bitter," he said ; " but I don t mind. 
 Here, let me hang em over your ears, Katy. Prin 
 cesses always have curls." Katy allowed herself to 
 be decorated in silent joy ; to feel the dandelion 
 curls brushing against her cheeks made her heart 
 beat with pride. Then she sat down in the grass and 
 matched Theophilus. He grew so happy in his dig- 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 ging that he forgot his wrongs and talked eagerly as 
 he worked. He said he meant, as soon as he got 
 time, to dig under a big flat stone in the garden, be 
 cause he believed there were things buried under it. 
 
 " What things, Theophilus ?" Katy inquired. 
 
 " Oh, dead Indians, and gold," said Theophilus, 
 impatiently. " It doesn t matter just what. It s 
 treasures. But I m so busy I don t get time to dig 
 em up." 
 
 " An why was they left under the stone then ?" 
 Katy inquired. 
 
 " Well, why shouldn t they be left there ?" he re 
 torted, and enlarged so upon the treasures that Katy 
 was convinced. She leaned her chin in her two little 
 dirty hands, and crossed her bare feet over each 
 other, as a duck does, and listened. 
 
 " It s pretty hot," said Theophilus ; " I guess we 
 won t each have a grave ; we ll just get buried turn 
 about." And then he stopped, and stood up straight, 
 and wiped his little forehead, and said, in a manly 
 voice, "By George, it s hard work. By George." 
 Then he bade Katy get up and be measured for her 
 grave, for she was taller than he. 
 
 " Don t you think you could be buried by putting 
 your legs under you ?" he asked. " It s pretty hot, 
 digging." 
 
 " Honest, I can t," she said anxiously ; " my legs 
 ain t got no hinge in em between there and there ; 
 honest they ain t, Theophilus." 
 
 " Well," said the grave-digger, bitterly, " I ll make 
 it a little longer. But it s long enough for me, Katy 
 Murphy !" 
 
 Katy was in despair lest she was going to lose her 
 chance to be buried, and her big, gentle, stupid eyes 
 
 204 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 filled up ; at sight of which Theophilus sprung from 
 the grave and embraced her. 
 
 " You shall be buried I Now don t you cry, Katy. 
 I don t mind making room for your legs ; only, they 
 are a little long." 
 
 Katy cheered up at once, and listened to Theophi 
 lus telling his story as he dug a prince and a prin 
 cess, a cruel king, a jealous fairy, a poisoned cup, and 
 an open grave ! 
 
 " Now it s ready," Theophilus cried, exultant, 
 throwing down his spade and preparing to step in ; 
 then he stopped and looked at Katy. " You may get 
 in first," he said, with an effort " but you won t stay 
 very long, will you ? Because I did dig it, you know. 
 Still, you may stay as long as you want, Katy." 
 
 Katy, with delightful tremors, stepped into the 
 shallow trench and lay down. " Ouch ain t it cold !" 
 she said. " There s worrums ! O-o-w " 
 
 " Don t talk," said Theophilus, anxiously ; " you re 
 dead." 
 
 Katy shut her eyes tightly, and sighed. Then she 
 said, 
 
 " May I get out, Theophilus?" 
 
 " Why, don t you want me to shovel in the dirt ?" 
 he reproached her ; but she squealed and scrambled 
 up at the idea of such a thing. And Theophilus, 
 elate and solemn, with shining eyes, stretched him 
 self in her place ; he looked up and saw the fringe of 
 thin grass on the edge of the grave, the dark, drooping 
 branches of the larch, the gray, cloudy sky beyond 
 
 " Theophilus !" whispered Katy. " Oh, my ! here s 
 somebody !" 
 
 Theophilus frowned and sat up. It was Judge 
 Morrison. 
 
 205 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 "Theophilus! who is this girl? Here, you, clear 
 out ! What did I tell you, Theophilus ? I will not 
 have this scum about. Girl, do you hear? Clear 
 out !" He raised his stick as he spoke. Katy 
 shrieked, dived past him, and ran. Theophilus came 
 up to him slowly, then suddenly lifted a trembling 
 leg and kicked at him. The Judge took him by the 
 collar and shook him, and then held him off at arm s- 
 length, and laughed, his eyes lighting with apprecia 
 tion. 
 
 After that there was no question of Judge Morri 
 son s feeling towards his nephew. The boy amused 
 him, and then interested him ; his courage and can 
 dor gave him a thrill of pride ; and by-and-by, 
 strangely enough, in his withered, mean old heart 
 there came something which he did not recognize, 
 having never felt it : to be sure, it showed itself only 
 in disappointed irritation if Theophilus appeared 
 stupid ; in impatience if the boy looked tired, which 
 he did very often ; in anger if he chanced to be late, 
 as he frequently was, for supper. " Broken his neck, 
 probably," the Judge would say, and look out of the 
 window half a dozen times with a snarl of anxiety. 
 Irritation and contempt are not often interpreters of 
 love ; certainly it was a good while before the Judge 
 recognized them. He only realized that he thought 
 of the child very often ; but he used to tell himself 
 that that was because Theophilus was a nuisance. 
 
 Still, he told Hannah to get the boy better clothes 
 though he forgot to give her any money for the 
 purpose ; and he snapped at her because Theophilus 
 did not eat enough. Indeed, he watched the child 
 constantly, his keen cold eyes softening under a sort 
 
 206 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 of film, as an eagle s, when it looks at its young. 
 Once, at midnight, he came knocking at Miss Han 
 nah s door. " I want to feel that child s pulse," he 
 said ; " he looked flushed at supper, and you are such 
 a fool, Hannah, you d let him sicken on your hands." 
 
 Miss Hannah, palpitating with fright, sat up in 
 bed and bade him enter. 
 
 " I think he s well, brother," she said ; " he said 
 he was." 
 
 "As if either of you had sense enough to know 
 anything about it !" the Judge retorted. He came 
 in and went shuffling across the room to Theophilus s 
 door a long, lean figure in a gray flannel wrapper ; 
 he had a palm-leaf fan in one hand, and a red silk 
 handkerchief, and he carried a tall brass candlestick 
 the old-fashioned kind, with a hood, and a spring 
 inside. He had a vague idea that the boy should be 
 fanned if he was feverish, and perhaps his head ought 
 to be tied up. Theophilus was sleeping placidly, the 
 flush all gone, and his face on its low pillow looking a 
 little thin. 
 
 The Judge came back, blowing out his light as he 
 walked. " He s to have a tonic. Do you hear ? 
 Have Willy King see him. A funeral is expensive," 
 he ended, with a grin. 
 
 Meantime Theophilus paid very little attention to 
 his uncle ; he did not recognize any overtures for 
 friendship. Katy had been banished (not that that 
 made any great difference, because Theophilus could 
 play down in Shantytown almost as well as in the 
 orchard) ; Aunt Hannah was scolded ; he himself 
 was laughed at ; his pipe was gone ; so what did he 
 care about his uncle ? Indeed, his bitterness grew 
 as he discovered the practical effect of Katy s fright 
 
 207 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 the day she had been buried : she refused for a long 
 time to be married. She could not, she said, go and 
 live in the garret, because " He " would find her and 
 lick her. Kill her, maybe. No, she would not get 
 married ! 
 
 But Theophilus pleaded with her with a passion of 
 entreaty. "Oh, please, Katy. Don t say no ; oh, 
 please please, Katy !" And by-and-by there was no 
 gainsaying him. 
 
 " Well," said Katy, with a sigh. 
 
 " You put on your Sunday dress," her lover told 
 her, "and come to the gate after supper, and I ll be 
 there and take you up to the garret. We ll play it s 
 a railroad journey." 
 
 " Father Williams must be gone to first," said 
 Katy. 
 
 " Oh, he might tell on us," objected Theophilus. 
 But Katy said again that folks had to go to Father 
 Williams before they were married. 
 
 "Why?" said Theophilus. 
 
 But on this point Katy was vague ; she had heard 
 her mother find fault with girls for not " going to 
 the priest " with their sweethearts ; that was all 
 Katy knew. 
 
 " Well," said Theophilus, reluctantly ; " it s too 
 late to-day ; but we ll go to-morrow. I m going to 
 be busy putting the provisions into the garret this 
 afternoon." Then he kissed Katy tenderly, and left 
 her sitting on the fence, scratching her bare legs and 
 reflecting upon her wedding. 
 
 The provisioning of the garret was not difficult. 
 Miss Hannah had gone to the sewing society that 
 afternoon, and of course the Judge was not at home ; 
 so the little boy had the gaunt, echoing old house to 
 
 308 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 himself. If he had not been so interested and ex 
 cited, he might have been frightened at the silence 
 and emptiness. Through the wide window in the 
 upper hall the afternoon sunshine poured in, and lay 
 in a dusty pool at the foot of the garret stairs ; it 
 pleased Theophilus to say that he had to wade 
 through this pool as he carried up his supplies. The 
 stairs creaked under his eager feet as he lugged up 
 one burden after another raw potatoes, a loaf of 
 bread, eggs, apples, a pitcher of water. Then he 
 brought some bedclothes from the press in the linen- 
 closet his little arms full, and the blankets and 
 coverlets trailing on the ground, so that he walked 
 on them and stumbled a dozen times before he 
 reached the garret. 
 
 It was nearly five when all was ready, and then the 
 impatient bridegroom went to claim his bride. 
 
 She was waiting for him at the gate ; she had put 
 on her red plaid dress, and a little red sack, and her 
 hat with a feather in it ; her feet and legs were bare, 
 however, because she could not bring herself to wear 
 her new shoes when it was not Sunday ; she had an 
 apple in her hand, and her round little face looked 
 up trustfully at her bridegroom. Theophilus hurried 
 her up the path with such anxiety in his manner that 
 Katy began to be frightened. 
 
 " Is He there, Theophilus ?" she said, panting with 
 their run up the hill. 
 
 "Not yet," said Theophilus. "Don t be scared, 
 Katy. I won t let him hurt you. If he should attack 
 you, I will throw him down and tie him. Now, 
 Katy, you climb on the back woodshed, and I ll help 
 you into the window in my room, and then we ll go 
 up to the garret." 
 
 209 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Katy was stolidly obedient. It would have seemed 
 simpler to go in the back door and walk up-stairs, 
 but Theophilus preferred this dangerous mode of 
 entering ; so she had nothing to say. When she 
 found herself in the garret, however, her eyes wi 
 dened with interest, and a little stir of imagination 
 made her suggest that they put a chair against the 
 door, for fear the enemy should break in. But 
 Theophilus objected. 
 
 " No ; if he found the door locked, he d think 
 maybe we were here ; if we hear him coming, we ll 
 hide behind the trunks." 
 
 There was plenty of opportunity to hide in the 
 garret. It was a great loft, extending, without any 
 partitions, over the whole house ; two chimney- 
 stacks, rough with plaster and gray with dust and 
 cobwebs, stood, half - way from the centre, at each 
 end. 
 
 "They are our breastworks to the foe," said The 
 ophilus. However, there was no need to hide, for no 
 dreadful footstep told them of the approach of the 
 enemy. They ate their supper and then cuddled 
 down on the pillows Theophilus had brought, and 
 slept until the eastern window began to grow into a 
 shining blue oblong that opened into heaven. 
 
 The real alarm did not begin down-stairs until 
 nearly eight, when Mrs. Murphy appeared, apolo 
 gizing and crying. Was Miss Morrison after 
 knowin where her Katy was ? The young one had 
 lit out, and the holy angels would tell Miss Morrison 
 
 210 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 that Mrs. Murphy didn t know where she was, no 
 more than the dead ; onless she was with the young 
 gentleman, who was after sayin he was going to 
 marry her. 
 
 The Judge, who had been angry because Theophi- 
 lus was late for supper, was immensely diverted at 
 Mrs. Murphy s tale, and bade her go and hunt for 
 the children in the orchard, promising the boy a can 
 ing, and threatening Katy with the House of Cor 
 rection ; by-and-by he took a lantern and went out 
 himself, looking through the shrubberies, and nearly 
 falling into Theophilus s open grave. The jar and 
 wrench of his stumble, and the flash of remembrance 
 of the little still figure lying there, made him sud 
 denly keenly alarmed, and so, of course, angry again ; 
 but anger did not help matters. All that night they 
 looked, and beat through the woods, and flashed lan 
 terns along the river-bank, and called and shouted ; 
 the Judge was dreadfully silent, and Miss Hannah 
 prayed ; but no children were found. 
 
 The next day Theophilus and Katy ate and drank 
 and played their game being that Theophilus was 
 a hunter, and caught apples in traps in shadowy 
 caves under the rafters, and brought them home to 
 his wife. Katy yawned in the afternoon, and re 
 minded her husband of Father Williams, and began 
 to get rather tired of being married. So, towards 
 dusk, Theophilus said they would try to get out and 
 " go to the priest "; it was as they were coming softly 
 down-stairs that they suddenly heard voices in the 
 library, and darted back for shelter to their garret. 
 But Katy was restless ; in a few minutes she insisted 
 upon crawling out again on to the staircase. The 
 ophilus went after her and plucked at her sleeve. 
 
 211 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " He ll catch you ! Come away." 
 
 " Don t," Katy said, crossly. 
 
 Theophilus crept back and sat down on a trunk. 
 The garret was getting dark ; those caves under the 
 rafters looked very black ; as for what might lurk in 
 them, Theophilus dared not trust his imagination. 
 He felt that if he began to think of their possibili 
 ties, his mind would decide upon dead pirates. Why 
 pirates, why dead, Theophilus did not know; he only 
 felt that that way terror lay. 
 
 "I mustn t get scared," he told himself, breathing 
 hard, and picking with nervous little fingers at the 
 rotting leather of the old trunk. When he could not 
 stand the silence and loneliness any longer, he came 
 cautiously out to Katy again. 
 
 "I can hear em talkin !" she whispered, excitedly. 
 " She s takin on awful." 
 
 " Come back," whispered Theophilus ; " it s no 
 fairs ; they don t know you re hearing them." 
 
 Katy looked at him scornfully. 
 
 " An would I be listening if they did ? Theophi 
 lus, she s cryin !" 
 
 And, indeed, poor old Miss Hannah s sobs reached 
 her nephew s ear for the library door was ajar. At 
 this he took his wife by her arm and dragged her back. 
 
 " I must tell Aunt Hannah," he said, in great agi 
 tation ; "I don t want her to cry. When she goes to 
 bed, I ll go down and tell her we are married, and 
 living up here ; but she mustn t tell." 
 
 u An leave me alone in the dark ?" gasped Katy ; 
 and then, suddenly, she began to cry. " I d a brung 
 a candle stead of all them potatoes, if it had been 
 me was doing it," she said. Then she reproached 
 Theophilus for telling her to wear her Sunday 
 
 3J3 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 clothes. "They ll be shabbying on me," said Katy. 
 She moaned that she did not like living in a garret, 
 and that she wished she had never got married. 
 " I m going home to my mother," she sobbed. 
 
 Theophilus stood beside her in despair. He had 
 never seen Katy in the role of her sex. He got down 
 on his knees, and put his little arms around her, and 
 tried to reason with his bride as other husbands 
 have done before him, and with like success. Katy 
 wept more loudly than ever. 
 
 " I don t like being married ; and I don t like po 
 tatoes that ain t been boiled ; and I don t like havin 
 no bed to sleep in, only them pillows and things 
 which ain t no real bed ; and I ain t a-goin to stay. 
 I m going home to my mother !" Katy s sobs were 
 heart-rending. Theophilus was pale with misery. 
 
 "Why, you wouldn t oh, Katy, you wouldn t 
 leave me all alone up here in the dark ?" The poor 
 young husband s voice was broken with emotion ; he 
 had forgotten the open door, and the wail of Katy s 
 sobs woke only the fear that his domestic happiness 
 was threatened not that the enemy might hear her. 
 
 " I got to, Theophilus ; I don t like it. Honest, I 
 don t. Oh, Theophilus, change to Nelly for a wife. 
 She ll do ye ; she ll not mind the dark." 
 
 " No, she won t do me," he answered, tremulously ; 
 " I don t want to change to Nelly ; she don t play 
 nicely at all ; and she s always talking. I don t want 
 a wife that talks." (Ah, Theophilus, how many men 
 discover this when it is too late to " change to Nelly " !) 
 
 "Well, anyway, I m going home to my mother T 
 wailed Katy ; and this time the enemy heard. 
 
 The Judge had been greatly shaken by this day of 
 anxiety ; the fact that the children were not imme- 
 
 213 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 diately and easily found had led to the conclusion 
 that they must have wandered in the darkness along 
 the bank of the river and the black, deep, quick- 
 flowing little river knew the rest. 
 
 "He s drowned," the Judge said to himself over 
 and over when, towards dusk, he sat in his library, 
 his head bent on his breast. " I ve lost him," he 
 said, and drew in his lips, and played a tattoo on the 
 arms of his chair. "Lost him lost him." It was 
 such a wanton and unnecessary loss ; if the boy had 
 fallen sick and died, one might say " Providence," 
 and know a sort of dull acquiescence. But this was 
 pure carelessness ; there was no need for such a ca 
 lamity ; the child had been neglected. " Hannah 
 neglected him," he said to himself ; " the fool ! why 
 couldn t she have looked after him? She allowed 
 him to play with that little Murphy devil. I m glad 
 there s one less of them, anyway ; she s drowned, too, 
 thank God ! Well, I ll clean that place out. They ve 
 killed him Hannah and those people between them. 
 I wish Mary d lived ; she would have looked after 
 him." 
 
 It seemed to him that Mary was somehow respon 
 sible ; if she had stayed at home and behaved herself, 
 she could have taken care of the child, he thought, 
 dully ; so confused by this sudden meeting of love 
 and selfishness, that whirled like two contrary and 
 tumultuous streams through his dry old heart, that 
 he forgot that if Mary had stayed at home The- 
 ophilus would not have been at all. He looked up 
 when, with despair in her face, Miss Hannah came in. 
 
 " They haven t heard anything yet, brother," she 
 said. " Oh, brother, what do you think ?" 
 
 " I think that your promising nephew is drowned, 
 214 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 my dear sister." His lips curled back from his teeth 
 as he spoke, and there was a gray pallor under his 
 leathery skin. 
 
 Old Miss Hannah sat down on a pile of reports, 
 and covered her face with her hands. The Judge 
 glared at her ; then he said fiercely, under his breath, 
 "damn you." Yet they had never been so near 
 each other before. 
 
 Then, suddenly, from up above them, somewhere 
 in the darkness, a shrill, childish wail wavered faintly, 
 and dropped, and rose again. The two started to 
 their feet together, and listened, breathlessly. 
 
 VI 
 
 No doubt the reaction from anxiety, and the mor 
 tification of remembering how shaken he had been, 
 made the Judge harder than ever. He had no pity ; 
 perhaps, even, he had no anger, which would have 
 been humanizing in its way ; he had mere disgust 
 and determination. He " cleared that place out " 
 without a day s delay. " Pack !" he said ; and the 
 Murphys packed. They did not know enough to use 
 the weapon of the law to make delay ; and, besides, 
 who could use the law against a judge ? 
 
 " He ll be putting us in jail," said Mrs. Murphy, 
 quaking and packing ; " and it s your doin , ye spal 
 peen !" she said, shrilly, to Katy ; and cuffed her 
 soundly. 
 
 "You are to be off my premises by nine o clock 
 Saturday morning. I give you twenty-four hours 
 notice," Judge Morrison had told Mr. Murphy, who 
 was too drunk to do more than hiccough, 
 
 215 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 "Jest as you say, yer honor ; jest as you ach ! 
 say." 
 
 And Theophilus? 
 
 When that little sound of weeping had struck his 
 ear the Judge had hurried, stumbling and breathless, 
 into the garret. There had been a blank minute of 
 rage ; then he had flung Katy to one side, saying 
 viciously something Theophilus did not hear. Then 
 he clutched his nephew s arm in a cruel grip, and 
 storming and threatening for sheer relief, dragged 
 him down to his library. There he spoke his mind. 
 
 Theophilus sighed once or twice, and looked out of 
 the window, but said not a word until the Judge had 
 finished. Then, in a voice curiously like his uncle s, 
 he said : " You ain t fair. I am going to tell God on 
 you." And waited for more abuse ; but none came. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, and goto bed !" his uncle said; 
 and the boy went. But Theophilus Morrison, alone 
 in his library, put his head down on his hands, and 
 drew a long breath. 
 
 Miss Hannah, shaking and crying, led Theophilus 
 to his own little room. She asked her broken ques 
 tions, and exclaimed and protested and reproached 
 him all at once. Theophilus made no response. 
 When at last she kissed him good-night, and left 
 him in the welcome darkness and silence, it seemed 
 as though some weight was lifted from him. He sat 
 up in bed and bent his face forward on his knees. 
 He did not cry, but sometimes he sighed a long, 
 broken, despairing breath. He was very white and 
 still all the next day. In vain Miss Hannah tried to 
 make him talk, so that she might comfort him. He 
 ate what she forced upon him, because she cried when 
 he refused. But except to whisper once, "Aunt, I 
 
 216 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 shall tell God on him," he was silent. For Theophilus 
 knew Katy was to be sent away ; they would never 
 see each other again. " Never any more never any 
 more," he said to himself over and over. 
 
 But, spite of the Judge s orders and Miss Hannah s 
 care, Theophilus did see his wife once more. The 
 morning of the Murphys departure he watched from 
 the orchard the loading of the dray in front of Katy s 
 door, and when he saw that Mrs. Murphy was climb 
 ing up, to sit on top of her stove and feather bed, and 
 the children were standing about, ready to be packed 
 in beside her, he went to the wash-house door, and 
 called in to his aunt that he was " going to say good 
 bye to Katy." He did not wait for her horrified pro 
 test, but ran, white and panting, down through the 
 orchard and across the road. Mrs. Murphy screamed 
 when she saw him, and poor swollen - eyed Katy 
 hardly dared look at him, after her first glance. The 
 men who were loading the wagon stopped and 
 laughed but Theophilus was blind to all but Katy. 
 
 The child had been pulled up to sit beside her 
 mother, and, looking down at him, said, trembling, 
 " Good-bye, Theophilus." 
 
 "Shut your mouth," said her mother, beginning 
 to cry. "The darlin boy ; he s that white " 
 
 " Katy," said Theophilus, in a low voice, " as soon 
 as I m a man, I m coming for you." 
 
 " All right, Theophilus," said Katy. 
 
 " You won t forget we re married ?" 
 
 "Oh no, Theophilus," murmured Katy. 
 
 "Oh, Katy, don t, don t, don t go and leave me !" 
 he burst out. 
 
 " There, now, dear," said Mrs. Murphy, " don t be 
 takin on." The big, motherly woman had a sudden 
 15 217 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 impulse to pick him up and pack him with her brood 
 among her pots and pans and feather beds. The 
 little boy did not seem to hear her. 
 
 " Katy " he said, in a low voice, and looked up at 
 her. Then, suddenly, he burst into tears, ran madly 
 at the wagon, and tried to climb up over the big 
 wheels. " I m going too ; I m going too " he sob 
 bed. " Take me with you, Katy !" He clung to the 
 wheels, and the men, laughing, pulled him back. 
 
 Mrs. Murphy, from her perch on the feather bed, 
 laughed too. "Ain t he comical?" she said ; "well, 
 there ; bless him ! Say, now, darlin go home. I ll 
 be keepin your wife for you " 
 
 The wagon started, and Mrs. Murphy forgot The- 
 ophilus, and began to weep for her own hearth-stone 
 from which she had been so cruelly torn away. Then 
 she smacked the child whose fault it was, which 
 made Katy weep also, and the wailing chorus rose 
 above the good-byes of the neighbors, who stood 
 about watching the flitting. 
 
 As for Theophilus, he was quiet again, only look 
 ing with burning eyes at the little figure on the 
 wagon, until a turn in the road carried it out of 
 sight. 
 
 Then he went home. Miss Hannah did not tell 
 the Judge of this disobedience, but she reproached 
 Theophilus in her agitated, flurried way. 
 
 " Now, my dear little boy, you must you mustn t 
 you know brother wouldn t now you will remem 
 ber, won t you, Theophilus ?" 
 
 Theophilus nodded, silently. He was perfectly 
 apathetic. As the days went on he made no com 
 plaint of loneliness. He seemed to be just a silent, 
 biddable child. He fetched and carried for Miss 
 
 218 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 Hannah, and took the tonic Willy King had ordered, 
 and learned his lessons, and never went down to 
 Shantytown for play-fellows ; but he turned away 
 his head whenever his uncle spoke to him. If he 
 was asked a question, he answered briefly ; but it 
 was impossible not to see the shrinking and fear 
 and hatred on the little mild face. He used to try 
 to play, at first. He said every day to himself 
 that to-morrow he would make ink out of pokeber- 
 ries. He had a fancy for pretending to be an earth 
 worm burrowing through miles of clay and rock, 
 represented by the hay in the loft. But interest 
 flagged, and he came back and sat listlessly by the 
 fire in the wash-house, while Miss Hannah s anxieties 
 about him rippled on with mild incoherence which 
 never needed a reply. Sometimes after tea, when he 
 had been stolidly unresponsive, the Judge would go 
 back to his library with a pang which he supposed to 
 be anger, and he would tell himself that Theophilus 
 was as ungrateful as everybody else. 
 
 " I would make something of him," he used to tell 
 himself. " He has brains ; he would be a credit to 
 me." And then he would think to himself, bitterly, 
 how unjust it all was. " I never cared for a human 
 creature before," he said, not knowing that this was 
 his own sentence ; " and I m a fool to care now !" he 
 added. " Well, he s not worth it. Willy King is an 
 idiot." In his rage and anxiety he was almost as in 
 coherent as Miss Hannah. Indeed, he made no con 
 cealment of his feeling for the boy ; he was harshly 
 and openly anxious about him. He scolded Miss 
 Hannah because he was pale, and was imperious in 
 his orders that the child should have this or that com 
 fort, for which, indeed, with anguished reluctance, he 
 
 219 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 once or twice gave her some money. Over and over 
 he tried to make Theophilus talk. He was eager for 
 a friendly look or word, but none came. The child 
 never forgot. Once it came to the Judge as an in 
 spiration that Theophilus had not forgiven him for 
 taking his pipe; and he called the boy into his lib 
 rary, hopefully. 
 
 " Theophilus," he said, " I have something of yours ; 
 I m going to give it back to you. Only you are not 
 to smoke, young man !" he ended, with an effort to 
 be jocose that made the little boy look at him won- 
 deringly ; but he would not take the pipe. 
 
 "I don t want it now," he said, briefly, and went 
 back to sit with Miss Hannah, leaning his head 
 against her knee, and trying languidly to study his 
 spelling lesson. " I don t like spelling," he said. 
 "There isn t any because in just sticking in let 
 ters." This was apropos of "dough" and "doe," 
 which had presented difficulties that had moved 
 Theophilus to tears. " Katy could spell, just as 
 easy !" he said. And that was his only reference to 
 his little tragedy. 
 
 Shortly after the rebuff of the pipe the Judge 
 made still another effort. " Here, young man," he 
 said, " is a present for you. Come ! what do you 
 say ? Don t forget your manners !" He snapped a 
 half-dime down on the table by Theophilus s plate 
 with a little chuckle of generosity. 
 
 "Thank you," said Theophilus, listlessly. He 
 slipped the coin into his pocket, but afterwards 
 Miss Hannah saw him fingering it, and looking at it 
 with a gleam of interest. " Does it cost much to 
 take a journey, aunt ?" he said. And then he said, 
 with a little animation in his face, "I guess I ll save 
 
 220 
 
JUSTICE AND THE JUDGE 
 
 up." And he even went so far as to put his half- 
 dime into an empty cigar-box, which he said should 
 be his bank. "When that s full I ll have enough," 
 he said. But by-and-by he seemed to forget it. 
 
 As the winter passed he grew whiter and stiller. 
 The Judge was bitter to all the world ; Miss Hannah 
 had a bad time of it, but Willy King had a worse. 
 
 " What are you good for, anyhow ?" the Judge 
 used to say, sneering and frightened and angry all 
 together. " What do you suppose I pay you for ?" 
 
 It appeared that Willy wasn t good for anything. 
 " Some spring has been cut, he said ; " the boy 
 doesn t care for anything." Afterwards he said the 
 child had no constitution, anyhow. At the end the 
 Judge was with the little boy day and night, and 
 perhaps the old man s harsh misery softened the 
 child. The last day, when from morning until morn 
 ing the Judge had sat on the bed (it was his own, 
 into which Theophilus had been put), the child looked 
 at him once or twice, with a glimmer of interest in 
 his face. 
 
 " Uncle," he said. 
 
 The Judge took his hand, and held it, opening and 
 shutting his lips, and trying to speak. 
 
 4< Uncle, I won t I won t tell God," he said. 
 
 And then he turned his face to the wall. 
 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 Miss JANE JAY used to think that she discovered 
 Paul Phillips ; but really and truly Dr. Lavendar 
 saw him before she did, and so did her sister, Miss 
 Henrietta. 
 
 It was one hot August afternoon that the old minis 
 ter, passing by the open door of the tavern bar-room, 
 saw a lazy, sweltering crowd gathered inside, where, 
 it seemed, some sort of entertainment was going on. 
 Dr. Lavendar stopped and looked in, his hands on 
 either side of the doorway, his hat pushed back, his 
 face red with heat. He smiled, and blinked his kind 
 old eyes, and then he frowned : an acrobat, in black 
 tights and scarlet breech-cloth, was vaulting over 
 chair backs and making high kicks. His work was 
 done with remarkable grace, but with exertions 
 which it was painful to witness ; for he had but one 
 leg, and had to use a crutch. Still, his face, which 
 was dark and very handsome, and streaming with 
 perspiration, was sparkling with interest and enjoy 
 ment. 
 
 It was the one leg that offended Dr. Lavendar. 
 " Trading on his infirmities," he said to himself, 
 frowning, and shook his head. Van Horn, who, in 
 
 225 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 his shirt-sleeves, was trying to keep cool in a big 
 rocking-chair, shook his head also, as if to say that 
 he didn t approve, but what could he do ? Then he 
 turned his eyes back to the man, who, with astonish 
 ing ease, spun round on his crutch and kicked lightly 
 up into the air so far above his own head that he 
 dislodged a hat balanced on top of the clock. There 
 was a round of applause, and the acrobat, panting 
 and leaning on his crutch, bowed and laughed and 
 showed his handsome white teeth. Dr. Lavendar 
 snorted under his breath, and opened his umbrella, 
 and went back into the sun and heat, plodding along 
 towards home. He stopped once to speak to Miss 
 Henrietta Jay, who was coming down the street, her 
 square, faded countenance full of agitation and dis 
 may. 
 
 "Oh, Dr. Lavendar !" she said, with a gasp, "have 
 you seen have you seen a large white cat anywhere 
 about ?" 
 
 Poor old Miss Henrietta s voice shook as she 
 spoke. She had no umbrella, and the sun beat down 
 on her bent shoulders. She wore a faded black dol 
 man which had a sparse fringe of narrow crinkled 
 tapes. Her rusty bonnet was very much on one 
 side, as though the green velvet rosette over her left 
 eye weighed it down. " It s our Jacky," she said, 
 her lip shaking. " He s lived with us fifteen years ; 
 and he s lost." 
 
 "Oh, lost cats always find their way home," Dr. 
 Lavendar said, comfortingly. 
 
 " Do you think so?" she said, in a despairing voice. 
 But she did not wait for his answer; she went on 
 down the street, with wavering, uncertain steps, as 
 though feeling always that she might be going in 
 
 226 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 just the wrong direction. She stopped now and then 
 at a gateway or an alley, and called softly, " Baby ! 
 baby !" but no white cat appeared. It was then that 
 she too passed the tavern door and looked in, but 
 only to say to Van Horn, " Have you seen a large 
 white cat anywhere ?" Afterwards she remembered 
 that she had seen the acrobat ; but at the moment 
 she was blind to everything but her own anxiety. 
 
 Dr. Lavender looked after her and sighed ; but 
 when he met Willy King coming out of Tommy 
 Dove s shop, and smelling of dried herbs, he burst 
 out with his disapproval of the performance in the 
 bar-room. "There s a man down there at the tav 
 ern," he said, "jumping around on one leg to get 
 coppers. I wonder Van Horn allows it !" 
 
 And Willy agreed, gloomily: Willy was very 
 gloomy just then, because his wife, very sensibly, 
 was dieting him to reduce his weight. " That kind 
 of beggary is blackmail," he said. "It makes an ap 
 peal to your sympathies, and you give, in spite of 
 common-sense. At least, you want to give ; but I 
 won t. It s the same thing with these women who 
 knit afghans and things that you can t use. Your 
 mountebank at the tavern ought to be in the work 
 house." 
 
 "As for knitting," said Dr. Lavendar, thought 
 fully, " I suppose you mean the Jay girls. Well, poor 
 things ! they ve got to do something that s genteel ; 
 and knitting is that, you know. Jane refers to it al 
 ways as fancy-work/ which soothes her pride, poor 
 child." 
 
 "Jane is a goose," said the doctor, irritably. 
 " Maggy is the only one that has any sense in that 
 family." 
 
 227 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 "Willy," said Dr. Lavendar, chuckling, "you ve 
 bought an afghan! or maybe baby socks?" Willy 
 looked sheepish. "William, you always remind me 
 of the young man in the Bible who said he would 
 not, and then straightway did. Well, I m glad you 
 did, my boy ; they are straitened, poor girls! very 
 straitened, I fear." \ 
 
 As for Willy King, breathing forth threatenings 
 and slaughter, he went down to the tavern to drop 
 in his quarter when the mountebank s hat went 
 round. But when he got there the crowd had dis 
 persed and the man had gone. 
 
 " Well, Willy," said Van Horn, who had known the 
 doctor when he was a boy and used to steal apples 
 from the tavern orchard, " I swan, that was the 
 queerest fish ! He hadn t only but one leg and a 
 crutch, and he kicked as high as your head, sir. Yes, 
 sir, as high as your head. And then, I swan, when 
 the show was over, if he didn t turn to and preach to 
 them there fellers ; preach as good a sermon well, 
 now you won t believe me? but it was a first-class 
 sermon ! Well, sir, them fellers listened. Tob Todd 
 listened. Yes he did. He listened. And that man 
 he told em not to patronize my bar, so he did. Well, 
 for the soakers, I hold up both hands to that. But 
 to see a one - legged dancing tramp setting up to 
 preach in a bar-room I swan !" said Van Horn, who 
 could find no words for the occasion. 
 
 The doctor looked disgusted, and put his quarter 
 back in his pocket. " You d better keep your eye on 
 the till," he said, briefly. 
 
 But Van Horn was doubtful. " Seemed like as if 
 he was all right," he ruminated; "still, you can t 
 never tell." 
 
 228 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 So it happened that Willy King had his views 
 about Paul when Miss Jane Jay came, white and 
 breathless, to tell him that the poor man had " hurt 
 his limb" on the road near her sister s house, and 
 would he please come and fix it ? " At once, Dr. 
 King," said Jane, agitatedly, "at once !" 
 
 Miss Jane was the youngest of the Misses Jay. 
 There were three Misses Jay, who lived " the Lord 
 knows how !" Old Chester used to say, in their 
 tumbled -down old house on the river road. Dr. 
 Lavendar had referred to their circumstances as 
 "straitened," but he had no idea of the degree of 
 their straitness. Nobody knew that but the Jay 
 girls, and they kept it to themselves. The family 
 had known better days two generations back ; in 
 deed, many a time, when their dinner was inade 
 quate, the Misses Jay stayed their stomachs on the 
 fact that they were Bishop Jay s great-granddaugh 
 ters. Besides that, their father had been a clergy 
 man ; so they had, poor ladies ! in the midst of their 
 poverty, that gentle condescension which is the ec 
 clesiastical form of Christian humility. They took 
 a great interest in church matters, and they were 
 critical of sermons, as behooved those who knew the 
 dark mysteries of sermon-writing. Still, they were 
 kindly, simple women, who tried to do their duty on 
 a very insufficient income, and to live up to their 
 clerical past. This family pride was most noticeable 
 in fat Miss Maggy there are people who would be 
 fat on a straw a day ; Henrietta, the oldest, devoted 
 to her cat and her canary-bird, and the real genius 
 of the family in regard to afghans, read her Bible 
 through twice a year on a system arranged by the 
 
 229 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 bishop, and merely echoed Maggy s views ; little 
 Jane realized her birth, but with a vague discontent 
 at its restrictions. Indeed, she and Henrietta, with 
 out Maggy s influence, might even have slipped 
 down into what Miss Maggy called " mercantile pur 
 suits." They would have been dressmakers, perhaps, 
 for Henrietta had a pretty taste in turning dresses 
 wrong side out, right side out, and wrong side out 
 again ; and Jane might have trimmed bonnets with 
 (she used to think to herself) a "real touch." But 
 Miss Maggy was firm. " I am sure," she said, " I 
 have the greatest respect for working persons. 
 Great-grandfather Jay wrote a tract for them don t 
 you remember? The Virtuous Content of Poor 
 James, the Brickmaker. But still, I know what is 
 due to our station. And besides," she ended, with 
 that pathetic shrinking of elderly, genteel poverty, 
 "if you trimmed hats, Jane, everybody would know 
 that we are are not well off." The other sisters 
 sighed and agreed, and were somehow oblivious of 
 the fact that Willy King had no need of a dozen 
 pairs of baby socks, and that Mrs. Dale s order of an 
 afghan every year implied either that these brilliant 
 coverings wore out very quickly, or else that Mrs. 
 Dale s purchase was only but it would be cruel to 
 name it ! 
 
 " We do fancy-work," Miss Maggy said, " for rec 
 reation ; if our friends need the product of our 
 needles, well and good. Were our circumstances 
 different, we would be glad to give them what they 
 wish. As it is, we make a slight charge for 
 materials." 
 
 So the Misses Jay knitted and crocheted ; and one 
 day in the year put on their shabby best clothes and 
 
 230 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 made calls ; and one day in the year entertained the 
 sewing society, and lived on the fragments of cake 
 afterwards as long as they lasted. It was a harm 
 less, monotonous life, its only interest the anxiety 
 about money which is not an interest that feeds 
 the soul. 
 
 On this hot August afternoon the afternoon fol 
 lowing, as it chanced, the meeting of the sewing 
 society, the Misses Jay s ancient cat, disturbed, per 
 haps, by the excitement of so much company, had 
 disappeared. Henrietta had hurried into the village 
 to look for him, and Jane had gone out in the other 
 direction ; Maggy stayed at home to let him in if he 
 came back. But Jane did not go far ; not that 
 she was not anxious about Jacky, only "there s no 
 use getting a sunstroke," she said to herself, wearily. 
 However, she did look, and called among the bushes, 
 and then, feeling the heat very much, in a hopeless 
 way she gave it up. 
 
 There is a wooden bridge across a shallow run just 
 beyond the Jay house, and Jane thought how cool it 
 would be in the deep shadow underneath it, where 
 the run slipped smoothly over wide flat stones, or 
 chattered into little waterfalls a foot high and per 
 haps Jacky might be down there, she thought. So, 
 holding on to the bushes and tufts of grass, she 
 climbed down the bank and found this dark shelter, 
 with the cool sound of running water. "Jacky! 
 Come kitty !" she called once or twice ; and then she 
 sat down on a water-worn log washed up under the 
 bridge and caught between two stones ; there were 
 tufts of dried dead grass here and there, swept side- 
 wise by the winter torrents, and left above the 
 shrunken summer stream, bleached and stiff with 
 
 231 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 yellow mud ; overhead were the planks of the bridge, 
 with lines of sunshine between them as thin as knit 
 ting-needles. Once, as she sat there, a wagon came 
 jolting along, and the dust sifted down and spread 
 in a flowing scum on the water. It was very silent, 
 except for the run, chattering and bubbling, and 
 chattering again ; sometimes, absently, she picked 
 up little stones and threw them into the water : she 
 was thinking of an afghan she was making for 
 Rachel King s little adopted baby. But Miss Jane 
 had no interest in her work ; it was something to be 
 done, that was all. Indeed, she was tired of the 
 touch of the worsted, and of the hot smoothness of 
 the crochet-needle, slipping in and out, in and out. 
 She dabbled her fingers in the water, as if she would 
 wash the feeling away. She thought vaguely of the 
 years of afghans and socks and endless talk about 
 colors ; there was never anything more exciting to 
 talk about than whether pink and blue should be 
 used together, or the new fashion of using green and 
 blue, which Miss Maggy declared to be shocking; 
 nothing more exciting, except the sewing society 
 meeting once a year ; or, now, Jacky s getting lost. 
 Nothing rose up in the level dulness of her thirty- 
 four years not even a grief ! 
 
 As she sat there listening to the low chatter and 
 whisper of the run, there came to little Miss Jane a 
 bad query " what is the use of it all ?" I suppose 
 most of us know the peculiar ennui of the soul that 
 accompanies this question ; it is a sort of spiritual 
 nausea which is never felt in the stress of agonized 
 living, but only in sterile peace ; indeed, that is why 
 we may believe it to be but the demand of Life for 
 living for love, or hate, or grief. Miss Jane, think- 
 
 232 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 ing dully of afghans, made no such analysis ; she 
 was not happy enough to know that she was unhap 
 py. She only said to herself : " I wonder what s the 
 matter with me? I guess it s Henrietta s cake." 
 
 She sighed, and dropped her chin into her hand, 
 leaning her elbow on her knee. Her face was thin, 
 but it had a delicate color, and her eyes were violet, 
 or blue, or gray, like changing clouds ; her pathetic 
 mouth, drooping and patiently discontented, had 
 much sweetness in its timid way. But there was no 
 touch of human passion about her. She was fond of 
 her sisters, she told herself, as she sat there wonder 
 ing what was the use of it all, but nothing stirred 
 in her at the thought of them. " If somebody told 
 me just now, here under the bridge, that something 
 had happened to sister Maggy, I don t believe I d 
 really mind. Of course I d cry, and all that but 
 it wouldn t make any difference. I just don t care. 
 And I don t care whether Jacky comes back or not." 
 
 Some one came down the road whistling. Jane 
 lifted her head and listened ; when the walker 
 reached the bridge there was a curious sound : a 
 footstep, then a tap ; a footstep, then a tap. The 
 dust jolted softly down, wavering across the strips 
 of sunshine, and then vanishing on the flowing water. 
 " It s a lame person," said Miss Jane, listening. A 
 footstep, then a tap then a snap, a crash, a fall ! 
 Jane jumped up, breathlessly ; from a knot-hole in 
 the planks above her a broken stick fell clatter 
 ing on to the stones ; it had a brass ferrule and 
 ring. " Some poor man has broken his crutch," Jane 
 thought. " Wait a minute, and I ll bring it up to 
 you !" she called out, and began to climb up the 
 bank, the end of the crutch in her hand, 
 is 233 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 As for Paul, when he had pitched forward into the 
 dust, he was so astonished that for the moment he 
 did not feel the keen pain of a wrenched knee. But 
 when Miss Jane, out of breath, with the end of the 
 crutch in her hand, appeared over the edge of the 
 bank, his face was white with it. 
 
 " Oh, you ve hurt yourself !" said Miss Jane. 
 
 "Yes, m," said Paul; "but never mind!" His 
 brown eyes smiled up at her in the kindest way. 
 
 " Oh, you are lame," she faltered. 
 
 " Yes ; but that s nothing," Paul said, the color be 
 ginning to come back into his face ; " I guess I put 
 the end of my crutch into that knot-hole. I was 
 whistling away, you know, and I never took notice 
 of the road." 
 
 " I heard you whistling," said Miss Jane ; " but 
 what are you going to do?" 
 
 " Oh, somebody 11 come along and give me a lift," 
 he said ; then he looked ruefully at the parted strap 
 of his knapsack, which had burst open, scattering his 
 possessions in the dust. 
 
 "You can t stay here in the sun," she protested, 
 " and so few wagons come along this road." 
 
 " If I could get over there to the other side," he 
 said, " there s a good lot of shade, and I could just sit 
 there until a cart comes along. I ll get em to drop 
 me at one of these barns. I ll get a night s lodging 
 in the hay, and my knee ll be all right to-morrow." 
 He tried to scramble up, but the effort made him 
 blanch with pain. 
 
 " Oh, do let me help you," said Miss Jane, her color 
 coming and going. " Oh dear, I know it must hurt ! 
 Do put your hand on my shoulder ; do, please !" 
 Paul assented very simply ; with a gentle, iron-like 
 
 234 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 grip he took hold of her thin little arm ; but it was 
 so little and so tremulous that he let go almost in 
 stantly, and would have had an awkward fall but that 
 she caught him ; then he got his balance, and leaning 
 on her shoulder, sweating and smiling at the pain, he 
 managed to get to the other end of the bridge. 
 
 Miss Jane, standing up beside him, in her striped 
 barege dress, and her hat, with its flounce of lace 
 around the brim, pushed back from her flushed and 
 interested face, began to protest that she must get 
 some help immediately. But even as she spoke Paul 
 suddenly turned his head a little and fainted quite 
 away. 
 
 So that was how it happened that (a man and cart 
 coming along most opportunely) he was not carried 
 to a barn to nurse his sprained knee, but to the Jay 
 girls house, where he was put down on the big horse 
 hair sofa in the parlor, and given over to the minis 
 tration of Willy King. 
 
 II 
 
 William King was not sympathetic. He said the 
 man had hurt his knee badly, and had better be sent 
 to the workhouse to recover. " He ought to be in 
 jail," Willy said to Miss Maggy, who lifted her hands 
 in horror at the word. " He s a vagrant. I ll send 
 some kind of conveyance, and have him taken to the 
 workhouse. It s too bad you should be bothered 
 with him, Miss Maggy." 
 
 Then it was that Jane, standing behind her sister, 
 and quite hidden by her ponderous frame, said, in 
 her light, fluttering voice : " Poor man ! I think it 
 would be wicked to send him to the workhouse." 
 
 235 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Dr. King shrugged his shoulders. " Oh, of course 
 it is just as you and Miss Maggy say. You ll be very 
 kind to keep him for a few days ; but I hope you ll 
 not be repaid by having your spoons carried off." 
 
 Miss Maggy s mouth grew round with dismay. 
 " But ladies in our position cannot refuse shelter to 
 a poor man with an injured limb," she said. 
 
 " And his only limb, too," Jane added, with some 
 excitement. 
 
 As for the danger to the spoons " We haven t but 
 six," said Miss Maggy, sighing, " and we can hide 
 them under the edge of the carpet in Henrietta s 
 room. Go and meet her, Janie, and tell her about the 
 poor man." 
 
 Henrietta was coming up the road, her bonnet 
 still very much on one side, and her old face quiver 
 ing with anxiety. " Did you find him ?" she called 
 out as soon as she saw Jane, who shook her head, 
 and began to tell her own exciting story. Miss Hen 
 rietta listened, absently. 
 
 " His name is Paul," Jane ended ; "a very roman 
 tic name, I think. You don t mind his remaining, do 
 you, sister Henrietta ?" 
 
 " No, I don t mind," said Miss Henrietta, sighing. 
 " Is he a circus actor ? One of the servants took me 
 to the circus once, when I was a little thing. Janie, 
 ask him if he saw a large white cat as he came along. 
 Poor man ! I m sorry he hurt himself. Oh, Janie, 
 Jacky may be hurt ! I keep thinking that he may 
 be suffering," she said, her poor old eyes filling ; 
 then, as they came up to the door, she called again, 
 faintly : " Baby ! baby ! Come, pussy ; come, Jack !" 
 
 As for Miss Maggy, when it was settled that the 
 man should remain, she thought of the pantry and 
 
 236 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 sighed ; but it was she who informed him that 
 he might stay until his " limb " permitted him to 
 walk. 
 
 Paul, however, had his own views, "No, m," he 
 said, " thank you ; but I see you have a stable back 
 there behind the house ; I ll go there, and lie in the 
 hay till my knee clears up. Then I ll go along." 
 
 " But you can just as well stay here," Jane said. 
 
 Paul shook his head with cheerful stubbornness. 
 "No, ma am ; I m much obliged to you, but I ll go to 
 the stable." 
 
 "As you please, my good man," said Miss Maggy. 
 
 But Jane still protested. " Oh, a stable !" she said ; 
 "I wouldn t do that." 
 
 "There s been One in a stable, ma am, that didn t 
 think it beneath Him. I m right apt to think about 
 that, sleeping round the way I do," the man said, 
 simply. 
 
 The two ladies stared at him with parted lips. 
 
 "It must have been a pretty sight," he went on, 
 thoughtfully. " When I m lying up on the hay, I get 
 the picture of it in my mind real often just like as 
 if I saw it. There s the cows standing round chew 
 ing their cud ; and maybe some mules you d hear 
 them stamping. And the oxen would be rubbing up 
 against their stanchions. I always think the door 
 was open a little crack, and you could see out the 
 morning just beginning, you know. And there d be 
 a heap of fresh manure outside, smoking in the cold. 
 And there, in the manger, Mary and Him. I like to 
 think that to myself don t you?" * 
 
 "Why yes; I don t know I suppose so," Jane 
 said, breathlessly. 
 
 "My great-grandfather wrote a sermon on the 
 237 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Nativity," Miss Maggy said, kindly ; " I m sure he 
 would think it very nice in you to have such 
 thoughts." 
 
 But after that they did not oppose his plan of 
 leaving the house. The butcher - boy was asked to 
 help him limp out to the stable, and some hay was 
 shaken down for his bed. 
 
 " He talks like a Sunday-school teacher," the boy 
 said when he came back for the five-cent fee that had 
 been promised him ; " but I don t mind. And you d 
 ought to a seen him jump down at the tavern ! 
 My!" 
 
 And indeed, with open pride, the acrobat himself 
 bore testimony to his ability. " I get a good living 
 out of this leg," he said, "and I don t know what I 
 should do if it was to stiffen up on me." He sighed 
 and looked anxiously at Willy King, who had come 
 in to see how he was getting along. 
 
 "If you keep quiet, you ll come out all right," 
 Willy said, gruffly ; " but if I were you, I d try to find 
 a more decent way of earning my living." 
 
 Paul laughed. " It s decent enough," he said, " so 
 long as I m decent. That s the way I look at work 
 your trade s decent, so long as you are. It isn t 
 being decent troubles me ; though I will say I don t 
 like to hand round the hat. Not but what I ve a 
 right to ! I do good work ; yes, sir, first-class work. 
 There ain t a man in my class with two legs, let 
 alone one, that can touch the notch I do. No, sir ! 
 I m proud of my profession ; but the trouble is " 
 
 "Wll, what s the trouble?" the doctor said, 
 crossly. 
 
 "Why, it s so uncertain," the man said. "I have 
 got as high as $1.75 at a performance ; and then, 
 
 238 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 again, I won t get but twenty-five cents. But if this 
 darned knee was to stiffen up on me" 
 
 " It won t," William King said ; "but I should think 
 you could do something better than this, anyhow." 
 
 Paul looked perfectly uncomprehending. " But 
 I m A i," he insisted. " Before my accident I was 
 way up in the profession. Of course this is a come 
 down to travel and hand round the hat ; but I m 
 mighty lucky I ve got a profession to fall back on to 
 support my little sister ; she s an invalid. And then, 
 I do get good opportunities," he added. 
 
 " Opportunities to perform ?" 
 
 " No, I didn t mean that," the man answered, 
 briefly. 
 
 " What was your accident ?" said Willy King. He 
 was sitting on a wheelbarrow, and Paul was stretched 
 out in the hay in front of him. The barn was de 
 serted, for the cow was out at pasture ; now and then 
 a hen walked in at the open door, and pecked about 
 in a vain search for oats ; on the rafters overhead 
 some pigeons balanced and cooed, and from a dusty, 
 cobweb-covered window a dim stream of sunshine 
 poured down on the man lying in the hay. Willy 
 King took off his hat and clasped his hands around 
 one fat knee. "How did you hurt yourself?" he 
 said. 
 
 " Trapeze. That was my line. Well, it wasn t just 
 an accident. There was a rope cut half through " 
 
 " What ! You don t mean on purpose ?" 
 
 "Well, yes," the man said, easily. u I guess there 
 was no doubt of it. Well, I was up there right by 
 the main pole My, that s a sight ! I suppose you 
 never was up by the main pole during a perform 
 ance ?" 
 
 239 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " Well, no," the doctor admitted. 
 
 " Yes, it s a great sight. You sit up there on the 
 trapeze, and look down at all the rows and rows of 
 faces, and you can t hear anything but a kind of 
 hum, you re up so high right up under the canvas ; 
 you can hear it, though, flapping and booming, 
 cracking like a whip once in a while ! Half of it may 
 be in the sun, and then a big shadow on half of it ; 
 and all the people looking up at you, and the band 
 squeaking away down below for your money s worth ! 
 Yes, it s a sight. Well, that s all there was to it. I 
 saw the rope giving, and I jumped to catch a flyer ; 
 and I missed it. But I wasn t killed. Well, it was 
 wonderful ; I wasn t killed !" He smiled as he spoke, 
 but there was a brooding gravity in his face. 
 
 When Willy King left his patient, he stopped at 
 the Jay house to say that Paul was getting along 
 very well ; he must have said something else, too, 
 for when he went home he presented his wife with a 
 sofa pillow. " Now, Willy !" said poor Mrs. William, 
 "this is the sixth ! Indeed, I do think it is wrong in 
 you to encourage the Jay girls to make things no 
 body needs. I think it would be more truthful to 
 give them the money outright than to pretend you 
 want a sofa cushion." 
 
 " It would hurt their feelings," the doctor objected. 
 
 " My dear, truth is more important than feelings," 
 said Martha, decidedly. 
 
 William changed the subject hurriedly. William 
 was blond, and fat, and very amiable, and with a great 
 respect for his Martha s common-sense ; but common- 
 sense does pall on a husband sometimes. 
 

 WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 III 
 
 Paul improved very slowly ; the fact was the barn 
 was comfortable and the perfect cure of the knee 
 important, so with simple confidence in the hospi 
 tality of the three ladies, he gave himself up to the 
 pleasure of convalescence. And it certainly was 
 pleasant. The Misses Jay were very kind to him. 
 Miss Henrietta visited him every morning, bringing 
 his breakfast, and telling him many times how, when 
 she was a little girl, she had been taken to the circus. 
 " I saw a young lady ride on a horse without any 
 saddle," Miss Henrietta would say ; " it was really 
 wonderful ; I ve never forgotten it." And then, 
 after this politely personal reminiscence, she would 
 talk to him about her poor pussy, whose affection 
 and intelligence gradually assumed abnormal pro 
 portions. Sometimes, as she carried his plate away, 
 she would stop and call feebly, " Jacky, Jacky ! You 
 know he might be lying sick under the barn," she 
 explained to Paul, who was very sympathetic. Miss 
 Maggy went every day before dinner to inquire for 
 his " limb." As for Miss Jane, she came to the barn 
 door upon any excuse. Into the starved, thin life of 
 little Miss Jane had come suddenly an interest. Per 
 haps that reference to the stable in Bethlehem had 
 first given her something to think about. It had 
 been startlingly incongruous, but there had been 
 nothing offensive in it, because it was so simple ; 
 indeed, that it was the natural tenor of the man s 
 thought was obvious at once. The first morning, 
 when Miss Henrietta took his breakfast out to him, 
 she found him reading his Bible. The next day, 
 
 241 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Miss Maggy, hunting for eggs in the shed, heard 
 some one singing, and listening, heard : 
 
 "Guide me, O thou Great Jehovah, 
 
 Pilgrim through this barren land. 
 I am weak " 
 
 Then there was a pause. Then a joyous burst : 
 " yes ; but Thou art mighty (I bet Thou art !);" and 
 then the rest of it : 
 
 " Lead me with Thy powerful hand !" 
 
 Miss Maggy, who had the unreasoning emotion of 
 the fat, repeated this with tears to her sisters, and 
 added that perhaps it might help the poor man in his 
 effort to be a Christian to give him one of Great 
 grandfather Jay s sermons to read. Miss Henrietta 
 agreed vaguely, and then said she knew that he was 
 a good-hearted person, because he had sympathized 
 so about Jacky. But Miss Jane, crocheting rapidly, 
 thought to herself how strange it was that a man 
 who had been a circus rider should be religious ! 
 The fact caught her interest t just as sometimes a 
 point in a wide dull landscape catches the eye per 
 haps the far-off window of some unseen house flaring 
 suddenly with the sun and speaking a hundred mys 
 teries of invisible human living. The commonplace, 
 healthy way in which, once or twice, Paul spoke of 
 those things which, being so vital, are hidden by 
 most of us, was a shock to her which was awakening. 
 It was like letting hot sunshine and vigorous wind 
 touch suddenly some delicate, spindling plants which 
 have grown always in the dark. But it attracted 
 her with the curious fascination which the unusual, 
 even if a little painful, has for all of us. So she went 
 
 242 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 very often to the barn to inquire about his health. 
 Sometimes she took her knitting and sat on the barn 
 door step, and tried, in a fluttering way, to make 
 him talk. This was not difficult ; the acrobat was 
 most cheerfully talkative. Propped up in the hay, 
 he watched her, and sometimes held her big loose 
 ball of double zephyr in his hands, unrolling a length 
 or two in answer to her soft jerk ; he told her about 
 his "business" and the difficulties of his "profes 
 sion," and once in a while, very simply, there would 
 come some allusion to deeper things. But for the 
 most part he talked about being "on the road." He 
 blushed all over his dark, handsome face when he 
 said that he had to hand round the hat after a per 
 formance ; " but it s for sister Alice," he explained. 
 He had a good deal to say about this sister. She 
 lived out in Iowa, he said, and he didn t believe he d 
 ever take another long tramp so far east as Pennsyl 
 vania. " It s too far away. Alice is kind of sickly, 
 and if she was to be taken bad, I might not be able 
 to get back in a hurry ; I mightn t have my car-fare. 
 I m going to tramp it home in October, and then 
 I guess I ll dwell among mine own people, as David 
 says." One day he showed her a little dog-eared ac 
 count-book in which he kept the record of his re 
 ceipts and expenditures. " In a town, I ve got to put 
 up at a tavern over - night, and that counts up. 
 That s why I like to go to little places where there 
 are barns. Now there s Mercer on that page : I had 
 to pay for a license in Mercer ; and the barkeepers, 
 they charged too ; so I only made $i the first day, 
 and 75 cents the next, and $1.20 the last day. You d 
 a thought I d done better in a city, wouldn t you? 
 On that page opposite is my expenses. See? At 
 
 243 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 the bottom of the page is what I sent Alice $3.25 
 that week. I have sent her as high as $5 once." 
 
 It was raining, and Jane was sitting just inside 
 the door ; she ran her hand along her wooden knit 
 ting-needles, and then took the account-book, hold 
 ing it nervously, as though not quite certain what 
 to do with it. 
 
 " I made most of that $5," said Paul, " in a saloon 
 that was run by a man named Bloder." 
 
 " I shouldn t think," Miss Jane said, hesitatingly, 
 " that it would be pleasant to to perform in saloons." 
 
 " Oh," he said, eagerly, " they re just my place ! 
 I d rather go to a saloon than have three open-air 
 turns." 
 
 Jane Jay shut the little book and handed it back 
 to him, a look almost of pain about her delicate lips. 
 The acrobat glanced at her, and then his handsome 
 face suddenly lighted. " Oh, not the way you think 
 bless you, no ! I get more men in a saloon, that s 
 why ; and when the show s done, I get a hack at em. 
 I believe that when I go into a saloon, dirty, like as 
 not, with old musty sawdust on the floor all dripped 
 over with beer, and a lot of fellows just shaking 
 hands with the devil I believe I m preaching to the 
 spirits in prison." 
 
 " Why, do you mean," she demanded " do you 
 mean that you talk religion in those places ?" 
 
 "Yes, ma am." 
 
 " Why, you ought to be a clergyman !" she said, 
 impulsively. 
 
 " I wish I could be," he said, with a sigh. " Of 
 course that s what I aimed for; but you see, with 
 Alice to look after no, I don t suppose it ll come 
 about. This is the best I can do to talk after the 
 
 244 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 performances. But it isn t like having a church 
 with red seats and a pulpit. But my vow was to be 
 a preacher, ma am." 
 
 " And then you decided to be a to to give per 
 formances ?" 
 
 " No, ma am ; twas like this," he said. " I was 
 doing trapeze business. Well, I was .advertised all 
 round ; you ought to have seen the bill-boards, and 
 Signer Paulo, in his great act, shooting down with 
 his arms folded this way across his breast ! That 
 was me. I got good pay those days ; and and I 
 was well ma am, I was a great sinner. I was the 
 chief of sinners. Well, I had enemies in my line : a 
 star always has. The greater you are," said the 
 acrobat, with perfect simplicity, "the more folks 
 envy you. So somebody cut a rope half through 
 right up under the canvas. The ropes are tested be 
 fore every performance, so it must have been a quick 
 job for the fellow that did it. I was sitting up there, 
 and I seen the rope giving. Well, I don t know ; I 
 don t know ;" his voice dropped, and he looked past 
 her with rapt, unseeing eyes "it was a vision, I 
 guess : / seen my sin. My God ! I said, out loud. 
 I don t know to this day if it was because I was 
 scared of being killed, or scared of my sin. Of course 
 nobody could hear me the horses tearing round the 
 ring, and mademoiselle jumping through fire-hoops, 
 and the band playing away for dear life. Well it 
 was jump, anyhow ; so 1 just yelled out, * You save 
 me, and P II give You the credit / Then I jumped." 
 
 "Oh!" said Jane, panting, and knitting very fast. 
 
 " Well, that was all there was to it. He saved me. 
 And there was my bargain with Him. At first, see 
 ing that my leg had to go, I wasn t just sure we was 
 
 245 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 even ; and then I says to myself : * Yes ; He saved 
 me. He only just gave me a pinch in the leg, for 
 fear I d get too stuck up, starring, and forget my 
 bargain. I don t know as I would have seen it right 
 off, but a minister came to see me a good deal in the 
 hospital, and he gave me a lot of ideas. He just 
 pointed out that so long as my life was saved, my 
 bargain was good. You give God the glory wher 
 ever you go, he said which is the church way of 
 saying give Him the credit, you know. Well, at first 
 I took it to be that I d preach, respectably, in a 
 church ; I ve a good deal of a gift in talking. But it 
 wasn t to be," he ended, with a sigh. 
 
 "Why not?" Jane demanded, boldly. In her in 
 terest she rolled her work up in her black silk apron, 
 and came and sat down beside him in the hay. Paul 
 turned a little on his side, and leaning on his elbow, 
 looked up at her, his dark, gentle eyes smiling. She 
 would not have known how to say it, but she felt a 
 dull envy of the passion and emotion that had illu 
 minated his face. She wished he would talk some 
 more about things. It was as if her numb, chilled 
 mind tried to crouch closer to the warmth of his vital 
 personality. She bent forward as she talked to him, 
 and her breath came quicker. " I don t see why you 
 shouldn t be a clergyman," she said. 
 
 " Well, I haven t any education," he explained. " I 
 couldn t stand up in a real church, with nice red 
 cushions, and talk. You see, I don t know things 
 that church people want to hear. I don t understand 
 about election, and foreordination, and those things. 
 You ve got to have an education for a church ; and 
 an education costs money. And then there s Alice : 
 I can t stop earning, you see." He lapsed into silence, 
 
 246 
 
THE GREATER YOU ARE, SAID THE ACROBAT, THE MORE 
 FOLKS ENVY YOU " 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 and Jane was silent too. But she looked at him 
 again sidewise, and the beauty of his large frame 
 the broad, deep chest, the grace and vigor of the long 
 line from the shoulder to the knee, the powerful arm 
 and wrist held her eyes. 
 
 " My knee s getting on," he said, suddenly ; " and 
 I think I can make a start in another week ; but be 
 fore I go I want to have a performance for you and 
 the other two ladies and any of your lady friends 
 you d like to invite in. I ll give you the best show 
 I ve got," he said, his face eager and handsome, and 
 all alert to return favor with favor, and to reveal the 
 possibilities of his profession. 
 
 " Oh, you are very kind," Miss Jane said, with a 
 start ; " I ll tell my sisters. They ll be very much 
 interested, I know ; but but I d like it better for 
 you just to preach." 
 
 " I guess you ladies don t need my kind of preach 
 ing," he answered, good-naturedly; " you re way up 
 above that, you know. You re all ready to hear 
 about the Trinity, and how much a cubit is, and 
 what a centurion is, and free will and all those 
 things. If I ever get my education, and know em, 
 I ll invite you to come to my church. But now I ll 
 just have to stick to the gospel, I guess." 
 
 IV 
 
 Those were strange days to Miss Jane Jay. Into 
 the even dulnessof knitting afghans, and bemoaning 
 Jacky, and wondering whether the weather would be 
 this or that, had come the jar of vigorous living, as 
 vulgar as the honest earth loud, courageous, full of 
 
 24? 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 toil and sweat and motion. Once, walking home in 
 the rainy dusk, she stopped before a deserted cow-shed 
 by the road-side, on which, long ago, had been pasted 
 a circus advertisement, It was torn at one corner, 
 and was flapping idly in the wind The colors were 
 washed and faded by summer rains, and some boys 
 had thrown mud at it, but Miss Jane could still see 
 the picture of a man hanging by one arm from a 
 trapeze, ready for the downward dive 
 
 " Mr. Phillips used to do that/ she thought. She 
 called him Mr. Phillips now, not Paul, as the others 
 did in familiar and condescending kindness She 
 was glad he did not do those things now . the preach 
 ing lifted him to another plane in her mind. 
 
 The other sisters were interested in Paul too, but 
 the atrophy of years cannot be easily vitalized, and 
 they did not think very much about him. Henrietta 
 was patiently trying to accustom herself to Jacky s 
 loss. She used to sit making baby socks hour after 
 hour, her poor vague fancy picturing the pussy s 
 wanderings and sufferings, until for very wretched 
 ness the slow painful tears would rise and blur the 
 crocheting" in her wrinkled hands. Still, she listened 
 when Jane told her this or that of Mr. Phillips ; and 
 she and Maggy were especially moved when they 
 heard of his desire to preach the gospel. 
 
 " I think he d make a good clergyman he s kind 
 to animals," said Miss Henrietta, sighing. " I saw 
 him patting Clover the other night. Oh dear, how 
 he would have loved Jacky!" 
 
 Miss Maggy nodded approvingly, and said again 
 that it was very nice for a poor person to be relig 
 ious. " Perhaps I ll copy one of Great-grandfather 
 Jay s sermons for him, and he can take it away with 
 
 248 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 him, and read it aloud after his performances 
 though perhaps he ought to have a license for a 
 bishop s sermon," she added, doubtfully. "As for 
 his performing for us " for Miss Jane had repeated 
 Paul s offer " I suppose it would seem ungracious 
 not to let him do it." 
 
 But when the day came that Paul s knee was 
 strong enough for gymnastics, the two older ladies 
 were really quite interested in his " show," as he 
 called it. " He is going to do it to-night," Miss 
 Maggy said ; " and he says that it will be in the finest 
 style He said he would wear tights I didn t like 
 to ask him what they were, as it is not, I think, del 
 icate to refer to any special garment of a a gentle 
 man s wardrobe ; but I did wonder." 
 
 " It means stays, I suppose," said Miss Henrietta. 
 " I don t see why he mentioned them, I m sure." 
 
 * Oh, well, a person in Paul s walk of life does not 
 realize the impropriety of such an allusion before 
 ladies," said Miss Maggy, kindly " You can t expect 
 him to make delicate distinctions: I hope he s not 
 disappointed because we are not asking any one in ; 
 but we couldn t do that. Henrietta, would you put a 
 white border on this baby blanket, or a blue one ?" 
 
 " I think," said Jane, breathing quickly, "that Mr. 
 Phillips is just as delicate as any one." 
 
 " I like blue best," Miss Henrietta said, 
 
 Jane s hands trembled, and she put her knitting 
 down. " I m going to ask him if he doesn t want an 
 other lamp for to-night. We can let him have two," 
 she said, indifferent to poor Miss Maggy s sigh that 
 it would use up a good deal of oil She went swiftly 
 down the garden to the stable, where Paul welcomed 
 her with enthusiasm, and asked her if she didn t 
 17 249 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 think he had made things look pretty nicely. u I 
 feel nervous about my knee," he said, " but I m most 
 ly worried for fear I won t do my best before the 
 ladies. It s more embarrassing to have a little select 
 audience like this, than a big dress circle." His tone 
 seemed to range her on his side, as opposed to the 
 " audience," which gave her a new and distinct feel 
 ing of responsibility that was almost anxiety. She 
 told him about the lamps, and advised him as to which 
 end of the open space between the stalls and the 
 feed-bins should be the stage. She laughed, in her 
 flurried way, until the tears came into her eyes, at 
 some of his jokes, and she asked questions, and even 
 made one or two suggestions. Perhaps she had 
 never been so excited in her life. 
 
 Then she went back to the house. " We ll put on 
 our best dresses," she said to her sisters, in a breath 
 less way. 
 
 k Oh, Janie, not to go and sit in the barn ?" pro 
 tested Miss Maggy. 
 
 " I will," Miss Jane said, with spirit. " I think it s 
 only polite. And please, girls, each of you bring 
 your bedroom candle over with you. He says he 
 wants as much light as possible. Oh dear ! he is so 
 superior to his profession !" she burst out, her face 
 flushing. 
 
 The best clothes were wonderingly conceded by 
 the two older sisters, and after tea, in the September 
 dusk, before the moon rose, the three Misses Jay 
 stepped out across the yard to the barn. Each had 
 a lighted candle in her hand, and each held up her 
 petticoats carefully, and walked gravely, with a 
 troubled consciousness of the unusualness of the 
 occasion. 
 
 250 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 The barn was very bright : Paul had borrowed 
 some lanterns from a neighbor, and added two or 
 three he had found in the loft, and all the lamps Jane 
 could bring him from the house, The narrow space 
 in front of the stalls was swept and garnished, and 
 at its farther end were three chairs, each with a 
 bunch of golden-rod tied on the back. The lanterns 
 swung from the rafters, and the lamps stood on the 
 top of the feed bin, and the three bedroom candles 
 were deposited, at Jane s command, on three up 
 turned buckets in front of what was evidently Paul s 
 end of the open space. When the sisters entered 
 there was a rustle among the pigeons overhead, and 
 the cow, rubbing her neck against her stanchion, 
 stopped, and looked at them with mild, wondering 
 eyes, and then drew a long, fragrant sigh, and went 
 on chewing her cud, 
 
 "This is very strange," said Miss Henrietta. 
 
 " It is very exciting," murmured Miss Maggy, 
 nervously. 
 
 The gleam of all the lights, the candle-flames bend 
 ing and flaring in wandering draughts, the gigantic 
 shadows between the rafters, the silence, except for 
 Clover s soft breaths, Paul s impressive absence 
 were all strange, almost alarming. 
 
 As for Miss Jane, she looked around her but said 
 nothing. 
 
 ** Shall we sit down ?" Miss Maggy asked, in a whis 
 per. " Where is he, Janie ?" 
 
 " He will come in a few moments," said Jane. 
 " Yes, sit down, please." 
 
 She went over to the bin to turn up one of the 
 lamps, and looked, with anxious responsibility, tow 
 ards the unused stall which Paul had told her was 
 
 251 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 to be his dressing-room. Suppose he didn t do well ? 
 She was nervous to have him begin and get through 
 with it. 
 
 Suddenly, back in the shadows, Paul began to 
 
 whistle : 
 
 " I m dreaming now of Hallie 
 Sweet Hallie, sweet Hallie;" 
 
 then he came bounding out, bowed, whirled round 
 on his crutch, and stood still, laughing. Jane caught 
 her breath, her feet and hands grew cold ; the other 
 sisters murmured, agitatedly. Paul was clothed in 
 his black tights and scarlet breech -cloth; a small 
 scarlet cap was set side -wise on his head, and his 
 crutch was wound with scarlet ribbons. 
 
 " Ladies," he began, " I shall have the pleasure " 
 
 " I really think I really feel " said Miss Maggy, 
 rising. 
 
 " I I m afraid, perhaps such a costume " mur 
 mured Miss Henrietta. 
 
 Paul looked at them in astonishment. " Is any 
 thing wrong, ladies ? If you ll just be seated, I ll 
 begin at once." 
 
 " Do sit down," Miss Jane entreated, faintly ; " peo 
 ple always dress that way." 
 
 The two older sisters stared at her in amazement. 
 " But, Janie " whispered Miss Henrietta. 
 
 " You can go," said Jane, " but I shall stay. I 
 think it s unkind to criticise his clothes." 
 
 " If he only had some clothes," Miss Maggy an 
 swered, in despair. But they sat down. They could 
 not go and leave Jane ; it would have been an im 
 propriety. As for Paul, he plunged at once into 
 his performance, with his running commentary of 
 fun and jokes. Always beginning, " Ladies !" Once 
 
 252 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 inadvertently he added, " and gentlemen," but stop 
 ped, with some embarrassment, to explain that he 
 got so used to his " patter " that he just ran it off 
 without thinking. His agility and strength and 
 grace were really remarkable, but Jane Jay watched 
 him with hot discomfort ; once, when he turned a 
 somersault, as lightly as a thistle seed is blown from 
 its stalk, she looked away. But the rest of the 
 "audience" began to be really interested and a lit 
 tle excited. " Just see that !" Miss Maggy kept say 
 ing. * Isn t it wonderful !" 
 
 " But if any one should call," Miss Henrietta whis 
 pered, " I should swoon with embarrassment. Still, I 
 am sure it s very creditable. Once, when I was a child, 
 I went to the circus, and saw a man jump that way." 
 
 Jane s face was stinging. " I don t like it at all," 
 she said, under her breath. She looked at one of the 
 lamps on the feed-bin until it blurred and made the 
 water stand in her eyes. " Oh, I wish he would stop !" 
 she said to herself. 
 
 "If," said Paul, "any lady in the audience would 
 care to hold a hat up above my head, I may demon 
 strate a high kick !" 
 
 " I will, Mr. Phillips," Miss Jane said, briefly. 
 
 " Oh, Janie " said Miss Henrietta. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, really " murmured Miss Maggy. 
 
 " If you ll stand on this bin, ma am," said Paul, 
 taking off his cap with a sweeping bow. 
 
 For just an instant Jane hesitated, which gave 
 Miss Maggy the chance to say, " Oh, Jane, my dear 
 really, I don t think " 
 
 " I don t mind in the least," said Miss Jane, breath 
 lessly. 
 
 " Well, wait," Maggy entreated ; " if you must do 
 253 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 it, let me run back to the house and bring over one 
 of my skirts. I m taller than you are, and if you put 
 it on, it will be longer and hide your feet." 
 
 Miss Jane nodded. "I ll come in a moment, Mr. 
 Phillips," she said, in a fluttered voice ; and when 
 -Miss Maggy, very much out of breath, brought the 
 skirt, she slipped it on, and, climbing up on to the 
 bin, stood, the long black folds hanging in a clumsy 
 and modest heap about her feet, and held out the 
 hat. Her face was stern and set ; she was miserably 
 ashamed. The two other sisters gaped up at her 
 apprehensively, but with undisguised interest. Paul, 
 however, did not share the emotions of the moment ; 
 he leaped over three chairs arranged in a pyramid, 
 twirled round on his crutch, and then, with a bound 
 up into the air, lifted with his foot the hat out of 
 Jane s nervous hand. Then he stopped, by force of 
 habit, to wait for applause ; the two ladies before 
 him said, faintly, " Dear me !" But they whispered 
 to each other that it was wonderful. 
 
 Jane, gathering up the long skirt in her hands, 
 looked down at him, and said nothing. 
 
 He turned, kissed his hand to her, and bowed so 
 low that the scarlet cockade on his cap swept the 
 floor ; his dark eyes, looking up at her, caught the 
 flare of the candle-light in a sudden flash. 
 
 Jane Jay s heart came up in her throat. 
 
 That was the end of the show. The three candles 
 of the foot-lights were burning with a guttering 
 flame ; the cow had gone down on her knees, and 
 then come heavily to the floor, ready for sleep. 
 Paul, out of breath, but very much pleased with the 
 condition of his knee, sat down on one of the over 
 turned buckets and fanned himself. 
 
 254 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 " This is the time you preach, isn t it, Mr. Phillips ?" 
 Miss Jane said. It was as if she were trying to bring 
 him back to his true self. 
 
 " When I get through a performance ? Yes, 
 ma am. People are pretty good-natured then, and 
 willing to listen, you know." 
 
 He laughed as he spoke. There was always a laugh 
 ready to bubble over when he talked. 
 
 "It is a pity," said Miss Henrietta, vaguely, "that 
 Paul s circumstances in life did not permit him to 
 study for the ministry." 
 
 " That s so," said Paul ; " but my folks couldn t 
 have afforded it when I was growing up, even if I d 
 had a mind to which I didn t, till I was converted, 
 and I was twenty-four then." 
 
 " It isn t too late yet, is it ?" said Maggy, sym 
 pathetically. " Perhaps Dr. Lavendar could help 
 you to get a scholarship somewhere. I know he 
 wrote letters about a scholarship when the Smiths 
 oldest boy wanted to go to college." 
 
 Jane s face flushed suddenly. " I never thought of 
 that ! Why, Mr. Phillips why shouldn t you study 
 now ?" 
 
 Paul had stopped fanning himself, and was listen 
 ing. " I ve heard of scholarships," he said, " but I 
 never had anybody to put me in the way of them." 
 
 Miss Jane, in her excited interest, had not noticed 
 that her sisters had risen and were waiting for her. 
 " Come, Janie," they murmured ; and Jane came, 
 reluctantly. "You must see Dr. Lavendar to-mor 
 row," she said, as they drew her away. " Oh, I be 
 lieve, I believe you can do it !" 
 
 And as the three sisters, with their empty candle 
 sticks in their hands, walked back in the moonlight 
 
 255 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 to their own door, she said again and again, "Yes, 
 he must be a clergyman he must !" 
 
 Miss Maggy smiled indulgently, and said that she 
 supposed Janie had it in her blood to work for the 
 church. " Great - grandfather Jay was always en 
 couraging young men to enter the ministry," she 
 said, "and Janie inherits it, I suppose." And then 
 Miss Maggy said that she was worried to death be 
 cause she didn t think the new pink worsted was a 
 good match for the pink they had been using. 
 
 When Miss Jane went to her room she was too ex 
 cited to go to bed ; there was a spot of color in her 
 cheeks, and her eyes shone ; a clergyman ! yes ; 
 why not? 
 
 It seemed to Miss Jane, because of the beating of 
 her heart and the swelling of her throat, that her 
 hope for Paul was desire for the Kingdom of God. 
 How much good he would do if he only were a clergy 
 man ; if he had a church, and wore a surplice ! He 
 would talk differently then, and not say "ain t"; 
 and he would take dinner with Dr. Lavendar, and go 
 to Mrs. Dale s for tea ; he might even be assistant at 
 St. Michael s ! For Dr. Lavendar was getting old, 
 and by the time Mr. Phillips took orders, there would 
 have to be an assistant at St. Michael s. Jane Jay 
 sat down and leaned her elbows on the window-sill, 
 and looked out into the misty September night. She 
 could see the black pitch-roof of the stable, where a 
 lamp was still burning. It came to her that perhaps 
 Paul was kneeling there. Something lifted in her 
 like a wave. She felt a strange longing for tears ; 
 she, too, wanted to pray, to cry out for something 
 for pardon for her sins, perhaps, or for death and 
 heaven. She said to herself that she loved her 
 
 256 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 Saviour; this was what Mr. Phillips called "con 
 version," she thought. " Oh," she said, in a broken, 
 breathless way " oh, I am a great sinner ! He has 
 converted me." She murmured over and over that 
 she had sinned ; in the exaltation of the moment she 
 did not stop to search the blank white page of her 
 life to find a stain. Through her numb thoughts, 
 this sword-thrust of emotion had pierced to the very 
 quick. She suffered ; and began to live. 
 
 She covered her face with her hands, and knelt 
 down and prayed passionately. 
 
 Paul Phillips was to set out on the road the next 
 day ; but the hope that had leaped up at Miss Mag 
 gy s words made him eager to follow the suggestion 
 of seeing Dr. Lavendar. 
 
 Jane Jay, her face pale, but full of some exalted 
 consciousness, went early to the rectory and told the 
 story of Paul and his aspirations. " It is very inter 
 esting," Dr. Lavendar said, " very interesting. Of 
 course I ll see him. Jane, my dear, it is wonderful, 
 as you say. The Lord is able to raise up children to 
 Abraham out of anything ! Send him along. Tell 
 him to be here at ten o clock." 
 
 Jane went back to the stable and gave Paul the 
 message. He was kneeling down, packing his few 
 possessions in his knapsack, unwinding the scarlet 
 ribbons from his crutch, and taking the cockade out 
 of his cap. He looked up anxiously. " Does he 
 think " he began. 
 
 "You are to go and see him at ten, Mr. Phillips," 
 257 
 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 she said; "and you will be a clergyman!" Paul 
 drew a long breath and went on with his packing ; 
 but there was a light in his eyes. 
 
 " Do you know," he said, " sometimes it seems to 
 me that our disappointments are His appointments? 
 Just drop the dis, you know. It makes em real 
 pleasant to look at them that way. It was a disap 
 pointment to wrench my knee ; there s no use deny 
 ing it ; and yet look what may come out of it !" He 
 gave a smiling upward look of the frankest, most 
 good-humored affection, as though communing with 
 Some One she did not see. 
 
 Miss Jane watched him without speaking. She 
 stood leaning against the feed-bin, twisting a bit of 
 straw nervously, looking at him, and then looking 
 away. 
 
 " You will be a clergyman," she said again, in a low 
 voice. " But I want you to know now, I want to 
 tell you " 
 
 Paul had risen, and gotten his crutch under his 
 arm ; but there was something in her voice that 
 made him look at her keenly ; then, instantly, he 
 turned his eyes away. 
 
 " I want you to know that I oh until you came 
 I never thought anything mattered. I never really 
 cared ; though I went to church, and my father was 
 a clergyman, and Great-grandfather Jay was a bish 
 op. But I I didn t really " She faltered, trem 
 bling very much, her throat swelling again, and her 
 face illumined. "You ve made me religious, I 
 think," she ended, in a whisper. 
 
 " I thank the Lord if He s spoken a word through 
 me," the man said, tenderly ; but he did not look into 
 her face. 
 
 258 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 Miss Jane went away hurriedly, running, poor girl ! 
 the last half of the way to her own room ; there she 
 lay upon her bed, face downward, trembling. She 
 was very happy. 
 
 When Paul came limping into the rectory, the old 
 clergyman gave him a steady look ; then all his face 
 softened and brightened, and he took his hand in 
 both his own. " Sit down," he said, "and we ll have 
 a pipe. Well, you had an ugly fall, didn t you? 
 How s your knee ?" 
 
 14 Well, the darned thing s all right now," said Paul, 
 with his kindling smile, " but it s been slow enough. 
 I don t know what I would have done if the ladies 
 hadn t been so kind to me." 
 
 " And you are starting out again now, are you ?" 
 said Dr. Lavendar. " Oh, that s my dog, Danny. 
 Danny, give your paw, sir, like a gentleman." 
 
 Paul seized the dog by the scruf of the neck and 
 put him on his knee. " Ain t he a fine one ?" he said, 
 chuckling. " Look at him licking my finger ! Yes, 
 sir ; I m going on the road again ; but Miss Jane Jay, 
 she told me that maybe you could put me in the way 
 of getting an education, so as I could be a preacher." 
 
 "But I understand you do preach now?" said Dr. 
 Lavendar. 
 
 "Yes, sir ; but not properly. I just talk to em. 
 Plain man to man. I get at them after I ve given a 
 show on the road or in the saloons. But it s a hard 
 line, sir. I used to be a drinking man myself," he 
 ended, in a low voice. 
 
 The old minister nodded. " You go right into the 
 enemy s country ?" 
 
 "Yes," Paul said, briefly. 
 259 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " It gives you a hold on em ?" Dr. Lavendar sug 
 gested. 
 
 "That s so," Paul said. "I sometimes think if 
 I hadn t been there myself I wouldn t know how 
 to put it to them. Still," he said, thoughtfully, 
 " you can t apply that doctrine generally. It 
 would be kind of dangerous. We don t want to 
 sin that grace may abound. Well, it s mixing. 
 You see, that s where I feel the need of a n edu 
 cation, sir. That, and people going down to the 
 pit : the pit ain t just according to my ideas of fair 
 ness." 
 
 " How do you explain those things ?" asked the old 
 man. 
 
 " Oh, well, I just say to myself, He understands 
 His business " 
 
 "The Judge of all the earth shall do right !" said 
 Dr. Lavendar. " Tell me some more." 
 
 So Paul, stroking Danny s shaggy little head, told 
 him, fully. Dr. Lavendar got up once, and tramped 
 about the room, with his coat tails pulled forward 
 under his arms, and his hands in his pockets ; once 
 his pipe went out, and once he took his spectacles off 
 and wiped them. 
 
 When the story was finished he came and sat down 
 beside the younger man, and struck him on the knee 
 with a trembling hand. " My dear brother ! my dear 
 brother !" he said. " Go back to the roads and the 
 saloons ; and prepare the way of the Lord, and make 
 straight His paths !" 
 
 Paul put Danny down, gently, and looked up with 
 a puzzled face. 
 
 " Sir," said Dr. Lavendar, "the Lord has educated 
 you. You don t need the schooling of men. See 
 
 260 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 what a work has been given you to do : Paul, a min 
 ister to the Gentiles !" 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Paul, "if I can just get some edu 
 cation. If I can know a few things." 
 
 " My dear friend," said the old man, smiling, " you 
 know what is best worth knowing in the world : 
 you know your Master. He s put you to do a work 
 for Him which most of His ministers are not capable 
 of doing. You have a congregation, young man, 
 that we old fellows would give our ears to get. Who 
 would listen to me if I went into Van Horn s and 
 talked to them ? Not one ! They d slink out the 
 back door. And I can t get em into my church 
 though I ve got the red cushions," said Dr. Laven- 
 dar, his eyes twinkling. " No, sir ; your work s been 
 marked out for you. Do it ! and may the Lord 
 bless you, and bless the word you speak !" His face 
 moved, and he took off his glasses again, and polished 
 them on his big red silk handkerchief. 
 
 Paul s bewildered disappointment was evident in 
 his face. So evident that Dr. Lavendar set himself 
 to tell him, in patient detail, what he thought of the 
 situation ; and as he talked the light came. " I see," 
 the young man said once or twice, softly, as though 
 to himself ; " I see I see." It came to him, as it 
 comes to most of us, if we live long enough, that 
 when we ask for a stone, He sometimes gives us 
 bread if we will but open our eyes to see it. 
 
 But when he rose to go, there was a solemn moment 
 of silence. Then the old minister, with his hands up 
 lifted above the young minister s head, said : 
 
 "Almighty God, who hath given you this will to do 
 all these things, grant also unto you strength and power 
 to perform the same, that He may accomplisli His 
 
 261 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 work which He hath begun in you, through Jesus 
 Christ our Lord." 
 
 Paul, leaning on his crutch, covered his face with 
 his hands, and said, passionately, "Amen." 
 
 When he went back to the three ladies, the uplift 
 ing of that moment lingered in his eyes. He came 
 into the sitting-room, where Miss Henrietta and Miss 
 Maggy were at work ; it was a cool September day, 
 and a little fire crackled in the grate. The room was 
 hot, and smelled of worsted ; Miss Henrietta s canary 
 hung in the sunny window, cracking his hemp seeds, 
 and ruffling his feathers after a splashing bath. The 
 two ladies were rocking and knitting, and Miss Hen 
 rietta had been saying how much she missed rolling 
 her big pink ball along the floor for Jacky to play 
 with. " Though he didn t play much," she said ; "he 
 was getting old." 
 
 " I used to think he was lazy," observed Miss 
 Maggy, comfortably. 
 
 " No, he wasn t," Miss Henrietta retorted. " You 
 never appreciated Jacky." 
 
 " Yes, I did," Maggy remonstrated ; " only I never 
 called him human." 
 
 " Human ? Well, I think that some cats are nicer 
 than most people," old Henrietta replied, with heat. 
 
 It was just then that Paul came in to report the 
 result of his interview with Dr. Lavendar. He was 
 very brief about it, and as he talked the solemn look 
 faded, and he spoke with open cheerfulness, though 
 with reserve. " I guess he s right," he said ; " the 
 place for me is the place where I m put ; I guess he s 
 right. Well, ladies, I came to say good-bye, and to 
 thank you, and " 
 
 262 
 
WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW 
 
 " Do you mean," said Jane, from the doorway be 
 hind him, " that Dr. Lavendar won t help you to be 
 a clergyman ?" Her face was pale, and then flooded 
 with crimson ; she was trembling very much. " It 
 is wicked !" Her voice was suddenly shrill, but 
 broke almost into a sob. " You ought to be a clergy 
 man !" 
 
 Paul held up his hand with a certain authority. 
 " I have been called to do my own work," he said. 
 
 " I guess Dr. Lavendar s right, Janie," Miss Maggy 
 said, soothingly. " Paul, I m going to give you one 
 of Bishop Jay s sermons. I ve copied it out, and I m 
 sure you will make good use of it." 
 
 Then she asked some friendly questions about his 
 route, and brought him the sermon, and a little 
 luncheon she had prepared ; and then Paul began 
 to make his adieux. He said much of their kindness 
 to him, and his wish that he could ever have the 
 chance to do anything for them ; while they politely 
 deprecated anything that they had done. Miss Hen 
 rietta shook hands with him, and said that if he 
 should meet a white cat anywhere, to be sure and 
 see if he answered to the name of Jacky. Miss 
 Maggy bade him be very careful of his limb, and 
 hoped he would find his sister better. " And if you 
 ever get so far east again, you must come and see 
 us," she said, kindly. 
 
 Jane gave him her hand ; but she let it slip list 
 lessly from his fingers, and she did not lift her eyes 
 to meet his; a brother s eyes pitying and brave. 
 " Good-bye," she said, dully. 
 
 Paul, shouldering his knapsack, waved his hat gay- 
 ly and started off, limping down the path to the 
 street 
 
 263 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " Well, now really, for a person in his position," 
 said Miss Maggy, " he has behaved very well, hasn t 
 he?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed," old Henrietta agreed ; " and he was 
 so sympathetic, too. See, Maggy, this needle does 
 make a looser stitch don t you think so ?" 
 
 Jane leaned her forehead against the window and 
 looked down the road, where there was a little cloud 
 of dust for a moment ; then it disappeared. 
 
SALLY 
 
 18 
 
SALLY 
 
 " WHEN I m a man, Sally, and you re a big girl, 
 we ll get married," Andrew Steele used to say to his 
 little neighbor across the fence of their back yards. 
 And Sally would respond, cheerfully, "Yes, Andrew; 
 when we get big, we ll get married." 
 
 In those days they lived next door to each other, 
 and they talked across the fence, and played, and 
 went to school together, and said they would be 
 married when they grew up. But when Sally was 
 seventeen, and Andrew was seventeen and a half, 
 there was suddenly a break in their friendship. Sal 
 ly did not look at Andrew in church, though he sat 
 just across the aisle. Andrew hung back, and did 
 not walk home with her in the old matter-of-fact 
 way. They stood apart for the first time in their 
 lives, these two young things, regarding each other 
 in shy silence ; and then, as suddenly as the simple 
 melody of their friendship had faltered and died 
 away, just so suddenly the music burst out in the 
 profounder harmony of love. 
 
 They told each other about it, standing shy and 
 blushing on the wet flag-stones in Andrew s green 
 house. Sally, a little plump body, with a freckled 
 
 267 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 nose and pretty red-brown hair ; Andrew, very tall 
 and lanky, all wrists and ankles, with a mild, strong 
 face. They scarcely dared to look at each other 
 the color coming and going in the boy s face just 
 as in the girl s. And when Sally had half whisper 
 ed her head turned away from him, and her little 
 fingers pleating and crumpling the big leaf of a be 
 gonia "Yes Andrew; I I do care," Andrew 
 had said, in his simple way, pretty much what he 
 had said when they were children : "As soon as we 
 are old enough, we ll get married, Sally. Because 
 I ve loved you all my life." And Sally s little heart 
 beat so hard that she could not speak for happiness. 
 
 "When you are twenty -three and I m twenty- 
 three and a half," Andrew said, " we ll be married." 
 
 And Sally said, " Yes, Andrew." 
 
 He kissed her, and the color flooded up to her 
 temples ; then the boy lifted his face and looked up, 
 silently; but his lips moved. 
 
 All this was just after Andrew s mother had de 
 cided to go and live in Upper Chester ; and though 
 Andrew was to come back and forth every day to 
 the greenhouse, the moving meant to these very 
 young people the tragedy of separation. Very likely 
 it was that that brought matters to a head and re 
 vealed to them that they loved each other. Except 
 for this moving away, however, the course of true 
 love, for once in this rough old world, ran pretty 
 smoothly. No cruel elders, with the common-sense 
 derived from experience, declared that calf-love did 
 not last, and with the parental right to break hearts, 
 forbade, and, separated, and all the rest of it. The 
 fact was, Sally s mother, a vague, somewhat foolish 
 little lady, never dreamed of interfering with her 
 
 268 
 
THEY TOLD EACH OTHER ABOUT IT 
 
SALLY 
 
 children especially not with Sally, who was the eld 
 est girl ; a reliable, sensible, responsible child, who, 
 when her father died, really assumed the care of the 
 noisy, headstrong family of brothers and sisters. So 
 when Sally said she was engaged to Andrew, Mrs. 
 Smith never thought of objecting, though she did 
 not, she said, like Andrew s mother. " But you re 
 not going to marry her," she murmured, vaguely. 
 Then she kissed Sally, and cried a little, and said it 
 was too bad to think that she would have to go and 
 live in Upper Chester with Mrs. Steele " unless she 
 dies first," said Mrs. Smith, hopefully. 
 
 When the young fry heard the news, they teased 
 her, and Robert, who was next in age to Sally, cried 
 out, 
 
 " Handy Andy, 
 Jack-a-dandy," 
 
 and referred to the lovers as "the long and the short 
 of it." Which was considered an exquisite form of 
 wit in the family circle. 
 
 On Andrew s side there was no objection. " Sal 
 ly s mother is a goose," said Mrs. Steele, "but it 
 doesn t follow that Sally is. And I think it is a good 
 thing for a young man to form an attachment early 
 in life ; it keeps him steady." Then she reminded 
 her son that he hadn t any money of his own, and 
 he was too young to think of getting married. " But 
 if you like to say you re engaged, it doesn t hurt the 
 greenhouse," said Mrs. Steele. 
 
 But, of course, there was no question of their 
 being married. They knew they were too young, 
 and they knew that until Andrew could earn more 
 they were too poor. In their sensible way they had 
 made up their minds to all that when Sally said "yes." 
 
 269 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Of all those good-looking Smith children, Old Ches 
 ter s favorite (next to Sally) was Robert. He was 
 a handsome boy, with good manners and a quick 
 tongue, that, because of its wit, was forgiven many 
 things. Everybody had a good word for him, for 
 his behavior, his intelligence, his sweet temper ; and 
 when Robert said he wanted to go to college, Old 
 Chester said that Mrs. Smith ought certainly to 
 manage to send him, because he had more brains 
 than all the rest of the children put together (ex 
 cept Sally). 
 
 " I think he ought to go, Andrew," said Sally. 
 Andrew came to supper at the Smiths on alternate 
 Sunday nights, riding back and forth from Upper 
 Chester on the shaggy, heavy little horse that did 
 the carting for the greenhouse. This was his night, 
 and the lovers were alone for their usual half-hour 
 before tea-time ; after that, Andrew would go into 
 the sitting-room to talk to Mrs. Smith and the two 
 younger girls, and play with the little boys, and 
 listen to Robert s views on many subjects most of 
 all upon the necessity that there was for him to go 
 to college. So now in the parlor which was chilly, 
 because it was hardly worth while to light a fire just 
 for that half-hour s talk Sally confided to her lover 
 her belief that the boy ought to have his wish. 
 
 " Can you afford it, Sally ?" Andrew asked. 
 
 " Yes," she said, smiling ; " I guess we can afford 
 it ; if it s best. But do you think it is best, An 
 drew ?" 
 
 " Well," the young man said, " I m inclined to 
 think it would be a good thing. Though your 
 mother 11 miss him when you are married. It s only 
 eighteen months and five days now, Sally ?" 
 
 270 
 
SALLY 
 
 " Yes," she said ; and then : " I mark the days off 
 on my calendar, you know, Andrew." 
 
 Andrew had one arm around her waist, and held 
 her left hand in his ; after this one tender allusion 
 they talked in a commonplace way of how Sally 
 must economize to manage Robert s education ; 
 and of the greenhouse ; and of the condition of what 
 Andrew called "The Fund" which meant his sav 
 ings, that were to be devoted one of these days to 
 house-furnishing and of anything else that came 
 into their heads. But Sally was marking the days off 
 on the calendar ! and it was only eighteen months 
 and five days until she should be twenty-three, and 
 he twenty-three and a half. 
 
 He kissed her when it was time to go out to the 
 family, and she put her arms around his neck for a 
 minute ; but there were no raptures. 
 
 So it was decided that Robert should be sent to 
 college ; and all Old Chester applauded, and said it 
 was very proper in the real Smiths to make such an 
 effort, and it believed that the boy would be a credit 
 to them one of these days. 
 
 Robert entered the university that autumn, and 
 Sally was to be married when he came home in 
 June for the summer vacation. And so the time 
 passed. Andrew s mother really grew fond of Sally 
 (in her way) ; " the only thing I don t like about her 
 is her mother," said Mrs. Steele ; and also, she had 
 her opinion, she said, of two people who were going 
 to marry on air. " That s about all Andrew s father 
 ever got out of the greenhouse air ! and damp air, 
 too. Well, Andrew needn t look to me to do any 
 thing for him ; I ve told him that. They ll have to 
 board here, because I can t get along without An- 
 
 271 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 drew. But I won t have this house overrun by the 
 girl s brothers and sisters. Miss Sally Smith can 
 just understand that !" 
 
 Miss Sally Smith understood it perfectly, and felt 
 very sorry that Andrew s mother should be so ill- 
 tempered. But, all the same, her calendar showed 
 a growing expanse of diagonal lines over the days ; 
 and by-and-by it was only three months before "the 
 day" should be reached ! Then Mrs. Smith asked 
 Sally if she didn t think perhaps she ought to be 
 getting her wedding-clothes ready which was an 
 astonishingly practical remark from Mrs. Smith. 
 Sally did think so. And so the younger sisters 
 and the mother and Sally all cut and stitched 
 and fitted ; and Andrew came regularly every 
 other Sunday night ; and everybody was very 
 happy. 
 
 Sally and the girls were sewing away in the dining- 
 room the day the letter with the bad news came from 
 Robert. It was a May morning, warm, but with a 
 cold edge in the wind ; and just outside the dining- 
 room window was a peach-tree, all shimmering pink. 
 The long dining-room table was heaped with white 
 nainsook and edgings, and there was even a little 
 narrow Valenciennes lace, which was the apple of 
 Sally s eye. 
 
 " Real Val, for trimming !" she said. " Mother, I 
 declare it s robbery to take it from you." 
 
 " Why, Sally," Mrs. Smith said, " it has been lying 
 there in my piece-box for six years ; I don t see why 
 you shouldn t use it, I m sure. I got it to trim a 
 baptismal robe for David ; and then I couldn t afford 
 to buy the robe ; so I never used it." 
 
 "Well, girls," Sally announced to the other two 
 272 
 
SALLY 
 
 sisters, " when your turn comes, I ll give it back to 
 you." 
 
 " Pooh !" said Esther, scornfully. " I m not going 
 to be married. I m going to be an artist. And 
 when I get rich, I ll buy you all the Valenciennes 
 lace you want, Sally." 
 
 Little Grace lifted her serious face, and watched 
 Sally measuring off the precious lengths, and put 
 in her disclaimer too : " I won t want any lace. I m 
 not going to wear things like that. I think they are 
 worldly." 
 
 " Do you, dear ?" Sally said, in her kind voice, that 
 never held any disrespect. " I don t. Oh, it is a 
 pretty good old world, after all !" she ended, joyous 
 ly, looking out at the rosy torch of the blossoming 
 tree, and beyond it, into the soft blue sky. And 
 then one of the little boys came in with Robert s 
 letter. 
 
 It was to Sally, not to his mother, as usual, which 
 surprised the elder sister enough to make her put 
 it in her pocket unopened, though Mrs. Smith said, 
 with a little note of disappointment in her voice, 
 " Oh, I thought it was from Robert ?" 
 
 Then some one asked for a spool of 90, which, not 
 being in the family work-basket, Sally was obliged 
 to run up-stairs to her own room to fetch. Sally 
 never thought of asking either of the girls to do 
 anything she could do herself ; which was a pity for 
 the girls. 
 
 She must have had to search for the spool a few 
 minutes, for she did not come back immediately. 
 
 " Mother says, Look in the second drawer of her 
 work-table, " Esther called up to her. 
 
 " Yes," Sally answered, briefly. When she came 
 273 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 down with the spool her face was very much flushed, 
 and her hands were not steady. 
 
 " Why, Sally," her mother said, u you are all out 
 of breath. I wouldn t run up-stairs that way, my 
 child." 
 
 " No, ma am," Sally answered, obediently, and put 
 her hand in her pocket and squeezed the letter. She 
 did not talk very much after that, though the girls 
 kept up their pretty chatter of wedding clothes and 
 spring weather and the glow that the peach-tree 
 made, standing so warm and rosy right up against 
 the dining-room window. After a while she said she 
 thought Andrew was out in the greenhouse, and she 
 would run across and speak to him. So she folded 
 up her sewing, and said she would be back in time 
 to bring her mother her beef-tea at eleven, and went, 
 bareheaded, out into the cool sunshine of the back 
 garden and across the road to the greenhouse. An 
 drew was at the farther end of the nursery behind 
 the greenhouse, and when he saw her coming he 
 stopped his work and stood still and watched her, 
 his plain, kind face, breaking into a contented smile. 
 Sally s hair was blowing all about her forehead, and 
 her fresh calico dress rustling in the wind ; and to 
 Andrew s eyes she was the prettiest girl in the world. 
 
 " Well. Sally ?" he said. And then he added, anx 
 iously, " You re worried ?" 
 
 " Yes, Andrew." Her color came and went, and 
 her eyes rilled. " Oh, Andrew, Robert has been 
 cruelly, cruelly treated ! He Oh, Andrew, what 
 shall I do? People suspect Robert /" she burst out 
 " our Bobby ! They say he is a thief ! That he has 
 stolen something from one of the tutors. Robert !" 
 she ended, with passionate contempt. 
 
 274 
 
SALLY 
 
 Andrew s face grew anxious. " Sally, first of all, 
 are you sure he didn t ?" 
 
 " Why, Andrew ! you doubt Robert ?" 
 
 " No," he said, slowly ; " not any more than I would 
 doubt myself, or anybody. But I can t say it isn t 
 possible. I can t help seeing that side of it." 
 
 " Oh, Andrew ! don t don t ! He is innocent ; he 
 couldn t do that /" 
 
 " I don t think he could, Sally ; he s your brother," 
 Andrew said, simply. Then she gave him Robert s 
 letter. It was a letter full of blustering indig 
 nation a boy s letter, Andrew said ; incoherent, 
 protesting, angry, frightened. Andrew sighed and 
 shook his head when he folded it and handed it back 
 to her. "I ll start to-night, Sally. I ll get a line 
 from Dr. Lavendar to the president, just saying he 
 has known Robert all his life " 
 
 " And he will vouch for him," Sally broke in, with 
 a sob. If she had not been a sweet-hearted woman, 
 she would have added, " if you won t !" But that 
 was not Sally s way. Andrew looked around for a 
 moment, because his gardener might be somewhere 
 about ; and then he kissed her. And she reached 
 up and clun g to him, and cried, and felt certain that 
 he would make everything right. 
 
 "Vouch for Bobby?" said Dr. Lavendar, very red 
 and angry when he heard the story Sally and An 
 drew told him. " Of course I will vouch for Bobby ! 
 Sally, my child, don t worry. Andrew will right the 
 boy in five minutes. If he doesn t, I ll go myself ; 
 I ll send the Bishop !" 
 
 " Oh, Dr. Lavendar," Sally said, the tears rolling 
 down her cheeks, " it is such a comfort to hear you 
 talk !" 
 
 275 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " Well, come, come ! you mustn t cry ! Here s An 
 drew looking as though he were going to be hung 
 at the sight of those tears. How are the wedding 
 clothes coming on ? There ! That s better !" For 
 Sally blushed as happily as every young thing should, 
 and Andrew gazed at her in open pride and joy. 
 
 " Andrew will make it all right, I know," Sally said. 
 
 It was very satisfying to Dr. Lavendar to see how 
 they loved each other. 
 
 So Andrew went. And while he was gone in 
 deed, it must have crossed him on the way another 
 letter came. Alas ! alas ! Poor Sally, stumbling 
 through its maze of excuses and explanations and 
 accusations, read, at last, confession : 
 
 " I only meant to borrow it, of course. It was only 
 $100. Why did he leave it in his desk if he didn t 
 want anybody to take it ? I believe it was a trap ; 
 but I only borrowed it. I meant to put it back as soon 
 as you sent me my allowance. If you weren t so mean 
 about my allowance, I wouldn t have had to borroiv. 
 There s no use making a fuss about it." 
 
 Sally read the letter, and then sat and looked at 
 it. " Our Robert," she said, once or twice. " Fa 
 ther s son " 
 
 After a while she gathered up her courage, poor 
 child, and went to break the dreadful news to Rob 
 ert s mother. 
 
 Later in the day the restless, hopeless day she 
 told Dr. Lavendar. But his amazement and grief, 
 his shame, even, because Robert was one of his chil 
 dren, he said, gave Sally only a dull sense of pity 
 for him. For herself she had no words ; she sat and 
 looked at him, and wondered, -vaguely, why he talked ; 
 
 276 
 
SALLY 
 
 she could not talk. Only when, out of his humilia 
 tion and sorrow, he came to face the practical neces 
 sities did she seem to listen to him. 
 
 " Sally, my child, tell me what you are going to do." 
 
 " Andrew will see the President. I think Robert 
 won t be expelled. But he will come home, of course." 
 
 " No, no," he said, quickly ; " don t spare him ; let 
 the university expel him ! Oh, my child, the Lord 
 in his mercy sends consequences to our sins, or there 
 would be no health in us. Let Robert be ashamed, 
 if you would save his soul alive !" 
 
 Sally looked at him in dull and miserable astonish 
 ment ; he was so insistent that poor Robert should 
 be punished. (" As if the doing it wasn t punishment 
 enough !" she said to herself.) 
 
 " I don t understand, Dr. Lavendar ; but, anyway, 
 I can t have father s son expelled for for what Rob 
 ert has done. I know he didn t mean to do wrong ; 
 it was a sudden temptation, and he didn t realize " 
 Poor Sally broke down and cried. " I m going to 
 have him come home, and take care of him. And 
 love him. And I think people needn t know." 
 
 " You can t love him too much," he said ; " but 
 love him enough to let him suffer, Sally. Shame 
 is wholesome." 
 
 She shook her head. " No, no," she said, passion 
 ately ; " people sha n t know !" 
 
 The old man looked at her pityingly. " Ah, Sally, 
 my girl, when you get old you ll know the worth of 
 pain. Poor child, you can t see the blessing in it 
 yet, can you ? Well, well ; we won t tell any one 
 about it, if you and your mother think best ; but I 
 think you re wrong ; mind, now, I think you re wrong 
 Now, what about the money ?" 
 
 277 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " I have sent it to his tutor." 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 " I don t know what you mean, sir," she said, 
 wearily. 
 
 " I mean, how is Robert to pay it back ?" 
 
 " I ve paid it, Dr. Lavendar," she explained again. 
 And once more he checked her, this time sternly : 
 
 " Sarah, Robert must pay it back. He must earn 
 it. Let his body teach his soul its lesson. Let him 
 work hard, and live plainly. Let him go as a hand 
 in the mills. My child, don t you interfere with 
 Robert s Heavenly Father, and try to make the way 
 of the transgressor easy !" 
 
 Her outcry of pain and entreaty did not move him. 
 
 " Do your duty, Sarah," he said, frowning. And 
 then he added, softening a little : " And after all, 
 Sally, he might as well go to work now. When you 
 and Andrew get married in June, you can t have him 
 tied to your apron-string. You ll have to leave him 
 then." 
 
 " But we won t be married in June," said Sally. 
 
 Ill 
 
 " I hope you won t disapprove," Mrs. Smith said 
 to Dr. Lavendar, when he came and sat beside her 
 in a long, kind, comforting silence, " but we are going 
 to have Robert stay at home. Sally thinks it is best ; 
 he is going to help Andrew in the greenhouse, and 
 Sally can look after him all the time. You know 
 they are not going to be married this summer." 
 
 " Why not ?" said Dr. Lavendar. 
 
 " Oh, I couldn t do without Sally," the poor lady 
 278 
 
SALLY 
 
 said, shrinking and whimpering. " Sally saw that 
 herself. She knows I couldn t get along without 
 her, now. She can manage Robert better than I 
 can. He always had so much will," she ended, sigh 
 ing, and looking tearfully at the initial on her hand 
 kerchief. 
 
 Dr. Lavendar shook his head sadly. 
 
 " You think I m doing wrong, sir ?" 
 
 " Yes, ma am." 
 
 She wept a little, and tried feebly to argue it with 
 him. " He might have some temptation if he went 
 away from us. Oh, dear, dear, dear !" 
 
 But Dr. Lavendar spoke his mind : " Set Bobby to 
 work ; put him on his own legs. He needs some 
 hard knocks ! Andrew s greenhouse is too easy for 
 him. And, I tell you, it isn t right for Sally and 
 Andrew to wait, ma am ; it isn t right." 
 
 " Well, I don t know," she said ; " perhaps it isn t. 
 But I couldn t get along without her, you know." 
 
 And Dr. Lavendar sighed, and gave it up. 
 
 And by-and-by they all settled back into a sad sort 
 of acceptance of the situation ; Robert was sullen 
 and mortified, but, alas, not ashamed. 
 
 Now there are certain great angels which meet us 
 in the way of life : Pain is one; Failure is one; 
 Shame is one. Pain looks us full in the eyes, and 
 we must wrestle with him before he blesses us. Fail 
 ure brings in his stern hand the peace of renuncia 
 tion. Shame bears to us the sense of sin, which is 
 the knowledge of God ; his hidden face shines with 
 the mercy of Heaven and well for us if we may 
 look into it. But, alas, poor Robert looked only at 
 himself ; he had nothing but a small and worthless 
 mortification, which was only wounded vanity. He 
 
 279 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 knew that his sister s marriage had been put off for 
 his sake, and he was angry that it was so ; he knew 
 that Sally watched him with hopeful love, and he 
 was angry at the hope and love ; he knew that he 
 had disgraced his family, so he was angry at his 
 family. 
 
 Dr. Lavendar watched him, sick at heart. The 
 fact is, theft means a moral kink, which is probably 
 congenital (to speak spiritually), and leaves small 
 ground for hope. The tendency may be checked, or 
 at least covered up, but it is sure to break out again, 
 some day, if the man lives long enough. Not that 
 Dr. Lavendar was hopeless ; he was never hopeless 
 of anybody ; I used to think he had expectations 
 for Satan but he was wise ; so he was deeply dis 
 couraged. And he was very much troubled to have 
 Sally s marriage delayed. 
 
 Andrew, however, had conceded almost immedi 
 ately that under the circumstances it was Sally s 
 duty to defer her marriage. " I can see her mother s 
 side of it," he said. Mrs. Smith was so broken by 
 this disgraceful trouble that it would be cruel to 
 take Sally away from her. Perhaps in a year they 
 could be married ; that was what Andrew count 
 ed on. 
 
 But that year of waiting was not like those first, 
 young, sweet years. Mrs. Smith was more helpless 
 than ever ; the great shock of Robert s fault seemed 
 to have cut some spring ; she was never the same 
 woman again. " Sillier than ever," Mrs. Steele said. 
 Certainly she was a little more vague, a little more 
 querulous ; perhaps a little dulled to everything ex 
 cept her love for her oldest son. She was sensitive 
 to any remembrance of his wrong-doing, and quick 
 
 280 
 
SALLY 
 
 to resent what seemed disapproval or even anxiety 
 on Sally s part. 
 
 " You act as if he was the wickedest person in the 
 world !" she would say. " He shouldn t have done 
 it, of course ; but he was thoughtless. And he meant 
 to pay the money back. I don t see anything so very 
 wicked in that," she would sigh, with that singular 
 moral obliquity which in money matters seems to 
 belong to feminine love. 
 
 However, the days came and went, and the months 
 slipped into each other, and the year of watching 
 over Robert was nearly ended. But Mrs. Smith did 
 not grow any stronger, or any more sensible ; so, 
 by-and-by, when nearly another year had gone, Sally 
 began to say that she could not go away from home 
 until Esther was old enough to take her place. 
 "When Esther is eighteen, Andrew, she can help 
 mother. That s only two years more," she said, 
 with courage. 
 
 " But you took charge of everything when you 
 were seventeen, Sally," he reminded her, moodily. 
 
 " Yes, Andrew ; but that was different. I had to. 
 And I can see now I really was too young. Now 
 wasn t I ?" 
 
 And Andrew, with reluctant truth, was obliged 
 to admit that he thought she was. " A girl oughtn t 
 to have such responsibilities," he said ; " I can see 
 that side of it, Sally." Then he stopped and calcu 
 lated for a minute. "Well, Sally, when you are 
 twenty-seven, and I am twenty-seven and a half " 
 
 " Yes, Andrew." 
 
 So the definite period of postponement was faced, 
 and the days went bravely. That winter Robert 
 had a chance to read law in an office in Mercer, 
 19 281 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 which gave him some sort of hold on life again, while 
 at the same time it lifted the cloud of his idle and 
 discontented presence at home. Grace and Esther 
 shot up into big girls. Esther drawing and paint 
 ing, and calling herself an artist, according to Old 
 Chester lights ; and Grace, a queer, morbid, anxious 
 child, who was always fumbling about in her mind 
 for a vocation. " Isn t it strange ?" Sally confided 
 once to Andrew ; " when I was a girl I never was 
 thinking what I was going to do. Why, there isn t 
 anything special to do except just grow up, and 
 please mother, and make the little boys happy, and 
 go to church on Sundays. It seems to me that s 
 enough," Sally said, thoughtfully. " But I suppose 
 that s because I haven t any talents." 
 
 " Esther will be seventeen the 5th of next month," 
 Andrew reminded her. "A year and one month 
 more, Sally 1" 
 
 " Yes, Andrew ; only a year and one month. Oh, 
 Andrew, did you see her last picture ? It s wonder 
 ful !" And Sally, with careful pride, displayed a 
 drawing of Clytie. " She copied it from that Parian 
 marble one in the parlor, you know. Miss Annie 
 Shields says she ought to go and study drawing at 
 the School of Design in Mercer. She s wild to ! 
 And I don t know why she shouldn t, if we can af 
 ford it." 
 
 " Well, now, Sally," Andrew said, " why can t she ? 
 Let me help." 
 
 And such was the simplicity of Sally s love that 
 she saw no reason why he should not help, if help 
 were needed. " But I don t need it, Andrew. I 
 think I can manage her board ; and the tuition is 
 free, you know. But but do you think it would be 
 
 282 
 
SALLY 
 
 well, Andrew ?" she said, with a sudden break in her 
 voice. " You know " 
 
 " Yes ; but Esther is different. I would trust 
 Esther anywhere." 
 
 He saw his Sally s eyes fill at the remembrance of 
 how together they had planned that other flight into 
 the world. Poor Robert ! It had cut deep, that stab 
 of shame and sorrow. Andrew took her hand in his 
 and kissed it ; and she put her head down on his 
 shoulder, and knew he understood. 
 
 So it was settled ; and when the fall term opened, 
 Esther, excited, eager, hopeful, started out to " study 
 art" for one year. 
 
 w She has great talent," Miss Annie Shields told 
 Sally, with enthusiasm. " We ll hear from her one 
 of these days ! She ll be in Paris in one of the stu 
 dios before we know it." 
 
 " In Paris ?" Sally said, with a startled look. 
 
 Miss Shields laughed a little, and put her arm 
 about her. " My dear, Esther is going to be an 
 artist, and that means a long road to travel." 
 
 " Why, yes, of course," Sally agreed ; " but " 
 Then she stopped, and her open face clouded a little. 
 
 But whatever her disturbed thought was, she ban 
 ished it. Esther was going to have a winter at the 
 School of Design ; then she would come home, and 
 Sally would get married. 
 
 That was a very peaceful winter to the " real 
 Smiths." As early as January, although the family 
 laughed at her a little, Sally began to plan her wed 
 ding clothes again, and the unfinished wedding dress 
 was taken from its wrapping of silver paper to be 
 altered, so as to be in the fashion, and finished for 
 the wedding was to be in June. Esther s visits, and 
 
 283 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 her work, and her " standing," were weekly interests. 
 There were good reports of Robert from the law 
 yer s office in Mercer. The two boys David and 
 John were vigorous, open-air little fellows, who kept 
 Grace and Sally busy mending and brushing, and 
 helping them with their lessons. Grace was more 
 contented, too ; which was a great comfort to Sally. 
 The child began to read devout books and have in 
 tense religious experiences ; and she would have 
 gone to church three times a day, if only Dr. Lav- 
 endar had been of the same mind in regard to ser 
 vices. But when she said to him once, with timid 
 passion, that she wished he would have church on 
 all the saints days he only replied, cheerfully, that 
 every day was a Saint s day for staying at home and 
 helping her mother and Sally. " Don t ye forget 
 that, Gracie, my dear !" he said, his kind eyes twink 
 ling at her in such a friendly way that the snub did 
 not hurt her feelings ; perhaps it would have been 
 more wholesome if it had. 
 
 " She s a little saint," Sally told Andrew. " Oh, 
 Andrew, that child makes me really ashamed of my 
 self ; she s only fifteen, but she cares more for for 
 things like that than I ever did in all my life." 
 
 " I think she is a good child," Andrew agreed ; 
 " but you re good enough, Sally. I don t think I d 
 want you to be any better," he said, thoughtfully. 
 
 " I m not good at all !" she said, laughing. " I d 
 never have the patience to read all those books 
 Gracie does." 
 
 " Well, it isn t all books, religion," Andrew said. 
 They were standing by the bench of seedling carna 
 tions in the greenhouse, and Sally had been watch 
 ing him splitting down the stems in search of a fat 
 
 284 
 
SALLY 
 
 white grub that was turning all the cool gray-green 
 into a sickly yellow. Andrew touched his flowers 
 as if he loved them, and when he tore open the heart 
 of a carnation to discover the enemy, his mild face 
 puckered with sympathy. It was a sunny winter 
 morning, with a glare of snow outside ; but in the 
 greenhouse the air was moist, and warm, and full 
 of the scent of roses and wet earth and growing 
 things. There was a soft green mould on the azalea 
 pots and on the curb of a little pool, which was sunk 
 in the flag-stones and bordered by callas ; the water 
 was still and dark, with a sudden glitter now and 
 then in its placid depths, when a goldfish turned his 
 shining side, or came up to the surface for a fly. 
 
 Suddenly Andrew put down his knife and twine, 
 and took Sally s two hands in his. " Oh, Sally," he 
 said, " you are good ! Sometimes I think if you 
 weren t so good we would have been married by this 
 time !" His face quivered as he spoke. Sally slipped 
 her arm through his silently. " We ve waited so long," 
 the young man said, with a hard note in his voice. 
 
 Sally put her cheek against his shoulder. " Yet I 
 couldn t leave mother, could I, dear ?" 
 
 Andrew took up his knife and twine again with 
 a long sigh. " No, Sally, no. I can see that side 
 of it. But" 
 
 IV 
 
 Robert did so well in the lawyer s office that by- 
 and-by his good-humored assurance came back to 
 him, his old intelligent certainty of ability. And on 
 the strength of it plus his allowance from the fam 
 ily purse he got married. 
 
 285 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 He did not see fit to notify his family, however, 
 until the deed was done, and a smart, pretty Mercer 
 girl, " of no family whatever," Old Chester said, his 
 wife. It would be interesting to know why, occa 
 sionally, a person of decent and refined traditions 
 commits, without cause, the vulgarity of a secret 
 marriage. However, nobody can say there is any 
 thing actually wrong about it ; unless bad taste is 
 wrong. Sally and her mother may have felt hot 
 and ashamed, but they kept their own counsel, and 
 said they were glad to have Bobby have a home of 
 his own. Grace looked grave and troubled ; but Es 
 ther spoke out her angry thought : " Robert ought 
 to do something for mother, instead of getting mar 
 ried in this low, underhand way !" 
 
 " Don t you think, Esther," Sally suggested, " that 
 perhaps you ought to live with Robert now, in Mer 
 cer, instead of boarding? He spoke of it to me. It 
 would help him a little, and it would seem kinder." 
 
 " Indeed I won t !" Esther declared, hotly. "I m 
 ashamed of him, Sally. I don t want to have any 
 thing to do with him, or his wife either. I know 
 she s horrid, or she wouldn t have married him." 
 
 This decided expression of Esther s will troubled 
 the elder sister, and it came upon another trouble 
 which was heavy on her heart, and which must be 
 told to Andrew. 
 
 It was dusk, and they were walking along the river 
 road ; Sally was very silent, which was not usual, 
 and Andrew was talking a good deal of their own 
 little comfortable commonplace interests. They 
 stopped on the bridge for a few minutes, and leaned 
 on the hacked and whittled hand-rail, looking some 
 times at the dark, smooth current below them, and 
 
 286 
 
SALLY 
 
 sometimes at the black fringe of trees along the 
 bank, but mostly at each other. A prosaic pair, per- 
 hcfps, one might have thought them ; Sally was get 
 ting stout, and she had taken to spectacles lately, 
 because she was near-sighted ; she wore her hair 
 drawn rather tightly back from her face, and twist 
 ed into a little knob ; it was the quickest way to 
 arrange it, she said; and when every minute in your 
 day is full, the quickest arrangement of your hair 
 is a consideration. Andrew, tall and thin, had deep 
 lines on his forehead, that meant patient disappoint 
 ment ; and he had the stoop which comes from bend 
 ing over cold frames and poking about roots for 
 borers, which made him look much older than he 
 was. 
 
 " Esther doesn t like Robert s wife, Andrew," Sal 
 ly said; "and she won t live with them. Grace is 
 going to Mercer next month to visit her ; Grace is 
 so good about such things !" 
 
 " Well, Sally," Andrew said, in a comforting voice, 
 " it would be nice if Esther felt it her duty to be 
 with Robert but I can see her side of it. She 
 doesn t like his wife, and it wouldn t be pleasant to 
 live with her. And you know Esther s young yet." 
 
 " Yes," Sally agreed, with a sigh. 
 
 " Besides, she only has to finish this term," An 
 drew reminded her. 
 
 Sally drew in her breath, and looked away from 
 him. "Andrew," she said, "Esther says that she 
 wants to have four years at the School of Design, 
 instead of one ; she says it is an actual necessity. 
 That unless she can take the whole course" Sal 
 ly s voice began to break "it is just a waste of 
 money to have taken part of it." 
 
 287 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " Why, but, Sally" he exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes, I know, I know. But I don t see what can 
 be done. I can see that to stop in the middle is bad. 
 Only I never thought of it when she began." 
 
 " But, Sally," he protested, " we cannot possibly 
 wait any longer !" 
 
 " I m afraid we ll have to ; of course I couldn t 
 leave mother and the boys to Grace ; she isn t 
 nearly old enough. You see that, Andrew ? Oh, 
 Andrew please help me please !" Sally said, and 
 put her face down on her arms on the railing, and 
 he felt that she was crying. The poor fellow stood 
 speechless beside her. The river whispered and 
 washed against the wooden pier in mid-stream. Sal 
 ly did not speak. 
 
 " But, Sally," he said, " why, only this afternoon 
 I was counting up the days ; and this would make 
 it three years! Sally" he caught his breath, al 
 most in a sob "you belong to me !" 
 
 At that she lifted her head, with a smile that was 
 like sudden sunshine on a cloudy day. " Why, An 
 drew, that s just it ! That s what makes it possible 
 to wait ; and you see for yourself I can t leave home. 
 Mother is really an invalid now ; and think how 
 much care Johnny and David are. Grace couldn t 
 take charge of the house. Esther wants to be an 
 artist, and it would be cruel to take the chance away 
 from her, wouldn t it ?" 
 
 " How about the cruelty for us ?" Andrew said, 
 breathing hard. 
 
 " But Esther is eighteen now," Sally said ; " she 
 really has a right to decide for herself. Only it s 
 hard on you, Andrew." Sally s little round chin 
 shook, and she looked up at him, trying not to cry. 
 
 288 
 
SALLY 
 
 It was so hard that Andrew, though he set himself 
 to cheer her, quietly, in his own mind, refused to 
 accept the delay. He evolved a plan : he would ask 
 Mrs. Smith whether, if he and Sally got married, 
 they might come and live with her. " I d have to 
 bring mother," he reflected ; "she isn t well enough 
 to live alone ; but they owe Sally that." 
 
 However, owing doesn t mean paying, as any 
 butcher or baker or candlestick-maker can tell you ; 
 and when it comes to relations, the payment of con 
 sideration is, alas, even more uncertain. Mrs. Smith 
 cried, and said of course Sally must do as she thought 
 best. If she was so anxious to get married that she 
 had to bring strangers into the house, why, she must 
 do it, that was all. Then she told Sally hysterically 
 that she had always disliked Mrs. Steele ; she was 
 a disagreeable, bad - tempered old woman, and she 
 didn t know why, at her time of life, she should have 
 to live in the same house with her. " If you ll wait 
 a little while," she said, " I won t be in your way. 
 Andrew s been content to wait ten years now ; I don t 
 see why he should suddenly be in such a dreadful 
 hurry. Still do as you want, Sally ; you ve always 
 had your own way, and you always will !" 
 
 But even if Mrs. Smith had been complaisant, An 
 drew s plan could not have been carried out. Mrs. 
 Steele was aghast at the very idea of such a thing. 
 She would do anything in the world for Andrew 
 in reason ; but if Sally Smith didn t love him enough 
 to leave her mother for him, she had better not mar 
 ry him. In her young days a girl did not expect to 
 take her husband home to live with her. And as for 
 going and living in the same house with that silly 
 Smith woman As for giving up her own home 
 
 289 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 in Upper Chester, and going back to Old Chester 
 (which she had always hated) well, really! An 
 drew must be crazy ! 
 
 " Then let me bring the Smiths here," Andrew 
 said, boldly. At which Mrs. Steele spoke her mind 
 with such unpleasant frankness that her son grew 
 white with anger. 
 
 " Sally s kept you dangling round ten years," she 
 said, " and I guess now she s afraid of being an old 
 maid, and so she thinks she better take you, for fear 
 she won t get another chance. I guess she " 
 
 "Hold your tongue /" said Andrew Steele. 
 
 But he gave his project up. 
 
 Yes, of course, as Sally said, it was hard; but after 
 the first shock of it, he set himself to make the 
 best of it. When Esther should finish her course 
 at the School of Design, and could come home, he 
 and Sally would be married. When she was thir 
 ty and he was thirty and a half, their time would 
 come. 
 
 Of course, Old Chester had its opinion of all this : 
 Willy King s wife even went so far as to say that it 
 was somebody s duty to tell the " real Smiths," flatly 
 and frankly, that they were just sacrificing Sally to 
 their own selfishness. There is every reason to sup 
 pose that Martha King took this duty upon herself, 
 for it was known that after a call from her, Mrs. 
 Smith cried steadily for two days ; which lost Sally 
 a night s sleep, and did not hasten her wedding-day 
 at all, for Esther continued to draw ginger jars and 
 lemons, with folds of red cloth arranged behind them, 
 and to dream of a great future. Once she told Sally 
 she thought she was foolish not to get married. 
 "Mother could get along," she said. 
 
 290 
 
SALLY 
 
 " No, dear, she couldn t," Sally said, and that was 
 all there was to it. 
 
 When the fall term opened, Sally again suggested 
 that Esther should board with Robert ; " mother has 
 to help him a little, you know, Esther, and it would 
 be easier for everybody if you would live with 
 him." 
 
 " It wouldn t be easier for me, my dear," Esther 
 said, laughing ; "his wife is simply impossible. She 
 uses perfumery, and has an awful voice ! And now 
 that there is going to be a baby no, I thank you !" 
 
 Robert s baby came that winter ; and though he 
 was doing fairly well, considering how young he was, 
 his mother had to help him sometimes, which kept 
 the family purse rather low. As for his wife, she 
 came to visit her mother-in-law once, and told Sally 
 she thought she was a perfect idiot not to marry her 
 fellow, and get a house of her own with new furniture 
 in it. "All these big, clumsy mahogany things have 
 no style," said Carrie. " When the house comes to 
 Rob, I m going to send em all to auction, Sally. 
 You can get beautiful parlor sets in Mercer now 
 real cheap. Red and green rep, and tan terry, with 
 backs all turned in grape-vines and things." 
 
 But Carrie, in her way, liked her husband s family, 
 and was generous to them. She gave Grace a really 
 pretty necklace, and was much affronted at the girl s 
 attitude towards it. 
 
 " You re very kind, sister Carrie," Grace said ; 
 " but I don t think jewelry is right. I think it is 
 sinful. So I ll give it to Esther or Sally, if you don t 
 mind?" 
 
 " I don t mind what you do with it, I m sure," 
 Mrs. Robert said, with a toss of her head. " But I 
 
 291 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 think you are a very queer little girl, to try and 
 make Esther or Sally sinful." 
 
 Grace looked at her with her big, visionary blue 
 eyes, and said, " I don t know what you mean, sister 
 Carrie." 
 
 " Well, don t bother," Carrie said, crossly. " Here, 
 give it back to me. I don t mind being sinful." 
 
 Grace, horrified, crept away and prayed for this 
 lost soul passionately, and then as passionately for 
 her own soul. Just then Grace s soul was of great 
 importance to Grace. Her church-going became a 
 little inconvenient at times ; but Sally, tender and 
 reverent of her little sister s devoutness, was always 
 glad to have the child go. 
 
 " She s a little saint," she told her mother, her 
 kind eyes beaming behind her glasses. 
 
 " Oh yes, she s good," Mrs. Smith said, vaguely ; 
 "but I think she ought to know more about house 
 work and sewing." 
 
 " But she hasn t time, really," Sally said ; " she 
 reads aloud in the Poorhouse Infirmary every other 
 morning, and she has her Sunday - school class to 
 look after, and she goes to Upper Chester three 
 times a week to distribute tracts. Besides, Gracie 
 doesn t like house - work ; and I love to do her 
 mending for her. But, mother, do you know since 
 she came back from Mercer she s possessed that 
 Dr. Lavender should have an early communion 
 Celebration, she calls it at six. She went to a 
 very high church there. Imagine Dr. Lavendar get 
 ting up at five o clock ! And who would go, any 
 way ? Nobody but Grace, I m sure. She told Dr. 
 Lavendar about it, and what do you suppose he said ? 
 * Rags of popery ! Rags of popery ! " 
 
 292 
 
SALLY 
 
 Afterwards it was the winter before Esther fin 
 ished her fourth year at the School of Design when 
 Grace, burning with the passion of her divine pur 
 pose, told her sister that she wanted to enter a sister 
 hood and that she believed herself "called," Sally 
 looked back over the years of the child s singularly 
 absorbed religious life, and admitted that the " call 
 ing " was from heaven. 
 
 " Mother dear," the oldest daughter urged, " you 
 know Grace is old enough to know her own mind ; 
 and, indeed, indeed, I would not dare to interfere. 
 Grace has been like this all her life. I have always 
 felt that she was nearly an angel, anyhow !" 
 
 Mrs. Smith wept, in a weak, desultory way, and 
 said that when she was young she never heard of a 
 Protestant girl going into a convent to be a nun. 
 
 " It isn t a convent, mother dear," Sally explained ; 
 " it s a sisterhood of our Church. They ve had them 
 in England a good while, but this is the first one in 
 this country. And Grace won t be a nun ; she ll be 
 a sister, and learn to be a nurse, so she can take care 
 of the sick." 
 
 " She d better be a sister to Johnny and David," 
 sighed Mrs. Smith ; " and she can nurse me, Sally. 
 I m sure I m sick enough," the poor lady said. " And 
 I don t see how she can go off and leave it all on you. 
 It seems to me, if being a good daughter is anything, 
 you re just as religious as Grace, every single bit." 
 
 " Oh, mother dear," protested Sally, " you know 
 I m not like Grace ! I wish I were," she ended, 
 with a sigh. 
 
 For Sally, who was thirty and stout and very near 
 sighted, never knew that she was one of the shining 
 ones. 
 
 293 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Yet, alas, how the shining ones, by their very shin 
 ing, do make it easy for the rest of us to walk in dark 
 ness ! 
 
 So Grace, with all the egotism of the religious 
 temperament, set about saving her clean, narrow, 
 good little soul. Sally had had a passing thought 
 that, as Esther s art had held her from those house 
 hold duties which she was to assume when Sally 
 married, Grace, nearly eighteen, might offer to take 
 them up, even though (as Sally had to acknowledge) 
 the child was singularly incapable owing to the re 
 ligious preoccupation of these later years. But, af 
 ter all, Sally told herself, humbly, Grace had chosen 
 the better part. To give her life to the service of 
 God how much greater that was than just the com 
 mon, easy duties of love ! 
 
 So Sally and Andrew waited for the end of Esther s 
 course at the School of Design. 
 
 " I don t like it," Dr. Lavendar said, impatiently 
 "I don t like it at all. Andrew, I wouldn t put up 
 with it ! Go and tell Sally so, and I ll come round 
 after supper and marry you." 
 
 Andrew laughed, and took up a trowelful of sand, 
 and sifted it over the roots of his callas. Then he 
 frowned, poor fellow ! and sighed. " I m afraid it 
 can t be helped. Now just look at it : Grace is go 
 ing away, and Esther is at her school. Somebody 
 has got to run the house ; Mrs. Smith isn t well 
 enough to do it. I can t help seeing that side of it, 
 Dr. Lavender," he ended, gloomily. 
 
 "Well," Dr. Lavendar said, impatiently, "it all 
 294 
 
SALLY 
 
 seems to me perfectly unnecessary. I can think of 
 a dozen ways this thing could be arranged, and you 
 and Sally married. First place, you needn t have 
 waited on Robert s account." 
 
 " That s all said and done," Andrew reminded him, 
 mildly ; " but I d like to hear even half a dozen ways 
 this could be arranged, sir ?" 
 
 " Very well ; I ll tell you : get married next week, 
 and let Sally come home every few days and look 
 after that poor, helpless mother of hers." 
 
 " Mrs. Smith needs her all the time," Andrew ob 
 jected, with a sigh. 
 
 " Then let Grace take care of her ! I don t approve 
 of this running out into the world to look for a duty 
 when you have a hundred right under your nose !" 
 
 " Well, yes ; but Grace has made up her mind," 
 Andrew said, sadly. 
 
 " Then let Sally make up her mind," Dr. Lavendar 
 retorted ; " or else well, why don t you and Sally 
 live at home with Mrs. Smith ?" 
 
 " I can t leave mother ; she s old and feeble, and 
 needs me." 
 
 " Take her along." 
 
 " She wouldn t like to leave her own home, sir. I 
 can see her side of it." 
 
 " Well, then, hire somebody to take care of her 
 or else to take Sally s place with Mrs. Smith." 
 
 "We haven t money enough for that," Andrew 
 answered, calmly. " And I don t believe Mrs. Smith 
 could get along without Sally ; nobody could take 
 her place." 
 
 "Then let Esther give up this nonsense of hers !" 
 Dr. Lavendar said, angrily. He did not like to be 
 pushed into a corner by Andrew, or anybody else. 
 
 295 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " I tell you, Andrew," he went on, pounding the flag 
 stones with his umbrella, " you ought to have gone 
 to the Smiths half a dozen years ago, and pulled 
 the bell, and said, I ve come for Sally ; and tucked 
 her under your arm and walked off with her. This 
 virtue of self-sacrifice has brought forth vice. Those 
 other Smith children Well, never mind that !" 
 
 " I think it has made the others selfish," Andrew 
 agreed ; " but it has been Sally s conscience," he add 
 ed, tenderly. 
 
 " Sally s fiddlesticks !" Dr. Lavendar burst out. 
 " Don t talk about conscience. Conscience without 
 reason isn t of the Lord !" 
 
 " Oh, well, it s only four months now," Andrew 
 said. " Esther comes home the middle of June, you 
 know. Mind you re ready, Dr. Lavendar ! It s to 
 be on the 2oth." 
 
 As for Dr. Lavendar, he went plodding home, 
 grumbling and frowning. "It s outrageous ; it s pre 
 posterous ! I ll tell Esther what I think of it, when 
 I see her." 
 
 But the telling Esther did little good. Perhaps 
 because it came at a bad moment. . . . 
 
 Esther had come home as usual at the end of the 
 week ; and on Saturday morning she and Sally went 
 up to the garret, in response to an appeal from 
 Grace for some clothing to give away. It was a 
 dull February day ; the garret was dark and chilly, 
 and smelled of camphor. 
 
 "Good gracious!" Sally said, panting .-and laugh 
 ing. "These stairs do make you out of breath !" 
 
 "You re getting fat, my dear," said Esther, stand 
 ing up, slim and pretty, with an amused curl on 
 her lip. 
 
 296 
 
SALLY 
 
 " I suppose I am," Sally agreed, ruefully ; " and I 
 don t know why, for I m sure I am always running 
 up and down stairs, and that ought to make me 
 thin." 
 
 " It s a good conscience," Esther declared, " and 
 no worry. Now I ve such a lot to worry me " 
 
 But for once Sally did not press for information 
 so that she might sympathize. She got up, and 
 opened a drawer in a tall bureau, and folded back a 
 sheet of silver paper. " Why, it s your wedding dress, 
 isn t it !" Esther said, looking in. " Heavens ! how 
 old-fashioned, Sally." 
 
 " I m going to alter it over," Sally said, touching 
 it with loving hands ; " the silk is just as good as 
 ever." 
 
 " You can never get into it," Esther told her, care 
 lessly ; " and I d wear gray, Sally, at your age. Don t 
 you think it s more suitable ?" Sally looked troubled 
 Esther was the criterion of taste in the Smith 
 family. 
 
 " Well, I don t know," she said. " I like this, you 
 know. I think I d rather alter it, even if it isn t 
 quite so nice. I m going to work on it next week. 
 You know it s going to be the 2oth of June, Esther." 
 She stood by the open drawer a minute, lifting a soft 
 fold of the unfinished dress, or turning over a sleeve, 
 and then pressing it smoothly back, smiling to her 
 self and thinking how the days were narrowing down 
 on the calendar. Esther winced at the sight. Sally 
 was too heavy and too old to be sentimental, the girl 
 told herself. Her taste was offended. It is surpris 
 ing how often pure goodness does offend our taste. 
 
 " Come along, Sally," she said ; " don t be spooney, 
 my dear. Do let s get through this clothes business ; 
 *o 297 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 there are lots of things I want to talk to you about. 
 Gracious, Sally, how do you manage to attend to this 
 sort of thing ? I wish Grace would look after her 
 own charities ! This camphor is horrid. It makes 
 me nervous even to think about fussing with 
 clothes." 
 
 Sally laughed, and shut the drawer, and went to 
 work heartily. "You ll get used to it, my dear," 
 she said ; " but you needn t do it now. Sit down 
 there and talk to me." So Esther sat down, and 
 Sally unfolded, and folded again, and sprinkled cam 
 phor. And when she had finished, Esther was tired 
 to death, she said, and Sally was hot and dusty and 
 out of breath ; so they went out and sat on the gar 
 ret stairs to rest and cool off. There was a window 
 on the landing, and they could look out across the 
 brown February landscape to the line of hills, gray 
 and vague in the mist. 
 
 "Why, there s Andrew over in the nursery," Sally 
 said, screwing up her near-sighted eyes. " See him, 
 Esther ?" 
 
 " Oh, Sally, for pity s sake ! don t do that way with 
 your eyes ! If you only knew how it looked. Sally, 
 I want to talk to you about my work. I ve been 
 talking to Mrs. Tom Gordon (how she does adore 
 that fat husband of hers !), and she said I would nev 
 er really do anything if I only studied in Mercer. 
 So I the fact is, I ve decided to go abroad for 
 three years." 
 
 Sally turned and looked at her, open - mouthed. 
 Then Esther, a little nervously, but with a wiry de 
 termination in her face, went on with her story : 
 " I m sorry, of course, if it interferes with any of 
 your plans, but I ve just got to go. I can t live 
 
 298 
 
SALLY 
 
 unless I go on with my art. You can t understand 
 it, because you haven t the artistic temperament ; 
 but I tell you I d simply rather die than live the 
 way you do in Old Chester ; with no interests, and 
 accomplishing nothing." 
 
 Sally heard her out in silence ; she leaned her 
 cheek on her dusty hand and looked over at An 
 drew pruning some bushes in the plantation ; it 
 had begun to rain in a fitful, uncertain way, and 
 she shivered a little, there on the draughty landing. 
 
 " Esther," she said, in a low voice, " I think you 
 have some duties to mother, and the boys, and " 
 
 " I have a duty to myself," the girl broke in, pas 
 sionately. " Sally, my art is my life. Nobody has 
 any right to ask me to give it up just to to pack 
 coats away in camphor. I can t do it. No ; there s 
 no use talking. I can t. Why did you send me to 
 the School of Design at all, if it wasn t to fulfil my 
 genius? Why did you do it?" 
 
 " I don t know," Sally said, dully. 
 
 Of course, afterwards, they discussed it at length ; 
 and by-and-by Sally was pushed into her last corner. 
 
 " I don t see how we can afford it," she said, with 
 a worn look. 
 
 " Oh, I can manage the money part of it," Esther 
 assured her. When Sally got down to expense, 
 Esther saw consent ahead. But, indeed, consent 
 was a matter of form ; she had made up her mind to 
 go, with or without it. As for the expense, she had 
 settled all the details of that before she announced 
 her determination ; she was to pay her way by cer 
 tain services which she was to render to an older 
 and richer girl with whom she was to go. " I sha n t 
 
 299 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 ask you to help me," she told her sister, with all the 
 cruelty of youth. After all, there is nothing quite so 
 cruel as this beautiful, fleeting, innocent thing called 
 Youth. 
 
 It was at this time that Dr. Lavendar got his 
 chance to tell Esther what he thought of the situa 
 tion : he met her the afternoon of that very Satur 
 day when she had broken her purpose to Sally. 
 " Esther, my child," he said, " I want to have a word 
 with you." 
 
 " All right," said Esther, carelessly ; which made 
 Dr. Lavendar look at her sharply. His young peo 
 ple did not use that tone with him. But Esther used 
 it ; and when he had said his say, she answered him 
 in the same careless way, but briefly, and to the point. 
 
 " I don t see why I should give up my life just to 
 let Sally get married." 
 
 Then Dr. Lavendar tried argument. Esther was 
 plainly bored, but she listened with what politeness 
 she could. Only when, in a moment of irritation, he 
 said, bluntly, " After all, now, Esther, what good is 
 all this art business ? I don t see that anything but 
 your own amusement is served by making pictures. 
 I don t see that the world is any better for your 
 work " only then did she flash out at him : " Well, 
 if it comes to that, Dr. Lavendar, I don t see that 
 the world will be any better for Sally s getting mar 
 ried ! She ll have a lot of children, and there are too 
 many people in the world now half of *em can t get 
 a living." 
 
 Dr. Lavendar was very much displeased, and a 
 good deal shocked. He had never heard a young 
 woman allude to such matters ; but when Esther 
 added, " Anyhow, I can t do anything about it ; I m 
 
 300 
 
SALLY 
 
 going abroad to study," then he was angry. " Es 
 ther," he said, "I am grieved and disappointed in 
 you ! I feel it my duty to tell you so. And I shall 
 advise Sally and your mother not to allow it." 
 
 "Allow it ?" said Esther, opening her eyes. " Why, 
 I m of age, Dr. Lavendar !" and then she said good 
 bye, majestically. 
 
 Dr. Lavender stood looking after her, shaking his 
 head, too distressed for Sally to laugh at the child s 
 airs. " Well," he said, " Sally, God bless her ! is re 
 sponsible for this. It s all her fault !" He told Sal 
 ly so. " You ve got a monopoly of unselfishness, my 
 dear," he said, with a twinkle in his eye, but half 
 sadly. " You grow in grace ; but it s at the expense 
 of your family !" 
 
 And Sally, who looked a little older these last few 
 days, laughed in her cheerful way, and supposed that 
 this pathetic truth was a joke. 
 
 As for Andrew "And what about us?" he said, 
 roughly. And then he cried out, with passion, " My 
 darling !" a word so unusual that Sally blushed to 
 her forehead, and hid her face against his breast. 
 
 It was characteristic of the relationship between 
 these two that, in all the pleadings and protests of 
 the poor deferred lover, Sally never made the offer of 
 convention and custom to release him. She never 
 thought of such a thing ; and Andrew would not 
 have understood it if she had. There are certain 
 ties from which there is no release : motherhood is 
 one ; marriage is sometimes one ; and that particular 
 sort of love which, rooted in human passion, yet bears 
 friendship as its blossom, is another. There was noth 
 ing for Andrew to do, Sally thought, but wait. And 
 Andrew, protesting, waited. 
 
 301 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 VI 
 
 Afterwards, when Sally looked back upon it, this 
 period of waiting seemed to be happiness. 
 
 The boys were doing well ; Mrs. Smith seemed 
 really a little stronger ; and there was an absence of 
 jars and worries and heartaches, which really consti 
 tuted happiness, Sally thought. But she did not 
 know it until a real and terrible unhappiness knocked 
 at her door, and showed her this peaceful truth. 
 
 Robert. He was the unhappiness. Sally never 
 quite understood it, and his mother never believed 
 it but it was something about money. Robert was 
 so " misunderstood," he said, that he was obliged to 
 leave his country. It was that or jail. So, sudden 
 ly, secretly, in the night, he disappeared. 
 
 Carrie came and told them, blazing with anger at 
 the fugitive, who had left her penniless. " I suppose 
 I ve got to go to work," she said " me ! after being 
 used to take my comfort. For my folks won t do a 
 thing, they re so mad at him. Anyway, they can t ; 
 they re as poor as Job s turkey. But I ll tell you 
 one thing, I won t carry all those children on my 
 back ; I ll tell you that, Mrs. Smith ! I ll take care 
 of baby, but I can t do for the rest. I can t /" Then 
 she burst out crying. " I ll work and support baby 
 and I ; but you ll take the rest of em, won t you 
 Sally ?" she said, miserably. 
 
 " Yes, Carrie," Sally told her, briefly. 
 
 She could not speak. She could only go to Andrew. 
 
 " If it were only death," she used to think ; " if 
 Robert had only died, and these children had come 
 to us !" 
 
 302 
 
SALLY 
 
 But Robert did not die ; on the contrary, a winter 
 in Italy greatly improved his health. He wrote regu 
 larly to his sister, acknowledging her remittances, 
 and blessing her for her goodness to his children. 
 He apparently forgot his wrong-doing, though once 
 or twice, in his letters, he referred in a good-humored 
 way to his " mistake," which, he said, " no one re 
 gretted more than he." " He has repented," Mrs. 
 Smith used to say, angrily, to Sally ; " I don t know 
 what more you want ! You re so hard on him." 
 Sally used to answer Robert s letters, sadly and pa 
 tiently, and with no reproaches ; that was Sally s 
 way. And she devoted herself to his children. These 
 three little people, so tragically bereaved, meant un 
 ceasing care and love. Mrs. Smith, too, became more 
 helpless than ever. Mrs. Steele, whose antagonism 
 for the poor foolish lady had become a fixed idea, 
 was herself an invalid now, and very dependent upon 
 Andrew, who became almost as good a nurse in those 
 days as Sally. So, with these claims upon them, the 
 middle-aged lovers could only wait they called it 
 waiting ; but nobody ever thought of their marry 
 ing. They were permanently lovers. 
 
 To be sure, they said to each other, that when 
 Esther came home But just after Robert s down 
 fall Esther married a stout, stupid, good-hearted 
 Englishman, as poor as a mouse, and unable to look 
 at a picture without growing sleepy. She put down 
 her brushes on the birth of her first child, and she 
 wrote Sally, in the fulness and happiness of her 
 heart, that " home was woman s sphere." And Old 
 Chester said she was quite right. 
 
 Robert s children had been with their grandmother 
 three years, when Dr. Lavendar made up his mind 
 
 303 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 that this had lasted long enough, and rose in his 
 wrath. That was how it came about that he made 
 his journey out into the world. 
 
 It was a long time since Dr. Lavendar had vent 
 ured farther than Mercer ; and he made as many 
 and as solemn preparations as though he were going 
 to the ends of the earth. He " put his house in or 
 der," he said ; he burned some old letters ; he added 
 a codicil to his will ; and he arranged for his grizzled 
 little dog, Danny. Then he fared forth into the 
 world. 
 
 He did not tell any one in Old Chester his object, 
 so no one had apprised " Sister Mary Eunice" that 
 she was to see him. She had been told that a cler 
 gyman wished to see her in the parlor of the hos 
 pital, and she came down-stairs with her soft, swift, 
 sliding step, her brown robes clinging about her feet, 
 and her ebony and silver cross dangling from her 
 waist. Her face was the pure, austere, devout face 
 of the little girl who used to kneel at Dr. Lavendar s 
 communion-rail, and come to every possible service, 
 and wish there were three times as many more. 
 
 " Why, Grace !" he said, getting up to greet her, 
 and holding out his hands, but staring at her through 
 his spectacles with astonished eyes. 
 
 " Dear Father Lavendar !" she murmured. 
 
 Dr. Lavendar sat down, with a distinct sense of 
 shock. Sister Mary Eunice sat down too, with her 
 eyes dropped, and her hands folded in her lap. She 
 told him how glad she was to see him, and how much 
 she wanted to hear all about dear Old Chester, and 
 her mother, and Sally, and the boys. " You ve just 
 seen them ; it s good to see any one who has really 
 seen them." She raised her eyes with a swift look, 
 
 304 
 
SALLY 
 
 and dropped them again. " I get letters, of course, 
 but it isn t like seeing them." 
 
 " No," Dr. Lavendar said, " it isn t, Gracie, my 
 dear. Well, your mother s fairly well. I saw her 
 on Monday. Sally, bless her heart, is just the same 
 dear, good girl. And John and David are nice boys. 
 When are you coming home, Grace ?" 
 
 She was to have two weeks vacation in the sum 
 mer, she told him, with that flashing glance followed 
 by a downward look, which she had lately acquired, 
 but she thought perhaps she would go into retreat 
 for that fortnight. 
 
 " Grace," said Dr. Lavendar, twitching his eye 
 brows at her, "when is Sally going to get mar 
 ried ?" 
 
 " I don t know, I m sure," she answered, a little 
 startled. 
 
 Then he made his appeal. He was very much 
 moved as he told her the story of Sally and Andrew, 
 and the long, patient, lasting love. 
 
 " They ve waited all these years. Grace, isn t your 
 duty plain ?" 
 
 It was so far from plain that he had to put it into 
 bolder words : 
 
 " Give up this artificial life, my child ; come back 
 and do your duty in that station of life where it 
 pleased God to call you. Give Sally her chance." 
 
 It was so astonishing, so preposterous to his hearer 
 that there was an instant when she almost laughed. 
 Leave the hospital ? Leave her sick, and poor, and 
 sinning folk ? Leave her vocation, and go back to 
 darn Robert s children s stockings, and let Sally get 
 married ? It struck her as absolutely ludicrous. 
 
 "Why!" she protested. "But, Dr. Lavendar, 
 305 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 you don t realize just think of the work to be done 
 here " 
 
 "There s a -plenty of work in Old Chester. My 
 girl, listen to me : you think this work serves God ; 
 and so it does. But there is no better service of God 
 than the simple doing of the duty He gives you in 
 your family life. Gracie, don t try so hard to save 
 your soul ; he that would save his life shall lose it. 
 Do you remember who said that ? Come home and 
 do your duty. You can wear these things in Old 
 Chester, if you want to," he added, with eager sim 
 plicity. 
 
 At that a spark came into the eye of Sister Mary 
 Eunice which was just a little of this world. How 
 ever, she restrained any sharp expression of opinion ; 
 she explained to him, in gentle detail, how impos 
 sible it was for her to think of what he proposed ; 
 indeed, she was very gentle with poor, stupid, Protes 
 tant Dr. Lavendar, who sat frowning at the crucifix 
 on the whitewashed wall opposite him, and rapping 
 the bare floor now and then with his impatient um 
 brella. 
 
 When he went away she had only tender feelings 
 for him, for, after all, she had received her first spir 
 itual instruction (such as it was) from the simple old 
 man ; even his sharp words did not make her angry : 
 
 " Go and seek for light, Grace ; read your Bible 
 and get over this gimcrackery. Don t think so much 
 about petticoats, but follow your Saviour, who went 
 down to Nazareth with his father and mother, and 
 was subject unto them until he was thirty years old. 
 Good-bye ! I m disappointed in you. What have I 
 been teaching all these years to produce a child 
 like this ?" 
 
 306 
 
SALLY 
 
 He went away angry, and grieved, and wonder 
 ing ; but most of all determined : Sally and Andrew 
 should be married, somehow! if he had to use 
 force to get em to stand up and listen to the mar 
 riage service ! Coming down from Mercer, he sat 
 on the box-seat with the stage-driver, and Jonas said, 
 afterwards, that he "hardly opened his head for the 
 whole twenty-one miles." He stabbed at the foot 
 board with his umbrella, and frowned, and thrust 
 out his lower lip, and looked, Jonas said, as cross as 
 two sticks. 
 
 " It s got to stop," he said to himself. " It s wick 
 ed, and I ll tell em so !" Then he pounded so hard 
 with his umbrella that the off horse twitched his ears 
 nervously, and Jonas looked round at him open- 
 mouthed. 
 
 He made plan after plan ; but each one was dis 
 carded because he saw it would encounter invincible 
 selfishness, or invincible self-sacrifice, "and I don t 
 know which is worse !" said Dr. Lavendar, snort 
 ing. As they passed through Upper Chester, in the 
 pleasant afternoon light, he was deeply discouraged. 
 " I can t see any way out of it," he thought ; " that 
 boy Andrew can t leave his mother I admit that ; 
 and he hasn t money enough to hire somebody to 
 look after her ; I admit that. He ought to take her, 
 body and bones, and make her go and live with the 
 Smiths but how they would quarrel those two 
 women ! Then there s Sally s side. Mrs. Smith would 
 threaten to die if Sally left her, and Sally hasn t the 
 courage, poor girl, to say Very well, ma am ; and 
 go, and discover that her mother would live to be 
 as old as Methuselah ! The only thing I can do is 
 to make an appeal to Mrs. Steele, though it will do 
 
 307 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 about as much good as talking to a stone ! Andrew 
 has spoiled her. Well, well ; children are responsi 
 ble for their parents to the Lord ; but I suppose 
 that never struck St. Paul/ The long shadows 
 stretched across the new-mown fields where the hay 
 cocks had been piled up for the night ; the air was 
 sweet, and there were bird-calls all about them ; the 
 setting sun struck suddenly on the windows of Mrs. 
 Steele s little house, and Dr. Lavendar frowned 
 again, and said to himself : " Well ; I ll give that 
 woman a piece of my mind ; I wish I d done it ten 
 years ago ! It s probably too late now, but it will 
 be a relief to me, anyhow." 
 
 It was too late. When Van Horn came out to 
 help the old cleryman down from his perch on the 
 box-seat as the stage drew up at the tavern door, 
 there was an important look on his face. "Glad 
 you re back, sir," he said. "Well, things has hap 
 pened since you went away. Mrs. Steele passed 
 away, sir, last night." 
 
 Dr. Lavendar, clambering stiffly down over the 
 wheel, paused midway ; then he stood staring at 
 the landlord ; then sat down on one of the big 
 splint chairs on the porch. "The sword of the 
 Lord, and of Gideon !" he said. 
 
 Van Home sighed respectfully at this religious 
 exclamation, and said : " Yes, indeed, sir ; we all go. 
 It was a fit." 
 
 As for Dr. Lavendar, he went home and told his 
 Mary to give him his supper as quickly as pos 
 sible. 
 
 " I am going back to Upper Chester," he said ; 
 " Mrs. Steele is dead." 
 
 Mary protested shrilly. " You ll wear yourself out 
 
 308 
 
SALLY 
 
 you just home from a journey ! She s gone ; there 
 isn t nothing you can do " 
 
 "Isn t there?" said Dr. Lavendar, chuckling. 
 " Give me my supper !" 
 
 So he went, jogging along in the summer dusk in 
 his old sulky. The house was dark and silent when 
 he reached it at ten o clock ; but as he came up the 
 garden-path he heard low voices on the porch, and 
 then Andrew rose in the shadows under the Vir 
 ginia-creeper that hung thick about the pillars and 
 over the lintel, and came and met him. "This is 
 very kind of you, Dr. Lavendar," he said, in that 
 subdued way which means the house of death. 
 " Sally s here," he added. 
 
 " I supposed so," the old man said, and took Sally s 
 hand in silence. 
 
 " It was very sudden," Andrew said ; and then 
 they all sat down, and Andrew told the story. " It 
 was very sudden," he said again, sighing, when he 
 had given the last detail. 
 
 "Yes," said Dr. Lavendar ; "yes." 
 
 Then they were silent. 
 
 " She is better off, Andrew," Sally said, gently. 
 " It is a blessed thing for her isn t it, Dr. Laven 
 dar ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, yes," Andrew said. And Dr. Lavendar 
 nodded. 
 
 "Well, Sally," he said; "well, Andrew" Then 
 he paused. " My dear friends, I have come here to 
 night not only to comfort a house of mourning, but 
 to say to you, as your friend and minister, that I 
 hope you will let me marry you at once." 
 
 "Oh Dr. Lavendar," Sally said, shrinking "we 
 must not speak of that now." 
 
 309 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " Sarah, there is no impropriety in speaking of the 
 enduring affection which has existed between you 
 and Andrew. In this house, where death has come, 
 I say to you, let there be no more of this misguided 
 delay a delay that has wrought harm, Sarah." 
 
 Andrew suddenly stood up and put his hand out 
 to his old friend, "God bless you, sir !" he said. 
 
 " The funeral is to be to-morrow," said Dr. Laven- 
 dar ; " very well. On Monday morning, Sarah, at 
 nine o clock, I will call at your house and perform 
 the marriage ceremony." 
 
 "Oh, Andrew" Sally said, faintly. 
 
 As for Andrew, he burst out passionately : " All 
 these years all these years! Oh, Sally, how long 
 it has been ! Sally, not another day s delay ; I will 
 come and live at your house, dear ; but not another 
 day s delay." 
 
 When Dr. Lavendar went home that night, his old 
 face was twinkling with pleasure ; he sang softly 
 scraps of hymns, or talked to his little blind horse ; 
 and once he said to himself, chuckling, " If I d fol 
 lowed my impulse, I d have married them then and 
 there, and made no bones of it !" 
 
 However, when people have waited so many years, 
 Monday is not very far off. 
 
THE UNEXPECTEDNESS OF MR. HORACE 
 SHIELDS 
 
\ 
 
THE UNEXPECTEDNESS OF MR. HORACE 
 SHIELDS 
 
 I 
 
 DR. WILLIAM KING had married his wife because 
 of her excellent common-sense. 
 
 It was an evidence of his own common-sense, that 
 he was not moved by mere prettiness, or sweetness, 
 or whatever. Mrs. William was, as it chanced, good- 
 looking ; but Willy said that was the last thing he 
 had thought of ; he said she was a sensible woman, 
 with no whims. She would keep his house ; and his 
 ledger, for that matter ; and bring up his children ; 
 and see that his buttons were sewed on and not 
 bother him. Willy had seen bothering wives. His 
 profession brought him in constant contact with 
 them nervous, sentimental, hysterical, nagging, 
 egotistical wives. The doctor used to say he won 
 dered how men had the courage to get married at 
 all, considering ; and he was convinced that this 
 state of things was the result of marrying for senti 
 ment ; he had married for sense. 
 
 " Sentiment," said Dr. King, u is a phase of youth 
 and growth ; we ve got to go through with it ; but 
 to make a phase permanent is the act of a fool." 
 
 "Well, now, William," objected Dr. Lavendar, 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 "look at Oscar. You can t say it s a phase of 
 youth ?" 
 
 "Oh, Oscar caught it late," the doctor said. "I 
 have had a case of measles where the patient was 
 sixty-two. As for Dorothea, she s young enough to 
 be foolish ; Martha says she looks under the bed 
 every night for a man ! She says she doesn t even 
 buy her own clothes. Imagine me deciding on 
 Martha s shoestrings ! Well, Martha wouldn t have 
 it. Nobody would resent that sort of thing more 
 than Martha," said Willy, complacently. 
 
 Martha managed her own shoestrings in those 
 first days ; and by-and-by, such was her common- 
 sense, she managed the doctor s also. Though Willy 
 did not talk so much about it when that time came. 
 
 Still, he must have appreciated the way in which 
 she expended his small income ; for she fed and 
 clothed her plump, blond William as though he had 
 twice as much to live on. When Mrs. King made an 
 unusually good bargain with the meat-man, or hag 
 gled with Mr. Horace Shields until he sold her a 
 bottle of ink for two cents less than the general pub 
 lic paid, she used to say, exultingly, that it was well 
 for Willy, considering that he would not send bills to 
 half of his patients, that he had a wife who would 
 look after things. 
 
 " I don t know what would have become of you, 
 Willy, if you d married a different kind of woman," 
 Martha would say, good - naturedly. " You would 
 have been in the poorhouse by this time !" 
 
 Although she did not know it, the good Martha 
 really opened up a very interesting question which 
 most women would do well to ask themselves in re 
 gard to their husbands : What would my Tom, or 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 Dick, or Harry, have been without me ? Not so si 
 lent, if he had chosen a girl who did not gush ; not 
 so selfish, if he had had a wife less addicted to unself 
 ishness ; not so ill-tempered, if he had married some 
 one less anxious and nagging. The fact is, these 
 simple men creatures are as wax in our hands ; our 
 tempers and our tongues decide their eternal salva 
 tion though they never know it. They all mean 
 pretty well in the beginning, but they fall into the 
 hands of their wives, and look at the result ! 
 
 But Martha King had no time to waste in such 
 speculations. She was secretary of the Woman s 
 Auxiliary ; and it was known in Old Chester that 
 she had once sent a letter to the Spirit of Missions 
 calling attention to the mistakes of this admirable 
 organization. She had a Sunday-school class ; and 
 she did all the cutting out for the Sewing Society. 
 She was an indefatigable parish worker ; " invaluable 
 in practical matters," Dr. Lavendar said, heartily. 
 What he said when she took it upon herself to tell 
 him that he had done wrong not to give Anna King 
 back to her own mother nobody knew except Martha, 
 and she never told ; but her face got red when the 
 matter was referred to at Sewing Society. Still, I 
 remember in this connection that when Mr. Jim 
 Shields expressed his opinion of Mrs. King to Dr. 
 Lavendar, the old minister smoothed him down, and 
 bade him remember that Martha had a good heart. 
 "Good, but not graceful," Mr. Jim growled. And 
 Dr. Lavendar chuckled. 
 
 Added to her moral excellences, Mrs. King was a 
 remarkable house-keeper ; her economies were the 
 admiration of Old Chester ; economical house-keep 
 ing was not an Old Chester characteristic ; we were 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 too near Mason and Dixon s line for that. She was 
 orderly to a mathematical degree, and so immacu 
 lately neat that she had been known to say that if 
 she should see a particle of dust behind a picture- 
 frame at twelve o clock at night, she would rise from 
 her bed and remove it ! The reply made to this dec 
 laration was : " If you could see a particle of dust 
 behind a picture-frame at twelve o clock at night, 
 you had better rise; and consult an oculist at 
 once." t 
 
 Any woman will know that the doctor said this : it 
 is the reply of a husband. 
 
 But, really and truly, Mrs. King was a capable, 
 conscientious, sensible woman ; and Old Chester was 
 not unreasonable in expecting the same characteris 
 tics in her younger sister, Lucy ; but their only re 
 semblance was that they neither of them had the 
 slightest sense of humor. In every other way they 
 could not have been more radically different if they 
 had been relations by marriage. 
 
 Perhaps this was because they were almost stran 
 gers, Lucy having lived in the East with her father 
 ever since she was ten years old. He came back, 
 poor old man, at the last, to die in Mercer. And a 
 month afterwards Old Chester was told briefly that 
 Mrs. King s sister, Lucy, was coming to live with 
 her. 
 
 " I don t believe in it," Mrs. King said. " Willy s 
 sister didn t come to live with him when poor old Mrs. 
 King died ; and I don t know why my sister should 
 live with me. But Willy will have it. I only hope, 
 for her own self-respect, Lucy will find something to 
 do, so that she won t be a burden on him. I shall 
 tell her so, flatly and frankly. I consider it my duty." 
 
 316 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 So Lucy came, with " Dick," her canary-bird, and 
 her little caba full of worsted-work. She was only 
 twenty-three, the idol of the old father, whose re 
 lation to her had been maternal and loverlike and 
 brotherly, all at once. One does not just see why, 
 for though she was a good girl, she was not especial 
 ly attractive ; very shy, not pretty exactly, though 
 she had soft deer s eyes ; certainly not sensible ; 
 crushed, poor child, when she came to live with the 
 Kings, by her father s loss. 
 
 Willy looked at her once or twice the first day at 
 breakfast, and wondered how two sisters could be so 
 different. 
 
 " No, I don t like sewing," she said, listlessly. u No, 
 I don t care for books." And then, later: "No, I 
 don t know anything about cooking. I don t like 
 house - keeping. But I like worsted - work pretty 
 well." 
 
 " I think," said Martha, decidedly, " that father did 
 very wrong not to let you learn to do something use 
 ful. Worsted-work is nothing but a waste of time. 
 I think he " 
 
 " Don t !" the other cried out. " Don t speak to 
 me about my father 1" 
 
 " Well, he was my father too," Mrs. King remon 
 strated. " One speaks the truth of people, Lucy, 
 whether they are relations or not. Because he was 
 my father doesn t make him perfect," said Martha, 
 gravely. 
 
 But Lucy got up and went out of the room, trem 
 bling as she walked. 
 
 "You hurt her feelings," said the doctor. 
 
 " But, my dear, it s true. She ought to have been 
 taught things ; but father spoiled her from the time 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 she was born. She was the youngest, you know ; and 
 he just lay down and let her walk over him. Which 
 was wrong ; you can t deny that ?" 
 
 " I want my dinner at 1.30," said Willy King. 
 " I ve got to see Mr. Jim Shields again, and I want 
 to go before dinner." 
 
 "You went before breakfast," said Mrs. King. 
 " There s nothing you can do ; and as you make no 
 charge, it seems rather foolish " 
 
 " Do you think your sister would like to go round 
 with me in the sleigh this morning?" the doctor 
 said, stopping, with his hand on the door-knob, and 
 looking back into the dining-room. " It isn t cold, 
 and the sleighing is good." 
 
 But Lucy, when her sister took the message up to 
 her, only said, listlessly, " I don t mind." 
 
 " It will do you good," her brother-in-law called 
 up-stairs ; " come along !" 
 
 And Martha added, kindly, " Here s a cushion, 
 Lucy, to put behind you." 
 
 " I don t need it, thank you, sister Martha," Lucy 
 said. 
 
 " Oh, you will be much more comfortable," Mrs. 
 King said, decidedly ; and pushed the pillow behind 
 her little sister, and tucked the robe firmly around 
 her feet ; and then they started the quiet, apathetic, 
 unhappy child (who had removed the cushion as 
 soon as she was out of her sister s sight), leaning 
 back in the sleigh behind the doctor s big shoulder, 
 and looking off over the snow shining under a soft 
 blue sky, but saying nothing. Once she uttered a 
 little cry when the runner on the doctor s side went 
 up on a drift and the sleigh heeled like a boat ; and 
 once she caught his arm, because the horse danced 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 at the sound of the butcher s horn tooting at a cus 
 tomer s door. 
 
 "Scared?" said Willy, looking at her kindly. 
 " You mustn t mind Jinny ; she is a lamb. She only 
 prances to show she feels happy." 
 
 " I m so afraid of horses," Lucy answered, breath 
 lessly. 
 
 After that her brother-in-law made Jinny walk 
 down all the hills ; then he told her which of his pa 
 tients he was going to visit, and once or twice add 
 ed interesting details of their diseases, which made 
 Lucy turn away her head and wince, and say, under 
 her breath, " Oh please, brother William ! I can t 
 bear to hear those things." 
 
 And the doctor whistled, and said to himself, 
 " Sisters !" 
 
 That day the longest call was upon Mr. Jim 
 Shields ; it was so long that Willy came running out 
 of the house after a while, bareheaded, and bade his 
 little sister-in-law get out of the sleigh and go into 
 the shop in the basement to wait for him. 
 
 " I hope you don t mind, Lucy," he said ; " I just 
 meant to look in on him ; but he is having a dread 
 ful " Lucy drew up one shoulder and bit her lip. 
 " He doesn t feel very well ; so I must wait awhile. 
 You go right into the shop ; there s nobody there ; 
 Mr. Horace is up-stairs with his brother." 
 c He helped her out, and hurried back into the 
 house, where, in his anxiety and pity, he forgot 
 Lucy, sitting alone in the little shop down-stairs. 
 
 There was a fire in the triangular grate in the cor 
 ner, and the sunshine came in through the window 
 in the door, behind which a little bell had tinkled as 
 they entered. " Books, Etc. H. Shields," was the 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 sign outside ; but, to be exact, Mr. Horace s shop 
 was mostly " Etc." Lucy, looking about, saw that 
 the slates on the third shelf were not in an orderly 
 pile ; she glanced nervously around, and then slipped 
 behind the counter and straightened them ; then 
 she dusted the books in the small show-case with 
 her handkerchief, and blew the powdered chalk 
 from the shelf where the blackboard materials were 
 kept. Just then the bell struck out a jangling note, 
 and the door opened ; a boy wanted two envelopes. 
 Lucy looked at him in consternation ; but when the 
 child pointed to the green pasteboard box where the 
 stationery was kept, and even opened the till for her 
 so that she might change his dime, she found herself 
 quite at ease ; she even hoped some more custom 
 ers would come, it was so interesting to sell things. 
 But no one came, and Lucy watched the square of 
 sunshine move across the floor, and heard a cinder 
 drop sometimes from the grate, or a spurt of flame 
 bubble out between the bars. It was an hour before 
 her brother-in-law thought of her, and came, with 
 many apologies, to take her home. 
 
 He had quite forgotten Lucy. Like everybody 
 else in Old Chester, the doctor s mind was full of 
 the Twins Old Chester always referred to the 
 Shields brothers in this way. Being twins, the two 
 old gentlemen were, for all practical purposes, the 
 same age ; but, as far back as I can remember, the 
 younger had been " Old Mr. Horace " to his neigh 
 bors, while the first-born was Jim Shields to the end 
 of the chapter and a brave end it was too ! In his 
 early manhood he had been a high-hearted, irrespon 
 sible, generous young fool ; a bit of a bully, very 
 likely, in the way of overriding other people s views, 
 
 320 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 and insisting upon his own with a joyous dogmatism 
 that never irritated. And in middle life, when what 
 he called his "cussed body" got the better of him 
 and pinned him down into a wheeled chair, he was 
 still generous, and courageous, and merry ; and he 
 bullied his brother and his doctor and Old Chester, 
 and indeed Death himself bullied him, jeered at 
 him, swore at him, and lived through nearly thirty 
 years of dying without a wince. 
 
 James had fallen ill when he was thirty-five. He 
 was sailing around the world as supercargo for a 
 large East India trading-house ; when, suddenly, he 
 came home. He had " had notice," he said, briefly. 
 "An old sawbones in London explained it to me," 
 he said, " told me I mustn t try to keep going any 
 longer. Fact is, I ve got to rust; or bust," he 
 ended, cheerfully. 
 
 It was a year before Old Chester knew that that 
 "rusting" meant an invalid s chair, and slow, re 
 lentless, invincible dying ; but James and Horace 
 knew it, and they looked into the enemy s eyes to 
 gether. Horace was a little man, with a rosy face ; 
 he was resolute, but it was in his own fashion ; he 
 had his quiet way of carrying out plans for Jim s 
 comfort, no matter how his twin roared at him, and 
 swore he would or he wouldn t ; but he never had 
 his brother s vigor in expressing himself. Indeed, 
 once only, when, trembling with alarm, he called 
 Willy King a fool, was he known to have spoken 
 forcibly. 
 
 The two brothers lived in a brick house on Main 
 Street ; two flights of stone steps, their hand-rails 
 ending in brass knobs, curved up to its front door, 
 which had a fan-light and a big iron knocker. Be- 
 
 321 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 hind this door was the hall, the walls covered with 
 varnished paper which represented blocks of veined 
 and mottled yellow marble ; the staircase wound 
 round this hall, and under it were two steel engrav 
 ings " The Maid of Saragossa " and " Bolton Ab 
 bey " both brown and stained with mildew. The 
 parlor was on the left as one entered ; it was a big, 
 bare room, with a high ceiling ; there were green 
 Venetian blinds in the windows, and a pale paper on 
 the walls landscapes in light brown, of castles and 
 lakes ; on the wooden mantel, like flat trees laden 
 with prisms, were three candelabra, each with its 
 ormolu milkmaid simpering under the boughs ; and 
 there were some shells, and a carved teakwood junk, 
 and a whale s tooth relics of Mr. Jim s adventurous 
 days. Here, all day long, Jim Shields sat and watch 
 ed life slip between his helpless fingers. Death seem 
 ed to play with him as a child plays with a fly pull 
 ing off a wing, or a leg, or another wing, and the 
 head last. 
 
 But nothing goes on forever. James had been 
 dying for nearly thirty years, and one day he died. 
 
 " But," Horace had gasped when, that sunny De 
 cember morning, while little Lucy was waiting in 
 the shop, Willy King told him how it was going to 
 . be " but it s so sudden !" And then he remembered 
 that, after all, Willy was but a boy. What did he 
 know about James? James was taken sick when 
 Willy was fifteen years old. " You re a fool, Willy !" 
 he said, trembling. " I m going to send to Mercer 
 for a man ; this isn t a time for boys !" " I wish you 
 would, sir," Willy said, earnestly ; " and why don t 
 you have Wilder from Upper Chester? He s first- 
 rate." 
 
 322 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 Afterwards, as he drove Lucy home, the doctor 
 said that if it was the slightest comfort to Mr. Hor 
 ace, he wished he would call in all the doctors in the 
 township. " Not that there is a single thing to do," 
 said Willy, slapping his rein down on Jinny s shin 
 ing flank; " Mr. Jim has come to the end. And poor 
 old Mr. Horace will break his heart." 
 
 His little sister-in-law looked over at the runner 
 cutting into unbroken snow at the edge of the road. 
 " I m sorry," she said, in a low voice. 
 
 II 
 
 Little Lucy was sorry, but her sorrow did not keep 
 her from shrinking away up-stairs when Martha be 
 gan to ask the doctor the particulars of the morning: 
 "Another spasm at twelve? Well, I suppose his 
 feet have begun to swell ? I hope he won t last much 
 longer, poor man. I felt just so about father ; I 
 didn t want him to linger, and " but just here Lucy 
 slipped out of the room, and her sister looked after 
 her open-mouthed. As for the doctor, he plodded 
 industriously through his very good dinner, and told 
 her every detail ; and when he had finished the din 
 ner and the disease, he added, absently, " She is very 
 sensitive, isn t she ?" 
 
 " Who ?" said Martha. 
 
 "Why, your sister." 
 
 "Oh, Lucy ? She is very silly, I m afraid. I don t 
 believe in calling foolishness sensitiveness ! And 
 you told old Mr. Horace ?" 
 
 " Yes, I told him, poor old fellow !" 
 
 " Well, he ought to be glad to have Mr. Jim free 
 323 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 from suffering," the doctor s wife said, kindly. " I 
 should have told him so, flatly and frankly. What 
 did he say ?" 
 
 " He said I was a fool." Willy answered, smiling. 
 " He s going to have further advice." 
 
 " I hope he has the money to pay for it," Martha 
 said; "he won t find .hat all doctors are like you, 
 Willy. One would think, to look at some of your 
 bills, that you were independently rich, instead of 
 just a poor country doctor. And now here s Lucy 
 come to be a burden on you " 
 
 " She isn t a burden at all," William King said. 
 " She doesn t eat enough to keep a sparrow alive, 
 and I guess even Mr. Horace s account will provide 
 for that." Then he looked out of the window : " it 
 isn t as if we had children of our own we had to save 
 for," he said. 
 
 Mrs. King was silent. 
 
 As for Willy, he went back and spent the after 
 noon with the twins. The end was very near ; for 
 the " man " that Mr. Horace had sent for confirmed 
 the "boy"; and by-and-by Jim confirmed them 
 both. 
 
 " I can t help it, Horry," the dying man said, mov 
 ing his big, lionlike, gray head restlessly "I ve got 
 to let go." 
 
 Mr. Horace set his jaws together and drew a de 
 termined breath. " Of course you have of course 
 you have. Now don t worry. I ll get along. Come 
 now, cheer up !" 
 
 " But you ll be so damned lonely," whimpered the 
 other. He was blind, and could not see his little 
 brother wipe his eyes, and blink, and swallow to get 
 his voice steady. 
 
 324 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 "Well, yes, of course ; somewhat. But I can get 
 along first-rate ; and I ll get more time for read 
 ing." 
 
 " Reading !" said the other, with a snort. " Much 
 reading you ll do ! No, you ll be just damned lone 
 ly," he said again, with a groan. 
 
 " Don t think of it," said Mr. Horace, his voice 
 trembling. " I I won t mind it in the least, my dear 
 fellow. Oh, James !" he ended, weakly. He looked 
 up at Willy King, but the doctor was making a pre 
 tence of dropping some medicine into a glass, so as 
 to hide his own blurring eyes. As for Dr. Laven- 
 dar, who was there too, he took the groping, dying 
 hand, and said, 
 
 "Jim, we ll all stand by him " and then he took 
 out his big red silk handkerchief, and his breath 
 caught in a sob. For, like everybody else, he loved 
 Jim Shields. To be sure, he winced at certain words 
 which honest old Mr. Jim used with surprising free 
 dom ; but apparently he never took them much to 
 heart. "Jim Jim, don t be profane," he would re 
 monstrate, with a horrified look. And Jim, sweat 
 ing with pain, would gasp out : 
 
 "The devil take it ! I forgot the cloth. I apologize; 
 but I wasn t profane. Profanity is unnecessary 
 swearing, and if this isn t necessary, I ll be " 
 
 "James! James! James!" .... 
 
 But now when Jim Shields lay dying, his wicked 
 tongue, his impudent courage were an expression of 
 his religion ; and the old minister had eyes to see 
 this. So he only patted the blind, groping hand, 
 and said : 
 
 " Jim, we ll do all we can for Horace. Never you 
 fear !" 
 
 325 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 "Who s afraid?" said Mr. Jim, thickly. " But I 
 can t hold on much longer. Damned if I can." 
 
 " Don t try don t try," Horace entreated, in an 
 guish. Then came a long, dull effort, and the heavy, 
 muffled tongue said one pathetic word, 
 
 " Lonely ?" 
 
 " No," old Mr. Horace said again "no; I won t be 
 lonely. Mind now, Jim, I won t be lonely. Do you 
 hear? Jim, I won t. Jim do you liear?" 
 
 So, bravely, old Horace Shields told his lie to make 
 dying less deadly for his brother. 
 
 Then he went on living as well as he could, meet 
 ing first the visible loneliness, if one may call it so 
 the silent house, the empty chair, the fuller purse. 
 The occupation of service was ended ; the anxiety 
 was over ; the habits of life were torn to pieces. 
 Ah, me ! How much of the torment of grief comes 
 from this violent change of the habits of life ! For 
 Mr. Horace there were no more duties : he need not 
 roll a wheeled chair on the sunny side of the street ; 
 he need not taste the beef-tea to see if it had enough 
 pepper ; he need not bring out the chess-board ; he 
 need not do a hundred other small services ; his habit 
 of affection was over, and the habit of grief had not 
 yet come to him. He went blundering and stagger 
 ing through the overwhelming leisure of material 
 loneliness. As for the spiritual loneliness but 
 enough of that ! Those of us who have reached 
 middle life do not need the telling; and the younger 
 folk would not understand it if they were told. 
 They are dancing to the piping of Life, and one of 
 these days they ll pay the piper ; then they will 
 understand. 
 
 326 
 

MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 But everybody was very good to poor old Mr. Hor 
 ace in his affliction. Mrs. Dale sent him wine jelly in 
 a rabbit mould. Mrs. Drayton presented him with 
 a " booklet " bound in white and gold, and named 
 Tears Wiped Away ; but she sighed a little when 
 she wrapped it up, and said to Mrs. Wright that poor 
 James Shields s language was not that to fit a man 
 for dying ; however, she hoped the Lord would over 
 look it : in fact, she had asked Him to do so. Miss 
 Wellwood she was just then about to become Mrs, 
 Barkley, so it was especially kind in her to think of 
 other people s sorrows carried him a handful of 
 ambrosia, which, having been first dipped in water, 
 and then rolled in flour, formed a white and shaking 
 decoration, suitable, Miss Maria thought, for a house 
 of mourning. 
 
 Dr. Lavendar used to come and sit with him in 
 the evening, and smoke silently; noticing, as silently, 
 that Jim s chair and footstool had not been removed, 
 and that the chess-board had remained just as it had 
 been left at the last game that pathetic effort of 
 grief to find permanence. Sam Wright sent Mr. 
 Horace a case of wine ; Willy King was very atten 
 tive ; and Martha wrote him a kind, sensible letter, 
 telling him that if he would remember that Mr. Jim 
 was at rest he would be reconciled, she was sure. 
 And then she added that she had heard that he 
 would not have Mr. Jim s room changed, but that 
 she did hope he would not make such a mistake. 
 "It is easier to change things now than it will be 
 later," she said, very truly, " so I do hope you will 
 just have the parlor renovated. Take my word, it 
 will be easier for you in the end." 
 
 Mr. Horace, when he had read this very good 
 327 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 advice, poked her letter down into the fire, and then 
 looked around the room, fiercely, as though chal 
 lenging what everybody will agree was common- 
 sense. 
 
 A good many letters of sympathy came, but Mr. 
 Horace did not read them. He put them away in 
 his desk in the shop. Nor did his kindly, sorry old 
 friends venture to talk about James. " He can t 
 bear that, it appears," Dr. Lavendar said, sadly, and 
 smoked in pitying silence. 
 
 It was all silence to Mr. Horace a silence without 
 interest. He went into the store every morning, 
 and looked listlessly about ; there was the mail to be 
 opened when there was any mail, and occasional 
 customers to be waited on. There was the trade 
 paper to be read, and sometimes circulars. Jim used 
 to make the circulars into spills to light his pipe, 
 because, he said, everything ought to be of some use 
 in the world, even lies. But the interest of the shop, 
 the story of the day s doings to be told to Jim, was 
 gone. After supper there was nothing for it but to 
 sit alone in the parlor, with the faded landscapes on 
 the wall, and the twinkle of lamplight in the prisms 
 of the candelabra, and the chess-board open on the 
 table. Nothing for it but to sit there and think of 
 James with every muscle of the body and the soul 
 held back from its customed movement of service 
 and of care so tense and so weary that when sleep 
 relaxed his vigilance for a moment these faithful 
 servants of years of affection moved automatically, 
 and he would put his hand on the chess-board, or 
 wake with a start, calling out : " James ! What is it ? 
 James " 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 III 
 
 " I tried to tell old Mr. Horace how I sympathize 
 with him," said Mrs. King, " and he just said, * Oh yes ; 
 yes, yes. Do you think we are going to have rain ? 
 Some one ought to tell him, flatly and frankly, to 
 try and accustom himself to speak of Mr. Jim; it 
 would be a great deal better for him." 
 
 Lucy was silent, sitting with her hands in her lap, 
 looking out of the window into the rainy garden. 
 Her worsted-work had been given up soon after she 
 came to live with her sister, for Martha had pointed 
 out to her that it was very foolish to make things 
 nobody needed ; "the Jay girls do enough of that," 
 said Mrs. King, with a good-natured laugh. So 
 Lucy s hands were idle, and her sister made an im 
 patient gesture. " How can you sit there, Lucy, and 
 do nothing?" 
 
 " I m going to read," Lucy said. 
 
 "What is your book?" her sister inquired, kind 
 ly; and Lucy displayed a paper-cover, which made 
 Martha shake her head and smile and sigh. 
 
 " A novel ! Lucy, don t you do any improving 
 reading?" 
 
 " I don t like improving reading," Lucy said, ner 
 vously. 
 
 Martha put her work down. " Now, Lucy, look 
 here ; I don t believe you mean what you say, but if 
 you do mean it, you ought to be ashamed to say it." 
 
 " I ll sew, if you want me to," said Lucy, turning 
 white and red. 
 
 " I don t want you to sew for me," the doctor s 
 wife said. " I can do my own work. But I must 
 
 " 329 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 say I don t see how you can be willing to be idle, 
 You do nothing but take care of that poor canary- 
 bird (the most untidy thing I ever had in my 
 house !) Upon my word, Lucy, if I had a dozen 
 daughters, I d bring every one of them up to do 
 something, so they shouldn t be dependent !" 
 
 " I d like to do something," Lucy answered, faintly, 
 "but I don t know anything." 
 
 "Well, that s just what I say," her sister said. 
 "But I suppose there s no use talking !" Yet, after 
 the manner of ladies who say there is no use talk 
 ing, the doctor s wife continued to talk. She had 
 talked pretty much all winter. Little Lucy had 
 shrunk and shivered, and gone up-stairs to cry all 
 by herself, but nothing had come of it. She was so 
 silent and apathetic, so incapable of repartee, that 
 it must be said in excuse for Martha, that she had 
 no conception how her words stung. Apparently 
 they made no impression whatever; which lured her 
 on into greater and greater frankness that virtue 
 in whose name so many unpleasantnesses are com 
 mitted ! Once the doctor said, nervously, he did 
 wish she would let up on that child ; and his wife, 
 a little hurt, said that she was only speaking for 
 Lucy s good. " If I had ten girls of my own," she 
 said, " I would bring them up to have proper ideas 
 of work." 
 
 " I think ten girls with proper ideas would be 
 dreadful to live with," said the doctor, conjugally. 
 And then he went up-stairs and knocked on Lucy s 
 door, and produced a little package. 
 
 "A present for me?" Lucy said, and pulled open 
 the parcel, and found a little pin lying on a bed of 
 pink cotton. 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 " Oh, brother William !" she said, and gave him 
 her hand ; and then, on an impulse, put up her face 
 and kissed him. 
 
 As for Willy King, he blushed to his ears. Then 
 she bade him wait while she put the pin into the 
 black ribbon bow at her throat. "Does it look 
 pretty ?" she said, anxiously. The doctor put his 
 head on one side, and said that it did. 
 
 Lucy looked in the glass, and took the pin out 
 and stuck it in at a different angle. " Isn t that 
 better ?" she said ; and Willy turned her round to 
 the light, and said, critically, he believed it was. 
 
 He went down-stairs smiling to himself. " I gave 
 Lucy a pin," he told his wife. " She was as pleased 
 as a little kitten." 
 
 "A pin!" said Martha. "Why, Willy King! as if 
 you didn t have expense enough in buying her shoes 
 and stockings ! And I must say, considering how 
 hard it is to make both ends meet, it was extrava 
 gant, my dear." 
 
 " It was only five dollars," her husband defended 
 himself. 
 
 "Wilson s bill for fixing the drain is five dollars," 
 Mrs. King observed, significantly. " Justice before 
 generosity, my dear." 
 
 William King made no reply, but he knew she was 
 right ; which did not make him any more affection 
 ate. For men love their wives not because of their 
 virtues, but in spite of them. 
 
 As for Martha, she was really troubled. " We can t 
 afford to make presents," she said to herself ; she was 
 putting a new binding on her dress, and her fingers 
 were dusty, and her mind in the ruffled condition 
 peculiar to this occupation. When Lucy came and 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 showed her the little pin, it took real grace on poor 
 Martha s part not to express her opinion. 
 
 Instead, she glanced at her over her glasses, and 
 said, kindly : " You look a little pale, Lucy. If you 
 feel chilly you had better take some quinine." 
 
 " I hurt my ankle when I went out to walk," Lucy 
 explained, her sister s interest rousing her a little. 
 " I tripped on the board walk on the common ; it had 
 a hole in it." 
 
 " That s very dangerous I mean the hole," Mar 
 tha said ; " your ankle will be all right as soon as 
 you have rested it. Put your foot up on a chair." 
 
 " I don t think I want to," Lucy said. 
 
 " Oh, you ll be a great deal more comfortable !" 
 Martha said, with kindly decision ; and got up her 
 self, and brought a chair and a pillow, and lifted the 
 strained ankle gently. " There, that s better !" she 
 said. Lucy sighed. " But about the hole in the 
 board walk : some one might hurt themselves se 
 riously. You had better write a note to Sam Wright 
 about it ; he is the burgess, you know." 
 
 " Oh, I couldn t !" Lucy said, horrified. 
 
 Martha put her work down and looked at her. 
 " Lucy, have you no sense of responsibility ? Don t 
 you care to make things better ?" 
 
 " I wouldn t write to him for anything in the 
 world !" said Lucy. 
 
 Martha shook her head. " That s not the way to 
 look at life, Lucy. But I m afraid it s part of your 
 nature. I m afraid it s the same characteristic which 
 makes you willing to be idle when all the rest of the 
 world is at work." 
 
 And Lucy, turning white and red, said not a single 
 word. 
 
 332 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 Mrs. King sighed and went on with her binding ; 
 arguing with Lucy was like trying to sew with no 
 knot in your thread. Martha was seriously troubled 
 about her sister ; not so much at the girl s absolute 
 inefficiency as at the lack in character which it in 
 dicated. All winter she had been trying, honestly 
 and prayerfully, to correct it, with about as much 
 success as one who tries, with big, well - meaning, 
 human ringers to smooth out a butterfly s crumpled 
 wing, or to free some silken, shining petal which has 
 caught and twisted in its imprisoning calyx. 
 
 Well, well ! if good people would only be content 
 to know that the rest of us cannot reach their level, 
 how much irritation they would spare themselves ! 
 and we, too, in little ways, would be happier. Though 
 that, of course, does not matter. 
 
 The fact was, poor Lucy s virtues were not econo 
 mic or civic ; they were, perhaps, nothing more than 
 a little kindly heart, pure thoughts, and a pretty, 
 eager smile ; but they were her own. Martha con 
 scientiously tried to bestow hers upon the child ; and 
 Lucy grew more and more silent. 
 
 " I make absolutely no impression !" poor Martha 
 said, sighing ; and Willy replied, under his breath, 
 " Thank heaven !" 
 
 However, she did make an impression at last. 
 
 It was at night, and Martha, going up to bed, saw 
 a light under Lucy s door. " How foolish of her to 
 sit up so late !" she thought for it was late. Martha 
 had waited up to see that the doctor had something 
 hot to eat and drink when he came in at midnight 
 from a late call (thus was Willy justified of common- 
 sense in a wife). And here was Lucy s lamp burning 
 at nearly one. 
 
 333 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Martha, in a warm and ugly gray flannel dressing- 
 gown, knocked at the door, and entered, her candle 
 in her hand, and her work-basket under one arm. 
 "Why, you re rather late, aren t you, Lucy ?" she said, 
 disapprovingly. 
 
 Lucy was sitting over a little fire which had re 
 treated into one corner of the grate ; she shivered as 
 she looked up. " I m just going to bed," she said. 
 
 " It s foolish to sit up when you don t have to," 
 Martha said, decidedly. 
 
 " I got worried about brother William," Lucy con 
 fessed ; " I wanted to make sure he was at home 
 there s such a storm to-night." 
 
 " Worried !" cried her sister, laughing in spite of 
 herself. "Why. he s at home, safe and sound, eat 
 ing some supper down-stairs. My dear, worry is the 
 most foolish thing in the world. I never worry. 
 Now do go to bed. Here, I ll slake your fire for 
 you." 
 
 She took up the poker, stirring the discouraged- 
 looking fire vigorously ; then she lifted the coal 
 scuttle in her strong hands and flung the slake on ; 
 there was a small burst of flame, and the smell of 
 coal dust and gas. 
 
 " Oh, it s so unpleasant !" said Lucy, drawing back. 
 
 " There are a great many unpleasant things in this 
 world, Lucy," said Martha, shortly. " Come, now, 
 go to bed ! It isn t as if you had any duty which 
 kept you up." 
 
 " Yes ; I will," Lucy said, listlessly. 
 
 " Dear me, Lucy, I don t know what you would do 
 if you had any duties. I sometimes think it s fort 
 unate for you that your brother-in-law is so good- 
 natured. Most men, especially if they were poor 
 
 334 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 country doctors like Willy, would rather resent it to 
 have to support their wives sisters, who haven t a 
 single care or duty in the world except to look after 
 a canary-bird. (I don t see how you can keep that 
 bird, it s so untidy !)" 
 
 " I don t know what to do," Lucy said, getting up 
 and looking at her with frightened eyes " and 
 and I ll try not to eat so much, sister Martha." 
 
 Martha winced at that. " Oh, don t be foolish, 
 my dear ! It isn t the eating, or anything like that. 
 It s the principle : I would earn my way. But don t 
 be foolish and talk about not eating !" Mrs. King 
 had the sensation of having stepped down further 
 than she expected a sort of moral jar. 
 
 " I would do anything I could," said little Lucy, 
 beginning suddenly to cry convulsively. " I don t 
 like to be a burden on brother William ; but I never 
 learned to do anything, and " 
 
 " Yes, that s just what I said ; father never had 
 you taught anything. You might give music lessons, 
 if he had ever made you practise thoroughly ; but he 
 was just satisfied to have you play tunes to him after 
 supper. I don t blame you, but I do blame father. 
 I " 
 
 " Stop blaming father ! Oh, my father ! my 
 father !" 
 
 Lucy ran, panting, to the other side of the room, 
 and caught up a little photograph of her father and 
 held it against her breast. 
 
 Martha looked at her in consternation and serious 
 disapproval. " How can you be so foolish, Lucy ?" 
 she said. " Well, there s no use talking ; only, I 
 must say, flatly and frankly " 
 
 " Martha, I won t hear my father criticised. I wish 
 335 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 I was dead with him. Oh, father !" the poor child 
 broke out. And then there was a fit of crying, and 
 she threw herself on the bed, face down, and would 
 not speak when her sister tried to comfort her. 
 
 " There, now, come !" Mrs. King said ; and patted 
 her shoulder, which showed no yielding; there is 
 nothing which can be so obstinate as the shoulder of 
 a crying woman. 
 
 Mrs. King was really uneasy when she left her. 
 She even went so far as to tell the doctor that she 
 thought he had better look after Lucy. 
 
 " I think she s inclined to be hysterical," she said. 
 " She is a foolish girl, I m afraid, but I think she s 
 really nervous, too. What do you suppose, Willy ? 
 she was sitting up over a miserable little fire, worry 
 ing^ if you please, because you were late ! I have no 
 patience with women who worry. Either the thing 
 will happen, or it won t ; and sitting up in the cold, 
 until one o clock in the morning, won t accomplish 
 anything one way or the other." 
 
 " Worrying ? about me !" said the doctor, stopping 
 with a suspender in one out-stretched hand ; " well !" 
 
 IV 
 
 But the worm had turned. In her hopeless, unin 
 terested way, Lucy had made up her mind : she 
 would not be a burden any longer. She would go to 
 Mercer and try to get pupils, and give music lessons. 
 She was not resentful, she was not bitter, still less 
 was she in intelligent accord with her sister ; she 
 was only started, so to speak, like a stone that has 
 been pushed past a certain point of resistance, 
 
 336 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 A week after this talk she told Martha that she 
 was going to Mercer. " I am going to visit Miss 
 Sarah Murray ; she invited me to visit her some 
 time this winter. And I ll take Dick." 
 
 Mrs. King put down her sewing. " I shouldn t 
 think you would want to make visits, Lucy, with 
 father dead only six months. I should think you 
 would rather stay quietly here with me, considering 
 that we are both in affliction." 
 
 Lucy made no reply. 
 
 " But of course you are perfectly free to do as you 
 please," her sister went on. 
 
 " I think I d better go," Lucy said. 
 
 There was something in her voice that made Mrs. 
 King uneasy. " I don t see why you say that ; of 
 course, if you want to go why, go ! But I must 
 say it looks as though you were not contented, and 
 it sort of reflects on your brother-in-law." 
 
 " Oh ! no, no !" Lucy said, in an agitated way ; 
 "he has been so kind to me !" 
 
 Somehow, Martha King winced at that, though 
 she did not know why. 
 
 The doctor, when he heard the news, frowned ; 
 and then he half sighed. " Oh, well, she s young," 
 he said. 
 
 But he chucked his little sister-in-law under the 
 chin when he came down to breakfast, and told her 
 that if she stayed away too long he would come and 
 bring her home. " And look here, Lucy, you must 
 have a new cape or bonnet or something. What do 
 you say to a pink bonnet ?" 
 
 Willy smiled all over his face, but his jaw fell when 
 Martha said, " Now, Willy ! how can she wear pink 
 when she is in black ?" 
 
 337 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 "Oh oh yes," the doctor said, awkwardly. And 
 then, for no reason in particular, he sighed ; per 
 haps the child would be happier in Mercer. " Well," 
 he said, " you can have an escort, if you go on 
 Wednesday, Lucy; Mr. Horace Shields. I ll ask 
 him to look after you. He s going East to give his 
 spring order." 
 
 " So I heard at Sewing Society," Martha said. 
 "Well, I think he is a very foolish old man." 
 
 Mrs. King was not alone in this belief. Old Ches 
 ter was greatly disturbed by this project of Mr. 
 Horace s ; he had always ordered his goods by mail, 
 and to take a journey for the purpose was obviously 
 unnecessary. 
 
 " I don t like restlessness," said Mrs. Dale, with a 
 stern look. 
 
 "Sam sent him some wine," said Mrs. Wright, 
 " and I am sure we were all very kind to him ; so 
 why should he go away from home ?" 
 
 " Besides," said Mrs. Drayton, " who can make up 
 to him for his loss so well as his friends? We all 
 liked poor Mr. James though he did certainly use 
 improper language at times. I once heard him use 
 a profane word myself. I should not be willing to 
 repeat it. It was not the worst one, but the one 
 with *r in it, you know." 
 
 The ladies shook their heads, except Mrs. Barkley, 
 who said, harshly, that, for her part, she didn t won 
 der at Jim Shields ; she believed she would have said 
 something stronger than "dear me" herself. But 
 Martha King said, seriously, that she hoped Mrs. 
 Drayton had told him, flatly and frankly, how wrong 
 it was to lose one s self-control and swear. 
 
 "Well, no, I didn t," Mrs. Drayton confessed. 
 338 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 "It s so painful to me to speak severely to any 
 one." 
 
 " Because it is painful is no reason for not doing 
 one s duty," Martha returned, decidedly. 
 
 "Well, as for his going away," said Mrs. Drayton, 
 "probably he hasn t been so overwhelmed by grief 
 as we thought. I judged him by myself. If / had 
 lost a loved one, I couldn t go travelling about. But 
 I m sure I hope he ll enjoy himself, poor man !" 
 
 And all the Sewing Society said it was sure it 
 hoped so, too. 
 
 It was a rainy morning in March that Mr. Horace 
 went away. The stage was waiting for him at the 
 door of the tavern when he came hurrying down the 
 street he had been delayed by giving directions to 
 Mrs. Todd, who was to keep the shop open during 
 his absence and there was the doctor holding an 
 umbrella over a slim girl in a black frock, who was 
 carrying a bird-cage in one nervous little hand. 
 
 "This is Lucy, Mr. Horace," Willy King said. 
 " We will be so much obliged if you will look after 
 her on the way." 
 
 " To be sure I will to be sure I will," said Mr. 
 Horace ; and the little girl put her hand in his with 
 out a word. 
 
 She was the only other passenger ; and when 
 Willy had tucked the robe around her, and smuggled 
 a bag of candy into her muff, the door, with its 
 painted landscape, was slammed to, and the stage, 
 pitching and creaking on its springs, started up the 
 hill, passing the church and then the graveyard at 
 which Mr. Horace looked through the streaming 
 rain on the coach window. His fellow - traveller, 
 however, turned her face away. 
 
 339 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 There was something in the shrinking movement 
 that touched Mr. Horace. He remembered that 
 Willy had told him the child had had some sorrow 
 if one can say sorrow in connection with youth ; so 
 he made an effort to come out of his absorption, and 
 talk to her, and cheer her. 
 
 She had very little to say, only answering him in 
 gentle monosyllables, until by some chance he re 
 ferred to her father. 
 
 " I met him several years ago, ma am ; and my 
 brother James had some acquaintance with him." 
 
 Lucy s eyes suddenly rilled. 
 
 Mr. Horace looked at her, with instant sympathy 
 in his ruddy old face. So youth may grieve, after 
 all? 
 
 " My dear, I have recently suffered a loss myself," 
 he said, gently. 
 
 " Oh yes," said Lucy ; " I know. I was very sorry, 
 sir." 
 
 "Ah well," said Mr. Horace, with a sigh "he 
 was sick a long time. I ought not to begrudge him 
 his release. Yes, he had been invalid for many years. 
 But he was the bravest of the brave. My brother 
 was a sailor in his youth. He had many interesting 
 adventures. He has told me stories of his advent 
 ures by the hour. But when he came to be an in 
 valid, after such an active life, he never flinched. 
 The bravest of the brave !" 
 
 " My father was brave," said Lucy. 
 
 " My brother had been in most foreign lands," 
 Mr. Horace went on. " He was shipwrecked twice 
 before he was thirty. I recollect, as well as if it was 
 yesterday, how he came home after that first time 
 he was wrecked. We had given him up. My moth- 
 
 340 
 
MR. HORACE LOOKED AT HER WITH INSTANT SYMPATHY 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 er was up-stairs cutting out those little ah, gar 
 ments that children wear. She was cutting out a 
 pair to go in a missionary barrel. Well, James just 
 walked into the room, as casually as if he hadn t 
 been out of the house. My mother (I recollect per 
 fectly) she threw up her hands she had the scissors 
 on her thumb and finger and she said, Why, 
 James, where on earth did you come from ? And 
 my brother he said : From the waters under the 
 earth ; from India s coral strands, he said. (You 
 know the hymn?) But I haven t any coral, or any 
 clothes except what you see, he said. I hope 
 you ll give me those things ; meaning the the 
 small garment ; and he stood six feet two !" 
 
 Lucy smiled vaguely. 
 
 " It was a joke," Mr. Horace explained. 
 
 "Oh yes, I see. My father was a good deal like 
 that, saying funny things. They re pleasant to live 
 with, such people." 
 
 " They are, indeed they are, indeed," Mr. Horace 
 agreed, sighing. " My brother s humor was invinci 
 ble, perfectly invincible. Why, I recollect perfectly 
 
 The story he remembered was not brilliant humor, 
 but Lucy was as polite as if it were, and capped it 
 with something her father had said ; and then Mr. 
 Horace followed quickly with another " I remem 
 ber." Perhaps they neither of them really heard 
 what the other said, but they found infinite relief in 
 speaking. Why Mr. Horace could not have " recol 
 lected perfectly " to Dr. Lavendar, or why little 
 Lucy could not have talked, if not to her sister, at 
 least to her kindly brother-in-law, is one of those in 
 explicable things that belong to grief. It was easier 
 for each because the other was a stranger. 
 
 341 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 When the stage pulled into Mercer, the wheels 
 tired in mud, and the apron over the trunks stream 
 ing with rain, the two travellers were talking very 
 freely. Indeed, Lucy had gone so far as to say that 
 she was going to give music lessons. 
 
 " I m going to visit Miss Sarah Murray first. 
 When I get some pupils, I ll board somewhere," she 
 added, vaguely. 
 
 " My brother Jim knew the Misses Murray," said 
 Mr. Horace. " I have heard him remark that Miss 
 Sarah, the eldest, was a very genteel and accom 
 plished female. My brother Jim expressed it more 
 as a sailor might," Mr. Horace amended, with a 
 smile, " but his words were to that effect." And 
 when he helped his fellow-passenger and the canary- 
 bird out of the stage he said, with pleasant, old-fash 
 ioned politeness, that if the Misses Murray were 
 agreeable, he would call the next day and pay his 
 respects to them and to Miss Lucy. 
 
 " I d like you to come, sir," Lucy said. " I d like 
 to show you a letter our minister wrote about father. 
 
 And Mr. Horace remembered that he had some 
 letters, too. It came into his mind that perhaps 
 some day he would read them ; perhaps he would 
 show some of them to this young lady, who, he was 
 sure, would have admired Jim. "Jim was a great 
 favorite with the ladies," he thought to himself, sigh 
 ing and smiling. 
 
 " I recollect, just as if it were yesterday, when my 
 brother James brought home from one of his voy 
 ages a little savage a heathen, in fact. My mother 
 
 342 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 was exceedingly alarmed about his spiritual state ; 
 but Woolly (that was what my brother James called 
 him) was converted immediately. My brother said 
 it was because my mother gave him a cake whenever 
 he named our Saviour. And I sometimes feared 
 there was truth in this remark." 
 
 Lucy laughed, and Mr. Horace looked pleased, 
 and patted her hand kindly. Miss Sarah and Miss 
 Emily Murray, who were sitting on either side of 
 the fire, smiled, and Miss Sarah observed that mis 
 sionaries often used such methods as food and glass 
 beads to attract poor savages. 
 
 "My brother said that just before he landed he 
 suddenly realized that Woolly had to have clothes ; 
 you know, being a savage and a heathen, he had no 
 garments of any kind. In fact, he was ah if I 
 may say so quite quite, as you may say, undressed. 
 My brother knew that, such being the case, Woolly 
 would be conspicuous when the ship should come 
 into port and the poor savage larid at the wharf. 
 So what did my brother James do but make Woolly 
 lie down, with his arms extended, on a piece of cloth 
 spread on the deck; then he took a lump of chalk 
 and outlined him, as it were ; then he doubled the 
 cloth and cut this out like those paper dolls which 
 are made for infants out of newspapers ; and he 
 sewed Woolly into these two pieces. Dear me ! I 
 wish you could have seen him ! How my mother 
 did laugh ! * I wouldn t give a fig for your sewing, 
 James, says she. * But my sewing gives a fig-leaf 
 to Woolly, says my brother. James had such a 
 ready tongue." 
 
 u The suit must have fitted very badly," Lucy 
 said, seriously. 
 
 343 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 " Yes," Mr. Horace admitted, " but it was warm, 
 you know ; and ah customary." 
 
 " Oh yes, of course," said Lucy. 
 
 It was with tales like this that old Horace Shields 
 tried to cheer his little companion when he came to 
 see her at the Misses Murray s. He had decided not 
 to continue his journey East to purchase stock, but 
 order by mail from Mercer, where, he thought, he 
 would remain for a few days and see if he could 
 not comfort this poor child who seemed, somehow, 
 to be on his hands. But he stayed nearly three 
 weeks. He came to call almost every day, and the 
 estimable Miss Murrays welcomed him warmly, and 
 told him that they were much grieved at the de 
 pression of their young friend. "And indeed," said 
 kind old Miss Sarah, " I fear I must add that I do 
 not approve of the apparent indifference dear Lucy 
 displays towards her sister. Lucy says that Martha 
 does not like her canary - bird ; which is really a 
 foolish reason for wishing to reside in Mercer. It 
 almost looks like temper. I think, however, your 
 conversation cheers her, and when she is less de 
 pressed she may come to a more proper mind in 
 regard to her family." 
 
 Mr. Horace certainly did cheer the nervous, wor 
 ried girl ; and sometimes his own burden seemed 
 lightened in his effort to lighten hers. In telling 
 her his stories about his brother, he led her to talk 
 about her father, and then about her own affairs ; 
 and the third time he called, when they chanced to 
 be alone, she told him, palpitating and determined, 
 that she would " never, never, never go back and 
 live with her sister, because she would not be a 
 burden on brother Willy." 
 
 344 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 " But, my dear young lady," he remonstrated, 
 "you cannot live alone here in Mercer, you know." 
 
 "Oh yes," said poor little Lucy, "I know. But I 
 won t go back to sister Martha." 
 
 " But what will you do, my dear Miss Lucy ?" Mr. 
 Horace said, anxiously. 
 
 "Oh, I don t know !" cried poor Lucy; and her 
 big deer-like eyes had a hunted look in them that 
 went to the old gentleman s heart. He made a point 
 of seeing the Misses Murray by themselves, and they 
 all talked the matter over with anxious seriousness. 
 
 " It is impossible for her to get pupils." Miss 
 Sarah said; "she is not the sort of young woman 
 who can push and make her own way." 
 
 " I am not sure that she is not more pleasing on 
 that account," Miss Emily said, with decision. 
 
 Mr. Horace nodded his head, and said his brother 
 James had always disliked excessively capable ladies. 
 " My brother James said he wouldn t want to sit 
 down at table three times a day with a horse- 
 marine," he said, chuckling ; " not but what he had 
 great respect for intelligence," he added, politely. 
 
 And the Misses Murray said, oh yes, indeed ; 
 they quite understood. And then they begged Mr. 
 Horace, who was returning to Old Chester in a few 
 days, to correspond with them on the subject, so 
 that they might advise the child wisely. 
 
 Mr. Horace promised to do so ; and during the tire 
 some stage journey home he put his mind upon 
 Lucy s troubles. He wondered what Jim would say 
 about it all. Jim had his opinion of Mrs. Willy ; Mr. 
 Horace chuckled as he thought of it. " Estimable 
 woman," said Mr. Horace to himself, "very estima 
 ble ; but not agreeable. Poor Miss Lucy !" 
 2 3 345 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 He thought of her with an impulsive pity which 
 brought out the youth of his ruddy old face that 
 fine youth of the spirit which cannot be touched 
 by the body s age. Her grief for her father was but 
 a child s grief, he thought, a half-smile on his lips ; it 
 was not the iron entering into the soul, but it was 
 pathetic. He thought how she had shown him some 
 letters of condolence that had been sent her, and 
 that made him think, suddenly, of the letters that 
 had come to him. It occurred to him, with a warm 
 feeling of satisfaction, that when he got home he 
 would unlock the drawer in the shop and take out 
 that pile of letters, and perhaps he might send one 
 or two to Miss Lucy. He thought of them eagerly 
 as he walked up from the tavern to his own door ; 
 they were like a welcome waiting for him in the 
 desolate old house. 
 
 Old Chester was full of tranquil evening light. Be 
 hind the low, dark line of the hills the daffodil sky 
 was brightening into gold ; there had been a shower 
 in the afternoon, and the damp air was sweet with 
 the smell of young grass and buds. There were little 
 pools of water shining in hollows of the worn flag 
 stone pavement ; and the brass stair rails and knobs 
 of the comfortable old brick houses glittered, sudden 
 ly, all the way down Main Street. Mr. Horace found 
 himself smiling as he walked ; then he stopped with 
 a start because Martha King spoke to him ; she 
 called from the other side of the street, and then 
 came hurrying across. 
 
 " I m glad to see you back, Mr. Horace," she said, 
 and asked one or two questions about Lucy and the 
 Misses Murray. " We ve missed the shop, Mr. Hor 
 ace," she ended, in a decided voice. There are per- 
 
 346 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 sons whose hawklike virtue seems always ready to 
 swoop down upon you, and Mr. Horace began to 
 cower a little, like a flurried partridge. " I am sorry 
 to say," the good Martha continued, "that Mrs. 
 Todd has been remiss about keeping the shop open. 
 I do hope you will speak to her about it, flatly and 
 frankly. I think it is a duty we owe each other not 
 to slight wrong - doing in servants. She has not 
 kept regular hours at all," Mrs. King said, "and it 
 has been a great annoyance. Won t you come in 
 and take tea with us, Mr. Horace ?" 
 
 "No, ma am, I thank you," he said, and hurried 
 into his house. " Poor Miss Lucy !" he said to him 
 self ; " poor Miss Lucy !" 
 
 She was in his thoughts when, sitting all alone 
 in the shop, with his lamp on the desk beside him, 
 he took out the letters which had been put away 
 all these months. After all, these old friends loved 
 James. " And well they might !" he told himself, 
 proudly. He opened one letter after another, and 
 read the friendly, appreciative words, nodding and 
 sighing, and saying to himself, " Yes, indeed ! Yes, 
 he was brave ; he was patient. Who knows that as 
 well as I do ?" The comfort of it came warmly to 
 his heart, and the applause braced and cheered him 
 until, for very happiness and pride, two little hot 
 tears trickled down his cheeks and splashed on the 
 pile of letters. 
 
 But when he went up-stairs into the silent house, 
 into the dreadful emptiness of that room where James 
 had lived for nearly thirty years the old despair of 
 desolation seized him again. It was that which, by- 
 and-by, made him say he would go back to Mercer for 
 a few days, and see what the Misses Murray had done 
 
 347 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 for Miss Lucy. He wanted to get away from the 
 house anywhere ! He thought to himself that he 
 would take the letters to read to Miss Lucy ; she 
 had been so interested in Jim that she ought to 
 know that his praise had not been merely brother 
 ly regard. " And I am really anxious to know what 
 the poor young lady is going to do," he said to him 
 self, when, to the astonishment of Old Chester, he 
 again took the stage for Mercer. 
 
 " Twice in two months !" said Old Chester ; but 
 Mrs. Todd, who, in spite of Mrs. King s warning, was 
 again to keep the shop open for his few days of ab 
 sence, said it was a real good thing, and would do 
 the poor old gentleman good. 
 
 VI 
 
 Little Lucy had not secured a single pupil during 
 the weeks she had been in Mercer. She was well 
 aware she could not prolong her visit to the kind 
 Misses Murray indefinitely, but what was she going 
 to do ? Poor child ! how many times a day did she 
 ask herself this question ! The very afternoon of 
 Mr. Horace s return she had gone out and walked 
 hopelessly about until dusk in Mercer s dirty, busy 
 streets, to think it over. The wind whirled up the 
 street and caught her black skirts in a twist, and 
 flung the dust into her face and into her eyes. The 
 lights began to twinkle along the bridge that spanned 
 the river, and then wavered down into its black depths 
 in golden zigzags. Against the sullen sky the fur 
 naces flared with great tongues of flame and showers 
 of sparks. The evening traffic of the town, noisy, 
 
 348 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 dirty, hideous ; the hurrying crowds in the streets ; 
 the rumble of the teams ; the jostling of workmen 
 all gave her a sense of her utter helplessness, so 
 that the tears began to start, and she had to wipe 
 them away furtively. What was going to become 
 of her? The child, walking alone in the spring 
 dusk, looked down at the river, and thought that 
 the water was very black and very cold. I don t 
 suppose she formulated any purpose in her own 
 mind; she only thought, shivering, "The water is 
 very cold." 
 
 Mr. Horace met her there on the bridge, and there 
 was something about her that made the old gentle 
 man s heart come up in his throat. He took her 
 hand and put it through his arm, and said, cheerfully, 
 " Come with me, my dear Miss Lucy, and let us walk 
 home together." 
 
 As for Lucy, she only said, feebly, " I won t go back 
 to sister Martha." 
 
 " You sha n t, my dear," said Mr. Horace, comfort 
 ingly, " you sha n t, indeed." 
 
 That evening he talked the situation over with 
 Miss Sarah Murray ; but she only shook her head 
 and said she hoped the child would soon look at the 
 matter more reasonably. " I would gladly keep her 
 here indefinitely," Miss Sarah said, in a troubled way, 
 " but our income is exceedingly limited " 
 
 " Oh, certainly not, certainly not," Mr. Horace 
 broke in. He had come to feel responsible for Lucy, 
 somehow ; he could not have her dependent upon 
 Miss Murray. 
 
 He got up and said good-night with a very correct 
 bow, his feet in the first position for dancing, his left 
 hand under his coat-tails. 
 
 349 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Old Miss Sarah responded in kind, and they parted 
 with high opinions of each other. 
 
 But Mr. Horace had not reached the street corner 
 before he heard, " Mr. Shields ! Mr. Shields !" and 
 there was Lucy running after him, bareheaded. 
 
 "I ve thought of something," she said, breathlessly, 
 as she stood beside him, panting, under the gas-lamp 
 on the corner. " Can t I come and take care of the 
 shop, Mr. Shields? Can t I live with you and take 
 care of the shop ?" 
 
 Mr. Horace, in his eagerness to hurry her back to 
 the house, hardly knew what he answered : " Yes, 
 yes, my dear young lady. Anything that you wish. 
 Come now, come ! you must get in-doors. What will 
 Miss Murray say ?" 
 
 " I am to come and live with you ?" Lucy insisted, 
 her eyes wide and frightened. " You won t make me 
 go back to sister Martha ?" 
 
 " No, my dear ; no, no !" he said. It seemed to 
 Mr. Horace as though Miss Sarah was an hour in 
 answering his agitated knock and opening the door. 
 " Miss Lucy just stepped out to speak to me," he 
 said, in reply to her astonished look. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Sarah, I am going to live with Mr. 
 Shields !" said Lucy. 
 
 Mr. Shields came very early the next morning to 
 Miss Murray s house, and was received in the parlor 
 by Miss Sarah. Lucy was not present. Miss Sarah 
 sat in a straight-backed chair, with her delicate old 
 hands crossed in her lap. There was some color in 
 her cheek, and a determined look behind her spec 
 tacles. 
 
 " I trust," said Mr. Horace, " that Miss Lucy is 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 none the worse for stepping out last night, ma am ? 
 I was much concerned about her when I left her." 
 
 " She is none the worse in body ; but I am deeply 
 grieved at her attitude of mind," said Miss Sarah. 
 
 "You mean her unwillingness to live with her 
 sister ?" said Mr. Horace, anxiously. 
 
 Old Miss Sarah shook her head. " She is quite de 
 termined not to return to her relatives." 
 
 " You don t say so !" 
 
 " She needs to be taken care of just as much as if 
 she were a baby," said Miss Sarah. " But of course 
 this plan of hers in regard to to residing with you, is 
 impossible. Even if it were not a question of burden 
 ing you (she has an idea that she would earn her 
 board, if I may so express it), it would be impossible. 
 I have pointed this out to her." 
 
 " And what does she say ?" demanded Mr. Horace. 
 
 " She merely weeps," Miss Sarah said ; " she has 
 given it up at my request, of course ; but she weeps, 
 and says she will not go back to Martha." 
 
 Mr. Horace hunted for his handkerchief, and blew 
 his nose violently. " Dear, dear !" he said, " you don t 
 say so ? Well, well ! I wish my brother James were 
 here. He would know what to propose. Poor child ! 
 poor child !" 
 
 Mr. Horace got up and stared out of the window ; 
 then he blew his nose again. 
 
 Miss Sarah looked at the back of his head, but was 
 silent. Suddenly he turned, and came and stood 
 beside her. 
 
 " Miss Murray, you are a female of advanced years 
 and of every proper sentiment ; all I have seen of 
 you leads me to feel a deep esteem for you." Miss 
 Sarah bowed. "Therefore I ask you, is it impossible ? 
 
 351 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 I could give the child a good home while I live. I 
 have recently lost my brother, ma am, and the little 
 income devoted to his use could be transferred to 
 Miss Lucy. I find myself much attached to her, and 
 would be pleased to have her in my home. It would 
 be less lonely for me," he said, his voice tremulous ; 
 " and my age, ma am, is sixty-five. Surely it is not 
 impossible ?" 
 
 Miss Sarah, who was nearly eighty, grew red, but 
 she was firm. " My dear sir, you are still young " 
 Mr. Horace blinked suddenly, and sat up straight 
 " our friend is twenty-three, and her looks are pleas 
 ing. Need I add that this is a wicked world ? I have 
 lived much longer than you, sir, and I am aware that 
 it is both wicked and censorious. Can you say that 
 Old Chester is exempt from gossip, Mr. Shields ?" 
 
 "No, ma am, I can t," he admitted, with an un 
 happy look. 
 
 "You see it is impossible," Miss Sarah ended, 
 kindly. 
 
 Mr. Horace sighed. 
 
 Miss Murray looked at him and coughed ; then 
 she drew in her breath as one who prepares to strike. 
 " If you were sufficiently advanced in years, my dear 
 sir, so that matrimony was out of the question, it 
 would be different." Mr. Horace gasped. " But 
 under the circumstances," continued Miss Sarah, 
 sighing, " I see nothing before our young friend 
 (since she is determined not to return to her sister) 
 but to work in some factory." Miss Murray s house 
 was in the old-fashioned part of Mercer, and there 
 was a factory just across the street ; she waved her 
 hand towards it, genteelly, as she spoke. 
 
 The room was quite still except for a coal dropping 
 352 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 from the grate. Mr. Horace heard a footstep over 
 head, and knew it was Lucy walking restlessly about 
 in her pitiful, unreasoning misery. Involuntarily he 
 followed Miss Murray s gesture, and glanced across 
 the street. Two draggled - looking girls were just 
 entering the bleak doorway opposite. " Little Miss 
 Lucy do that ? No ! impossible !" 
 
 " I am sixty-five ; I shall not, probably, live very 
 much longer," he thought. " Suppose it were five 
 years, even ; she would still be a young woman." 
 
 Poor little girl ! poor little frightened, helpless 
 child ! " And I would be less lonely," he said to 
 himself, suddenly. " Jim would call me an old fool, 
 but it would please him to have me less lonely." Mr. 
 Horace drew a long breath. 
 
 " Miss Murray," he said, " would I be taking advan 
 tage of our friend s youth and inexperience if I if I 
 if I suggested matrimony ?" 
 
 Miss Sarah did not seem startled ; indeed she even 
 smiled. 
 
 "I think," she said, "it would be an admirable 
 arrangement." 
 
 Mr. Horace looked at her ; she looked at him. 
 Then they began to talk in whispers, like two con* 
 spirators. " But would she" began Mr. Horace. 
 
 " I m sure of it !" 
 
 " But she is so young " 
 
 " She will outlive you." 
 
 " I would not wish to take advantage " 
 
 " You are only doing a kindness." 
 
 " Her relatives " 
 
 " Her relatives have driven her to it !" cried Miss 
 Sarah. Which was really rather hard on Martha and 
 on Lucy s kind and affectionate brother-in-law. 
 
 353 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 "Well, we ll protect her," said Mr. Horace, angrily. 
 And then he suddenly looked blank, and said: " Would 
 you ah be willing to to suggest it to her? I feel 
 a sense of embarrassment." 
 
 " That is quite unnecessary," Miss Murray declared; 
 " for you are doing a great favor, and if I know Lucy, 
 her gratitude will not be lacking. But I will gladly 
 tell her of your kindness." 
 
 " Oh, pray don t say gratitude," Mr. Horace pro 
 tested, growing red; "don t say kindness. Let her 
 regard it as a favor to me, which it is. I assure you 
 it is." 
 
 Miss Murray rose, smiling ; and Mr. Horace went 
 away with a new and extraordinary sensation. There 
 was something in his thoughts that came between 
 him and his grief ; a sense of excitement, of chivalry, 
 of hope even of hope ! He found himself making 
 plans as he walked along the street ; he saw Lucy in 
 his mind s eye at his lonely supper-table ; he fancied 
 her sitting beside him in the dreadful evenings listen 
 ing to his stories of Jim it seemed to Mr. Horace as 
 though his fund of anecdotes of Mr. James was inex 
 haustible ; he imagined her reading Jim s books, and 
 laughing in her light girlish voice as Jim used to 
 laugh in his rollicking bass. His heart grew warm 
 and light in his breast as he walked and thought ; 
 and then suddenly it sunk : perhaps she would not 
 consent. 
 
 VII 
 
 But Lucy consented eagerly, feverishly. "Oh, 
 Miss Sarah, how kind he is !" she said. 
 
 "Very true, Lucy, very true," said Miss Sarah, 
 354 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 solemnly. "I hope you will always remember it. 
 Very few gentlemen, Lucy, of Mr. Shields s age 
 would think of such a thing. I hope you will real 
 ize that to ask a young, inexperienced, foolish (yes, 
 Lucy, I fear I must say foolish) girl to ah to bear 
 his name, is indeed a compliment." 
 
 " I will take care of the shop," said Lucy, her eyes 
 beginning to shine, and the droop of face and figure 
 fading as she spoke. " Oh, he is so kind ! And I 
 will never go near Martha !" 
 
 " Fy, fy! my dear," said Miss Sarah ; "a little reflec 
 tion will show you that such a remark is neither 
 ladylike nor pious." 
 
 Mr. Horace came for his answer at two o clock ; 
 he had settled down into feeling quite sure that it 
 was impossible, and that he and Miss Sarah must 
 think of something else, and when Lucy met him, 
 smiling and half crying, and saying, "You are so 
 kind to me, Mr. Shields ; and indeed, indeed I will do 
 all I can to deserve it," he was almost dazed with 
 astonishment. He protested that she would be doing 
 him a great favor. 
 
 " I am so much older, my dear," he said. 
 
 But Lucy broke in, smiling, " You are good to me, 
 just as father was." 
 
 " I will be good to you, my dear ; I will indeed, to 
 the best of my ability," he said, earnestly. 
 
 He smiled at her and patted her hand ; and then 
 he said, " I will communicate with your relatives, 
 my dear Miss Lucy." 
 
 "Oh no," Lucy said, shrinking, "don t tell them !" 
 
 But Miss Murray shook her head ; " Mr. Shields 
 must, of course, refer to your family for permis 
 sion." 
 
 355 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 Lucy looked frightened. " Martha won t allow it," 
 she said, faintly. " Oh, don t tell Martha !" 
 
 "My dear, I could not allow you to elope," Miss 
 Sarah, remonstrated. 
 
 And Mr. Shields said, " No, no, that wouldn t 
 do !" 
 
 Then the two elders talked it over, Lucy listening 
 and shivering, and saying sometimes, " Oh, Martha 
 will say I ll be a burden to you, Mr. Shields." 
 
 " I am prepared," Mr. Horace said to Miss 
 Murray, " to have them say I am far too old ; and 
 even that I am taking advantage of our young 
 friend. But I am sustained," said Mr. Horace, " by 
 the knowledge of the integrity of my motives. Miss 
 Lucy is of age, and if she chooses my home it is not 
 the affair of William s wife, or even of William, for 
 whom I have a sincere regard. But I am inclined 
 to think, ma am, that it will perhaps be wise to to 
 bring this matter to a head if I may so express it, 
 before they have a chance to interfere. I will com 
 municate with William and his wife ; but before 
 they can remonstrate we will take steps, we will take 
 steps ! What do you think of that, ma am?" 
 
 " Admirable !" said Miss Murray. " Admirable !" 
 
 " However," said Mr. Horace, blinking his eyes 
 suddenly, as though something cold had been thrown 
 in his face, " it will be very unexpected in Old 
 Chester !" 
 
 It was unexpected. Old Chester, too, gasped and 
 blinked as though it had a cold douch. 
 
 Willy King was angry ; but Martha, very sensibly, 
 said that it was foolish to be angry. "But I am 
 mortified," she said, "and I don t understand it." 
 
 356 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 Old Chester, when it heard the news, nearly went 
 out of its mind with agitation and disapproval 
 "and sorrow," Mrs. Drayton said, "that the dead 
 were soon forgotten !" Mrs. Dale said that Mr. 
 Horace had taken advantage of that poor, poor 
 child s youth. Mrs. Wright, on the contrary, felt 
 that it was really disgusting to see a girl so mer 
 cenary as to marry an old man for a home. Mrs. 
 Ezra Barkley said, gently, that he had been so lonely, 
 poor Mr. Horace ! no doubt he just couldn t stand 
 the desolation of his life. 
 
 " But that doesn t explain the other fool," her sis 
 ter-in-law interrupted, with a snort. 
 
 " Do you know what Dr. Lavendar said when he 
 heard it ?" Rose Knight asked, suddenly. " He said, 
 Hooray for Horace ! " 
 
 " Dr. Lavendar is getting very old," said Mrs. 
 Dale, sternly. 
 
 After the first excitement of it was over, it came 
 to Martha King s ears that Lucy had married to es 
 cape living with her. (Those things always leak 
 out ; some friend, with a frankness as conscientious 
 probably as Martha s own, " thought Lucy s sister 
 should be told "). 
 
 When poor Martha heard why Lucy had commit 
 ted this extraordinary folly, she turned white, smit 
 ten into silence. " I tried to do my duty," she said, 
 painfully, and made no reproaches. But she suf 
 fered. " I did everything I could for her best good," 
 she said to herself, as she sat alone working ; then 
 she wiped her eyes furtively on the unbleached cot 
 ton sheet she was hemming for the missionary bar 
 rel. " Lucy doesn t love me," she thought, sadly ; 
 "nobody does but William. But I ve always tried to 
 
 357 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 do my duty." Once, blunderingly, looking down at 
 her fingers trembling in her lap, she said something 
 like this to Dr. Lavendar. 
 
 " Martha, my dear," he said, gravely, " love more, 
 and do less. Do you remember Isaiah (and he was a 
 pretty energetic old fellow, too) says, * their strength 
 is to sit still ? Our Heavenly Father is just as anx 
 ious to improve things as we are ; but if you ll no 
 tice, He lets us make our blunders and learn our 
 lessons. And He works by love oftener than by 
 the thunders of Sinai. But come, come ! We all 
 love you, and Lucy will know that she does, too, one 
 of these days." 
 
 But how happily it did turn out ! Mr. Horace 
 lived more than the five years he had allowed him 
 self ; and no wonder, with the affection his little girl 
 gave him, and the need there was to take care of 
 her, and keep her happy ; a man really can t die, no 
 matter how good his intentions are, when he is 
 needed. And, besides that, Lucy s eager, childlike 
 sympathy was like some pure and healing touch. 
 Gradually he took up old interests, and liked to 
 meet old friends. His grief for his brother passed 
 down through the ruined habits of living into the 
 depths of life, and after a while settled into a habit 
 of its own. Then the old interests closed in upon 
 him just as a ruffled pool smooths and closes over 
 the crash that has shattered its even silver ; though 
 all the while the weight is buried in its heart. 
 
 It was a sunny, placid, happy old house in those 
 days, though nobody could say it was sensible. 
 Dick s cage hung in a south window, and the little 
 yellow creature splashed about in his china bath, 
 
 358 
 
MR. HORACE SHIELDS 
 
 and scattered millet seeds, and shouted his little 
 songs all day long. Lucy used to come and sit in 
 the shop while she shelled the peas for dinner, or did 
 her bit of worsted-work. And she kept things dust 
 ed ; perhaps not quite as Martha would have done ; 
 the backs of the pictures may have left something to 
 be desired. But so long as nobody knew it, what dif 
 ference did it make? This lack of principle must 
 make the conscientious grieve ; but Lucy and old 
 Mr. Horace were just as happy as though their 
 principles were good. They talked a great deal of 
 Mr. Jim. In the evenings they sat up-stairs in the 
 big, bare parlor a little less bare now, because Lucy 
 made gay worsted covers for all the chairs ; and Mr. 
 Horace tried to teach her how to play chess. To be 
 sure, the fool s or scholar s mate might end the 
 game every night, but it gave him a chance to tell 
 her of Jim s prowess. He gave her Jim s books to 
 read, and though she did not know enough to laugh 
 at the right places in Mr. Jim s beloved Shandy, she 
 felt a breathless interest in the Three Musketeers ; 
 and old Mr. Horace annotated it with Jim s com 
 ments. 
 
 They used to read over those letters of sympathy, 
 too, which suggested so many stories of the big, gen 
 erous, rollicking old man who had died young, that 
 little by little, as Mr. Horace told this, or remem 
 bered that, or laughed at the other, James came 
 back into his life. But there was never any misery in 
 the thought of him ; only acceptance, and patience, 
 and an understanding which mere death could never 
 shake or break. James was dead ; but wfcat was 
 death between him and James ? 
 
 So they went on being happy. And on winter 
 359 
 
OLD CHESTER TALES 
 
 evenings, or when the summer dusk shut down, and 
 Lucy sat playing foolish tunes on a little old jing 
 ling piano, it was surprising how often a certain ad 
 mirer of common - sense came poking in to smoke 
 with Mr. Horace, and listen to Lucy s chatter, or 
 maybe take a hand at cribbage. 
 
 In fact, Martha King said that never since they 
 had been married had William had so many night- 
 calls. 
 
 THE END 
 

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