The 
 
 HAP 
 YEAR 
 

 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 Phoebe and Ernest 
 
 ^With 30 illustrations by 
 R. F. Schabelitz 
 
 $1.40 net 
 
 Parents will recognize themselves in the 
 story, and laugh understandingly with Mr. 
 and Mrs. Martin and their children, Phoebe 
 and Ernest. 
 
 Phoebe, Ernest, and Cupid 
 
 Illustrations by R. F. Schabelits 
 
 $1.40 net 
 
 In this sequel each of these delightful 
 young folk goes to the altar. 
 
 The Ollivant Orphans ! 
 
 With frontispiece by Flagg 
 
 $1.40 net 
 
 This book is most like " Phoebe and 
 Ernest." It tells of two years in the life 
 of six young men and maidens of to-day 
 full of the spirit of youth, its pluck, its 
 foolishness, and its happiness. 
 
 Janey 
 Illustrated by Ada C. Williamson 
 
 $1.25 net 
 
 " Being the record of a short interval in 
 the journey thru life and the struggle with 
 society of a little girl of nine." 
 
THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 BY 
 
 INEZ HAYNES IRWIN 
 
 Author of "Phoebe and Ernest," " Phoebe, Ernest, 
 and Cupid," etc. 
 
 ILLUSTLATIONS BY 
 
 R. M. CROSBY, GAYLE PORTER HOSKINS, 
 AND HARVEY DUNN 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 1919 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1916. 1917. 1918. BY 
 THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1919. BY 
 THE McCALL COMPANY 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1919 
 
 BY 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 BOOK MANUFACTURERS 
 R A H W A Y N E!W JERSEY 
 

 TO 
 
 POLLY 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. IF YOUTH BUT KNEW ... 3 
 
 II. PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE . 39 
 
 III. SYLVIA'S SISSIES ..... 79 
 
 IV. THE LONG CARRY . . . .121 
 V. THE NEST EGG . , . . . 142 
 
 VI. THE ETERNAL SANTA CLAUS . .167 
 
 VII. THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET . 193 
 
 VIII. THE VAMP ...... 228 
 
 IX. PHOEBE DISCOVERS HER SON . . 254 
 
 X. How IT CAME . ; . ; . ... . 287 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 "Sister, Gaze on Our Father I" . Frontispiece 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "Now, Mrs. Warburton! Don't You Be 
 
 Making Any Apologies " ... 65 
 
 " What a Racket Those People Are Making ! " 189 
 
 " What Does She Look Like ? " t . 196 
 
THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
CHAPTER I 
 IF YOUTH BUT KNEW 
 
 "A H, here you are, Ern!" Phoebe Warburton 
 jL\. exclaimed in a relieved tone as she dropped 
 into the seat beside her brother on the five o'clock 
 express. " I was afraid you'd taken the four- 
 twenty-seven, and there's something I want to talk 
 over with you. About half Maywood takes this 
 car, don't they? Goodness what a warm day this 
 has been ! October fools me regularly every year. 
 . . . Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Hunt. How's 
 little Ellie? That's good. . . . Cold spells early 
 in the month ! Haul out the children's winter coats, 
 mufflers, leggings, gloves, and then about the middle 
 it goes back to summer again. Take off all the 
 winter things, and every blessed one of them gets 
 cold. I've been in town this whole livelong day. 
 I never was so tired in my life or so hot and I 
 must be a perfect sight! " 
 
 " Look all right to me," Ernest said, surveying 
 her with the calm of brothers. 
 
 Phoebe Warburton she had been Phoebe Mar- 
 tin and one of the prettiest girls in Maywood had 
 
 3 
 
4< ( \ : THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 grown from that pretty girl to a handsome woman. 
 She was in the middle thirties now, but she did not 
 look it; for much of her girlhood lingered in her. 
 Child-bearing had filled out the willowy wand that 
 had been her figure, but it had not diminished its sup- 
 pleness and erectness. Maturity had rounded out 
 the girlish peak that had been her face, but it had 
 not solidified or dulled it. As ever the vivacity of 
 her body showed itself in the quickness and sure- 
 ness of her motions. As ever the fluidity of her 
 spirits displayed itself in the extravagance and fer- 
 vor of her expressions. And as ever the warmth of 
 her sympathy expressed itself in an immediate re- 
 sponse to the nearest mood and atmosphere. En- 
 ergy splashed from her; vitality sparkled in her; her 
 face was lustrous with happiness. Yet sometimes a 
 thought that pierced all this, brought a change of 
 expression to her eyes a look wistful and poignant 
 as though continually she asked a question that 
 Fate continually refused to answer. 
 
 Now, Phoebe's face glowed with a depth of color 
 that had for the time become almost plum-like in 
 tint. A faint pearly dew studded her brow and up- 
 per lip. Nevertheless, she maintained her charac- 
 teristic sartorial trimness. Veil, gloves, shoes re- 
 mained crisp. The thick waves of her golden-brown 
 hair still stayed where she had placed them that 
 morning. Every line of her plain tailored suit 
 
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW 5 
 
 seemed to emphasize the virility of her figure. She 
 carried a shining black traveling bag. 
 
 " What you been doing all day, Phoebe? " Ernest 
 asked. 
 
 "If you will believe it Christmas shopping! 
 I've always said I'd do it sometime, and this year 
 I'm making good on my resolution. . . . How 
 do you do, Mr. Pebworth! Yes, the candlesticks 
 are lovely ! Thank you so much for letting us know 
 about them. . . . I've registered a solemn vow to 
 take Christmas by the forelock. I've cleaned out 
 all the drawers in Aunt Mary's maple highboy. 
 IVe bought brown paper and white paper and tissue 
 paper and red ribbons and green ribbons and every- 
 thing but Christmas tags and seals they aren't on 
 sale yet and I've made a solemn vow to myself 
 that by the first of December every gift will be 
 bought, done up, tagged, and packed away in the 
 highboy." 
 
 Ernest laughed. " Sounds like a fairy tale. Of 
 course, like all men, I hate Christmas! I'm with 
 that man who wants to start a Scrooge Club. I'd like 
 to be president of it. I'm glad to think that this 
 year there'll be one woman not running around for 
 the last three days before Christmas like a hen with 
 her head cut off, and ready to go into a sanitarium 
 the morning of the twenty-sixth. Are you enjoying 
 it?" 
 
6 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 "I loathe it!" answered Phoebe. "Of course, 
 it's unphilanthropic and uncivil and unsocial and 
 unevery thing, but I must admit that I perfectly adore 
 the Christmas rush. . . . Oh, hullo, Mary say, 
 are you ever coming to committee meeting again? 
 Well, see that you do. ... I love to run around 
 in the stores with crowds and crowds and crowds 
 of other people, all just as excited as I am. Every- 
 thing always seems Christmas-sy and gay to me. I 
 don't care how skimpy the shop Christmas-tree dqco- 
 rations are, or how unconvincing-looking the shop 
 Santa Clauses or how artificial the shop holly and 
 mistletoe! I just love it. And if the weather is 
 good, with snow on the ground and lots of sun- 
 shine, I feel as if I should skip and leap just as I 
 did when I was a child. I know I shall miss it like 
 the very dickens this December staying at home 
 with my hands folded. I'll feel as though some- 
 body's died and it's the day after the funeral." 
 
 'Then what are you doing it for?" Ernest de- 
 manded with an amused smile. 
 
 " Oh, I'm just obeying the Christmas order 
 * Shop Early.' I'm doing it out of pity for the over- 
 worked store-girls. Sometimes I wonder if they 
 don't enjoy it, too I mean the sense of rush and go 
 and excitement. Oh, of course, I know they don't. 
 They can't. They must be ready to drop with ex- 
 haustion, and yet, I'm not sure that they want it 
 
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW 7 
 
 to be as calm at the Christmas season as any other. 
 . . . Good afternoon, Phil. Yes, come up any 
 time. Now run along, I want to talk with Ern." 
 
 " Oh yes, what was it you wanted to talk over? " 
 Ernest inquired. 
 
 "About father and mother," Phoebe answered. 
 " Thank goodness, the train's started. Nobody'll 
 interrupt us now. Isn't it funny how irritating it 
 is to sit in a train if you're waiting for it to start 
 and how uncomfortable you get if it stops and stands 
 unexpectedly anywhere? Yes, I've been thinking a 
 lot about father and mother lately, and do you know, 
 Ern, for the first time in my life I've had the feeling 
 that they were getting old." 
 
 "Old!" Ernest repeated. "Old! Nonsense! 
 I can't think of father and mother as old, somehow. 
 I never shall, I suppose." 
 
 "I never have before," Phoebe said. "But 
 somehow in the last few months there's been a dif- 
 ference. Mother doesn't seem to interest herself 
 in anything any more. Oh, of course, she's crazy 
 about our children, but . . . Oh, how do you do, 
 Mr. Morton! How's Mrs. Morton? That's nice. 
 . . . And of course, father always falls into the 
 pace that mother sets. He always has. I shouldn't 
 say pace now it's a rut. I do wish we could get 
 them out of it, Ern mother'll take orders from 
 you like a lamb. I've tried, in a way, but you 
 
8 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 know mother will never come to the dinner parties 
 Tug and I give. She says she doesn't enjoy being 
 with a crowd so much younger than herself. And I 
 can't seem to get her to go to the Woman's Club. 
 The women there who are most interested, Mrs. 
 Hunt and Mrs. Richards, scold me all the time for 
 not bringing her oftener; but she's the hardest per- 
 son in the world to pry out of her regular habits." 
 
 " Yes," Ernest agreed. " I've always realized 
 that of course, but I don't think I've noticed any 
 special difference in her lately." 
 
 1 There is, just the same," Phoebe insisted. 
 
 ' There's something gone I don't know exactly 
 
 what it is. Yes, I do, too. I guess we've got to 
 
 reconcile ourselves to the fact that they're getting 
 
 along. Middle-age has gone and old-age is coming." 
 
 Ernest looked out of the window a moment, and 
 for that moment a shade of deep reflection wiped 
 out what boyish values still lingered in his face. 
 He was as handsome as his sister, though in another 
 type. Big-figured, blue-eyed, and black-haired; 
 personality, flamboyant but tempered, glowed back 
 of his comeliness. Maturity had subdued him from 
 a colorful adolescence by lining him a little, but the 
 lines had only added a shadowing subtlety. Like 
 Phoebe, he possessed an instinctive sartorial smart- 
 ness which seemed never to permit his clothes to 
 look old or shabby. Unlike her, an underlying seri- 
 
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW 9 
 
 ousness often broke through his debonair expres- 
 sion, creased lines on the freshness of his coloring. 
 
 " I haven't thought of mother as growing old at 
 all," he said at last. " A man doesn't notice what 
 a woman's doing. But now you speak of it, I recall 
 something father said the other day. Toland and 
 the twins ran to meet us as we came up the street. 
 We hadn't been talking for a moment or two, and 
 suddenly father broke out as though he were answer- 
 ing some argument he'd raised in his own mind. 
 * It's those little shavers that are pushing me into 
 the easy-chair by the fire,' he said, * I don't know 
 as I want to go, but they insist on it.' He said that 
 as though it had just struck him it had nothing to 
 do with what we'd been talking about. Well, even 
 if they are old, it isn't such a terrible tragedy, 
 Phoebe. It's the way of all flesh. It's the natural 
 development of life. Old-age can't be averted or 
 avoided, if you live long enough. Why not look it 
 square in the face, admit it, and make the best of 
 it?" 
 
 " I suppose you're right." Phoebe emitted a sigh 
 that was half reluctance and half impatience. 
 " Only it does seem to me that they're not old enough 
 yet to be old. And there are some things that break 
 my heart. For instance mother was never very 
 crazy about clothes, but now her complete indiffer- 
 ence Why, I don't know when she's had any- 
 
io THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 thing new, and of course she can have anything she 
 wants. If they'd only get out evenings, and go to 
 something anything I don't care what. But 
 night after night, they just sit and read and nap and 
 talk a little and then go to bed. Yes, I suppose I've 
 got to reconcile myself to it. They're old. My 
 father and mother are old. Well, let's make a com- 
 pact, Ern. We won't ever mention it to anybody 
 else and we'll never let them suspect that we know it, 
 never, never, never." 
 
 " You're on," approved Ernest. 
 
 Phoebe stopped at her mother's house on the way 
 from the train. Coming unexpectedly, as she did, 
 into the living-room, she found Mrs. Martin seated 
 alone, looking vacantly out the window into a 
 vista of twilight so pale that, in it, the street lamps 
 made blobs of yellow color rather than golden light. 
 "What are you mooning about, mother?" Phoebe 
 demanded briskly. " I hope the children haven't 
 worn you out." 
 
 " No, they never wear me out," Mrs. Martin an- 
 swered. " They're always quiet. I've had such a 
 nice day with them." 
 
 "Was Edward good?" 
 
 " As good as gold ! I think he's the best baby 
 you've ever had, Phoebe." 
 
 " You've said that about every one of them except 
 
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW n 
 
 the first," Phoebe accused her mother. " He may 
 not be the best behaved, but he certainly is the best 
 looking. If I do say it as shouldn't, he's the 
 swellest" Phoebe smiled at this verbal reminis- 
 cence of her girlhood " youngster in this town." 
 
 " You ought to have a miniature painted of him," 
 Mrs. Martin said. " Those curls and those great 
 gray eyes and such red lips ! " 
 
 " I'd like to see Tug Warburton's face," Phoebe 
 declared, " if I should propose to him having his 
 son's picture painted. If it were Bertha-Eliza- 
 beth Or Phoebe-Girl Have the children 
 
 been gone long?" 
 
 " Only a few minutes," Mrs. Martin replied. 
 " And I miss them already. You don't know how 
 I love to hear children's voices in the house. It 
 brings back those early days when your father and 
 I first took it. You know it was I made your father 
 buy this place. He didn't feel we could afford it. 
 I was sure we could carry it. But after we'd signed 
 the papers I got an awful scare. It seemed such a 
 terrible debt that we were shouldering. I was afraid 
 then that we never could pay it off! But the in- 
 stant we got here and I had all these nice airy rooms 
 and that great big kitchen to work in and you chil- 
 dren that lovely yard for your play I never had 
 another instant of doubt but that I'd done the right 
 thing. I brought you children up in this house and 
 
12 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 it doesn't seem quite natural not to have children 
 here. If I had known you were coming home on 
 this train I'd have kept them until you got here." 
 
 " I'm glad you didn't," Phoebe declared. 
 ' They'll be all washed up and tidy when I get home. 
 Besides, once in a while, mother, I like to have a 
 little talk with you when they're not about." 
 
 "Did you get all your shopping done?" Mrs. 
 Martin asked. 
 
 4 Yes, as much as I could do in one day," Phoebe 
 answered. " How do you feel, mother? You look 
 a little tired." 
 
 "Yes, I do feel a little tired." Mrs. Martin's 
 eyes wandered to the garden with its shrunken, shriv- 
 eled flower beds; then to where the trim suburban 
 houses across the street stood in line; above to the 
 twilight sky where a crescent moon rocked; beyond 
 into infinity. Then abruptly her look came back to 
 her daughter's face. " Do you know, Phoebe, lately 
 I've had the queerest feeling. I don't know exactly 
 how to describe it. I don't know exactly what to 
 make of it, but it's as though life were slowing up 
 a little. I suppose it's all perfectly natural when 
 you stop to think of it. Before you children were 
 married and were living at home, this place was 
 full of activity. Of course, I was the head of the 
 house and everything that came up was referred to 
 me and I had to settle it. Seems to me, as I look back 
 
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW 13 
 
 upon it now, there was a new question and a new 
 problem and a new responsibility every single day. 
 Then you both got married and started homes of 
 your own, your children came along and instead of 
 being mother I was grandmother. There's a great 
 deal of difference between being grandmother and 
 being mother. Not that I don't like being grand- 
 mother; I do. I enjoy it a great deal. I'm proud 
 of it, but I have a queer feeling as though all re- 
 sponsibility had been taken from me. Delia and 
 Mary have been with me so long that they know my 
 ways perfectly. I hardly have to give them orders 
 any more. No machine could run any better than 
 this household does. I feel that I haven't any real 
 work to do I mean work that depends absolutely 
 on me. I haven't the feeling I had when I was 
 bringing you two children up. Of course, I have a 
 certain sense of responsibility in regard to my 
 grandchildren, but it isn't a real responsibility. 
 They're a great pleasure. I enjoy them in a way 
 that I couldn't enjoy you, because I always had to 
 train you, to see that you got the right habits 
 and the right point of view on things. But I don't 
 feel that way about them. Why, Phoebe," Mrs. 
 Martin looked at her daughter as though she ex- 
 pected to horrify her with the revelation she was 
 about to make " often when they do the naughtiest 
 things, I don't pay any attention to them at all. It's 
 
THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 such a joy to think that I haven't got to scold or 
 punish them. I just let it go by. I pretend not to 
 
 see it." 
 
 " I don't know, mother, but what you've discov- 
 ered a great principle of child-training," Phoebe 
 said after an instant of reflection. 
 
 Mrs. Martin received this apathetically. " But 
 in the last few days," she went on, recurring to her 
 former train of thought, " I've been thinking about 
 this queer listless feeling, and suddenly it came over 
 me what it might be, Phoebe. It's old-age. It 
 took me a' long time to understand it, but perhaps 
 that's what it is. Old-age! Phoebe, is that it? Is 
 your mother old? " She stopped and looked a little 
 helplessly at her daughter. 
 
 Phoebe's gray eyes filled with swift tears, and 
 after a while, though more slowly, her mother's eyes 
 filled, too. 
 
 " Old ! " Phoebe lied indignantly. " Old ! Non- 
 sense ! You're not old, mother. You never could 
 be old." 
 
 That night after dinner, just as his father was 
 establishing himself in the big Morris chair by the 
 big center table, Ernest strolled into the living-room. 
 
 " Oh, Ernie ! " His mother jumped to her feet. 
 She kissed him. " How glad I am to see you ! You 
 don't get around very often now." 
 
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW 15 
 
 " No, I've been working a lot nights lately," 
 Ernest said. 
 
 " How is Sylvia?" Mrs. Martin asked. 
 
 " Never better. And in such good spirits. She 
 hasn't been so happy since the twins were born." 
 
 " That's good," Mrs. Martin commented. 
 
 " I wondered, father," Ernest went on, " if you 
 would like to go down to the banquet of the Busi- 
 ness-Men's Club tonight it's too late for the feed; 
 but we can listen to the speeches. They say there's 
 going to be some good speakers this evening ex- 
 Governor Talcott, Senator Middleton, and that 
 Socialist mayor from Missouri who's been in the 
 papers so much let me see, what's his name?" 
 
 " Shaw," Mr. Martin supplied. 
 
 " I hear the Business-Men's Club is going to make 
 things hum this coming year," Ernest went on. 
 " Ever since Murray was elected president, there's 
 been a lot of activity all along the line. I really 
 think there'll be something doing there tonight." 
 
 " No guess I won't, Ernest," Mr. Martin re- 
 plied immediately. " I don't feel like going out 
 tonight." 
 
 " Oh, you'll feel like it all right when you get 
 there," Ernest urged. " Buck up and come along, 
 Dad!" 
 
 " No, guess I won't, Ernest," Mr. Martin re- 
 peated, smiling but determined. 
 
16 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " Why not? " Ernest demanded. " You haven't 
 anything else to do." 
 
 " I know I haven't," Mr. Martin agreed. " The 
 plain truth is that I don't want to go." 
 
 ' Well, you ought to want to go," Ernest declared 
 argumentatively. 
 
 " Maybe," Mr. Martin admitted. " But I'm 
 through with that stuff now I'm leaving it to you 
 young fellows. You see, Ernest, when a man has 
 reached that point in life when his business seems 
 to go automatically oh, I don't mean to say he's 
 not interested in new schemes but nevertheless it 
 goes by itself when he finds himself all the after- 
 noon looking forward to that quiet, simple, well- 
 cooked dinner that he knows is waiting for him at 
 home and to the long evening that follows it; him- 
 self in front of the fire, his wife sitting near him in 
 a big chair, the dog yawning on the hearth and the 
 cat snoozing beside him, his pipe and tobacco on a 
 little table at one side, and his papers and the maga- 
 zines on a big table at the other and that's about 
 all he wants out of life, except to have his children 
 and grandchildren come around I guess he's got 
 to face the truth and admit to himself that he's get- 
 ting along." 
 
 " Oh, quit your kidding, father ! " Ernest adjured 
 Mr. Martin. "What rot! You make me sick! 
 Come on down to the club with me." 
 
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW 17 
 
 Mr. Martin shook his head decisively. " Don't 
 think I will." 
 
 "Oh, you're a quitter, father!" Ernest accused, 
 retreating. " Good night, mother. I'm sorry you 
 married Rip Van Winkle." 
 
 " You said to Ernie just about what I said to 
 Phoebe this afternoon," Mrs. Martin remarked 
 after her son had gone. " 1 told her that I'd recon- 
 ciled myself to the fact that I was getting on in 
 years, and she'd better reconcile herself to it, too." 
 
 "What did Phoebe say?" Mr. Martin asked 
 with interest. 
 
 " She said I wasn't, of course," Mrs. Martin an- 
 swered. " But she cried and I cried, too." 
 
 " Of course the children take that sort of thing 
 pretty hard," Mr. Martin offered after a pause. 
 " They don't know what fun we're having." 
 
 " I'm glad you love our home so, Edward," Mrs. 
 Martin said wistfully. " I love it myself. I'm so 
 happy here. I always have been. This house seems 
 to hold in it the history of the life we've been 
 through together the children growing big and 
 going to school and falling sick and getting into 
 trouble and all the family misfortunes and bless- 
 ings." 
 
 She looked about the big living-room as though 
 trying to get a new point of view on what held a 
 sweet familiarity: comfortable, roomy, modern 
 
1 8 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 furniture, many plants which dropped trailing green 
 growths or flecks of bloomy color against paper and 
 woodwork; photographs of children and grand- 
 children in every period of growth and every com- 
 bination of group. The room showed a reposeful 
 orderliness; it held a quiet air of serenity, to which 
 the silvery ticking of the old grandfather's clock in 
 the corner, the yawns of the collie on the hearth, the 
 occasional rising and stretching of the cat, gave 
 touches of an affectionate domesticity. 
 
 " Yes, it rests a man so after a long day at the 
 office," Mr. Martin said. " I hate to hear the door- 
 bell ring sometimes just because it means interrup- 
 tion, and I have moments when I wish we never had 
 had a telephone put in the house." 
 
 "There! There's the telephone now!" Mrs. 
 Martin exclaimed. " You invited that, Edward, by 
 saying what you did. I'll answer it." She went out 
 into the hall. 
 
 In spite of his professed hatred of interruption, 
 Mr. Martin listened attentively. 
 
 " Hello ! Hello ! " came to him from Mrs, Mar- 
 tin. ' Yes, this is Mrs. Martin oh, good evening, 
 Mrs. Richards oh, yes, you'll always find us at 
 home in the evening yes yes yes no, I don't 
 go very often I don't know why exactly yes, I 
 suppose I ought to oh, I don't believe I could 
 it's very kind of Mrs. Hunt, and I feel that it is 
 
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW 19 
 
 a great honor to have been asked, but I haven't 
 any faculty for that sort of thing I hate to ask 
 people for anything, especially money I'm sure I'd 
 be a great failure there are so many other 
 women who can do this ever so much better than 
 I can oh, Mrs. Richards, I couldn't. I really 
 couldn't. You don't know how sort of shy and 
 awkward I am with strangers. I'm sure I won't 
 have any success whatever well, of course, if you 
 put it that way, I don't see what else there is for 
 me to do I'll say * yes ' then, but don't expect any- 
 thing from me and please tell Mrs. Hunt what 
 I've said, so she won't expect any more of me than 
 I can do. Of course, I'll do the best I can." 
 
 "What are you stung for?" Mr. Martin in- 
 quired when his wife re-entered the room. 
 
 " Well," Mrs. Martin answered with an unac- 
 customed use of slang, " I guess that's what's hap- 
 pened. I'm stung all right. It's the sort of thing 
 that I hate to do, and yet I don't see how I could 
 get out of it, the way Mrs. Richards put it to me. 
 It's hard to refuse people over the telephone I 
 don't know why. I suppose you've heard me say or 
 Phoebe say that the Maywood Woman's Club has 
 been trying for a long while to raise money for a 
 new clubhouse. They've always held their meetings 
 in the Town Hall or the High School Hall. They're 
 good enough in their way, of course, but it would 
 
20 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 be much nicer to have a building of our own. The 
 women say that if they had a pretty, comfortable 
 little hall with a roomy stage and good dressing- 
 rooms, and a convenient kitchen for serving refresh- 
 ments, that we could make quite a bit of money rent- 
 ing it for theatricals and dances and dinners and 
 lunches and teas. I've always been very strongly 
 in favor of it, but I've never interested myself much 
 in it because well, it's never come my way before. 
 They had plans drawn up several years ago. The 
 kind of clubhouse we want will cost ten thousand 
 dollars. We've bought the land that money was 
 the first we raised and it didn't come so hard. But 
 getting money for the clubhouse has been a long 
 pull. The committees have done everything they 
 could think of. They've given plays, lectures, con- 
 certs, whists, bazaars, picnics and rummage sales 
 and dances and cabaret shows anything and 
 everything to make money. But we still need four 
 thousand dollars before we can start things." 
 
 "Well, what do they want you to do?" Mr. 
 Martin asked. 
 
 ' This year they've got a new idea. They say 
 everybody is so busy that they're going to try a new 
 scheme and see what can be done by asking people to 
 contribute cash outright. Mrs. Richards says that 
 there are a lot of people that would rather do that 
 than give up an evening to go to something, or 
 
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW 21 
 
 have to buy things they don't want. So Mrs. Hunt, 
 the president, has appointed a committee of twenty 
 women to collect contributions of money. She wants 
 them to get all they can of course, but to make it a 
 point not to get less than two hundred each. There 
 will be a meeting of the finance committee three 
 weeks from today in the afternoon at Mrs. Richards' 
 house." 
 
 Mr. Martin whistled. " Four thousand dollars 
 out of this little town in three weeks. Impossible! 
 Can't be done!" 
 
 "That's what I told them," Mrs. Martin said. 
 " But they said it wouldn't do any harm to try, and 
 anyway what money we did get would be just so 
 much gained. Of course, of all the things in the 
 world that they could ask me to do, they've struck 
 on the one that's hardest to try to get money out 
 of people. I haven't any knack for that. I don't 
 know how to go about it. I guess it's because for so 
 many years money was so scarce with us, Edward, 
 that I put an undue value on it. It seems to me as 
 though I were asking people for their heart's blood. 
 I told Mrs. Richards and she said they all said 
 that. Now, Phoebe would be perfectly wonderful 
 at that sort of thing. Phoebe's like all the present 
 generation she takes money for granted. And 
 how she spends it! She's not extravagant exactly, 
 but she doesn't seem to have any respect for money I 
 
22 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 Mrs. Richards told me they'd asked Phoebe to go 
 on this committee, but she's so busy with a million 
 other things, she had to say ' no.' Well, you know 
 what Phoebe's life is like." 
 
 u That's the most encouraging thing I've heard 
 about Phoebe in a long time," Mr. Martin com- 
 mented grimly, " that at last she's said ' no ' to 
 something. Why didn't you put your foot down too, 
 Bertha?" 
 
 " I don't know exactly," said Mrs. Martin. " Ex- 
 cept that to say ' no ' is the hardest thing in the 
 whole wide world for me to do. And then Mrs. 
 Richards said that they'd got nineteen of the twenty 
 
 women." 
 
 " Well, have you any idea you're going to get 
 that two hundred dollars? " Mr. Martin demanded 
 quizzically. 
 
 " No, I don't think I'm going to get it," Mrs. 
 Martin admitted humbly. She added with a sud- 
 den access of spirit, " But I know I'm going to 
 try." 
 
 " Well, I suppose if I had any of the milk of 
 human kindness in my system, I'd hand you a check 
 for the whole amount now. I wouldn't be surprised 
 if that's what I did in the end. But I guess as long 
 as you've undertaken this, Bertha, you'd better find 
 out what you're, up against. You won't say * yes ' 
 so easily the next time. Besides, your enterprising 
 
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW 23 
 
 daughter has already stung me three times for this 
 clubhouse fund." 
 
 " You don't think I can raise it?" Mrs. Martin 
 questioned. 
 
 " Not a chance," Mr. Martin answered. 
 
 "Oh, by the way," Mr. Martin said the next 
 evening, " do you remember that banquet that 
 Ernest tried to take me to last night? Well, I 
 guess I missed a trick. They had a great session. 
 That man Murray is certainly putting new blood 
 into the Maywood Business-Men's Club. Ever 
 since he got back from California, he's been a dif- 
 ferent man. He came into the office to see me this 
 afternoon. He's got a great scheme on hand. It 
 seems that the twenty-third of next May is a great 
 day in Maywood history, the two hundred and fif- 
 tieth anniversary of the sale of what is now the 
 township to Myles Morrowdale by the Indians. I'd 
 forgotten all about that, if I ever knew it. Murray 
 seems to think that we ought to celebrate, a dinner 
 or a meeting or something. They seem kind of 
 hazy about what they do want. There's only one 
 jhing that they are certain of they must have a 
 .silver-tongued orator. Murray got the club all het 
 up over it. He came in to see me about a program 
 wanted me to suggest somebody to speak. Well, 
 we ransacked our brains for names. I gave them all 
 
24 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 I could think of ex-Governor Myrick first, but 
 Murray said that he was too dull. And I agree with 
 him. Then I suggested old Colonel Denton I 
 knew just exactly what he would say to that. He's 
 grown so childish that he rambles on and on and 
 there's no stopping him. Then I said Robson, but 
 he was out of the question and I knew it he's so 
 terribly unpopular. Then I mentioned Fair. Mur- 
 ray said they'd thought of him, but he would be 
 away. I couldn't think of anybody else and he 
 couldn't think of anybody else, and we left it there. 
 Oh, yes, Murray didn't seem entirely satisfied with 
 that kind of meeting asked me to think, if I could, 
 of some more suitable way of celebrating the day." 
 
 " That's a rather important event the two hun- 
 dred and fiftieth anniversary," Mrs. Martin ob- 
 served. " Seems to me they ought to have some- 
 thing better than just a meeting and a speech." 
 
 " I thought so, too," agreed Mr. Martin. " I've 
 been thinking of it ever since. You know, the Mar- 
 tins Micah Martin's branch were the first family 
 to settle in Maywood after the Murrays bought the 
 land. We've lived here from father to son for 
 several generations. You remember the old grave- 
 yard over the river well, that's crowded with Mar- 
 tins. I was born here, but my father moved away 
 when I was about twelve. I always loved this town 
 though, and never forgot it. Always thought I'd 
 
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW 25 
 
 want to come back some day. I'm glad we left 
 though, because if we hadn't I never would have met 
 you. It's queer how these things work out. Just 
 as soon as I got engaged to you and I knew I was 
 going to have a home and, likely, a family, my 
 thoughts all went back to Maywood. I said to my- 
 self, * I'm going back to that little town where 
 all my ancestors lived.' It was just as though they 
 were calling me. Anyway, that was the motive 
 that brought me here ; and ever since I had that talk 
 with Murray today I've been thinking about May- 
 wood history and all the stories father and mother 
 used to tell me." 
 
 " I remember when we first came here," Mrs. 
 Martin said, " you were full of it. We visited that 
 old graveyard don't you remember? You told 
 me more stories ! And you had an idea that you 
 wanted to buy what was left of the original Martin 
 
 farmhouse and build on " 
 
 " Yes, I had that idea," Mr. Martin explained, 
 " but I never could get Abner Martin to loosen up 
 on it. He doesn't seem to want it for anything, uses 
 it for a sort of workshop ; yet he won't sell it. But 
 if it ever does come on the market well, you watch 
 me. Ernest ought to have it. My father told me 
 that many's the time he's sat in the chimney-corner 
 and listened to tales of the Revolution, told by men 
 who fought in it. Lord ! that used to bring it near. 
 
26 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 There was one story father used to tell me that I 
 always liked I haven't thought of it for years. It 
 happened on the day that Paul Revere came gallop- 
 ing through the countryside, warning the farmers 
 that the British were coming. When he got to May- 
 wood, about the middle of the morning, my father's 
 grandfather, my great-great-grandfather, old Ne- 
 hemiah Martin, was plowing. Paul Revere didn't 
 stop, he just hollered across the field that the British 
 were coming. Nehemiah ran into the house, got his 
 gun and powder horn, ran out, kissed his wife and 
 started down the road. That wife of his was a won- 
 der, I guess. I think she must have been the man of 
 the family, because all the nephews and nieces called 
 her Aunt Nehemiah instead of Aunt Abigail, which 
 was her right name. Well, anyway, when Nehemiah 
 gets to the turn of the road, he turns around to wave 
 to his wife; and old Aunt Nehemiah has taken his 
 place at the plow and is working away as though she 
 had done it all her life. I always liked that story. 
 Sometimes I feel as though I ought to tell it to the 
 Suffragists." 
 
 " They'd use it all right," Mrs. Martin com- 
 mented. 
 
 " I couldn't seem to get that talk with Murray out 
 of my mind," Mr. Martin went on, unheeding. " I've 
 been thinking of it all afternoon long." He got up 
 and began to walk back and forth, taking short, 
 
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW 27 
 
 quick pulls of his pipe. "It occurred to me that 
 perhaps the best way to celebrate this anniversary 
 would be to have one of those pageants that they're 
 giving everywhere nowadays. If I get it right, a 
 pageant isn't a play, but a series of historical pictures 
 indicating the history of the town. After my mind 
 got going on it, a whole lot of things came back to 
 me that Fd clean forgotten stories that father and 
 mother used to tell. Then I began stringing them 
 together. I think I'll go around and see Murray to- 
 morrow and outline the thing as far as I've worked 
 it out and suggest that we have an all-day celebra- 
 tion; games and sports in the morning, open-air 
 pageant in the afternoon, banquet and speeches at 
 night. I don't see why we should have to have any 
 of these dubs around here make the address. I don't 
 see why we couldn't get the Mayor of Boston, the 
 Governor of the State the President of the United 
 States, for that matter." 
 
 " I think that would be a very good scheme/' 
 Mrs. Martin approved. 
 
 * Yes," Mr. Martin went on, as though talking to 
 himself, resuming his seat. " I'm going around to 
 talk to Murray just as soon as I can make it." Then 
 as though this discussion brought up an associated 
 train of thought, he added, " How are you getting 
 along with that two hundred dollars you expected to 
 raise?" 
 
28 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " Pretty well," Mrs. Martin said. " I made up 
 my mind that I wasn't going to ask my friends for 
 money they've been asked for so many things 
 lately. And so it occurred to me the other morning 
 when I was dressing, that I'd go from house to house 
 just like a book canvasser, put the whole case before 
 the women prove to them that this clubhouse 
 would be a benefit to every woman and child in town 
 and ask them for contributions of any sum from 
 pennies up. You'd be surprised how nice people 
 were. Of course, I started with the richest part of 
 the town, but I had a much better time when I went 
 across the river. At first I dreaded it like anything, 
 but I began to have so much fun out of it that I've 
 been doing it morning and afternoon ever since. I've 
 got thirty-one dollars and sixteen cents. People are 
 always so much more kind than we think they're 
 going to be, and it's such an experience to go into the 
 different houses and see how they're furnished and 
 talk with the children. Oh, I've seen so many dar- 
 ling babies ! Why, Edward, I've had regular adven- 
 tures. One woman invited me to stay to lunch. All 
 we had was baked potatoes and bacon and tea, but 
 oh, wasn't it delicious! I was so hungry. Why, 
 Edward, I've had some of the nicest talks with 
 strange women. You couldn't have made me believe 
 I'd enjoy anything so much." 
 
 " Oh, by the way, Bertha," Mr. Martin reverted 
 
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW 29 
 
 to his own interest It was evident that Mrs. Mar- 
 tin's remarks had slid off a preoccupied mind. " If 
 you ever get the chance, I wish you would bring up 
 this two hundred and fiftieth anniversary business at 
 some meeting of the Woman's Club. They probably 
 would have some ideas, too. Women have so much 
 more time to attend to such things." 
 
 " Oh, Edward, I couldn't," Mrs. Martin remon- 
 strated, appalled. " In all the time IVe been a mem- 
 ber of that club, I've never spoken once. Often I've 
 wanted to and sometimes I've had good ideas on 
 the subject under discussion but I never could get 
 up on my feet that's one thing that's beyond me 
 making a speech." 
 
 ' c Well, mention it to them in one of your com- 
 mittee meetings," Mr. Martin suggested. " Or ask 
 somebody else to bring it before the club." 
 
 " All right," Mrs. Martin agreed, " I'll remem- 
 ber to do that." 
 
 "You going out tonight, Bertha?" Mr. Martin 
 said when he came home one night many days later. 
 4 Yes. It is the annual meeting tonight at the 
 club," Mrs. Martin explained. " Election of officers. 
 I don't want to miss it. I expect there'll be an inter- 
 esting time. Mrs. Hunt absolutely refuses to hold 
 office again. She's been president for five years in 
 succession, and she says they ought to let her off now, 
 
30 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 and I agree with her. By the way, Edward, that 
 committee of twenty you know the one that was to 
 raise the four thousand dollars had its last meeting 
 this afternoon; and I was the only one who had 
 raised the two hundred. I got more two hundred 
 and seventeen dollars and three cents. The others 
 had all raised something. They ranged from six to 
 ninety-seven dollars, but I was the only one who 
 came in with the whole two hundred. I feel very 
 proud, and Mrs. Richards said after we made our 
 report that it was most amusing, because I was the 
 only one who said I was sure I couldn't do it. All 
 the others were perfectly sure they could raise one 
 hundred at least. Mrs. Richards asked me what my 
 method was. Then I told them how I'd been can- 
 vassing the town. I got quite interested in what I 
 was saying, and I guess I must have talked for fifteen 
 minutes telling my experiences. I never did such a 
 thing in my life. I was ashamed when I realized 
 how much time I had taken, but they seemed to enjoy 
 it. They laughed and laughed and laughed; and 
 when I got through, they asked me all kinds of ques- 
 tions. I can't tell you, Edward, how set up I was." 
 There was a triumphant light in Mrs. Martin's eyes 
 and a faint color in her cheeks. " I'm sorry that 
 committee work is over I enjoyed the meetings 
 so. I don't want to miss tonight. I'm sure it's 
 going to be very exciting." 
 
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW 31 
 
 When, a few hours later, Mrs. Martin returned 
 from the meeting, she let herself very quietly in at 
 the front door, walked very quietly into the living- 
 room and, without removing her hat and coat, with- 
 out speaking, sat down very quietly by the fire. 
 
 " Won't you take your things off and stay with us 
 a little while, Mrs. Martin?" Mr. Martin asked 
 jocularly after an interval. 
 
 Mrs. Martin arose, took off her hat and coat, 
 dropped them on the couch. But she still moved 
 quietly, slowly, as one in a dream. " Edward, what 
 do you suppose has happened?" she demanded 
 abruptly. Before her husband could reply, she 
 answered her own question. " They've elected me 
 president of the Woman's Club." 
 
 " They have," Mr. Martin said. " They have. 
 You don't! Well, how the thunder did that hap- 
 pen?" 
 
 " I don't know," Mrs. Martin answered. " I 
 haven't the remotest idea. It's almost as much of a 
 mystery to me as it is to you. It just happened 
 that's all. I suppose it was my raising that two 
 hundred and seventeen dollars. Mrs. Richards did 
 it. Three or four other names were suggested, but 
 they elected me. Mrs. Richards told the club all 
 about how I raised the money all about it she 
 didn't leave out a word. I didn't want to be presi- 
 dent, Edward, but I didn't have the courage to get 
 
32 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 up on my feet and tell them so and when they took 
 me up on the platform -and everybody standing 
 and applauding, I didn't know what I was going to 
 do. And when Mrs. Hunt retired and left me there 
 all alone in the chair and everybody began to clap 
 again and I knew I had to make a speech Edward, 
 I never came so close to fainting in my life. I felt 
 perfectly desperate until it just flashed into my mind 
 to bring up that matter of the two hundred and fifti- 
 eth anniversary of the settlement of Maywood. I 
 told them the whole story everything just as you 
 told it to me and suggested that we co-operate with 
 the Business-Men's Club to make it the greatest day 
 that Maywood has ever known. Well, those women 
 went perfectly wild over it. They were just full of 
 ideas and plans. There'd be four or five on their feet 
 at once, calling ' Madame President ' ! Lots of them 
 told things that had happened in their family con- 
 nected with the history of the town and, Edward, 
 some of it was mighty interesting. There was the 
 greatest amount of applause and laughter, and all 
 the time old Mrs. Mitchell was talking about Civil 
 War times in Maywood, the tears were just stream- 
 ing down her face. Many other women were crying. 
 We never had such a meeting. The first thing I had 
 to do was to appoint a committee of twenty-five to 
 take the whole matter in charge and then a whole 
 lot of smaller subcommittees. I don't know how I 
 
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW 33 
 
 did it, but my mind seemed to clear up the way it 
 always does when you have to do something. We're 
 going to make a wonderful day of it. But, oh, Ed- 
 ward, think of me being president of the club! " 
 
 " I'm mighty glad of it, Bertha," Mr. Martin 
 declared. "Mighty glad. It's the best thing could 
 happen to you. You need it. And you'll make a 
 splendid president. I guess this town's going to 
 wake up pretty soon to the fact that they've got a 
 remarkable woman in their midst." 
 
 " How you talk, Edward ! " Mrs. Martin ejacu- 
 lated. 
 
 " While you were gone," Mr. Martin went on, 
 " Murray called me up and told me that he'd 
 sounded the Governor you know they're great 
 friends about his making a speech on the anniver- 
 sary night. The Governor said he'd come through, 
 and he thought that Opdyke, Secretary of State, 
 who was a classmate of his at Harvard, could 
 get the President to come, too. What do you sup- 
 pose Murray said? He wants me to serve as toast- 
 master at the banquet that night introduce all the 
 speakers. I told him he ought to do that and he 
 ought but he wouldn't hear of it. He said he never 
 had done anything like it in his life and it was too 
 late to begin. He insisted on my taking the job, 
 and finally I said I would. That will be in the even- 
 ing, of course, in the Town Hall." 
 
34 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " Oh, Edward! " Mrs. Martin exclaimed. " I'm 
 so glad. I know you'll do it beautifully you're 
 always so brief and to the point and yet you say an 
 awful lot and funny, tooi I've always said that 
 the time would come that this town would wake up 
 to the fact that they've got a remarkable man here. 
 They're going to find out right now." 
 
 "Quit your kidding, Bertha!" Mr. Martin or- 
 dered. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Martin," Phoebe said to her mother 
 on the evening of the anniversary night. " You cer- 
 tainly are some president. The Woman's Club end 
 of this program has been carried out beautifully. It 
 was perfect not a hitch anywhere. And as for this 
 pageant it was one of the most impressive things 
 I ever saw in my life. I wept buckets. I felt all 
 kinds of quivers of pride running up and down my 
 spine when I reflected that we Martins helped to 
 make this town. You certainly have been in the pub- 
 lic eye this day. And tonight father does his grand 
 stunt. I've come over to help you get dressed. It 
 isn't often that my father and mother dine with the 
 President of the United States, so you've got to be 
 all right. What are you going to wear, mother ? 
 The gray?" 
 
 Mrs. Martin wore a long and dark kimona. On 
 her head was a boudoir cap. " I've done something, 
 
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW 35 
 
 Phoebe," she answered, flushing slightly, " that I'm 
 ashamed to tell you about. But all my life I've 
 wanted one of those beautiful dresses that you see 
 in those smart shops on Boylston Street. You know 
 what I mean all made, so I wouldn't have to bother 
 about it. I was afraid you wouldn't let me have it, 
 if I told you about it, so I went in town the other day 
 all by myself and picked out well, it's black tulle 
 trimmed with silver." 
 
 Phoebe stared. " Well, good for you, Mother 
 Martin!" she emitted finally. "Only you do me 
 an injustice. Black and silver is perfectly respect- 
 able. Let me see it at once. How much did it set 
 you back? " 
 
 " I'm ashamed to tell you," Mrs. Martin said 
 with emphasis. " But it's a beautiful gown, if I do 
 say it myself." She led the way to her chamber, 
 where, suspended on a hanger on the closet door, was 
 a slim, delicately figured mass of black tulle and lace ; 
 touched here and there with dashes of silver. 
 
 " It's a wonder ! " Phoebe approved with enthusi- 
 asm. " I can see that. What's this under the sheet 
 on the bed?" 
 
 " A new evening coat," Mrs. Martin said, " and 
 a new evening hat." 
 
 Phoebe lifted the sheet. " Oh, what a beautiful 
 brocade it's like cloth of silver ! Try it on, moth- 
 er!" She slipped the wide-sleeved coat over her 
 
36 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 mother's shoulders. " It's lovely that deep collar 
 of seal makes it so rich. ' The hat is awfully 
 smart I love a lace hat. And that silver rose on 
 the brim is a wonderful touch. You're going to be 
 considerable pippin, believe me. What else did you 
 get? Out with it!" 
 
 Mrs. Martin opened the lower bureau drawer. 
 
 Phoebe plumped down beside it. She chuckled. 
 " Silver slippers. I'm so glad you didn't get black. 
 Oh, what lovely buckles, mother ! I'm crazy about 
 cut steel. And silver stockings ! " With a smile still 
 trembling on her lips, she looked into her mother's 
 face. u ls that all?" she demanded. "Woman," 
 she commanded, " confess all your guilt! " 
 
 " Well," Mrs. Martin said, shamefaced, " I had 
 Madam Lily come out and do my hair." She 
 removed the boudoir cap, which showed a structure 
 of carefully waved coils and braids that first dipped 
 a little low on the forehead and then retreating 
 seemed to cover her entire head with a shining luxu- 
 riance. Everywhere gleamed hairpins of silver 
 shell. " And while I was about it, I had my face 
 massaged and my nails manicured." 
 
 Phoebe hugged her mother. Then she made Mrs. 
 Martin put the new hat on. " It's a duck, mother 
 just big enough. And your hair looks lovely through 
 it. I suppose if we both live to be one hundred years 
 old, maybe I'll get your number, Mother Martin, 
 
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW 37 
 
 but as it is now, you're always surprising me. Oh, 
 hello, Ern. What are you doing here ? " 
 
 " I came up to look father over before he went 
 on the platform tonight," Ernest answered from the 
 doorway. " I was afraid he'd make some fierce 
 sartorial break that would disgrace the Martin 
 family forever. But I find, if you please, that he's 
 bought new and up-to-date evening clothes, which 
 include white gloves, silk socks, shiny pumps, a pearl- 
 gray silk muffler I'm beginning to suspect he writes 
 * What the Man Wears ' for the theater programs. 
 Sister, gaze on our father ! " Ernest made an elab- 
 orate gesture as one putting on exhibition the figure 
 that joined him in the doorway. 
 
 An hour later Phoebe and Ernest watched the 
 limousine bear their father in the direction of the 
 Murray house. 
 
 " Ern," Phoebe said, a glint of mischief brighten- 
 ing her misty gray eyes, " did I say something a 
 while ago to you about mother and father being 
 old?" 
 
 " I seem to recall that you did, Phoebe," Ernest 
 answered. " And that I added remarks to the same 
 effect." 
 
 " Well, I take it back," Phoebe declared. 
 
 " I renig also," Ernest agreed. 
 
 " I'm now going to my humble home," Phoebe 
 
 
38 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 announced, " put on the blue evening dress that's 
 left over from last winter, and the white evening 
 coat that's left over from the winter before that, 
 and the evening hat that's no, I recall now I have 
 no evening hat whatever and follow those two gor- 
 geous, giddy, gay young things to the hall and be a 
 humble spectator from the gallery of their triumphs. 
 I don't think I'll make any attempt to recognize 
 them, however. I should hate to have the President 
 of the United States know that the frump hiding in 
 the shadows is their daughter." 
 
 " I also," promulgated Ernest, " will return to my 
 humble cot. I will put on the evening clothes that 
 I've worn ever since I was married, the overcoat 
 that's two years old going on three, and the top hat 
 that belongs in vaudeville, it's such a joke. I, too, will 
 hie me to the hall where these magnificent young 
 creatures are blooming into public life. I, too, will 
 make no attempt to recognize them. I don't want 
 the President of the United States to suspect that the 
 tramp cowering in the corner is their son." 
 
 " Well, take heart, Ern. Maybe when we get to 
 their age, we'll have a good time, too." 
 
 " Maybe. Anyway, Phoebe, I'm beginning to 
 look forward to it." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 
 
 THAT Saturday afternoon in early June was 
 hot, but the Warburton place echoed with 
 noise and seethed with activity. Outside, the noise 
 was greater perhaps and the activity less, although 
 the tennis doubles were in vigorous swing. Inside, 
 noice and activity were almost equal. Upstairs, a 
 clatter of footsteps, the brisk, quick movements of 
 men, the stubby stumble of a boy, resounded from 
 the bare floors. Downstairs, the treble accents of a 
 little girl pattering from dining-room to kitchen and 
 back again, sustained an interminable argument with 
 unseen presences. Above all this surged the roar of 
 water flowing into two bathtubs, growing loud 
 and then dull again as doors opened or shut; and 
 into it poured constantly the staccato purr of the 
 telephone. 
 
 " Mother, where did you say the opera glasses 
 were? " the boy upstairs called, interrupting Phoebe, 
 who was entertaining Professor Halliway down- 
 stairs. 
 
 39 
 
40 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " Now listen this time, Toland," his mother 
 answered; u I don't want to have to tell you again. 
 They're in the right-hand pigeon-hole of the desk in 
 the hall. And remember to be very careful as you 
 approach the bush. If you frighten the parent birds, 
 they may desert the eggs and never come back again. 
 Oh, yes, Professor Halliway, I quite agree with 
 
 you on that matter. Municipal What is it, 
 
 Emily? " She interrupted herself this time, address- 
 ing the maid who had appeared in the doorway. 
 
 " Mrs. Tilden, Mrs. Warburton. She said not to 
 come to the phone, but just to say whether you could 
 have that suffrage meeting here a week from Tues- 
 day." 
 
 1 Yes, Emily. Tell Mrs. Tilden Tuesday will be 
 all right," Mrs. Warburton answered. 
 
 ' This is always such a gay house on Saturdays," 
 Professor Halliway commented. " My wife and I 
 often speak of it." 
 
 " Yes," Phoebe agreed, " we always look forward 
 to Saturdays. It's a kind of rallying day for the 
 family my brother and his wife, their children, and 
 my father and mother generally appear in the course 
 of the afternoon. And then all the Piety Corner peo- 
 ple are such tennis fans that our court makes the 
 place a kind of center for the whole neighborhood. 
 We have a shower in the barn, but it isn't enough. 
 People are taking baths in the house all the after- 
 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 41 
 
 noon long. My husband believes so much in exer- 
 cise that he starts the tennis just as soon as he can in 
 the spring and keeps it up as late as possible in the 
 fall. It makes the summer so much longer. We 
 play on Thanksgiving Day often. I really think we 
 have more outdoor life than any family in May- 
 wood." 
 
 
 
 4 Yes, I think you do, Mrs. Warburton," Profes- 
 sor Halliway said. " And do you mean to tell me 
 the baby sleeps in all this rumpus? " 
 
 " Perfectly ! " Phoebe answered. " But Micah is 
 a marvel for sleeping. No wonder! The poor 
 
 lamb He's been brought up in a household 
 
 with, as I always say, tennis at his head and a dance 
 at his feet." 
 
 :t When I think of the absolute quiet our children 
 had " Professor Halliway murmured. 
 
 Professor Halliway was one of Phoebe's neigh- 
 bors. Although he had not lived long there, he was 
 very popular in Maywood. He came from the West, 
 and he seemed to express in his personality all the 
 briskness and enterprise that Eastern people have 
 grown to believe are inevitable Western character- 
 istics. Perhaps what Maywood liked best about him 
 was that though he possessed every claim to being 
 considered a highbrow he was the author of " The 
 Democratic Ideal " he never pressed any of those 
 claims. He was a perfect specimen of one Western 
 
 
42 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 type long, lean, gangling. The deep blue of his 
 eyes set refreshing glints of color in his sleek, 
 close-cropped head. A certain amusing irregular- 
 ity of contour added a whimsical expression, equally 
 attractive. The letter R birred pleasantly through 
 his speech. 
 
 4 You are very lucky to have space enough to 
 permit so much hospitality," he added thoughtfully. 
 " It is a beautiful place and a beautiful house. Just 
 how old is it? " 
 
 " About two hundred years. It's one of the three 
 oldest houses in town. It belonged for years to an 
 old Maywood family by the name of Durland. They 
 left America for England about twenty-five years 
 ago." 
 
 " Durland ! Durland!" the professor repeated 
 with a note of interrogation. 
 
 " Eileen Durland married the Duke of St. Seav- 
 erns," Phoebe answered his unconscious question. 
 1 You must have heard of our one Maywood celeb- 
 rity. Maywood wouldn't be on the map if it weren't 
 for Eileen Durland. I was a little girl when the 
 Durlands left Maywood and went to London, and I 
 don't remember them at all; but I've always heard 
 people talk about them. Mrs. Durland was a beau- 
 tiful woman a blonde of a very ethereal, almost an 
 angelic type. Mr. Durland was blond too and there 
 were eight children five boys and three girls all 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 43 
 
 blonds. They said it was as if the house was filled 
 with angels. Eileen, the oldest girl, was a great 
 beauty. Mr. Durland had very influential connec- 
 tions in England. They say nobody since Lily 
 Langtry has ever made such a sensation in London 
 society as Eileen Durland. After they left, this 
 house remained vacant for years and years. All 
 during my childhood it was unoccupied. You see, 
 for a long time Maywood didn't develop in this 
 district. Everybody was going out Murray Corner 
 way. The house was beginning to get a little tumble- 
 down when Tug and I first looked at it. But we fell 
 in love with it at once." 
 
 " It's a wonder," Professor Halliway commented. 
 " Sometimes I think it takes us Westerners really to 
 appreciate a place like this." 
 
 The room in which they sat extended down one 
 whole side of the house. It was a big room, nobly 
 proportioned in the colonial way. The white-painted 
 woodwork the doors, the mantel, the little closets 
 above it and the metalwork knobs, latches, 
 hinges were exactly what the Colonial taste had 
 chosen. And much exceptionally fine old furniture 
 bore out the Colonial atmosphere. But in effect the 
 house was modern. A certain cleanly clutter gave 
 it all the earmarks of a real living-room. A tea- 
 wagon, heaped with sandwiches and cookies, steamed 
 in one corner. The big, old-fashioned center table 
 
44 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 was loaded with books, magazines, and incongruous 
 things : " Fauna and Flora of New England," * The 
 Blue Fairy-Book," " The Old-Fashioned Girl," the 
 Youth's Companion, the St. Nicholas, a bag of mar- 
 bles, an open paint-box, a baseball mask. A file of 
 dolls, sitting in tiny chairs on the hearth, mutely 
 contemplated the painted scene of a toy theater. On 
 a small table at Phoebe's right, a half-completed 
 smock of pink linen overflowed a capacious work- 
 basket. 
 
 " That stairway is such a beauty, too," the profes- 
 sor murmured. " I am struck afresh with it every 
 time I come into the house." 
 
 The wide living-room door opened into a wide 
 hall papered in an old-fashioned landscape paper. 
 The stairway, which filled the center, widened grad- 
 ually as it approached the lower floor. It was 
 guarded on both sides by a balustrade made with 
 carved white-painted banisters and a mahogany 
 hand-rail which, dropping at a beautiful slant, finally 
 coiled at the newel-post into spirals, exquisitely 
 carved. 
 
 " I'm glad you like the house," Phoebe said enthu- 
 siastically. " I adore it more and more every year 
 of my life. We bought it for a song. And for a long 
 time we were afraid that the neighborhood would 
 gradually deteriorate, and some time for the 
 children's sake we'd have to give it up. Then sud- 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 45 
 
 denly, to our great joy, Piety Corner began to 
 boom." 
 
 " Piety Corner!" Professor Halliway repeated. 
 " I'd forgotten that they used to call it that. Isn't 
 it amusing? And so like Puritanical New England! 
 How did they get that name? " 
 
 " There used to be churches on the other three 
 corners," Phoebe explained. ' Two were only tem- 
 porary ones; they were taken down later. The 
 other burned to the ground one night, and the con- 
 gregation voted to follow the line of growth out 
 Murray Corner way. It was very exciting when 
 people first started to build here. Houses began to 
 go up by twos and threes. Every night after Tug 
 got home, we used to make the rounds of the streets 
 to see how the buildings were progressing. They 
 were all pretty houses, as you see, but comparatively 
 inexpensive. And the first thing Tug and I knew, 
 we were surrounded by a young married community. 
 Every house seemed to have a bridal couple in it. 
 Then the babies began to come. It's been such fun 
 watching the families grow up round us." 
 
 1 Yes," the professor agreed, " that must have 
 been very interesting. It's rather a striking chance 
 for sociological investigation. And again you are 
 fortunate in that, no matter how much the neighbor- 
 hood grows, you are protected so far as space is 
 concerned." 
 
46 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 1 Yes, we are lucky in that. We have lots of 
 land at the back. At the other side, our property 
 runs to the corner. I've always been worried for 
 fear somebody would build on the lot next door, and 
 so Tug bought it this year for my birthday. I'm 
 going to have an old-fashioned garden on it loads 
 and loads of flowers in great masses of color. And 
 then, gradually, I'm going to get a sundial, a bird's 
 bath, some of those beautiful garden seats in carved 
 Italian marble, and a fountain perhaps. Won't it be 
 lovely?" 
 
 '* Very. There used to be an old house there, 
 didn't there?" 
 
 4 Yes. That burned when the church burned." 
 '* What are you going to do with the old barn? " 
 the professor inquired after a contemplative interval. 
 " If we can't sell it, we'll take it down." 
 " What a pity! " Professor Halliway commented. 
 " It's a splendid specimen of Colonial barn-architec- 
 ture so ample and well-proportioned. It's almost 
 as good as the day it was finished those big beams 
 are so interesting too and the wooden nails. Did 
 you know that some of the shingles were hewn out 
 with an adze? " 
 
 " No, I didn't know that," Phoebe answered. 
 " But I do think it's nice the lines are so long and 
 low. I'm really sorry to have it go, but of course 
 we have no use for it. It will take so much space 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 47 
 
 from my garden and we don't need it we have a 
 barn of our own." 
 
 The noise outside had not abated. Excited cries 
 from a tennis crisis filtered through the hall. Inside 
 the confusion had increased. Upstairs, male voices 
 shouted from the bathroom windows encouraging or 
 derisive comment on umpire decisions. Toland a 
 stocky, wild-haired little lad, all teeth and freckles 
 came sliding down the banisters and departed from 
 the house with the full boy-complement of unneces- 
 sary clatter. The screen door opened and shut sud- 
 denly. 
 
 " Say, Mrs. Warburton," a man's voice called 
 from the hall, " I'm in a mackintosh half dressed, 
 so I won't come in. But can I borrow some dress 
 studs off Tug? The baby's asleep in our room the 
 first time in hours after this teething spell and we 
 don't either of us dare to go in for fear of waking 
 her up. We're in an awful rush to catch that four- 
 twenty-seven." 
 
 " Help yourself, Mr. Dabney," Phoebe answered. 
 * You know Tug's room. The little leather box on 
 his bureau." 
 
 The dialogue between the fluting treble and the 
 unseen presences had gradually grown louder. 
 "Mother! mother!" the treble voice called sud- 
 denly, coming nearer on a swift patter of footsteps. 
 " Dotty and I want to play mud-pies, and Annie 
 
48 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 won't give me any dishes." A little girl appeared 
 in the doorway. 
 
 At first appearance Phoebe-Girl was all huge 
 black-star eyes, agreeably tangled in eyelashes. But 
 gradually there disentangled themselves from their 
 candid lucence the red of her brilliant cheeks and 
 lips, the white sparkle of her engaging smile. 
 
 " What do you do with all the dishes I give you, 
 Phoebe-Girl?" her mother demanded. Phoebe's 
 voice was stern but in spite of herself, her expression 
 softened to the vision. 
 
 " Some of them breaked," the fluting treble ex- 
 plained categorically. " And Berfa-Lizabuff taked 
 all the perserve glasses and Gordon stole a whole 
 lot. And we made lots of pies and now we want to 
 make some gingy-bread." 
 
 " Will you excuse me just a minute, Professor 
 Halliway?" Phoebe asked. 
 
 " Certainly," Professor Halliway answered. 
 
 With her characteristic vigor of action, Phoebe 
 swung swiftly through the doorway. 
 
 " Well, I'll see " Phoebe's voice trailed off 
 
 into silence with her retreating footsteps. 
 
 Left alone, the professor walked from one win- 
 dow to the other of the big room. At the side, the 
 decorative white wooden fence which surrounded the 
 Warburton place was not far from the house. 
 Beyond an indiscriminate scramble of weeds, 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 4 9 
 
 broken by the gray hulk of the old barn was the 
 recently purchased lot. Beyond the lot lay flat marsh 
 country, green with a piercing spring greenness. In 
 front stretched a well-kept lawn sprinkled with tree 
 and bush. The street passed this, passed the new 
 lot, cut into the heart of the marsh, came out on the 
 other side and disappeared in a big huddle of faded, 
 dull-colored houses;. At the back were marshes 
 again. But these drew into cultivated patches that, 
 rising higher and higher on the slopes of Mount 
 'Fairview, looked like a tilted checkerboard, colored 
 in all the shades of young vegetable growths. 
 
 " It must be very interesting I mean there must 
 come a definite psychological effect from living in a 
 house like this," Professor Halliway observed on the 
 return of his hostess " a house with a history and 
 traditions." 
 
 " Yes," Phoebe's comprehension was instant 
 " there is. I have never shaken off my impres- 
 sion that the Durland spirit lingers here. The 
 Durlands were such fine people ; they were all mixed 
 up with the early history of the town, you know. 
 And then their family life was beautiful they 
 were so lovely to everybody. Oh yes, they've left 
 an atmosphere in the house. I feel it sometimes 
 almost as a presence." 
 
 " Yes," Professor Halliway mused half to him- 
 
50 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 self, " it would be a rather interesting idea a little 
 fanciful, perhaps to work up into an essay. The 
 theme that it is every man's duty to leave the spirit of 
 civic righteousness in his home both as an inspiration 
 and an urge to the next generation. But I've really 
 come here this afternoon with a very definite pur- 
 pose, Mrs. Warburton," he changed the subject 
 suddenly. " I want to talk over something with you 
 and your husband. I'm sorry Mr. Warburton is late 
 today. It's about the marsh section and the marsh 
 children." 
 
 " Oh yes," Phoebe said comprehendingly, " I 
 know exactly what you are going to say. It is a 
 great problem, isn't it? " 
 
 " It certainly is," Professor Halliway asserted 
 with emphasis. " My wife feels it even more strong- 
 ly than I do. It's only the fact that she's been such 
 an invalid this winter that has kept her from coping 
 with the situation before." 
 
 " I suppose," Phoebe suggested, " that she's only 
 going through what I've been through with Toland 
 and am now going through with Bertha-Elizabeth." 
 
 "Bertha-Elizabeth?" the professor echoed. "I 
 thought she never did anything but stay in the house 
 and read? " 
 
 " She always has been a great reader," Phoebe 
 said, and said it in spite of herself with pride. 
 " But although she's never been exactly ill, she's 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 51 
 
 always been frail. I've always worried about her. 1 ' 
 That question that Phoebe ever asked of Fate filled 
 her eyes for an instant with its wistful poignancy. 
 " We never could seem to make her keep out enough 
 in the open air. But this spring she's so much more 
 vigorous and strong ! I don't know what's done it. 
 Lately, however, she's developed the greatest friend- 
 ship for Cely Connors, who lives down in the marsh 
 section. Cely seems to be a nice enough little girl, 
 but naturally I'd much rather have Bertha-Elizabeth 
 play with children nearer home the little Drew 
 children, for instance, who've just come back from 
 France. They've such lovely manners and speak 
 such delicious French. And then besides she's always 
 running down to the marsh section to play at Cely's 
 house. I never know what associations she may get 
 there, of course." 
 
 " Well, they won't be good ones," the professor 
 announced decisively, " you may be sure of that. 
 Perry came home yesterday with his nose bleeding 
 and Hammond with his eyes blackened where they 
 got into a fight. Dick is hand-in-glove with that 
 Tom Furey a great big bruiser of a boy. I really 
 can't understand it in Dick he's rather the stu- 
 dent type. We can't seem to keep our boys away 
 from the marsh section or the marsh boys away from 
 here. Yet they always fight. And it isn't because 
 we haven't tried to be friendly. I've often offered 
 
52 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 the marsh boys work about our place, but they always 
 refuse it." 
 
 * Yes, I know exactly what you mean. I never 
 saw anything like Bertha-Elizabeth's passion for 
 Cely Connors. Recently I've got Toland interested 
 in birds he's spending much of his time hunting 
 them with opera glasses. But before I thought of 
 that, he simply lived in the marsh section. Oh, here's 
 mother! " 
 
 Phoebe ran to the door and kissed the tall, spare, 
 white-haired woman who appeared there. " Father 
 coming later, mother? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes," Mrs. Martin answered. 
 
 Mrs. Martin and Professor Halliway shook 
 hands. 
 
 " We're talking about the marsh section and the 
 marsh children, mother," Phoebe explained. 
 
 " Yes, and I would very much like to have Mrs. 
 Martin hear my plan," the professor offered cor- 
 dially. 
 
 Mrs. Martin sat down in one of the big winged 
 chairs. She was as tall and slender as Phoebe, but 
 with none of Phoebe's muscular vitality. All the 
 colorings of youth had faded from her face, but the 
 fine pencilings of character had taken their place 
 pencilings that her wavy white hair softened. It was 
 obvious the instant she faced the professor that her 
 personality was shy and retiring; and, the moment 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 53 
 
 she began to speak, that her speech was slow and 
 inarticulate. But it was also obvious after she en- 
 tered the room that she was there. And she con- 
 tinued to be there with a deeper and finer sense of 
 spiritual ponderability every instant. 
 
 " The thing for us to do," Professor Halliway 
 began, " is to stop trying to cope with the marsh 
 children, but to work out a plan that will eliminate 
 the marsh section. No one of us going at it alone 
 could accomplish anything, but a group of us work- 
 ing together could get away with it absolutely. 
 My idea is to form a company that shall buy up the 
 marsh section, make a residential district of it with 
 the kind of restriction that would keep out any but 
 desirable people. Frankly, Mrs. Warburton, I look 
 to your husband to provide the business brains for 
 this proposition to put it on a paying basis. I mean 
 that with Mr. Warburton, his father, your father, 
 your brother and a few others interested in it, we 
 could certainly swing it. They'd probably own the 
 greatest interest in the company. The rest of us 
 could invest according to our means. From the 
 business point of view, it seems to me a good propo- 
 sition. I don't see how we could lose money on it, 
 and we might make a lot. But the main thing is to 
 get rid of unpleasant neighbors and free ourselves 
 for good of a situation that threatens the welfare of 
 our children." 
 
54 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " I think it's a perfectly gorgeous idea," Phoebe 
 burst out enthusiastically. " It would be the very 
 best thing that could possibly happen to Maywood. 
 Don't you think so, mother? " 
 
 "Well, I don't know exactly," Mrs. Martin 
 answered slowly. " It's a thing I'd have to think 
 about before I gave an opinion." 
 
 " That's the thing for all of us to do," Professor 
 Halliway said, rising, " think it over. No no tea, 
 thank you, Mrs. Warburton," as Phoebe made a 
 movement towards the tea-table. " I must go now. 
 I've talked this matter over but with one person 
 Mrs. Peake Tilden. She said if I could get your co- 
 operation, Mrs. Warburton, the thing was done. 
 I'll be over to see Mr. Warburton some time next 
 week." He shook hands with both ladies. 
 
 " Oh, I'm so glad you came early this afternoon, 
 mother," Phoebe said after the professor had dis- 
 appeared. " All this talk about the marsh section 
 is funny, for I'm going down there right away. I 
 didn't want to say anything about it before Professor 
 Halliway, but Miss Humphrey Bertha-Elizabeth's 
 teacher stopped in for a few minutes this morning, 
 and what do you think Bertha-Elizabeth's been 
 doing? Playing truant right along every week for 
 months. Miss Humphrey said of course it never 
 occurred to her to suspect until she found from Miss 
 Ward that Cely Connors was always absent on the 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 55 
 
 same day. She said of course Cely was to blame; 
 she was going right down to see Mrs. Connors about 
 it. She said she'd stop in here on her way back and 
 tell me the result of her talk. She hasn't come yet 
 I don't know why. I've made up my mind that the 
 best thing I could do was to have a perfectly frank 
 talk with Mrs. Connors myself and tell her that I 
 want her to send Bertha-Elizabeth home every time 
 she goes down to the marsh section. Of course I 
 don't want Mrs. Connors to realize that it's Cely 
 who's put Bertha-Elizabeth up to this playing- 
 hookey business, and I do want to be as tactful and 
 kind as possible. But I'd like you to be with me 
 you're such a wizard with people. You don't mind 
 going?" 
 
 " No," Mrs. Martin said with an unexpected 
 energy of assent. " I'd like to go." 
 
 The screen door opened and shut vigorously. 
 "Where are you, Phoebe?" a man's voice called 
 from the hall. 
 
 " In the living-room," Phoebe answered. 
 
 "Does Tug always call for you the first thing 
 when he comes into the house?" Mrs. Martin 
 inquired, as Mr. Warburton stopped to applaud the 
 tennis players. 
 
 * The instant he opens the door," Phoebe an- 
 swered. Her face suffused for an instant, not with 
 a blush but with an expression that was half tender- 
 
56 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 ness, half amusement. "I've never told him how 
 much I love it for fear he'd get conscious and stop 
 it. He always acts as though he was afraid some- 
 body had stolen me in his absence. Yes, Tug," 
 she addressed the man who appeared in the doorway 
 a curly-headed gentleman whose moon-glasses, 
 however much they exaggerated the size of his blue 
 eyes, could not exaggerate their kindliness. " I am 
 still here. There have been three attempts to 
 abduct me since morning, but I have foiled them all. 
 You took a great risk in marrying a second Helen 
 of Troy." 
 
 " Pm often struck with that thought myself," 
 Tug remarked cheerfully, kissing his wife. " Where 
 are the children? " 
 
 u Baby is asleep. Toland is watching the robins 
 in the lilac bush with my opera glasses. Phoebe- 
 Girl is playing mud-pies in the barn. Bertha-Eliza- 
 beth has gone on her weekly spree with Cely Con- 
 
 nors." 
 
 "Where's Edward? Running away as usual?" 
 
 " No, he's with the twins." 
 
 " Humph ! " Tug commented sarcastically. 
 " He's safe in that gentle atmosphere." 
 
 " Oh, Tug, Professor Halliway has just been here 
 with a most wonderful scheme a business proposi- 
 tion that he wants you to " 
 
 " Can't bother with it now," Tug cut in decisively. 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 57 
 
 " And then any business scheme a professor puts up 
 interests me darn little. Besides Ern's coming up in 
 a minute and I'm going to lick the wadding out of 
 him. He said Sylvia'd be along later. I've got to 
 change." He disappeared upwards. 
 
 " Tell Ernie I'll come back here before he goes," 
 Mrs. Martin adjured the fleeting figure. 
 
 " Well, I might as well get that Connors call out 
 of my system," Phoebe decided. " Wait until I get 
 my things on, mother. I'll be ready in a jiff." 
 
 Phoebe flew up the stairway she had never 
 walked upstairs in her life ran through the hall. 
 When she returned, she had slipped a long navy- 
 blue taffeta coat over her navy-blue gown, an un- 
 trimmed, three-cornered, black straw hat on her 
 glinting ripply hair. Long black gloves, slim black 
 shoes, a crisp black veil there was an air, inalien- 
 able to her of freshness and smartness. 
 
 " Bertha-Elizabeth has looked so rosy lately I 
 can't tell you how happy it's made me. I don't know 
 
 whether youVe ever guessed it, mother " 
 
 Phoebe paused, and that poignant question, which 
 even at her gayest moment pierced the assured hap- 
 piness of her look, made her eyes dilate an instant. 
 1 Yes, I've guessed it," her mother put in quietly. 
 
 " I've always been afraid," Phoebe confessed, 
 " that I'd lose Bertha-Elizabeth always always 
 until the last six months. She's been so frail- 
 
58 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 looking ! But I never told anybody not even Tug. 
 Now I don't even think of it. She's got such a good 
 color." 
 
 1 Yes, your father has spoken of it again and 
 again and she's begun to thicken up." 
 
 " Oh yes, she's gaining. It's curious, I never 
 worry about the other children. Toland might be 
 made of iron and Phoebe-Girl of stone they're so 
 strong. Edward's like a steel rod. As for Micah 
 he's a perfect butter-ball." 
 
 " Yes, they've got wonderful constitutions," her 
 mother said proudly. " They get that from my 
 family." 
 
 " Of course, Mother Warburton says they get it 
 from hers," Phoebe remarked mischievously. " But 
 I don't care where they get it as long as they've 
 got it." 
 
 " I think Professor Halliway is an exceedingly 
 interesting man, mother." It was Phoebe who 
 changed the subject. " There's something so finely 
 democratic about him. His lecture in the Town Hall 
 ' The Civic Consciousaess ' was one of the most 
 splendid things I ever listened to. This scheme of 
 his sounds pretty good to me." 
 
 " I've been wondering about that," Mrs. Martin 
 said. " What will all those people in the marsh sec- 
 tion do if you buy their houses over their heads? " 
 
 " Do without, I suppose," Phoebe replied lightly. 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 59 
 
 " If they can't get other houses in Maywood, per- 
 haps they'll go to Rosedale. That's the nearest 
 town." 
 
 " Well, maybe the Rosedale people won't want to 
 have them," Mrs. Martin suggested. 
 
 " That's Rosedale's problem, not ours," Phoebe 
 decided trenchantly. " It's only up to us to decide 
 the problem as it affects Maywood." 
 
 " But somehow," her mother promulgated slowly, 
 " it doesn't seem quite fair to drive people out of 
 your town into the next expecially if they are not 
 what Professor Halliway calls * desirable people.' 
 For if that town doesn't like them, they can send 
 them on to the next town, and so on. That would 
 kept them on the move sort of all the time." 
 
 " Yes," Phoebe agreed. " I suppose it would; 
 Still, what else can we do ? Our duty is to our own 
 community as we see it." 
 
 Mrs. Martin's eyes wandered over the pool-dotted 
 marshes that were like green velvet embroidered in 
 silver, and up to the cloudless June sky that was 
 like a bowl of the most brittle and transparent glass, 
 stained at one point by the vague smear of the cres- 
 cent moon. " I feel as though I were in the real 
 country," she said. " Land, I can't remember when 
 I walked over this road last. I guess it was when 
 I used to be traipsing down to the marsh section all 
 the time, myself, first for you and then for Ernest." 
 
60 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " Did I used to run away and piay with the marsh 
 children? " Phoebe asked, obviously surprised. 
 
 " My Lord, yes ! " her mother answered. 
 " Everybody down there knew you. Perfect stran- 
 gers to me were always bringing you back." 
 
 " Well, I guess Bertha-Elizabeth comes rightly by 
 this tendency," Phoebe commented with a gleam of 
 appreciation. 
 
 " Who is this Mrs. Connors?" Mrs. Martin 
 asked. 
 
 " I don't know," Phoebe answered indifferently. 
 " I don't think I've ever seen her. She's got several 
 children that's all I know about her." 
 
 " It's queer about women," Mrs. Martin said, 
 after an interval of thoughtful silence. " I declare 
 sometimes I don't know what to make of them. But 
 then when I think how experience keeps changing 
 you ! You have one opinion about a thing at one 
 spell in your life and another opinion about the same 
 thing later. And you're just as likely as not to go 
 back to the first opinion again. And yet you're per- 
 fectly honest all the time. Take motherhood it's 
 the queerest about that. All the novels and all the 
 poetry tell us that it ennobles women. And they're 
 right in a way. I guess it would be a poor kind of 
 woman who didn't say she was a better woman for 
 having a family. But then see the other things 
 motherhood does. It seems to me, as I look back 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 61 
 
 upon my life, that I've never known a woman 
 who wasn't a snob about her children. I was. It 
 isn't because women are unkind or cruel; it's only 
 because there's something inside driving us to do the 
 best we can for our children and give them every- 
 thing we never had ourselves. And above all we 
 want them to grow up healthy and smart and good. 
 That makes us do the crudest things. Do you re- 
 member Hetty Browne, Phoebe? " 
 
 For an instant Phoebe's radiant smile brought a 
 flare of light into her smoky-gray eyes. " Perfectly," 
 she answered, " a lil' nig with such bright eyes and 
 kinky curls. I used to play with her at primary 
 school. I remember she always was so neat" 
 
 " Neater than wax! " Mrs. Martin agreed. 
 " Well, you brought her home from school two or 
 three times. And you two used to play together 
 so pretty and good and happy. Then I noticed that 
 the other children in the neighborhood were begin- 
 ning to stop coming into the yard. And I was 
 afraid it would hurt you. And so one day I sent 
 little Hetty home, and I told her she must never 
 come to the house again. Phoebe, I can remember 
 her face to this day and the look of her little figure 
 as she walked away. It haunted me for a long time." 
 
 Phoebe's eyes misted with the sympathy that was 
 as instant as her mirth. " Poor little Hetty! " she 
 exclaimed. "That makes me feel awfully bad. 
 
62 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 But I don't see that you could have done anything 
 different." 
 
 " Well, I don't, either," Mrs. Martin agreed. 
 " And yet it wasn't Christian, I guess. I think I'd 
 try to find another way now, though I don't exactly 
 know what." 
 
 They were close upon the marsh section now 
 not a very big area at most, but rather too crowded 
 with narrow streets which in turn were altogether 
 too crowded with narrow houses. The marsh sec- 
 tion was like a little island of high, dry land, and 
 around it the marsh stretched like a sea. The road 
 that led out of it ran past the railroad station to 
 Rosedale. Within the marsh section itself, jerry- 
 built apartment houses of the present day shouldered 
 substantial family mansions of an older generation. 
 Tenement houses of the intermediate period filled 
 in the architectural hiatus. The place teemed with 
 spring activity. Little boys played marbles in the 
 streets ; big boys, baseball in the empty lots. Little 
 girls engaged in hopscotch on the sidewalks; big girls 
 in jackstones in the doorways. Corner groups of the 
 one sex parted to permit bisection by arm-in-arm 
 groups of the other. The piazzas of the gone-to- 
 seed mansions, the meager porches of the tenement 
 houses were filled with women who read or sewed; 
 offered or received gossip; admonished the older 
 children; or nursed the younger ones. 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 63 
 
 The two women did not speak for a while. 
 
 " It's number 10 Acorn Street," Phoebe stated 
 absently. " Here's Chestnut it's right along here 
 somewhere." Then as though she were answering 
 some unexpressed criticisms, she poured out defense. 
 " You don't know how hard it is for us at Piety 
 Corner, mother. Of course being nearer the marsh 
 section than any other part of Maywood, we have 
 to bear the brunt of all the trouble. Those marsh 
 boys are divided into gangs, and they're really tough. 
 Professor Halliway was telling me what a terrible 
 time his boys are having. And then the marsh 
 children rob our orchards, steal our flowers, 
 and break our windows it's perfectly dreadful 
 the things they do. I should think they'd stay at 
 home." 
 
 [t Well, there isn't much space for them to stay 
 in," Mrs. Martin commented mildly. 
 
 " Oh, here's Acorn Street," Phoebe exclaimed, 
 unheeding. 
 
 They crossed the main street, turned into a side 
 street, and presently entered a yard where sat a 
 little low, two-storied house. Close to the piazza 
 and along three sides of the fence ran flower plots 
 in full leaf; but all else was thick, soft grass. Blos- 
 soming lilac bushes, white and purple, deluged the air 
 with fragrance. An old boat filled with earth 
 showed a flutter of nasturtium shoots. A woman 
 
64 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 arose from a rocking-chair on the porch as they 
 turned in at the gate. 
 
 " Mrs. Connors? " Phoebe asked politely. 
 
 " Yes," the woman answered. Her full hearty 
 tones blurred with a faint suggestion of brogue. Her 
 wide eyes were limpid with inquiry. 
 
 " I am Mrs. Warburton," Phoebe explained 
 " Bertha-Elizabeth's mother, and this is my mother, 
 Mrs. Martin." 
 
 Mrs. Connors' face lighted with a glow of friend- 
 liness as instant as Phoebe's own. 
 
 It was a round, strong healthily-colored face, sur- 
 mounting a round, strong full-bosomed figure. The 
 abundance and bushiness of her jet-black hair, the 
 brunette stain under her satiny bloom gave her al- 
 most a tropical appearance. But her eyes were the 
 color of Erin; and all Erin's hospitality gleamed in 
 her trusting smile. " It's glad I am to see the two 
 of you," she declared heartily. " Come right in." 
 
 She led the way through the little front hall into 
 the little front room. It was small and neat, with 
 wallpaper of a plain bright red and furniture of a 
 highly varnished oak. Some books had overflowed 
 from the modest bookcase onto the center table, had 
 joined there a magazine or two, a cribbage board, a 
 basket of darning, a pitcher of lilacs. On the mantel 
 were some vases of an innocuous shape and color and 
 on the wall a few pictures equally harmless. Be- 
 
"Now, Mrs. Warburton ! Don't you be making any apologies''' 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 65 
 
 tween the windows, however, hung what made a 
 focus of beauty a print, beautifully colored and ex- 
 quisitely framed, of Raphael's Madonna of the 
 Chair. 
 
 " Is Bertha-Elizabeth here this afternoon, Mrs. 
 Connors?" Phoebe asked. 
 
 " Yes, she and Cely are out in the kitchen cook- 
 ing," Mrs. Connors answered. 
 
 "Cooking!" Phoebe echoed in surprise. And 
 then, as though deliberately ignoring this in order 
 to get to more important business, " I've come here 
 this afternoon about this matter of their playing 
 truant," she plunged straight into the heart of it. 
 
 " Now, now, now! Mrs. Warburton!" Mrs. 
 Connors exclaimed heartily, " don't you be making 
 any apologies, because I've had too many children 
 not to understand that. I'm glad, though, you came 
 to me before you saw Bertha-Elizabeth, because be- 
 ing the young mother you are, you'll be thinking it's 
 more serious than it is." She flashed a smile of 
 understanding to Mrs. Martin which that lady an- 
 swered in kind. " I called the two children in, the 
 moment Miss Humphrey left, and questioned them, 
 and Bertha-Elizabeth came right straight out with 
 it. She said that she made Cely play truant, so's 
 they might work in their rhubarb garden. She was 
 afraid to go home at first, and I told her I'd go 
 with her and make it all right with you. Sure ! " 
 
66 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 she exclaimed, and all Ireland vibrated softly in her 
 coaxing voice, " and you wouldn't be punishing the 
 child for a little thing like that now, would you? " 
 
 Phoebe did not answer that question for a mo- 
 ment. But her face changed with the speed and 
 completeness of a moving-picture film. Surprise, 
 mystification, anger, mortification made eloquent 
 progress across it. Then suddenly she veiled it with 
 a deliberate inscrutability. " Certainly not," she 
 said. She spoke graciously, even smilingly. " And 
 it is very kind of you not to mind. But I don't un- 
 derstand about this rhubarb garden." 
 
 '* Well, now that's a long story," Mrs. Connors 
 answered, and her voice still coaxed. " Last fall, 
 Cely wasn't very well with a little cough that kept 
 on and on. Himself was quite worried about her; 
 and so I took her out of school and sent her to her 
 Grandmother Connors in Charlestown for a rest and 
 a change-like. Her grandma was putting up rhu- 
 barb, and Cely helped her. This spring she and 
 Bertha-Elizabeth found some rhubarb growing in 
 the yard of that old empty Brentwood house on 
 Walnut Street. Cely told Bertha-Elizabeth that she 
 knew how to make rhubarb preserve. And Bertha- 
 Elizabeth told Cely if she'd play truant and help 
 take care of the garden, she'd bring some preserve 
 jars from the house and buy sugar out of her spend- 
 ing-money, so's they could put it up. I never had a 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 67 
 
 suspicion what was going on until Miss Humphrey 
 came this morning." 
 
 " I see," Phoebe said blankly. She looked dazed 
 for an instant. Then she resumed her inscrutability. 
 
 " Bertha-Elizabeth loves to cook I never saw 
 anything like the knack of the child. Every Satur- 
 day in the winter, I let the two of them make cake 
 or cookies or pies. I feel very much obligated to 
 you, Mrs. Warburton," Mrs. Connors had the effect 
 now of intention, as deliberate as Phoebe's, of chang- 
 ing the subject, " for letting Bertha-Elizabeth lend 
 Cely so many books. Cely loves to read, but I 
 can't afford to buy her all the books she wants, and 
 the library's such a long way off for a little girl. I 
 buy her one of Louisa Alcott's books every Christ- 
 mas and every birthday, and that's about all I can 
 afford. Bertha-Elizabeth's books are beautiful. I 
 make Cely take good care of them she covers every 
 one of them before she reads a word." 
 
 " Oh, she needn't do that," Phoebe protested me- 
 chanically. " Bertha-Elizabeth's Alcott books are 
 the ones I had when I was a little girl." 
 
 ' Yes, I read the name and date in them," Mrs. 
 Connors said. " I read all those Alcott books when I 
 was about Cely's age, and mind you, Mrs. Warbur- 
 ton now don't it seem queer the way things come 
 about? I read those books in the very house in 
 which you're living now. Eileen Durland the one 
 
68 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 that's the Duchess used to play with me when we 
 were children. Oh, what friends we were ! Manny's 
 the day I've spent at her house and manny's the day 
 she's spent at mine. Her mother was such a beauti- 
 ful fine woman. My mother Heaven rest her! 
 used to say she looked like a saint. My mother 
 taught Eileen how to cook, and she was a fine little 
 cook, too. Eileen's mother taught me to love read- 
 ing. Eileen sent me that picture when I was mar- 
 ried all the way from London." She pointed to 
 the Raphael Madonna. " And last year when my 
 brother Tim was over there he's a gunner's mate 
 on the Marysville he dropped her a postal-card 
 saying he was in London. She invited him down to 
 her house an elegant grand big castle it was and 
 give him the best time Tim ever had, driving all day 
 in an automobile." 
 
 " That doesn't surprise me," Phoebe declared, 
 " I've always heard such lovely things about the 
 Durland family. You must come and call on me 
 soon, Mrs. Connors, and see the house again." 
 Phoebe's intention was obviously hospitable but still 
 her tone was a little mechanical. And she main- 
 tained her bright inscrutability. 
 
 " I'll be pleased," Mrs. Connors said. " Cely's 
 told me how fine you've made it. I was that glad 
 when you bought it and the FOR SALE sign came 
 down I could have cried. It used to give me 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 69 
 
 a queer feeling sad-like when I went past it. I'm 
 always so happy in my mind when Cely's at your 
 house, Mrs. Warburton, but I don't like her to be 
 with manny of those Piety Corner children. They're 
 a bad lot some of them. Those two older Halli- 
 way boys now not the young one every time 
 they come down here they do be making trouble 
 that's the blessed truth. Mrs. Connolly's boy came 
 home the other day all bloody where he'd been 
 fighting the two of them. I like Dick Halliway. 
 Tom Furey says he's a good fine boy. But the rest 
 of those Piety Corner boys! They rob our fruit 
 trees they tromp on our flower beds, and they 
 break our windows. And when they're getting junk, 
 it do be God's truth, they steal everything that isn't 
 nailed down. Himself says they'd take the railroad 
 track itself if they could rip it up." 
 
 Definitely Phoebe dropped her look of a bright 
 inscrutability for one of a dazed perplexity. 
 
 " Not that all boys aren't bad sometimes the 
 best of them," Mrs. Connors declared charitably. 
 " But we was discussing it just the other day, some 
 of my neighbors, and there was some talk of form- 
 ing a committee to go up and see the parents of the 
 boys that make so much trouble. And then we said, 
 * Lord love us, think of what our own boys do be 
 doing all the time ! ' Now, Mrs. Warburton, 
 wouldn't the two of you be having a cup of tea 
 
70 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 with me ? I put the teapot on the stove just the 
 moment before you came." 
 
 " I would like it very much/' Mrs. Martin an- 
 swered for them both. Phoebe seemed to find it 
 difficult to emerge from her daze. 
 
 Mrs. Connors bustled out of the room and bus- 
 tled back, bearing in installments crackers, jam, a 
 little tea-set of a thin red and gold Japanese china. 
 The teapot, however, was of a black shiny crockery. 
 
 " How delicious this is ! " Mrs. Martin approved, 
 tasting without milk the steaming, pale-gold fluid. 
 " Tea always goes to the right spot, doesn't it? " 
 
 " There's nothing like it," Mrs. Connors averred. 
 " And some of those Piety Corner people," she re- 
 verted to her grievance, " seems to have very queer 
 ideas, indeed. I don't mean old Maywood families 
 like yours, Mrs. Warburton, and Mrs. Martin, and 
 ours I mean those new people. They look down 
 on us that has lived here in Maywood ever since we 
 were born, as though we was the dirt under their 
 feet. Sometimes we wish we could move them all 
 out of here to Rosedale only that isn't our idea of 
 a fair way to act. We're very proud of Maywood 
 down here in the marsh section, and we hate to see 
 those kind of people coming into it. Down here, we 
 think everybody is as good as everybody else, and 
 those ideas don't make anny hit with us. Those peo- 
 ple seem to think our children are good enough for 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 71 
 
 some things and not for others. When they've 
 got anny dirty work to do, they're always after us." 
 " I know exactly what you mean," Mrs. Martin 
 announced sympathetically. " Once when Phoebe 
 was a little girl, some people by the name of Emery 
 took the big Chandler place for a while. They had 
 everything money could buy horses and carriages, 
 servants in livery. Their little daughter Emmeline 
 was just Phoebe's age. One day they invited Phoebe 
 to come over and spend the day with Emmeline. 
 Of course I let her go, but when I asked Emmeline 
 to come over and spend the day with Phoebe they 
 wouldn't let her come. When I told Mr. Martin, he 
 got as mad he said Phoebe wasn't to go there 
 again on any account. But it seems that little Emme- 
 line had taken a great fancy to Phoebe, and begged 
 so often to have her over there that Mr. Emery 
 actually took the matter up with Mr. Martin on 
 the train. Mr. Martin said Phoebe could go over to 
 see Emmeline as soon as Emmeline had been over to 
 see her. * But it's our rule never to let Emmeline 
 go to other people's houses,' Mr. Emery said. 
 * She's the only little girl we've got.' ' Well, Phoe- 
 be's the only little girl we've got ! ' said Mr. Martin. 
 4 And I'm not inclined to take any more risks with 
 my child than you are with yours.' They never let 
 Emmeline come, and Phoebe never went over 
 there." 
 
72 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 ' Well, the queer creatures that some people do 
 be ! " Mrs. Connors commented. " Have some 
 more tea, Mrs. Warburton." 
 
 When, after a protracted struggle with some legal- 
 looking documents, Tug Warburton started for bed 
 that night, he discovered his wife sitting at the head 
 of the stairway in the moonlight that poured through 
 the hall window. 
 
 " Stop where you are ! " she commanded as his 
 foot touched the lower step. " You're not coming 
 nearer until you've heard a confession I've got to 
 make." 
 
 Phoebe's long pale-blue kimona, wrapped tight 
 about her body, minimized her matronly fullness, 
 brought out lost suggestions of her girlish slimness. 
 Her loose hair, tied with a blue ribbon and falling 
 in feathery pale-amber torrents onto her shoulders, 
 subtracted from the roundness of her face, revived 
 a lost pointedness of contour. Pale-blue bed shoes 
 peeked from under her kimona. Her attitude was 
 that of a naughty child who expects to be disciplined. 
 
 Tug's face gloomed for an instant; then gleamed 
 as he ensconced himself comfortably on the lower 
 stair. " Shoot, wife of my bosom ! " he commanded. 
 " Put me out of my misery." 
 
 " Do you realize, Toland Warburton," Phoebe 
 went on, " that your wife is the queen of snobs? " 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 73 
 
 " I certainly don't," Tug asserted. " Now that 
 you ask me, I'll admit that it has never even oc- 
 curred to me. Still," he added as one recognizing 
 a great cosmic truth, u all women are more or less, 
 aren't they? " 
 
 " Yes," Phoebe said sorrowfully. " Mother says 
 so, and I guess she's right They don't mean to be 
 they don't know it often; they can't seem to help 
 it. I didn't know I was until today." 
 
 " What revealed you to yourself, O spouse of 
 my soul? " Tug continued in extravagant apostrophe. 
 He smiled genially as one who humors mania for 
 the moment. 
 
 " A lot of things," Phoebe admitted mournfully, 
 " all coming at once. First Professor Halliway told 
 me about a scheme that I thought was a perfect 
 wonder. It was for all the Piety Corner men to get 
 together, buy up the marsh section, turn out the 
 people who are living there, and change it to a resi- 
 dential neighborhood with such restrictions that only 
 what he called 4 desirable ' people could afford to 
 live in it." 
 
 " Poppycock! " Tug exploded. He started to kick 
 the newel post, but thought better of it. " And I 
 must say I'm stuck on his nerve. Some of these 
 year-and-a-half-old citizens of ours give me a fine 
 big elegant pain. What does he know about the 
 marsh section? I was born and brought up in May- 
 
74 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 wood, and I like the marsh section fine. Why, when 
 I nearly got T.B. that time when I was growing too 
 fast, Mike Leahy saved my life teaching me to box 
 in his barn. Mother thinks it was that punk three 
 months we spent in Florida that cured me, but, 
 believe me, it was Leahy chased the T.B. bugs out 
 of my system." 
 
 " Well," Phoebe announced with a fresh acces- 
 sion of self-depreciation, " that's just about as much 
 as I know about things. I thought it was a perfectly 
 ripping scheme until I went down to the marsh sec- 
 tion to call on Mrs. Connors." 
 
 "What Mrs. Connors?" Tug demanded. "O 
 angel of my household!" he added with placating 
 intent. 
 
 " Mrs. James Connors," Phoebe answered. " Do 
 you know her husband? She spoke as though you 
 did." 
 
 " Jim Connors! I should say so. Jim and I play 
 hand-ball regularly at the gym. Jim's a great per- 
 son. By the way, O fairy of my fireside, didn't your 
 heart swell with a vague emotion when you entered 
 the Connors' front yard? " Tug had the air of one 
 turning the conversation to more cheerful channels. 
 
 " Not that I noticed," Phoebe replied, impatiently 
 patient of interruption. 
 
 " O woman, woman ! And yet you ask for the 
 ballot! Don't you know, O apple of my eye, that 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 75 
 
 on that hallowed spot, Mike McCarthy trained for 
 the fight with Big Jack Nolan that made him cham- 
 pion heavyweight of the world? " 
 
 " No, of course I didn't know it. Tug," Phoebe 
 went on, ignoring further his attempt at lightness, 
 " I might as well tell you now that Bertha-Elizabeth 
 has been playing truant from school right along for 
 months with Cely Connors." 
 
 " Good for Bertha-Elizabeth ! " exclaimed Tug. 
 " I didn't know it was in her." 
 
 "I'm sure I didn't," Phoebe declared. "Of 
 course when Miss Humphrey told me about it, I 
 took it for granted that it was Cely who was putting 
 Bertha-Elizabeth up to it. But when I got down to 
 Mrs. Connors' house I discovered that it was the 
 other way about. Not that I really mind. Bertha- 
 Elizabeth's been working all this time out-of-doors 
 in a garden, and that's why she's got those rosy 
 cheeks. I almost don't care what she does as long 
 as she looks so well. Mrs. Connors has been teach- 
 ing her how to cook, and she's simply crazy about 
 it. It's a great mortification to me, Tug, when I 
 reflect that for months I've been trying to think of 
 some scheme that would take Bertha-Elizabeth out 
 of her books, and that Mrs. Connors has succeeded 
 where I failed. And then Mrs. Connors began tell- 
 ing me how bad the Piety Corner children act when 
 they go down to the marsh section, and how they 
 
76 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 hate to see them come. And that set me to think- 
 ing " She paused. 
 
 " Go on, O light of my life ! " Tug encouraged 
 her. 
 
 " Well, sometimes, Tug, I think " Phoebe's voice 
 sank to its lowest pitch of self-depreciation " that 
 I'm the original bonehead. Talk about solid ivory! 
 Solid adamant is soft in comparison with what sub- 
 stitutes for gray matter in my skull. For instance, 
 I'm always wrong in everything I think I know. As 
 far as I see I have only one good quality. If any- 
 body shows me where I'm wrong and they'd better 
 use words of one syllable and spell everything in 
 capital letters I can see it. But I can never get it 
 for myself. And I realize now that the reason for 
 the bad feeling between these two sections is that 
 they have nothing in common to bring them together 
 and make them understand each other to give them 
 the same interest. And then I've been thinking 
 what a narrow congested place the marsh section is 
 with no parks for the children to play in, and I 
 thought Tug, you told me that I could do anything 
 I wanted with the lot next door, didn't you? " 
 
 " I certainly did, O lodestar of my existence ! " 
 Tug declared. " Raise hippopotami if you want 
 the marsh is handy." 
 
 u I don't want," Phoebe announced automatically. 
 " I guess," she went on analyzingly, " the trouble 
 
PHOEBE AFFECTS AN EXCHANGE 77 
 
 with a lot of people really fine people like Profes- 
 sor Halliway is that they're democratic enough in 
 theory, but they're snobs like the rest of the world in 
 practice. We're all born snobs, and a big part of 
 spiritual development seems to be a matter of out- 
 growing it. Mother said a beautiful thing today on 
 the way home when we were talking it over. In 
 fact, it was a lot of things she said which showed 
 me that I had always been a snob without knowing 
 it. She said, * The idea of thinking that any one 
 little child could be any better than any other little 
 child! '" 
 
 Phoebe paused. She looked questioningly down 
 into her husband's face. That face smiled cheeringly 
 up at her. But she did not return the smile. 
 
 " And so I thought," Phoebe poured on, " that in- 
 stead of a garden, I'd turn the next lot into a play- 
 ground. Mrs. Connors told me how her youngest 
 son learned to play tennis when he was away this 
 summer and how crazy he is about it but never gets 
 a chance to play because there are no courts round 
 that he can use. And I thought I'd put in a tennis 
 court and maybe two on my lot for children only. 
 And work up tournaments and offer cups and get the 
 marsh section children in the habit of coming up 
 here. And I'm not going to tear down that barn. 
 I'm going to fit it up gradually, part of it as a sort 
 of gymnasium for the little boys, with apparatus 
 
78 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 and things; and part of it as a sort of play-place 
 for the little girls with a cook-stove and things. 
 I'd just love to teach the girls cooking, especially if 
 Mrs. Connors would help me. I'm sure she would 
 she's an awfully fine woman. It seems that Mrs. 
 Durland made this place a rendezvous for the chil- 
 dren of both neighborhoods. That's why her chil- 
 dren grew up so splendid." Again Phoebe paused. 
 And again she met her husband's smile. This time 
 her eyes were alight with a soft fire, a lucence akin 
 to the moon-magic that was sifting in through the 
 hall window. 
 
 " Professor Halliway said a wonderful thing to- 
 day, Tug. He does have beautiful ideas. I can't 
 quote it exactly but I agree with it absolutely. 
 When a house has been used for the finest purposes 
 by one generation, it's sort of up to the next one to 
 carry it along. Don't you think so, Tug? And do 
 you approve of my plan? " 
 
 " I certainly do, O sun of my universe ! " Tug 
 agreed heartily. " And go as far as you like ! " He 
 smiled again, and this time his smile was reflected 
 in the flood of happiness that surged to his wife's 
 face. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 SYLVIA'S SISSIES 
 
 IN some form or other, it was happening so often 
 now, that Ernest Martin wondered why his wife 
 did not get it. It was, he reflected, a part of the 
 angel quality in Sylvia's kindness that she never sus- 
 pected others of unkindness. But Ernest, who had 
 watched the situation grow, was becoming more and 
 more sensitive to it the more as he did not yet see 
 what he could do. Sylvia's condition was in his 
 opinion still serious. It circumscribed all his con- 
 versation with her. At this moment, for instance, 
 he wondered if he dared tell her what had just 
 happened. 
 
 Coming into the train late, Ernest caught sight 
 of his cousin Lora talking with Nella Todd. He 
 started in their direction. Some people changing 
 seats back of them held him an instant. It was 
 then that he got it from Lora, almost shouted to 
 overcome the reverberation of the train shed. " Syl- 
 via's sissies ! " Lora said. " Well, I suppose that 
 would be what some people would call them. But 
 it seems to me they could find something better to 
 
 79 
 
8o THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 do than to criticize such a sweet woman as Sylvia." 
 
 Ernest retreated swiftly to the smoking-car with- 
 out having greeted the ladies. 
 
 " Sylvia's sissies ! " The phrase still rang in his 
 ear. He gazed fixedly out at the landscape so that 
 he would not have to talk; a landscape rapidly re- 
 treating from the express in sliding, gliding, spirals 
 of speed; a landscape so familiar that he did not 
 even see it. 
 
 " Sylvia's sissies ! " 
 
 Ernest Martin was very proud of the boy twins 
 that were Sylvia's contribution to their marriage. 
 Husky babies and blackly brunette from the 
 beginning, they had grown into sturdy dark-browed 
 little lads, whose coloring contrasted amazingly with 
 their mother's fairness. Mentally, he ran down the 
 length of their short lives. Sylvia had taken care 
 of them herself and she had given her whole time 
 and energy to the job. It had drained and thinned 
 her. It seemed to Ernest that he watched each in- 
 stant of the gradual process by which the shimmer- 
 ing wild-rose color faded out of Sylvia's cheeks and 
 reappeared in the substantial cherry bloom of her 
 two boys. When, however, he remonstrated with her, 
 she silenced him with her seemingly superstitious 
 fear that it was impossible for twins to be equally 
 healthy, that unless she watched them with the con- 
 stant care of the scientist making a delicate and 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES 81 
 
 hazardous experiment, one or the other was sure to 
 develop weakness. Their babyhood was character- 
 ized by feedings of scientific frequency, punctuality 
 and mathematical exactitude of duration, alternating 
 with naps so carefully planned that the whole 
 machinery of the house was subsidiarized to them. 
 This period lapsed insensibly to another in which she 
 supervised the twins' lives with some difference of 
 care but none of degree. She walked to school with 
 them in the morning, met them at noon, walked back 
 with them in the afternoon, met them at night. At 
 twilight she read to them stories, poems, history. 
 Between times they played out of doors, but always 
 under her eye. It was the same in vacation. At the 
 seashore she always sat with them while they dug 
 in the sand or paddled in shoal water. In the coun- 
 try she played with them all over the comfortable 
 farm at which they boarded. Except when they were 
 in school, the boys were practically not out of her 
 sight. 
 
 The advantages of Sylvia's system were that the 
 twins had remarkably good manners and that they 
 were exceedingly intelligent. The disadvantages 
 were self-evident that they were still babies, though 
 they were now seven years old. The advantages 
 thus far 'outweighed the disadvantages Ernest had 
 to admit that. But next year the twins would enter 
 grammar school. Ernest smiled wryly when he 
 
82 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 thought of them at recess time, surrounded by gangs 
 of boys whose chief joy in life was to spy out baby 
 weakness and play on it. He had no doubt that 
 the experience was just what they needed, and yet 
 every ounce of paternal feeling winced at the thought 
 of the violence of the process and their unprepared- 
 ness for it. 
 
 " Sylvia's sissies ! " 
 
 He reviewed the instances that had opened his 
 eyes to the condition of affairs. Curiously enough, 
 it was his mother, the most gentle and least trouble- 
 making of women, who first scratched his conscious- 
 ness in this matter. 
 
 " Ernie," Mrs. Martin said, " sometimes I think 
 Sylvia works too hard taking care of the children. 
 Fm afraid she's wearing herself out." 
 
 " She's doing that all right, mother," Ernest re- 
 sponded promptly. " But it takes somebody with 
 more influence over her than I to prevent it." 
 
 " It isn't right," his mother affirmed decisively, 
 and then a little more hesitatingly, " and in a way, 
 Ernie, it isn't good for the children. It's better for 
 them to be more self-dependent." 
 
 There was no more talk on the subject then. But 
 the phrase ' It's better for them to be more self- 
 dependent,' came back repeatedly, stayed a little, 
 then disappeared. Later, his sister opened the sub- 
 ject. 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES 83 
 
 " Say, Ern," Phoebe remarked with her charac- 
 teristic directness and trenchancy, " you mustn't let 
 Sylvia work so hard taking care of the children. 
 It's really too much. She's beginning to show the 
 effects. She's lost her color." 
 
 " I know she works too hard just as much as 
 you do, Phoeb," the ordinarily tranquil Ernest re- 
 plied with a suggestion of asperity. " But if you 
 think I or anybody else can do anything with Syl- 
 via when it's a question of the children, you don't 
 know her that's all." 
 
 " But, Ern ! " Phoebe began with one of her eager 
 exclamative rushes into words. Then she came to 
 a stop so instant that it was as though some sudden 
 thought had put a break on her speech. She went 
 on more slowly. u It! isn't that alone; it's bad for 
 the children to be so over-supervised. It makes 
 them dependent and keeps them babies; people are 
 beginning to talk about it. Toland said the other 
 day in school one of the boys asked them why they 
 didn't wear dresses like girls." 
 
 Ernest made some general reply and immediately 
 changed the subject. He could no more discuss his 
 wife with his sister than with his mother. But that 
 remark lingered longer than the first one; lingered 
 with an unpleasant sense of rancor. 
 
 And then a few days later, another incident hap- 
 pened. Following the crowd to the smoking-car, he 
 
84 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 joined a trio of his neighbors. As he slipped into 
 a seat, Doane was just bringing a remark to con- 
 clusion. 
 
 " I know they're young devils. We're always 
 paying for window glass they've broken playing ball. 
 And the policeman stops regularly to complain of 
 some outrage they've perpetrated but at least 
 they're not tied to their mother's apron strings 
 
 like " Feeling the movement at his side, Doane 
 
 turned. At the sight of Ernest, his jaw dropped. 
 " Where did you come from? " he asked stupidly. 
 
 " Boston," Ernest answered jocularly. " As 
 usual. That's my place of business. Let me give 
 you my card." 
 
 The other two men, with the effect of rushing 
 into conversation, broke in with remarks in which 
 politics mixed with baseball. The incident made 
 little impression on Ernest at the time. It was not 
 until the next day that he realized it had made any 
 impression at all. Then it recurred to him, bringing 
 a sense of mental discomfort. Suddenly with one of 
 those strange psychological gleams that we call in- 
 tuition, it flashed on him that they had been discuss- 
 ing his children. " Tied to their mother's apron 
 strings ! " That remark rankled, and rankled sorely. 
 
 And now ". Sylvia's sissies " ! 
 
 He must not let that go by. He must say some- 
 thing to Sylvia. At times before, he had remon- 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES 85 
 
 strated on his own initiative with his wife. Once he 
 had suggested mildly that the twins be permitted to 
 go to school alone and again with a little more in- 
 sistence that they be allowed to play with other 
 children unchaperoned. Both times Sylvia had flown 
 to arms. Her morbid horror of the dangers of in- 
 jury from haphazard motor travel and of disease 
 from haphazard social contact foamed up into an 
 interval of great nervous excitement. Ernest 
 dropped the question at once. But now, he saw 
 plainly, he must reopen it. 
 
 The decision sent him speeding to the door of the 
 car, the first one to alight when it pulled into the 
 Maywood station. It hastened his pace along Main 
 Street, but when he turned up Olympic Avenue his 
 speed slackened. Other considerations began to pour 
 into his mind. Since the birth of their little daughter, 
 stillborn, three years before, Sylvia's condition had 
 been serious. She had lived during the greater part 
 of those three years in a black fog of physical weak- 
 ness and mental morbidity. It seemed to Ernest that 
 a few weeks before she had begun to emerge from 
 this fog. And then suddenly this encouraging re- 
 crudescence developed curious phases. It pro- 
 duced periods in which a strange, hectic physical 
 brilliancy was accompanied by an even stranger, 
 deep-sunk mental preoccupation. Ernest, who had 
 acquired the habit of watching his wife stealthily, in 
 
86 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 terror always of the melancholia which threatened, 
 was harassed with dread. Did this mean rejuvena- 
 tion or a reaction towards complete mental break- 
 down? It circumscribed that dread all his con- 
 versation with her. At this moment, for instance, 
 he wondered if he dared risk telling her just what 
 had happened. 
 
 " Father," Phoebe said, appearing in the Martin 
 living-room that Saturday afternoon, " come out and 
 take a walk with me. There's something I want to 
 talk over with you." 
 
 Mr. Martin groaned with an ostentatious display 
 of reluctance, but he arose immediately. * You 
 mean you want to tell me of something you're going 
 to do. You're in doubt whether you ought to do it; 
 and you want me to back you up." 
 
 " Take your pipe along," Phoebe ordered. " We'll 
 walk a little way up Mt. Fair view." 
 
 Obediently Mr. Martin put his pipe in one pocket 
 and a box of tobacco in the other. " Why don't you 
 talk it over with your mother?" he taunted his 
 daughter. " You're afraid she won't agree with you." 
 
 " Put on your coat ! " Phoebe commanded. " And 
 don't let me hear another word out of you. 
 You're the worst brought up father, Edward C. 
 Martin, that I ever saw. You're a perfect I.W.W. 
 of a parent. I'm ashamed of my work. There's no 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES 87 
 
 obedience in you. It's about Sylvia," she continued, 
 as he emerged into the rose-scented warmth of the 
 early-summer afternoon. " And Ernest and the 
 twins and everything." She slipped her arm into 
 his. 
 
 " Oh, I know just what you're going to say," Mr, 
 Martin exclaimed, cramming his pipe with tobacco 
 and lighting it. " I get it from your mother all the 
 time. Sylvia isn't bringing the children up right 
 supervises them too much they're sissies." 
 
 " Yes, that's about it," Phoebe admitted. " Every- 
 body's talking about it. It's one of the neighbor- 
 hood jokes. I've tried to speak of it to Ern, but you 
 know how he is. Everything Sylvia does is perfect 
 
 and " 
 
 " I think Sylvia's about right myself," Mr. Martin 
 interrupted. 
 
 " Of course she is ! " Phoebe asserted roundly. 
 " I'm not criticising Sylvia. I think I understand it 
 as other people don't. I've thought so many times of 
 what Sylvia has told me about the struggle she and 
 Marion had when they were left orphans so young. 
 When I compare my life with theirs why, father, 
 Sylvia did all kinds of things to get through college. 
 Telling stories to children, and being waitress at that 
 hotel in Marblehead the year I met her. Sylvia told 
 me once, father this was after she got engaged to 
 Ern that not having had a home of her own for 
 
88 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 so long and having lived in so many boarding- 
 houses, she was frightened to death for fear she 
 never could make a pretty home for Ern." 
 
 ' Well, she certainly has made good on the house- 
 keeping proposition,'* Mr. Martin commented. 
 " Your mother says she's a wonder." 
 
 " I should say she had! " Phoebe agreed. " She 
 said also that the wives and mothers that she knew 
 were so round-shouldered and wrinkled and hollow- 
 eyed and homely from too much child-bearing and so 
 dowdy and frumpy from too much housework, that 
 she was awfully afraid she'd get careless, too." 
 
 " Well, none of that has happened, has it? " Mr. 
 Martin asked. 
 
 "No, of course not!" Phoebe answered. "But 
 you see it's because she had such a sad childhood and 
 because she knocked about so much from pillar to 
 post during her childhood that she determined 
 her children should have everything and be every- 
 thing that's right. And it's ended in her doing too 
 much for them. But really, father, it's getting to the 
 point of absurdity. The twins aren't any more 
 developed in certain ways than four-year-old tots. 
 Of course, in other ways, they're much more devel- 
 oped. Sylvia reads to them all the time. She's teach- 
 ing them the American Revolution now. She's al- 
 ways chasing to the encyclopedia to answer their 
 questions. On the intellectual side they're extraor- 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES 89 
 
 dinary, but on what you might call the social side, 
 they're perfect failures. They don't know anything 
 about how to play with other children." 
 
 " But after all, Phoebe," Mr. Martin said, " isn't 
 this their business and don't you think we can depend 
 on Ern to straighten it out? " 
 
 " No," Phoebe contradicted with conviction. 
 " You see, Sylvia is just beginning to come out of 
 the terrible condition that followed the death of the 
 baby. She's never gotten over that she wanted a 
 little daughter so and sometimes I think she never 
 will get over it. Why, father, Ernest told me once 
 that there were times after the baby died when he) 
 thought Sylvia was going insane. I know Ernest 
 well enough to know that he wouldn't say or do 
 anything that would bother her any more than he 
 would knock her down. I think she worries all the 
 time for fear something will happen to the twins. 
 I thought you might say something to her." 
 
 Mr. Martin laughed. " I'm afraid you'll have 
 to guess again, daughter. Interfering in family af- 
 fairs, even if it is my own son, isn't my line at all." 
 
 '* Well anyway, father, as long as we're out for a 
 walk, let's go around and call on Sylvia." 
 
 As Ernest opened the door, voices came to him 
 from the living-room. Sylvia was not alone as he 
 had hoped. He glanced in. 
 
90 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " Hello, Phoeb ! Hello, father ! " He kissed his 
 wife. 4 This is a regular family reunion, isn't it? 
 Why didn't you bring mother? " 
 
 " Mother was tired," Phoebe explained. " She 
 said she'd stay with the children. And besides, Dad 
 and I wanted to have the little private talk together, 
 which the rest of a jealous family so rarely per- 
 mits to us. I like to walk with father, anyway; it's 
 like being with royalty. All the females in the 
 circumambient atmosphere nearly kill themselves to 
 get a bow from the handsomest man in Maywood. 
 I'm thinking of suggesting to the Maywood Wom- 
 an's Club that they offer a cup to the most pulchritu- 
 dinous male in town. The only objection to that 
 is that they'd get my base, selfish motive right 
 off." 
 
 " Well, I've taken so many cups in beauty con- 
 tests," Mr. Martin said with an air of tolerance, 
 ** that I don't know that I want any more. Silver 
 polish is so expensive these days." 
 
 Mr. Martin was a handsome man, although, in 
 spite of his own words, it was apparent that he 
 was not unduly conscious of it. In her girlhood 
 Phoebe used to say that he looked like a leading- 
 man. His thick, abundant white hair, crisply curling 
 at the ends, accentuated a florid coloring, brows and 
 lashes still black, and was in turn accentuated by 
 them. He was a big man ; but just as all his facial 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES 91 
 
 contours, though full, ran to distinction of features, 
 his bulk, full also, ran to shape. 
 
 " By the way, Ern," Phoebe went on, " mother 
 always looks a little peeved when I say that. She 
 seems to think that I ought to get you in on this 
 beauty-contest business. I dare say that Sylvia 
 agrees with her." 
 
 " My wife and my mother are not the only women 
 in Maywood who would say that," Ernest asserted. 
 "Thousands have assured me of their support. 
 Still," he concluded with an effect of magnanimity, 
 " I don't care who gets the cup so long as it stays in 
 the family." 
 
 " Well, Ernest certainly has my vote," Sylvia said 
 with a spark of archness. " I'm as proud as I pos- 
 sibly can be of his looks especially," she added, 
 " since I began to lose what little I had myself." 
 
 " Get out! " Ernest exclaimed. " You're a hun- 
 dred times prettier than you ever were." 
 
 " You are, Sylvia," Phoebe agreed, " and if you 
 would only dress a little more frivolously, you know 
 what I mean Daily-Hint-from-Paris stuff do your 
 hatr loose about your face, the way you used to 
 when I first met you, you'd be a wonder." 
 
 Sylvia was a little woman, slender, blonde, of the 
 rare type we call seraphic. It was true that a post- 
 maternal fading had set in, but it had given her 
 quality, not quantity. Where formerly she had been 
 
92 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 beautiful, she was now lovely, with that appealing 
 fragility which the first period of fading often gives 
 women. The hectic brilliancy which had character- 
 ized her of late now flooded her silver-ivory color- 
 ing with rose, starred her eyes with a deeper, a more 
 poignant blue. It minimized a little the prim effect 
 of her tightly knotted hair and of her little, Quaker- 
 ishly-simple house dress. 
 
 Maturity and maternity had worked an altogether 
 different process with Phoebe. Phoebe's hair, which 
 had been feathery soft in lightness and amber gold in 
 coloring, was like a shining metal, incisively carved. 
 Her clear skin, which though it showed a touch of 
 olive had always been colorless, now glowed with 
 permanent roses. Happiness had rounded Phoebe 
 out of her girlish slenderness; had gilded her lus- 
 trously. Worry, ill-health, the sorrow of her little 
 daughter's death, had tightened and whitened Sylvia, 
 but it had set the light of character within; and that 
 light shone through. 
 
 " Well," Phoebe said, u I always said when you 
 were engaged that I never saw two people so much 
 in love with each other. It's wonderful how you 
 keep it up. I can't imagine you quarreling. Now, 
 Tug and I fight like the dickens at least I do Tug 
 doesn't. He's a very unsatisfactory husband in that 
 respect. He simply will not argue. I'm always tell- 
 ing him it amounts to marrying a woman under false 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES 93 
 
 pretenses. I've had to learn to sustain a quarrel all 
 by myself. Oh, believe me, it's quite an art, but I 
 do manage it. After I've raked Tug over the coals 
 for hours, all he says is, ' You'll be sorry for what 
 you've said when you think it over.' I could tear 
 him limb from limb when he says that, for he's 
 always right. The moment I think it over I ant 
 sorry. Then comes the struggle to make myself 
 confess it to him. That's what made me the wreck 
 of the husky woman I was once. I'm always in the 
 position of having to apologize for what I've said, 
 when everybody knows it's the sacred tradition of 
 our sex to make them apologize for what we've said. 
 Sometimes, when I think of it, I feel like an awful 
 traitor to my kind. But one good thing Tug's al- 
 ways forgotten about the quarrel when I start to tell 
 him I'm sorry." 
 
 ; * Tug's life must be a perfect purgatory," her 
 father commented. 
 
 " It's all of that," Phoebe admitted, " and then 
 some. But he doesn't know it." 
 
 " He seems to thrive on it," Sylvia remarked. 
 
 " Oh, Sylvia," Phoebe exclaimed with a light leap 
 to other topics, " I haven't told you what I came 
 for. I bought you a present today. I was in town 
 shopping this morning and there was a sale of negli- 
 gees at Durkin's, and they were so cheap and so 
 pretty that I bought one for myself and then I 
 
94 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 bought one for you. It will get out here tomorrow." 
 " A negligee ! " Sylvia exclaimed with a pleased 
 inflection. " How sweet of you, Phoebe ! I shall 
 love it! I haven't had a new negligee since I don't 
 know when." 
 
 " And that reminds me," Phoebe went on, " I was 
 getting some books for the children, and I came 
 across the most wonderful series, * Nature and the 
 Child,' for teaching children about birds and flowers 
 and stars and minerals and all that truck. I prom- 
 ised Toland we'd study birds together this summer, 
 so I bought the series. If it isn't a judgment upon 
 me that I should spawn a child that's crazy about 
 birds. I simply hate birds myself. Singing in the 
 early morning, the way they do makes me wild. As 
 for canaries oh, I loathe them! All my life I've 
 made fun of people who have the bird mania. Now 
 I suppose for the next two months I'll be wandering 
 about Maywood chasing disgusted robins from tree 
 to tree, a bird book in one hand and an opera glass 
 in the other. But, you really ought to have this 
 series, Sylvia." She plunged into an enthusiastic 
 account of the books. 
 
 Sylvia's eyes deepened with that look of absorbed 
 interest which always came into them when anything 
 was discussed that touched her children. Mr. Mar- 
 tin listened, putting in a word occasionally; Ernest 
 listened, adding nothing. He was thinking whether 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES 95 
 
 he should say anything to Sylvia about the twins 
 when his father and sister left; and if he did, 
 how he should put it. For a moment that talk did 
 not look so easy or seem so necessary. As always, 
 whenever he entered his house, a sense of peace, of 
 beauty, of an exquisite order and cleanliness envel- 
 oped and permeated him. And, as he contemplated 
 his wife's face, still shot with the flashing expressions 
 of that perturbing vivacity, his resolution weakened, 
 melted away. There were many other considera- 
 tions which made criticism of Sylvia difficult for him. 
 She was such a wife ! Such a mother ! 
 
 They occupied the Ernest Martins one-half of 
 a two-family house. Sylvia always said that she 
 choose it from the piazza before she saw the inside 
 because the street looked, not so much as though it 
 were lined with houses, as with real homes. It was 
 a typical middle-class suburban street. The scraps 
 of grass that surrounded the house were small 
 enough to be kept always in the emerald and velvet 
 of perfect condition. Vines softened architectural 
 excrescences, added color and bloom. Bushes and 
 flowers mitigated the bareness of the front lawns. 
 Hedges of lattice-work fence veiled the intimate rev- 
 elations of the back yard. Between houses and be- 
 yond back yards, the passers-by caught glimpses of 
 the Maywood marshes. Straight ahead Mt. Fair- 
 view reached up from deep-tinted vegetable gardens 
 
96 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 at its base to a summit tree-grown and of a respect- 
 able height. 
 
 The house, though small-roomed and cut-up, bore 
 every imprint of Sylvia's fineness and fastidiousness. 
 They had hired it before it was completed, and in 
 consequence they had been permitted to choose the 
 wallpapers. Dull, plain, simple effects, they mini- 
 mized as far as possible the effect of the high gloss 
 and higher carving of the woodwork. Some beauti- 
 ful pieces of old-fashioned furniture, which had been 
 Ernest's share of his Aunt Mary's possessions, 
 stood with an added effect of stateliness against these 
 quiet "backgrounds. Sylvia had the gift of immacu- 
 lateness. Her mahogany, however highly polished, 
 seemed always speckless. The muslin curtains, 
 which fluttered at her windows, seemed always crisp. 
 Her kitchen closet offered a display almost as at- 
 tractive as the china cabinet in the dining-room. Her 
 bathroom maintained the hygienic cleanliness of a 
 hospital. And whatever the season, leafy growths 
 of some kind arose all over the house from low 
 Japanese dishes. 
 
 Outside, their place consisted, like the others on 
 the street, of but a scrap of lawn. Yet Sylvia had 
 managed to grow a rose-garden at the side; its full- 
 bloom fragrance came in through the dining-room 
 windows now. Next door was a vacant house with 
 one big space, mostly grass-grown in front, and 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES 97 
 
 another space bigger mainly orchard, in back. 
 The Taylor house, a survival of an amusing type of 
 mid- Victorian architecture, peaked, cupolaed and jig-* 
 sawed, had remained vacant all the years that the 
 Martins lived in the neighborhood. It was typical of 
 Sylvia's practicability in management that she had 
 rented the Taylor barn to use partly as a play-house 
 for the twins, and partly as a shelter for the cow 
 which she immediately purchased. It was typical of 
 her efficiency in management that she engaged as 
 maid, a middle-aged Irish woman, a widow with a 
 family of young children, who gladly took care of 
 Molly in return for her share of the milk. Oh, Syl- 
 via was an admirable housewife, a devoted mother, a 
 perfect wife. Of all these things Ernest Martin 
 thought as he listened to the conversation. 
 
 i( Where are the twins?" Phoebe asked pres- 
 ently. 
 
 " In the barn," Sylvia answered. " I'll call them." 
 She rang a little silver bell which stood on the win- 
 dow-sill close to her hand. Its faint, silvery peal 
 was followed by the immediate appearance of two 
 small boys in the doorway of the barn and by their 
 quick scamper across the orchard. 
 
 " Goodness ! " Phoebe ejaculated. " How quickly 
 they come! I've had the hardest fight with my 
 children to make them come to me the instant I call. 
 I've named Edward the ' Wait-a-Minute-Goop.' " 
 
98 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " That's one thing I'm rigid about," Sylvia ex- 
 plained. " I've told the boys again and again that 
 they must come the instant I call them, because I 
 never do call them unless it's important. It might 
 be danger a fire or something like that. Sometimes 
 I think they hope it is a fire." 
 
 "Where are you going this summer, Sylvia?" 
 Phoebe asked. 
 
 " I don't know," Sylvia answered in an uncertain 
 tone. " I can't quite make up my mind. Sometimes 
 I think it will be easier just to stay here." 
 
 A little pause came. It lengthened itself into a 
 silence that to Ernest's taut sensitiveness suddenly 
 held a suggestion of embarrassment. Mr. Martin 
 broke it by clearing his throat. 
 
 " Sylvia," he said, " you've had such hard sum- 
 mers recently and such expenses with doctors and 
 nurses and now the twins are so big I wish you 
 would let me send them to a boys' camp for their 
 vacation. I'm sure it would do them good, do 
 you good, and do Ernest good. What do you think, 
 Ernest?" 
 
 " I think it would be great," Ernest answered 
 without hesitation. He understood perfectly. 
 Phoebe and her father had planned this between 
 them. This was the real reason for their walk 
 together. It did not offend him; he knew they were 
 absolutely right. But that instinctive loyalty to Sylvia 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES 99 
 
 which had never swerved, compelled him to add, 
 " It's up to Sylvia. Whatever she says goes." 
 
 What Sylvia would say was obvious. Sylvia's 
 face changed woefully. The pink flush that her vi- 
 vacity had brought seemed to drop out of her cheeks, 
 leaving them spotted and tallowy. The cerulean 
 starriness of her eyes turned to a slaty blackness. 
 Face, body, voice, she was all panic. " Oh, father, I 
 couldn't I simply couldn't let them go away from 
 me. I'd worry so. You can't imagine what I'm like 
 Ernest knows he can tell you. He and the twins 
 are all that's really mine except Marion. And if 
 anything happened to one of them, it would kill me." 
 
 Mr. Martin laughed. " But nothing would hap- 
 pen, Sylvia. They'd have the best of care; they'd 
 teach them how to row and paddle and ride horses 
 and all kinds of outdoor things." 
 
 " I think they're too young to leave me, father," 
 Sylvia protested, incipient hysteria bursting into her 
 face. " I really do. Besides, Ernest can teach them 
 all those things." 
 
 * Well, you don't have to decide at once, Sylvia," 
 Mr. Martin said comfortingly. " Think it over." 
 
 The twins had in the meantime come running up 
 the front steps. They shut the screen door quietly 
 and deposited their hats in the hall closet. They 
 held out limp little hands for Phoebe to shake and 
 submitted courteously to her kiss. Then they climbed 
 
ioo THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 onto their grandfather's lap and sat, one on each 
 knee. 
 
 In that juxtaposition, the resemblance between the 
 quartet of Martin males was striking. 
 
 Phoebe recognized it with an immediate " I've 
 simply got to have another son one that looks like 
 the Martin family. We're much better-looking than 
 the Warburtons." 
 
 Much darker in type than their grandfather, the 
 twins were unmistakably his blood kin a statement 
 that their grandmother was very fond of making; 
 although, as Phoebe pointed out, its cogency was 
 much nullified by the fact that she made the same 
 statement about all her grandchildren, even to 
 Toland Junior, who was so perfect a replica of his 
 father that it was almost comic. The twins were 
 handsome children, dark-brown in the skin, cherry- 
 red in the cheeks, coal-black in the hair and brows 
 and lashes. Perhaps it was this clear-cut swarthiness 
 that had from the beginning given them a look of 
 natural determination. On to that look, however, 
 had been superimposed another expression, curiously 
 infantile, that was part the innocent limpidity of 
 their eyes and part the dewy softness of their lips. 
 
 " I'm going away tomorrow for the whole day, 
 Ernest," Sylvia said after Phoebe and Mr. Martin 
 had gone and the children had run upstairs to wash 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES lot 
 
 for dinner. " I got a telephone message from Ma- 
 rion early this morning; she wants me to come over 
 there." 
 
 " What's happened? " Ernest demanded. " Ma- 
 rion not feeling well again ?" 
 
 " Well," Sylvia answered noncommittally, " she's 
 going to the doctor. I've decided to make a day of 
 it. It's such a journey there and back. The children 
 will be all right," she added quickly, as though fore- 
 fending criticism. " Mrs. Fallen will take them to 
 school and call for them." 
 
 " Of course they will," Ernest reassured her. " In 
 fact," he added as though the result of an after- 
 thought, " why don't you try letting them go alone to 
 school tomorrow? I think it would be better if you 
 left them oftener to shift for themselves." 
 
 " But they're such little fellows," Sylvia remon- 
 strated. " Why, Ernest, they're only babies." 
 
 " Pretty big babies ! " Ernest commented. 
 
 " That reminds me," Sylvia observed absently 
 his remonstrance had already rolled off her con- 
 sciousness, leaving no impression u I must tele- 
 phone Haley not to come tomorrow to whitewash the 
 barn. I want to superintend that job. He came this 
 morning and fixed up Mollie's quarters. Mother's 
 got something to tell her darling babies," she greeted 
 the twins' return. Her language was not quite baby- 
 talk, but it approximated it. She had a special tone 
 
'102 r TH* ttAPPY YEARS 
 
 and a special vocabulary for the twins; and her ten- 
 derness blurred her words a little. " Tomorrow 
 mother's going away for all day and her little 
 boys must take care of themselves like great big 
 
 men." 
 
 u Can we look in the robin's nest?" Gordon 
 asked in the babyish pipe in which always he ad- 
 dressed his mother. "And the catbird's nest?" 
 Edward supplemented in the babyish treble which he 
 reserved alone for her. 
 
 ' Yes, lamb-babies, if you are very careful," Syl- 
 via consented. 
 
 Ernest listened in silence, but his sense of depres- 
 sion and repression returned. He could not help con- 
 trasting his sons with their cousin Toland. Phoebe's 
 boy, although only three years older, seemed a man 
 in comparison. Toland's tone a palpable imitation 
 of his father's was round and deep. It came with 
 perfect propriety from his sturdy figure. Toland 
 was the terror of the neighborhood, but Ernest 
 had many times heard him described as " some 
 boy." 
 
 " I guess I'll ask Phoebe," Sylvia went on, absent- 
 ly skipping from subject to subject as had become 
 typical of her in her abnormal condition, " if she'll 
 let me return that negligee. I'll put some more 
 money with it and get that child-nature series instead. 
 I want to take up botany with the boys soon. It's 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES 103 
 
 such a beautiful way of teaching them the facts of 
 
 nature. " 
 
 Ernest said nothing. Again he was getting up his 
 courage to the protesting point. 
 
 " By the way, Ernest," Sylvia skipped again, " the 
 stork brought a baby to the Prendegasts last night, a 
 little girl. They say Mr. Prendegast's so happy to 
 have a girl after three boys. He was just wreathed 
 in smiles when he went down the street this morning. 
 Everybody was waving to him from the windows." 
 
 " That's nice," Ernest said. " How's Mrs. Pren- 
 degast?" 
 
 " Oh, she's all right," Sylvia answered. " I guess 
 anybody would be all right," she added wistfully, 
 " when she's finally got what she wanted more than 
 anything else in the world." 
 
 They were verging on dangerous ground now. 
 Sylvia's eyes still filmed at the thought of the 
 little daughter who had never breathed. Today, 
 however, no such phenomenon manifested itself. 
 Ernest abandoned the idea of further discussion of 
 the twins. Perhaps after consideration, Sylvia 
 would accept his father's offer and then, after all, 
 training children was the woman's job. She would 
 make many mistakes but time would rectify them. 
 The main thing with him was that Sylvia should be 
 happy. As the dinner bell rang, he dismissed the 
 whole matter with a sigh of relief. 
 
104 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 When, decorously piloted by Mrs. Fallen, the 
 Martin twins returned from school the next day, they 
 went at once to the Taylor barn. The lower 
 floor was divided into two compartments, Molly's 
 quarters and the twins' play-room. The latter was 
 big and clean. Long windows made it light and airy. 
 In the ceiling was a square opening, from which pro- 
 truded wisps of sweet-smelling June hay. It con- 
 tained a long, low table at which the twins worked; 
 two little chairs in which they sat; and a comfort- 
 able rocker which ordinarily Sylvia occupied. Along 
 one end of the room stretched a toy railroad; at the 
 other end stood a big packing case which contained 
 other possessions. On the table were arranged rows 
 and rows of tin soldiers; some open cans of paint: 
 two full of flaming scarlet, two full of brilliant blue, 
 others half-full of brown, green, gray, white. A 
 sheaf of paint brushes protruded from a glass of 
 water. 
 
 " Let's paint some more of the soldiers," Gordon 
 suggested. His voice had entirely lost its babyish, 
 piping sound. It was quite business-like. 
 
 " Mother didn't say we could," Edward answered 
 in a voice equally practical and normal. 
 
 " She didn't say we couldn't," Gordon suggested. 
 
 " All right then," Edward agreed. " Let's." 
 
 The boys slipped on their overalls and fell to 
 painting. They dropped remarks from time to time, 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES 105 
 
 but in the main they worked with an effect of concen- 
 tration like grown-ups. Outside the hot June sun 
 rolled down the hot June sky, began to shoot long, 
 dazzling arrows of light through the open doorway. 
 Suddenly the door darkened. " Say, what are youse 
 fellers doun? " a voice called. 
 
 The twins looked up, startled. 
 
 Two boys stood in the doorway. Not any taller, 
 not any broader, obviously their own age they were 
 very different in appearance from Gordon and Ed- 
 ward. The twins contemplated them intently and a 
 look of surprise, that grew to wonder and ulti- 
 mately held a shade of envy, came into their faces. 
 They wore the strangers as few clothes as pos- 
 sible. Bare-armed, bare-headed, bare-legged, the 
 most important article of their attire was a pair of 
 cast-off-looking suspenders. These suspenders, 
 greasy but importantly buckled and of a tautness 
 that suggested a snapping, reliable elastic, bridged 
 the hiatus between waists too tight and, so, kept open 
 at the neck, and trousers too loose and, so, bagging 
 far below the knee. It was only June; yet under the 
 dirt on their faces, these boys were already tanned 
 and burned. The bridge of their noses, the tips of 
 their ears, showed pinky, freckle-specked peeling 
 areas. One wore around his wrist a rag promi- 
 nently ridged with dry blood. The other had hands 
 rich with desirable warts, Their slim bodies were 
 
106 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 packed with muscle. They chewed. As they sur- 
 veyed the barn, their faces grew bright with curios- 
 ity ; yet underneath lay, all the time undisturbed, the 
 calm of conscious power. They looked, in short, 
 perfect specimens of one type of young citizen who 
 either by fair means or foul compels from a dull, 
 tightly stratified urban life the romance and adven- 
 ture which adolescence craves. 
 
 " We're painting red uniforms on these soldiers,'* 
 Gordon answered. " They're British." 
 
 " We're going to fight in the battle of Bunker 
 Hill," Edward obligingly volunteered. He pointed 
 to a map of Charlestown drawn in white chalk on 
 the floor. 
 
 " Good night, nurse! " remarked one of their vis- 
 itors. " The English is licked. Ain't that the dope, 
 Mike? It's a cinch for the Americans." 
 
 " Sure," answered Mike. " The Americans should 
 worry. My father was just after telling me the 
 Americans would have got beat if it hadn't been 
 for the Irish troops that came over from Ireland to 
 help them." 
 
 This purple jargon may have been untranslatable 
 to the Martin twins. At any rate, they kept silence. 
 They listened politely, however, their eyes limpid 
 pools of interrogation fixed on their visitors. This 
 last remark, however, seemed to demand correction. 
 
 " Some Irish fought in our revolution," Gordon 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES 107 
 
 said courteously. '* They were very brave too. 
 But I don't think there were any Irish troops sent 
 from Ireland. " 
 
 "Irish!" exclaimed Mike, instantly abandoning 
 his brilliant, if untenable, claim. " The Irish won 
 all the victories. My father told me last night that 
 the last thing George Washington said when he lay 
 dying was, ' Be good to the Irish ! They saved the 
 country!' " 
 
 Gordon made no further corrections. Perhaps he 
 was unfamiliar with George Washington's death-bed 
 utterances. But he and his brother continued to 
 watch their visitors with interest. Those two young 
 gentlemen advanced from the doorway, strolled 
 about the room, inventoried with a careful attention 
 its contents. They eyed a football with an interest 
 only equaled by that with which they noted the base- 
 ball mask. They studied the position of the army, 
 stationed at correct historical spots on the map of 
 Charlestown, with a marked degree of concentra- 
 tion. But when they came to the toy track and ex- 
 amined the complications of its rails, the collection of 
 cars and engines standing idly near, this concentra- 
 tion developed into another emotion. 
 
 " Say, where do youse fellers live? " Mike asked 
 suddenly, turning back to the table. " This joint is 
 vacant." He jerked a soiled and warty thumb over 
 his shoulder in the direction of the Taylor house. 
 
io8 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " Over there," Gordon answered, pointing 
 through the doorway. 
 
 Mike and Tim surveyed " over there " with a 
 closeness of observation which seemed to take in 
 everything about the place. 
 
 " Say, if we go over there, will your mother give 
 us a drink of water? " Tim inquired. 
 
 " My mother isn't at home," answered the guile- 
 less Gordon. " She's gone in to see Aunt Marion 
 in West Roxbury. She won't be back until nearly 
 
 seven." 
 
 ' Well, there must be somebody there, ain't 
 they?" Mike demanded in what purported to be 
 indignation at this domestic carelessness. " Who's 
 the skirt beating it out of the back door now? " 
 
 " That's Mrs. Fallen," Edward answered with an 
 innocence equal to that of his brother. " No, there 
 isn't anybody in the house now." 
 
 "Where's she goun?" Tim inquired. 
 
 " I don't know," answered Gordon. " She's got 
 her coat and hat on. That means she won't be back 
 for some time." 
 
 " Then there ain't nobody there," Mike con- 
 cluded. 
 
 " No," Gordon answered. " But I'll go over and 
 get you some water." 
 
 " Not this moment," Mike interposed, looking 
 about him undecidedly for an interval; then, " Say, 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES 109 
 
 Tim, I guess we'd better be beating it." He moved 
 towards the door. Tim followed and they disap- 
 peared without farewell. 
 
 The twins, after a long, lucid-eyed stare in the 
 direction of their guests, resumed their painting. 
 
 Suddenly the door darkened again. " Say," Mike 
 called, " don't youse want to come out and see our 
 motorcycle? We'll give yer a ride maybe." They 
 disappeared. 
 
 The twins dropped their paint brushes and rushed 
 out of the door. Quickly as they disappeared around 
 one corner of the barn, Mike and Tim appeared 
 around the other. " Say, aren't you the easy ones ! " 
 Mike commented disparagingly, as he and Tim 
 dashing into the barn, slammed the door in their 
 faces. 
 
 Gordon and Edward stopped stock-still, stood for 
 a paralyzed instant. They looked hard at the door 
 as though they expected it to open, but it remained 
 closed. At last Gordon knocked gently, " Will you 
 please let us in? " he said in the courteous accents 
 of his careful training. ; ' We want to finish painting 
 the British army." 
 
 " Aw, shut up, you two sissies ! " came from the 
 barn. " Go home and do your sewing! " 
 
 "Sissies!" "Sewing!" It was obvious that 
 neither of these terms pleased the twins. They stared 
 at each other for a perplexed moment. Into the 
 
no THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 infantile lucidity of their gaze flowed a vague alarm, 
 and then, suddenly, as though each caught fire from 
 the other, the alarm broke into a blaze of resent- 
 ment. " You get out of this barn!" Gordon ex- 
 claimed finally. ' Yes, you get out of this barn 1 " 
 Edward supplemented. But their words were with- 
 out force, and at the end, their tone ran down from 
 command to entreaty. 
 
 " Aw, shut up ! " the barn vouchsafed. " Fade 
 away! There's a gang of girls playing dolls on the 
 next street why don't youse go over there ? That's 
 where you fit." 
 
 This remark, as obviously as the others, failed of 
 soothing effect. The twins retreated uncertainly. A 
 little distance from the barn, they paused as with one 
 accord. 
 
 '* What do you suppose they're doing in there? " 
 Gordon demanded. 
 
 ;< They're going to steal our things," Edward 
 answered promptly. " Our masks and soldiers and 
 tracks and engines and cars and and everything." 
 
 Gordon looked at his brother and his brother 
 looked at him, and again as their glances met they 
 kindled. That blaze in the eyes spread in a dark 
 flush, seemed to burn off the infantile sweetness 
 which training had superimposed on Gordon's face. 
 ' Well, they won't get out of this yard with them," 
 he announced with determination. He ran to the 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES in 
 
 door, kicked on it furiously. { You let us in and be 
 quick about it ! " There was no entreaty in his 
 voice now he bawled. 
 
 " Like ducks," came from the barn. " Say, 
 Percy, you and your brother Clarence chase your- 
 self around to where those girls are playing, and 
 maybe they'll start some kissing games." 
 
 Gordon turned to his brother; the last hint of his 
 babyhood vanished in the black scowl which trans- 
 mogrified his look. A blood of rage, equally black, 
 was washing every trace of infantile gentleness from 
 Edward's face. 
 
 " I ain't going to let them steal none of our 
 things," Gordon said. The unaccustomed double 
 negative seemed in his case to have the effect of 
 profanity. 
 
 " I ain't neither," Edward agreed firmly. " Let's 
 go over to the house and get father's pistol. I know 
 where he keeps it. We can shoot them." 
 
 " No," Gordon decided judicially. " That might 
 kill them; then we would be arrested. No, I tell 
 you what let's do ! Let's climb into the loft through 
 the window and throw the hay down on them. 
 What's that?" 
 
 ' They're winding up our engines," Edward an- 
 swered. " All right. We'll hafter get the ladder 
 outta the cellar and, say, we gotta be awful quiet." 
 
 The twins sped across the field to the back of their 
 
ii2 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 house and disappeared into the basement. They 
 reappeared in a few minutes, carrying a short, light 
 ladder. With an accumulating caution, they ap- 
 proached the barn, listened carefully at the door. 
 From within came the noise of toy trains running 
 along the track, colliding and derailing each other. 
 Still moving very quietly, the twins placed the ladder 
 against the barn wall, climbed up a short distance to 
 the second story, disappeared through the window. 
 The hay, which softened the fall of their bodies, 
 nearly filled the loft. One side, however, was 
 cleared. A row of buckets, full of whitewash, stood 
 there ready for use. Working their way very slowly 
 towards the opening in the center, they peered over 
 the edge. 
 
 Directly below Mike and Tim lay flat on their 
 stomachs. As the twins watched them, they began 
 systematically to rip up the rails, disconnect them, 
 place them in a heap at one side. This move seemed 
 to act as an incentive to battle to the onlookers. 
 With simultaneous movements, but working with an 
 unexpected strength and speed, the twins seized each 
 a huge wad of hay, thrust it through the opening, 
 seized another, thrust that through, seized another 
 and thrust that through. 
 
 Twin curses rose from below. 
 
 " What the " Mike began in language that 
 
 promised to be far from elegant and " We'll smash 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES 113 
 
 your jaw for this," Tim proceeded in phrases that 
 predicated an equal emotional unrestraint. 
 
 But the hay continued to pour down, and for a mo- 
 ment, haydust in their eyes and noses and every 
 time they opened them in their mouths, the invad- 
 ers did little but wallow about on the floor. At last, 
 however, they scrambled to their feet, swayed, fell, 
 scrambled up; swayed and fell again. From their 
 lips poured an unbroken train of profanity, and the 
 Martin twins, annexing in the instant a whole new 
 vocabulary, responded with clearness, force, em- 
 phasis and in kind. 
 
 Suddenly Mike reeled out of the radius of the tor- 
 rent of hay. His arm, reaching for support, 
 struck a can of crimson paint. Shaking the hay out 
 of his eyes, he peered upward and hurled the can. It 
 hit Gordon square on the cheek. The blood poured 
 down his face and the paint poured over his body. 
 Tim followed this with a tin of blue paint that ren- 
 dered Edward unrecognizable. Then working to- 
 gether, Mike and Tim seized the other cans and 
 hurled them upwards. Green, brown, gray, white 
 they added their hues to the twins' brilliant dec- 
 oration. Much of the paint dropped backwards 
 and the invaders were hoist with their own sticky 
 petard. 
 
 For an instant, this violent attack gave the Martin 
 boys pause. 
 
ii4 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 The hay had given out; they glanced wildly about 
 for further ammunition. Suddenly, Gordon seized 
 one pail of the whitewash. Edward, imitating him 
 blindly, seized another. They poured the viscid 
 white fluid onto the heads of the enemy. 
 
 This was too much. 
 
 The invaders, dripping hay, paint and whitewash, 
 made for the door, dashed it open, ran through the 
 yard to the street, and vanished cursing. The war- 
 riors descended from above, pursued the enemy with 
 triumphant yells, gazed after them until they disap- 
 peared. Then in a sudden silence that held a quality 
 of apprehension, they returned and surveyed the 
 colorful wreck of their pleasant play-room. Last 
 they looked at each other. 
 
 Sylvia, returning a little later than her husband, 
 found him reading a magazine in the living-room. 
 
 " Mrs. Fallon wasn't here when I got home, Syl- 
 via," Ernest explained at once, " but there was a 
 note under the door saying that her sister's child had 
 had a fit and they had telephoned for her to come. 
 She said the roast was cooking all right and would I 
 take the vegetables off. I did." 
 
 Ernest spoke lightly, but he was scarcely consider- 
 ing what he said Sylvia was so strange. Never 
 had he seen that new effect of physical brilliancy 
 light, color, spirit allied with so marked a condi- 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES 115 
 
 tion of mental preoccupation. There was something 
 remote about her; an element, so new and inexpli- 
 cable, in her air that it made her alien, a being from 
 another world. His heart sank. 
 
 As in a trance, not taking her things off, Sylvia 
 moved about the living-room, mechanically rearrang- 
 ing it. " I know the child," she said. " She's a 
 delicate little thing. I'm so sorry. I'll go down 
 there tomorrow." Then after an instant of medita- 
 tion, "The children must be in the barn still; let's 
 go over and get them." 
 
 She did not speak again, but in a kind of rose- 
 flushed, starry-eyed daze walked out of the house 
 and into the orchard. " They're very quiet," she 
 said under the shadow of the apple tree. Then she 
 fell to silence again. " I wonder what they've been 
 doing all this time," came after another bemused 
 pause. 
 
 Suddenly Gordon's voice, clear as a bell and with- 
 out a trace of prattle, rang out through the still- 
 ness. "Ed," he said, "that was a damn good 
 fight!" 
 
 " Gordon," Edward responded with a tone 
 equally bereft of infantile quality, " it was a hell of 
 a fight!" 
 
 Then the twins appeared in the doorway. 
 
 Gordon looked as though he had been scalped. 
 Red paint covered his head. It had flowed down 
 
ii6 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 his neck in all directions, over the silken tie, over 
 the linen shirtwaist that was Sylvia's handiwork. 
 Red paint absolutely covered him. Edward looked 
 less bloody, but more futurist. The blue paint had 
 hit him on the chest, and run down his body until 
 even his shoes and stockings were splashed. It had 
 slipped through the opening in his overalls onto his 
 curduroy trousers. To this had been added in ec- 
 centric designs gray and green and brown. Ernest 
 gave them one glance; then, in terror of the effect 
 on his wife, turned and looked at her. 
 
 Sylvia stood still stood still for a long moment. 
 She looked at the boys, who began to sputter ex- 
 planations, almost as though they were strangers; 
 looked at them carefully, one at a time, looked at 
 them without a change of expression. When she 
 spoke it was with a mild " I guess they're not hurt 
 much. I think we'd better take them upstairs, Er- 
 nest, and put them right into the tub." 
 
 Ernest's alarm grew as Sylvia's extraordinary 
 composure continued to maintain itself. She listened 
 with calmness to the garbled account of the fight, 
 which the twins, talking in impassioned language, 
 at the same time and at the tops of their voices, 
 recited many times. Even after the paint had been 
 scraped from their faces and Gordon's forehead 
 showed a bloody lump as big as a hen's egg and 
 Edward's chest a purple bruise as wide as his hand, 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES 117 
 
 she failed to develop tremor. In fact, she con- 
 curred without a quiver at Ernest's suggestion that 
 he do the rest of the cleaning alone, and she disap- 
 peared as soon as he began his work. Ernest 
 scrubbed strenuously for an hour. 
 
 He put the boys to bed; cleaned the bathroom. 
 Then he started, his heart in his mouth, down the 
 stairway. 
 
 " Come in here, Ernest," Sylvia called unexpect- 
 edly from their bedroom. " I want to talk with 
 you." 
 
 Ernest advanced to the doorway, stopped abruptly 
 there stared. 
 
 Sylvia had taken off the suit she had worn to 
 Marion's. She had put on the new negligee that 
 Phoebe had sent her. It was of liberty silk of an ex- 
 quisite glittering French blue, tied with ribbons of an 
 equally glittering French pink. It had many lacy, 
 frilly ruffles, knotted bows and flying streamers. 
 The effect of strangeness that she had given on en- 
 tering the house was not all her mood Ernest dis- 
 covered. She must have stopped somewhere to have 
 her hair done. It was coiled close but with elabo- 
 ration. It had not been waved, but it dropped 
 about her brow and onto her neck many wavy wisps 
 of its own curls. She sat under a light which seemed 
 to pour color onto her hair and then to refract it in 
 diamond sparks. She was industriously polishing 
 
ii8 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 finger nails which she had already buffed to an ex- 
 traordinary gloss. Her eyes, as she lifted them 
 from her work to her husband's face, were so lumi- 
 nous that it was as though extra lights suddenly 
 burst in the room. 
 
 " Don't bother about the boys, Sylvia " Ern- 
 est was beginning when she interrupted him. 
 
 " I'm not bothering about them, and I don't in- 
 tend to. I want to talk with you about something 
 quit different. Ernest, I told you a lie yesterday." 
 She smiled with another increase of her brilliant 
 luminosity. " At least, it wasn't quite a lie. You 
 jumped to a conclusion, and I let you stay there. 
 I didn't go to the doctor on Marion's account; I 
 went on my own. I wanted to be sure and I 
 didn't want to say anything to you until I was 
 sure. But Ernest the thing I've hoped for 
 and prayed for all these months is now going to hap- 
 pen. And Ernest Dr. English says that I'm in 
 perfect condition this time, and he can't see how 
 there can be any danger possibly." 
 
 Ernest stood still in the doorway. He did not 
 speak. He did not try to speak. He only looked at 
 her. 
 
 " And, Ernest, I see now I've been wrong in the 
 way I've brought the boys up I didn't mean to be 
 so foolish, but I was so afraid I was never going 
 to have any more children. The thought that I 
 
SYLVIA'S SISSIES 119 
 
 might lose one of them haunted me night and day. 
 I've been so alone all my life, and I've always wanted 
 a family so ; but now when I think of another baby 
 coming, all that worry fades away. I have such a 
 sense oh, such an enormous sense of security and 
 serenity and content and happiness. I know that 
 everything will be all right. I know that everything 
 will take care of itself. It's wonderful! How I 
 wish you could experience it, Ernest! But I guess 
 this is something that men can never have, only 
 women ! It compensates for all the agony it means 
 to be a woman every bit of it. And when I think 
 of the attention I must give the new baby oh, it 
 makes me realize, as nothing else did, that there are 
 certain social adjustments that boys must make for 
 themselves and girls too, perhaps. Anyway, the 
 boys are going to school alone and going to play 
 alone hereafter. I have no fear for them any more. 
 I want them to learn to swim and ride and drive 
 and play baseball and football and tennis and box 
 even anything that's necessary for them to make 
 fine big brothers for the little sister that's coming. 
 And, Ernest, if I'm going to have a little daughter, 
 I want to keep young and pretty for her sake. I'm 
 going to Boston tomorrow and buy me a really friv- 
 olous new summer suit. I can wear it for quite 
 a while you know, and I'm going to keep my nails 
 looking pretty, and have my hair waved every week 
 
120 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 until And I'm so happy that I want to do some- 
 thing gay at once. I want you to get tickets for 
 tomorrow night for that musical comedy, ' The 
 Champion and the Amazon.' " 
 
 ! 
 
I 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE LONG CARRY 
 
 "O O don't worry any more, Ernest! n Sylvia said. 
 C/ Her voice held a gay note of command; but 
 underneath it ran a sober current of entreaty. 
 
 Ernest smiled a perfunctory reassurance. " No, 
 I won't worry." 
 
 " Good-by, dear," Sylvia concluded. 
 
 " Good-by." 
 
 Sylvia gazed for a minute or two after her hus- 
 band as he walked down the street to the station. 
 As the distance between them increased, the spirit 
 seemed to flow out of him. After a while, a faint 
 crumple crooked the splendid erectness of his figure. 
 By corresponding slow degrees, the radiance which 
 had illumined her face as she lifted it to his good- 
 by kiss, evaporated from it. She sighed. But turn- 
 ing toward the house, her spirits lifted again. From 
 within came the sound of the revelries which always 
 characterized the twins' Saturday morning. Sylvia 
 strolled up the walk slowly. And then another seri- 
 ous consideration seized her. Again her face 
 sobered. 
 
122 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 Inside, "Boys!" she called. " Come down- 
 stairs! There's something in the kitchen I want 
 to show you." 
 
 The two sturdy, virile black-browed little lads 
 came tumbling into view. Gordon arrived down- 
 stairs first, by the simple expedient of taking to the 
 banisters. " The fellers are coming over for football 
 pretty soon," he informed his mother. " They said 
 they'd come right after breakfast," Gordon supple- 
 mented him. 
 
 ;< This won't take long, sons," Sylvia promised 
 them. " And you'll like it." 
 
 She led the way through the hall into -the big, 
 old kitchen. Maggie was doing the dishes with 
 a great swish of soapy water and to the accompani- 
 ment of an Irish song. The sunlight poured on her 
 draining-board covered with steaming glasses. Syl- 
 via continued into the back hall. 
 
 " Oh, I know ! " Gordon said with all the elec- 
 tric thrill of a good guess in his voice. 
 
 " I don't," Edward declared, mystified. And 
 then, guessing in his turn, " Oh yes, I do " 
 
 " Lady's kittens have come," Gordon interrupted. 
 
 " That's it," Sylvia admitted. She knelt beside 
 the big clothes-basket in the corner. " Four of 
 them ! See what darlings they are ! Careful, son ! " 
 as Gordon made an impulsive dive into the furry 
 mass. " Let me take them out for you." 
 
THE LONG CARRY 123 
 
 Her long white hands moved with a gentle firm- 
 ness among the tiny, languidly-squirming forms. One 
 by one, she lifted the kittens from the basket to the 
 floor. They dragged about, squeaking discon- 
 solately. Lady put her front paws on the top of the 
 basket and peered apprehensively over its edge. 
 " We aren't going to hurt your babies, little mother," 
 Sylvia soothed her. " We wouldn't hurt them for 
 the world. Be gentle with them, boys. Remember, 
 Lady is still weak and very much frightened for 
 fear you'll injure them." Imitating their mother, 
 the boys stroked the purblind little creatures with 
 faint, delicate touches of their forefingers. Lady 
 watched every move with spurting ears and a pivot- 
 ing head. 
 
 " Now I think we'll put them back," Sylvia de- 
 cided suddenly. One by one, she placed the little 
 balls of fluff in the basket. Lady cuddled down to 
 the demands of their immediate hunger. ' When 
 did they come ? " Gordon demanded. 
 
 " In the night," Sylvia answered. " Maggie 
 found them when she got up. She said Lady acted 
 as proud as a peacock." 
 
 " Did it hurt much? " Edward asked. 
 
 " Lady looks very tired. Do you see how thin 
 and drawn her face is? We must be very gentle 
 with her for a while." 
 
124 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " How soon will their eyes be open? " asked the 
 exact and accurate Edward. 
 
 " In a few days," Sylvia answered absently. 
 " Now, boys, come into the living-room for a mo- 
 ment. I've something to tell you." 
 
 " But mother, football " Edward began. 
 
 " YouVe got plenty of time," Sylvia assured him. 
 She led the way into the living-room which, like 
 every room that Sylvia furnished, had something ex- 
 quisitely conventual about it. She seated herself in 
 the big old wing-chair; drew the little boys one on 
 each side of her; sat holding in each hand a tiny, 
 red rough paw. As she talked, she looked from 
 one face to the other; and she reflected, as she had 
 reflected many times before, that one might have 
 been a mirrored vision of the other. The coloring 
 of Edward duplicated that of Gordon; the chiseling 
 of Gordon duplicated that of Edward. And yet 
 how conclusively but subtly they differed! They 
 differed in expression to the precise degree and in 
 exactly the way that, temperamentally and intellectu- 
 ally, they differed; Edward all quiet-faced astute- 
 ness; Gordon all starry-eyed calm. Edward ques- 
 tioned every detail of his universe; Gordon was 
 " native and endued " to wonder. 
 
 " My little sons," Sylvia began, smiling, " do you 
 remember how, last month, a baby sister came to live 
 with Tony Dorrance ? " 
 
THE LONG CARRY 125 
 
 The twins nodded, uninterested. At every sound 
 outside, their eyes sought the window as though it 
 opened a vista into football. Sylvia pressed the 
 little red paws emphasizingly. 
 
 " Well, that same wonderful thing is going to 
 happen to us. In a few months, a baby will come to 
 live here in this house." 
 
 She stopped and examined the two little faces. 
 They bore the revelation characteristically. Gor- 
 don's wide luminous eyes grew if possible wider and 
 more luminous. Edward's eyes narrowed to atten- 
 tion, his brows ruffled to question. '* Will it be a 
 boy? " he asked hopefully. 
 
 " It may be a baby brother. I hope it will be a 
 baby sister, but I can't be sure." 
 
 " I'd rather it would be a brother," Edward de- 
 cided promptly. 
 
 " So'd I," agreed Gordon. " Girls aren't any 
 good teachers' pets and tattle-tales and 'fraid- 
 cats." He paused a moment and added conclusively, 
 " All of them." 
 
 " No, some sisters are better," Edward disagreed 
 meditatively. " Tom's sister Elsie makes candy 
 every Saturday morning." 
 
 ;< It will be a long time before this sister will make 
 any candy." Sylvia laughed in spite of herself. 
 " Remember she will be little not quite so little 
 perhaps but almost as helpless as Lady's kittens." 
 
126 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 :< Will she be red," Gordon asked disapprovingly, 
 "like Tony's sister ?" 
 
 " Probably," Sylvia answered. 
 
 :< Will her eyes be open? " Edward demanded. 
 
 Sylvia laughed again. " Yes, and I hope they'll 
 be as blue as the sky." 
 
 4 What will her name be ? " Edward went on with 
 what threatened to be a rain of practical inquiries. 
 
 " Elizabeth-Marian," Sylvia answered. " Eliza- 
 beth, after your Grandma Martin; and Marian, 
 after Tante Marian. And we shall call her Beth. 
 But if it's a boy well, what shall we call it, if it's a 
 boy?" 
 
 " Jess Willard," Edward answered promptly. 
 And, " Ty Cobb," Gordon immediately followed 
 him. 
 
 ;< There might be more than one," Sylvia sug- 
 gested. " You two little boys came together." 
 
 " Oh, mother," Gordon begged, " don't let's have 
 two girls ! " 
 
 " Couldn't we have four babies all at once just 
 like Lady? " Edward offered hopeful solution. " We 
 could drown the girls." 
 
 Sylvia continued to laugh. " Suppose they were 
 all girls?" 
 
 " We might keep one" Gordon permitted. 
 
 " No," Edward differed. " Let's drown them all, 
 if they're girls." 
 
THE LONG CARRY 127 
 
 Sylvia's mirth bubbled on. " But you see father 
 and mother both want a little daughter. Our hearts 
 are set on its being a Beth." 
 
 Gordon fixed his eyes on his mother's face. The 
 luminosity, that normally filled them, was glowing 
 deeply, as always happened when a train of thought 
 threatened to explode in question. Sylvia waited. 
 
 " Mother, where do babies come from? " he de- 
 manded. 
 
 Involuntarily Sylvia sighed. She had been expect- 
 ing this. In fact, deliberately she had led up to it. 
 But somehow she had thought the question would 
 come from the definite-minded, explorative Edward, 
 not from the vague, wool-gathering Gordon. For a 
 moment, this tiny unexpectedness nearly threw her 
 from the track of her purpose. But arousing her- 
 self, she started determinedly on the story, half anal- 
 ogy, half fable, that she had invented for them. 
 
 * You remember how I told you a few weeks ago 
 that Lady was going to give you a family of little 
 
 kitties and I told you that you must be very 
 
 careful the way you handled Lady because It's 
 
 like that with all mothers: kitty-mothers, puppy- 
 mothers, bear-mothers, lion-mothers, and women- 
 mothers But although it means pain and suf- 
 fering, it seems to be the way it must happen " 
 
 This had been a moment and a narrative for which 
 Sylvia had planned ever since the birth of the twins. 
 
128 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 And yet now she told it half absently. For suddenly 
 it was not the faces of her sons that she saw; but 
 Ernest's figure growing more and more careworn in 
 aspect as it retreated down the hill. Indeed, it was 
 not to the twins that she addressed herself, but to 
 Ernest's drawn look. It was not into the innocent 
 orbs which kept so trustingly their steady gaze on 
 her that she stared, but through them, into Ernest's 
 troubled blue-gray eyes. 
 
 " God has made a little room right under the 
 mother's heart so that her heart can keep watch 
 
 a little room as warm and soft and safe 
 
 And in that little room, the baby grows bigger and 
 
 stronger and stronger until Then comes a day 
 
 when the baby is ready to enter the world We 
 
 call this being born " 
 
 How simple it all sounded, reduced to the lowest 
 terms and clothed in the language of imagery! Oh, 
 if for Ernest's sake, it could only be as simple as 
 this ... as effortless. . . . Oh, to save him 
 the long, dead black wait . . . that beating, 
 scarlet agony at the end. . . . 
 
 " And when the time comes for the baby to be 
 born just that moment, not an instant before, not 
 an instant after but. at exactly the right, beautiful 
 moment God opens the little door in that soft, 
 warm, safe room under the mother's heart and the 
 baby comes out in the world/' Sylvia paused. 
 
THE LONG CARRY 129 
 
 Ernest's care-worn face disappeared. The faces, 
 wholly interested, entirely receptive, a little puzzled, 
 of her two sons came back into her vision. 
 
 They were still receiving the revelation charac- 
 teristically. It was like, she remembered, the first 
 time they had seen a flying-machine. Gordon ac- 
 cepted it serenely and lucidly, as one of the expected^ 
 magics of a magical universe; like giants and mer- 
 maids and fairy godmothers. But Edward, appalled 1 
 at this contradiction of every law of his practical 
 world, had actually turned pale; had rushed, as 
 though for sanctuary, to a storm of hysterical ques- 
 tions. 
 
 It was Edward who, immediately annexing her 
 phraseology, demanded, " When will our brother 
 come into the world? " * 
 
 " About Christmas, I think." Sylvia smiled hap- 
 pily. " This is my Christmas gift to you a little 
 sister." 
 
 " I hope it will be a brother," Edward reiterated 
 obstinately. 
 
 :t We can give it away," Gordon suggested, " if 
 it's a girl." 
 
 " No," Sylvia decided. " There's one thing that 
 absolutely can't be given away, and that's a little 
 newborn baby. Now, there are two things more 
 that I'm going to say to you, boys. Everybody 
 knows what I've just told you about that little room 
 
130 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 where the baby lives before it's born. Everybody. 
 Everybody! But because everybody knows it, no- 
 body speaks of it. You see there's really no reason, 
 for talking about a thing that everybody knows. 
 So I want you, my sons, to promise me two things. 
 One is not to talk about this to anybody. And the 
 other is : if as you think it over now or for years 
 to come you have any questions to ask about it, 
 you'll ask me. My sons," Sylvia's voice sank to 
 a solemn deepness, " I give you my word that I 
 will always tell you the truth. Will you promise me 
 these two things? " 
 
 The little boys promised readily enough. 
 
 But after the twins had raced off to their exigent 
 football, Sylvia began again to see not Edward's 
 astute, inquiring look, nor Gordon's luminous under- 
 standing one but Ernest's drawn, worried aspect. 
 
 Sylvia herself entertained no doubt as to the out- 
 come of the next few months. 
 
 But Ernest And small wonder! The birth 
 
 of the twins had been a long and agonizing session 
 from which he had emerged almost as gray and 
 ghastly as his wife. Sylvia herself did not like to 
 think of that black and murky period which followed 
 the birth and death of her little daughter. Er- 
 nest never referred to it. And by that token, Sylvia 
 guessed the exact degree of agony which his Gol- 
 
THE LONG CARRY 131 
 
 gotha had held for him. Her face shadowed as she 
 thought of it; but out of that shadow, without an 
 instant of preparation, suddenly flashed the serene 
 happiness of her smile. 
 
 For the love which Ernest bore Sylvia, and which 
 Sylvia bore Ernest, was one of those loves that are 
 the wonder, envy, doubt, scoff, according to the tem- 
 peraments, of those who see it. Among their 
 friends, their union was jokingly described as " the 
 perfect hitch. " Ernest Martin was distinctly a 
 monogamous type. Sylvia's face had wiped off the 
 slate of his mind the face of every girl that destiny 
 had previously drawn there. And no other woman's 
 face had since threatened her reign. Whenever Er- 
 nest looked at his wife, the expression in his eyes 
 deepened to tenderness. That look always met an 
 answering look in Sylvia's eyes worship and un- 
 derstanding and complete trust. But lately another 
 expression had come to crowd the worship of Er- 
 nest's gaze. That expression was fear. Six months 
 of an augmenting, anguished anticipation lay behind 
 Ernest. Three months of an accelerating, anguished 
 
 anticipation lay before him. And at the end 
 
 How to save him from it? ) 
 
 Sylvia rose, walked listlessly out of doors into the 
 
 autumnal disarray of the garden. She moved about 
 
 absently, gathering flowers for the house; blood-red 
 
 dahlias; bronze-brown asters; bachelor buttons, 
 
132 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 earnestly azure; salvia, excitedly scarlet. She ap- 
 proached the bed of California poppies. Multitudes 
 of tiny buds, twisted like spills of golden satin, lay 
 flexed awaiting the sun. One alone had begun to 
 unwind orange-tawny wings. And as Sylvia stood 
 before it, a miracle happened. 
 
 There came a faint delicate flutter and Im- 
 perfection had changed to perfection. Youth had 
 turned into maturity. A bud had become a flower. 
 
 Sylvia stood stock-still before the miracle for a 
 long time. Obviously, she was thinking hard; for 
 her brows knitted and her teeth gnawed her lips. 
 And then, suddenly, an idea seemed to thrill up from 
 her subconscious to her conscious mind. It brought 
 with it a lucid brightening of her eyes, a jerked lift 
 of her breast. It held her for a moment at what 
 seemed a high pitch of question; and under that 
 stress, her color mounted and her lips parted. Then 
 obviously the question resolved itself to determina- 
 tion. She walked briskly back to the house. And 
 as she walked, she smiled rapturously. 
 
 Once inside, she went immediately to the tele-^ 
 phone; called up both her docter and her nurse. 
 She supplemented these two long talks with a third, 
 equally protracted. 
 
 "You solemnly promise me, Harriet Mabie?" 
 she concluded the last one. 
 
THE LONG CARRY 133 
 
 " I solemnly promise you, Sylvia Martin," Miss 
 Mabie promised. 
 
 The months there must be three of them went 
 by slowly. Sylvia made her life as busy as possible. 
 As long as she could, she went out with Ernest. 
 But necessarily, her activities grew circumscribed; 
 her days increasingly quiet. A little walk; a little 
 puttering in the garden; sewing; her twilight stories 
 with the twins; an occasional attendance at the club; 
 an occasional appearance at a small tea this was 
 her program. 
 
 All the time, Ernest's evening absences grew stead- 
 ily fewer and fewer until he was never absent. Syl- 
 via tried every system she knew, from secret wifely 
 diplomacy to direct personal appeal, to get him out 
 of the house. But to her gentle feminine obstinacy 
 he opposed his quiet masculine stubbornness. Sylvia 
 could not move that dead weight. After a while she 
 gave up the effort. 
 
 Then developed the inevitable period of frantic 
 telephoning. Not obviously frantic, of course; all 
 the boiling anxiety, carefully disguised under casual 
 inquiry, as: 
 
 u Oh, Sylvia, I called up to find out if there's a 
 package of papers on the desk. I was afraid I 
 might have left them on the train." Or, " Say, 
 Sylvia, suppose you could go for a little walk, if I 
 
134 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 came out early this afternoon? " Or, " Oh, Sylvia 
 I saw some fine celery in the market today. I 
 thought you might want to know that I'm bringing 
 some out for dinner." 
 
 To these bombardments, Sylvia opposed her un- 
 alterable serenity, her invariable, " I'm feeling 
 splendid, this morning, Ernest." Or, " Oh, yes, 
 I'd love a little walk this afternoon." 
 
 Then followed the period, equally inevitable, of 
 Ernest's sudden appearances, early in the afternoon. 
 " I felt a little done up today somehow," he would 
 account for them; or, " I felt rotten as though I 
 had a cold coming on." Or, " There wasn't much 
 doing in the office this afternoon; so I thought Yd 
 beat it home and get a nap." 
 
 " Ernest," Sylvia said one night, " it's out of the 
 question my going out socially any longer. But I 
 feel so well and this waiting round bores me so, 
 that I would like to do something in the evenings. 
 There is one thing I really would find very enter- 
 taining." 
 
 " Well, for the love of Mike, what is it? " Ernest 
 demanded. 
 
 " This will amuse you, I know. But I'd just love 
 it, and I want you to say yes. It's whist! I like 
 whist and I used to play a fairly good game once 
 a really, rather complicated signal game. Old Mrs. 
 Whitcomb was saying the other day that Mr. Whit- 
 
THE LONG CARRY 135 
 
 comb was just dying for some whist. He's a shark, 
 you know." 
 
 " Yes, I know," Ernest admitted grimly. " I've 
 played against him on the train." 
 
 " Yes, he's a shark," Sylvia went on. " But he 
 isn't one of those hateful, disagreeable sharks. He 
 doesn't criticize you. He doesn't mind playing with 
 anybody as long as you give your whole attention to 
 the game and try to win. And he never calls you 
 down; although he will give you all the instruction 
 in the world if you ask it. He's an eccentric old 
 thing. But do you know, Ernest, I like him. I have 
 always liked him." 
 
 "That's queer," Ernest observed, "you hate so 
 many people." 
 
 " And I've always had a feeling that he liked me." 
 
 "That's even queerer," Ernest added. "So 
 many people hate you." 
 
 " Well, I was thinking " Sylvia ignored her hus- 
 band's levity, " Ernest, will you stop into the Whit- 
 combs' on your way to the train this morning and 
 ask them if they'll come in this evening to play with 
 us?" 
 
 The whist foursome, thus started, grew first into 
 a three-nights-a-week and then to a e very-nigh t-a- 
 week performance, in which Sunday was the only 
 respite. The imperturbable Ernest and the phleg- 
 matic Mrs. Whitcomb submitted without a murmur 
 
136 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 to the nightly beating, which the strategic Mr. Whit- 
 comb, reinforced by the tactical Sylvia, administered 
 to them. Sylvia enjoyed her small triumph enor- 
 mously. " Do you know, Ernest," she said again and 
 again, " I really love whist. I have always loved it. 
 After we get going, I could play all night. And Mr. 
 Whitcomb is a partner after my own heart. Nothing 
 would stop him but death. Some fine evening, after 
 Miss Elizabeth Marian Martin has become a big, 
 bouncing young lady, I'm going to start at eight 
 o'clock in the evening, and keep on playing till I've 
 had enough, if it takes till sunrise." 
 
 ' Well, you certainly are developing some game," 
 would be Ernest's comment. 
 
 Again and again at the breakfast table, Sylvia 
 said, " Really, we stopped too soon last evening. 
 Oh, I wanted so much to play longer." 
 
 But, " Every night at eleven for you, young lady," 
 Ernest laid down the law, " until we are a bigger 
 family." 
 
 And, " Ernest, you don't know how fond I'm get- 
 ting of the Whitcombs," Sylvia said, in one form or 
 another constantly. " Isn't it funny how you get 
 to know some people at once and how you never 
 really know others until something out of the ordi- 
 nary brings them out? Here we've lived opposite 
 the Whitcombs for ten years, and I suppose if I 
 hadn't thought of playing whist with them, I never 
 
THE LONG CARRY 137 
 
 would have gotten really acquainted with them. I 
 always thought of Mrs. Whitcomb as a feather-bed, 
 down-puff, lamb-stew sort of woman; and of Mr. 
 Whitcomb as a sort of queer, dried-up old thing. 
 But, oh, how kind they've been to me and how con- 
 siderate ! I can't tell you all the good advice that 
 Mrs. Whitcomb has given me or the sensible sug- 
 gestions she's made ! After all, Ernest, a woman 
 who has brought up five boys well, is no fool. And 
 as for Mr. Whitcomb it seems as though he was 
 thinking of my comfort every minute ! " 
 
 " Yes, they're regular people," Ernest agreed. 
 " I'm glad I've had this chance to get to know them. 
 I hope I have an opportunity of doing something 
 for them some time." 
 
 But multiply these gentle efforts as she would, Syl- 
 via never really succeeded in getting Ernest's mind 
 off its major worry; and she knew it. That Ernest 
 watched her stealthily, she was all the time perfectly 
 aware. Any sudden change in the expression of her 
 face brought to his figure a momentary petrifaction. 
 Any sudden move of her body tore his attention 
 from whatever he was doing. And as her physical 
 languor grew with an accelerating and augment- 
 ing sense of unease his watchfulness increased. 
 
 One night the whist game started with a sudden 
 dash of gaiety; for Sylvia unloosed a vein of talka- 
 tiveness, unusual in her, " Oh, how I'm enjoying 
 
138 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 this ! " she said again and again. " Somehow, I 
 never felt more like playing whist than I do this 
 evening! " 
 
 "No wonder with the cards you're holding!" 
 Mrs. Whitcomb remarked caustically. " Ernest, she 
 stacks them! " 
 
 1 That hasn't anything to do with it!" Sylvia 
 maintained. " Ernest, I'm sorry for you ! Mrs. 
 Whitcomb, I'm a yellow dog but this is a grand 
 slam. I feel it in my bones that Mr. Whitcomb 
 and I are going to beat you to a frazzle. Ernest, 
 you've got to call that eleven-o'clock rule off to- 
 night! For once, I'm going to get all I want of 
 it!" 
 
 It was just as she started to deal, a little later, that 
 Sylvia arose suddenly from the table. " My good- 
 ness! I nearly forgot It's just come to 
 
 me " she exclaimed, unaccustomedly ejaculatory. 
 
 " I ought to have telephoned What an idiot 
 
 I am to say that I'll do anything when Here, 
 
 Ernest, you deal for me ! And don't you dare to 
 break my run of luck! I've got to call somebody 
 up " 
 
 She hurried into the back room; opened a low- 
 voiced conversation over the telephone. Conclud- 
 ing her talk, she rejoined the whist players long 
 enough to make the trump royal spades and to give 
 her jubilant partner the opportunity of sweeping to 
 
THE LONG CARRY 139 
 
 victory on a second grand slam. While this was 
 going on, she returned to the telephone; took up 
 more conversations. She had scarcely rejoined the 
 whist players when the bell rang. Mr. Whitcomb 
 was dealing. Sylvia herself opened the door. 
 
 " Oh, Harriet! " she exclaimed. "How glad I 
 am to see you! How did you know that I wanted 
 somebody at this exact moment? We are having 
 a game of whist. Would you mind taking my hand 
 for a few minutes ? There's something Fd forgotten 
 all about that I simply must do before I go to bed." 
 
 " You're a sweet, tactful thing, Sylvia." Miss 
 Mabie's rather severe spinsterly face broke into an 
 understanding smile. " But I'm not going to break 
 up the party. I'll just sit here and watch you." 
 
 " But, Harriet, I'm telling you the truth," Sylvia 
 insisted. ( There are some Christmas boxes that I 
 solemnly promised Miss Farr that I'd have packed 
 and ready, if she'd send a messenger for them in the 
 morning. I forgot all about it until this moment. 
 It won't take me a jiff to do it now; but I don't 
 want to have to get up for it tomorrow. You see 
 I stay in bed till about ten." 
 
 " All right." Miss Mabie stepped into Sylvia's 
 place; shuffled the cards; handed them to Ernest to 
 cut; dealt them: all these with the decisive move- 
 ments of a practised hand. 
 
 "You'll tire yourself all out, Sylvia," Ernest 
 
HO THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 prophesied. " Why don't you wait and let me do it 
 for you? " 
 
 Sylvia laughed. " Ernest, you're the noblest of 
 created husbands; but I'd hate to receive the Christ- 
 mas box that you packed. No, it really ought to be 
 done tonight; and it happens that I feel just like 
 doing it." 
 
 " If you want any help " Ernest persisted. 
 
 Both Mrs. Whitcomb and Miss Mabie reinforced 
 him with polite murmurs. 
 
 Sylvia thanked the ladies, but declined their kind 
 offers with haste and decision. On her way past 
 her husband, however, she stopped to lay a little 
 kiss on both his cheeks. " I shan't need any help, 
 goose ! " She added casually, " I'm going to shut 
 this door. I've felt a little draft all the evening." 
 
 " Yes, I feel it too," Miss Mabie admitted. 
 
 Sylvia disappeared. Her absence grew prolonged. 
 Once or twice, Ernest said, " Do I hear somebody 
 walking in the hall? " But always Miss Mabie an- 
 swered quietly, " I don't think so. I can't hear 
 anything." 
 
 The game went on and on. Miss Mabie, it de- 
 veloped, was a player. And under the spur of her 
 masterly offensives, Mr. Whitcomb outdid himself. 
 
 About ten, the door of the living-room opened. 
 Maggie appeared. " Mrs. Martin says that she 
 feels a little tired and that she's going to bed, sir. 
 
THE LONG CARRY 141 
 
 But she says to please keep on with your game, as 
 she can't hear a sound up there." 
 
 They kept on. And suddenly Ernest and Mrs. 
 Whitcomb ran into so extraordinary a run of luck 
 that they were inspired to reinforce it by an un- 
 wonted brilliancy of playing. The exhilaration of 
 their success carried the game over the line of ten 
 o'clock, over the ridge of eleven o'clock, over the 
 height of twelve o'clock, and one, towards two 
 
 Mrs. Whitcomb had just finished saying, " Oh, 
 let's have another rubber! Don't look at your 
 watch, Silas! We might just as well be hung for 
 
 a I never enjoyed a game more in my life ! " 
 
 when again the living-room door opened. 
 
 It was not Maggie this time. Instead it was a 
 cool-looking, blonde young woman in a nurse's uni- 
 form. 
 
 Ernest's cards dropped out of his hands. " Miss 
 Dinsmore ! How " 
 
 Miss Dinsmore's keen gray eyes sparkled. " Mr. 
 Martin," she announced, " your wife begs me to 
 present her compliments and to say she would like 
 you to step upstairs. She wants to introduce you to 
 Miss Elizabeth Marian Martin, who has just ar- 
 rived, weighing nine pounds; mother and daughter 
 both doing well." 
 
CHAPTER V 
 THE NEST EGG 
 
 IT was a marvelous June day. But the fact that 
 it was the middle of the week could not alone 
 account for the unnatural silence of the Warburton 
 household. The weather had seemingly lured every 
 member of the family to secret, exhilarating devices. 
 
 " Cely and Bertha-Elizabeth are tramping up 
 Mount Fairview," Phoebe answered her mother's 
 question. " Toland is playing baseball somewhere, 
 and Edward to Toland's intense disgust tagging 
 after him. Micah is at Sylvia's. Phoebe-Girl is 
 I don't know where Phoebe-Girl is." Phoebe 
 stopped to meditate. " Now, where can that child 
 be? When did I see her last? Oh yes just after 
 lunch she started off with that little Daisy Brooks 
 she's so crazy about she said to play paper dolls at 
 Daisy's." 
 
 " Well," Mrs. Martin remarked, " if you can 
 keep count of Phoebe-Girl's activities, you do well." 
 
 " I don't pretend to," Phoebe asserted lightly. 
 '* She's the most active of my children and sometimes 
 I think the strongest." 
 
 142 
 
THE NEST EGG 143 
 
 11 She's had fewer sicknesses certainly/ 1 Mrs. Mar- 
 tin agreed. " Oh, what a day this is ! It is the 
 kind of day I most love and the season that I 
 guess is my favorite after all. I love the daisies 
 and buttercups. And when the sky is full of those 
 great heavy clouds all crowded together like that 
 it always takes me back to my youth and makes 
 me think of those dreams you have then long sea 
 journeys and the ocean being filled with white sails 
 and you going, you don't know where, except that 
 in your fancy you're always putting in at strange 
 ports and seeing wonderful strange cities and pic- 
 turesque strange people." 
 
 " I know," Phoebe said with a little agreeing nod: 
 " I remember that period so well. Every girl has 
 it, I guess. That feeling that comes to you that all 
 life lies before you and the whole world is open to 
 you and anything simply anything may happen. 
 It seems as though it was all chance; and yet you 
 have the feeling that chance will favor you in send- 
 ing you all kinds of adventures and romances and 
 beautiful journeys. And then you get engaged and 
 married and suddenly the universe contracts into 
 one tiny world which holds your babies. All those 
 dreams of your future and those yearnings for some- 
 thing different evaporate out of your mind." 
 
 11 But there is something better that comes to 
 take their place," Mrs. Martin affirmed. 
 
144 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " Yes, something better," Phoebe agreed. " Some- 
 times I wish you could have both, though. I don't 
 see why life can't be managed so you could." 
 
 " For women, you mean? " Mrs. Martin queried. 
 
 1 Yes, particularly women," Phoebe elucidated. 
 " For the chances are, they'll never have it again." 
 
 Mother and daughter sat on the side piazza which 
 faced the tennis court. The street cut across their 
 left and to their right beyond the garden a delicate 
 phantasmagoria of the spring colors marsh country 
 leaped by green squares, bounded with lines of silver 
 ditches, to the very foot of Mount Fairview. It was 
 the longest day in the year, and the sun was still 
 far from setting. It held a brilliant place high in 
 the sky, from which it flooded the world with daz- 
 zling impulses of light. 
 
 Mrs. Martin, as in conversation was her uncon- 
 scious but subtly flattering habit, considered Phoebe's 
 words thoughtfully. 
 
 " I expect that's the new generation talking," she 
 decided after a while. " I can't go with you on that. 
 But then that's the way life is. I remember I had 
 ideas that my mother never would agree with. And 
 you have ideas that I can't accept. And I expect the 
 time's coming when Bertha-Elizabeth or Phoebe- 
 Girl will come home with some scheme for educa- 
 tion or work that will make your blood run 
 cold." 
 
THE NEST EGG 145 
 
 " I expect they will," Phoebe admitted. " And 
 I'm trying to prepare myself for them, whatever they 
 are ! " 
 
 " Don't say that, Phoebe," her mother warned 
 her excitedly. u Whatever you say, don't say that. 
 That's the strangest part of it. If it were anything 
 you could anticipate But it never is. It's al- 
 ways the last thing in the world that you would 
 imagine and just the last thing in the world that 
 you want. It breaks up all your plans and often 
 seems as though it were going to ruin, your whole 
 scheme of life. What's that tramping I hear in the 
 distance? " 
 
 Phoebe listened, her head cocked attentively. 
 " Oh, just people coming up from the marsh sec- 
 tion," she explained lightly. " I wonder which one 
 it will be. Will it be Toland who will want to 
 retire to a monastery; or Bertha-Elizabeth who will 
 decide to go into the movies; or Phoebe-Girl who 
 will insist on nursing in the leper colony in Molokai; 
 or Edward who will take up aviation; or Micah 
 who'll become an interpretive dancer? Well, at 
 least there are only five possibilities." 
 
 " Only five now," Mrs. Martin said with em- 
 phasis. 
 
 u Only five, mother," Phoebe repeated firmly. 
 u My family is the exact size that I want it. It's 
 not going to be any bigger." 
 
146 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " I've heard those statements before," Mrs. Mar- 
 tin remarked dryly. 
 
 " All right, mother wait and see ! " 
 
 " What can those people be doing? " Mrs. Mar- 
 tin demanded curiously. " Nobody's talking. And 
 there seem to be children with them Some- 
 body's crying " 
 
 " Oh, they'll come past the house in a moment," 
 Phoebe answered unnotingly. * Then we'll see what 
 it's all about. But honestly, mother, I think five is 
 a very nice size for a family, don't you? " 
 
 "Yes," Mrs. Martin agreed. 
 
 " Three boys and two girls," Phoebe summed up 
 her jewels with satisfaction. " A very nice arrange- 
 ment. Perhaps I would have liked Toland to be 
 the oldest one in the family. But I suppose 
 that's because I'm prejudiced. I was older than 
 Ern and I always looked down upon him and patron- 
 ized him and bossed him. I used to yearn for a 
 big, handsome, stunningly dressed clean brother 
 that I could be proud of; instead of a younger bro- 
 ther who was always sartorially speaking a dis- 
 grace. And then I think if a girl is the oldest one 
 in the family, she always has so much responsibility." 
 
 " That's true," Mrs. Martin asserted. " I know 
 that from experience. I was the oldest in our family, 
 you know." 
 
 " But if there was ever any one born to be an 
 
THE NEST EGG 147 
 
 oldest sister," Phoebe went on analytically, " it's 
 Bertha-Elizabeth. She really mothers the rest of the 
 family. If I were to die, I truly believe that child 
 could run the house and take care of the family." 
 
 " I believe she could," Mrs. Martin agreed with 
 
 her daughter. "What's that Why, they've 
 
 opened the gate ! They're coming here ! Phoebe! 
 Oh, my God ! " For Phoebe had leaped to a height, 
 
 suddenly towering and her face She was 
 
 like one standing up dead. 
 
 Four men, bearing between them a door, were 
 coming up the path. On the door lay something 
 human-shaped that dripped covered with a 
 blanket. Ahead, hatless, white-faced and wild-eyed, 
 wiping streaming tears with her kitchen apron, came 
 Mrs. Connors. Other women, terrified and silent, 
 brought up the rear; a queue of frightened children 
 followed; Daisy Brooks sobbing. 
 
 Phoebe darted a jagged look of agony at Mrs. 
 Connors. " Bertha-Elizabeth ! " she said. But it 
 was herself she questioned and her lips were stone. 
 Her feet seemed not to touch the ground as she flew 
 down the path. 
 
 " No, woman dear," Mrs. Connors' writhing lips 
 answered, " Phoebe-Girl." 
 
 ;< It's no use to say those things to me, mother, 
 they make no impression on me. And I don't be- 
 
148 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 lieve them. My child is dead. Nothing can alter 
 that. And nothing will ever reconcile me to it. Of 
 course you're being kind, I realize you have to say 
 those things to me. I have said them myself to other 
 people. All my life ! It's a sort of silly convention 
 that keeps up like how-do-you-do when you meet 
 people. How-do-you-do means nothing. You don't 
 really care how they do. The worst bore I ever 
 knew was a man who when you said * How do you 
 do? ' answered by telling you how he did. I appre- 
 ciate that you mean only to be comforting in saying 
 what you are saying. But it doesn't do any good. I 
 don't believe it. My child is dead. My life is 
 
 over." 
 
 "Oh, but, Phoebe, my little girl, other people 
 have lost children and life has gone on and they've 
 been happy again." 
 
 " Other people ! What other people have suf- 
 fered interests me very little now, mother. I don't 
 know anything about them nor care anything about 
 them. All I know is about myself. And I shall 
 never get over this never, never. My heart is like 
 lead. I know I'm going to carry that load around 
 with me as long as I live." 
 
 " Phoebe dear! " And for a moment the tender- 
 ness of her feeling wiped from Mrs. Martin's voice 
 the hoarseness of her grief. " Phoebe dear, your 
 mother knows what she's talking about, I lost a 
 
THE NEST EGG 149 
 
 child once little Albert. You never saw him, so 
 you can't remember him but of course I do, just as 
 though it were yesterday. I thought I was never 
 going to get over that loss. But I did. And oh, how 
 many happy, happy years I have had with you and 
 Ernest and your father! " 
 
 " I can't help it, mother, if I can't believe you," 
 Phoebe remonstrated in her stone-cold, stone-hard 
 voice. " I suppose you think you loved little Albert 
 as I love Phoebe-Girl. But if you could get over his 
 death, I know you didn't. For I shall never get 
 over Phoebe-Girl's death. I think I loved her better 
 than any of my children." 
 
 " You don't mean that, Phoebe," her mother said, 
 still tenderly but with a deeper gravity. ' You say 
 it only because she's gone." 
 
 " If there had been a single thing in my life to 
 prepare me for it," Phoebe said listlessly, " but there 
 hasn't been anything." 
 
 1 That is true, poor little girl," her mother agreed, 
 " nothing in life has prepared you for such a loss. 
 YouVe had such a happy childhood and such a happy 
 girlhood and such a happy marriage and young 
 motherhood. Why, Phoebe, sometimes I've trem- 
 bled for you. Sometimes it's seemed to me as though 
 life or fate or chance or all of them actually con- 
 spired to keep you happy. YouVe never had any of 
 the blows that other women have had. Think of 
 
150 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 Sylvia, and how she nearly went insane when her 
 little girl was born dead. Look at Molly Tate with 
 three babies dead, one after another. Think of 
 Florence Marsh losing that lovely little Walter. 
 Look at " 
 
 " Mother, it doesn't do any good to tell me about 
 these other cases. I'm sorry for them, of course; 
 but it doesn't help my case. I've lost her. She's 
 gone. She's gone forever. Forever. Do you real- 
 ize what forever means, mother? I shall never see 
 her again, my beautiful, beautiful baby." 
 
 " Not in this life," Mrs. Martin murmured. 
 
 " At this moment," Phoebe asserted dryly, " I am 
 not interested in a future life. I'm entirely pos- 
 sessed by the agonizing fact that I've got to live this 
 present one, whether I like it or not." 
 
 The two women were in Phoebe's room. Phoebe 
 lay in her nightgown on the bed; a blue down-puff 
 over her. Every light in her had died; every color 
 faded; every line sagged. She looked, except for 
 the strange dullness of her eyes a dullness so deep 
 and so pervasive that it was almost color like a 
 dead woman; dead and dried, after years of fever. 
 
 A knock came on her door. " Come ! " Phoebe 
 ordered monotonously. Mr. Martin entered. 
 
 " May I stay with you for a little while, Phoe- 
 be? " he asked gently. 
 
 " Yes, father," Phoebe permitted civilly, " if you 
 
THE NEST EGG 151 
 
 won't tell me to be brave and that everything is for 
 the best and that after a while I'll get reconciled 
 to it. I refuse to be brave. And I think this is a 
 rotten universe. And I never shall be reconciled to 
 it as long as I live." 
 
 " I won't say anything, my dear child," her 
 father said, " if you wish. Certainly none of those 
 things. I don't at this moment think of anything 
 I want to say, except that I'm suffering a twofold 
 suffering one for you and one for myself." 
 
 1 Yes, I suppose you and mother are suffering," 
 Phoebe agreed, in what seemed almost a polite at- 
 tempt to catch their point of view. " But you can't 
 know what it's like really. You didn't bring Phoebe- 
 Girl into the world." 
 
 " No, Phoebe, of course we can't know exactly 
 what you're going through," her father said. " But 
 we can remember. You see, we lost a little son 
 once." 
 
 * Yes, I know," Phoebe almost interrupted her 
 father. " Mother's been telling me. It must have 
 been awful. But I can't seem to realize it. I can't 
 think," and her voice rose in sudden passion, " I 
 can't think of anything but myself. I can't think of 
 Tug. After all, he isn't her mother. He's only her 
 father. And I can't think of the children even. 
 Father, I'm going to ask you a question. I can't 
 torture Tug by asking him. And then I think you 
 
152 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 will tell me the truth. You always have all my life." 
 
 " Yes, Phoebe, I'll tell you the truth," her father 
 promised. " As far as I know." 
 
 " Did she suffer much? Did it take very long 
 for her to drown? " Phoebe drew herself upright. 
 Her dead eyes sharpened. Her face fell into lines. 
 
 " No, Phoebe dear," her father answered. His 
 composure broke for an instant; and his lips started 
 to tremble. But he caught them back into the vise 
 of his control. " I have just been talking with Dr. 
 Bush about it. He says it takes only a little time 
 oh, a very little time for a child to die under those 
 circumstances. The suffering is very brief and not 
 agonizing." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear that," Phoebe said dully. 
 
 " If you could see her face now," her father went 
 on, " you would understand. It's so quiet and com- 
 posed." 
 
 " I shan't look at her again." Phoebe shuddered. 
 " I shan't go to the funeral. I'll keep in this room 
 until it's over, and when you come back this after- 
 noon from the grave, I don't want you to mention 
 her to me any of you, please." 
 
 " We won't, Phoebe," her mother promised. 
 
 There came another knock on the door. " Come ! " 
 Phoebe ordered monotonously. The door opened, 
 and Tug entered. His face was white and his eyes 
 swollen. But otherwise he was perfectly composed. 
 
THE NEST EGG 153 
 
 " How do you feel, dearest? " he questioned simply, 
 as though he and his wife were alone. 
 
 " Well, I wish I were dead/ 1 Phoebe explained 
 with a writhing smile. " But aside from that, I 
 guess I'm all right. Oh, in a few days Til be able 
 to pretend like everybody else. But, Tug, under- 
 stand me, I don't want to get up. I don't want to go 
 to the funeral. I don't want to listen to the singing." 
 
 " You needn't, Phoebe," Tug said. " We want 
 to do all of us the thing that you want." 
 
 " I'm glad you feel that way about it," Phoebe 
 declared. " Tug," she questioned suddenly, " why 
 did we have her? Why was she sent to us if she was 
 going to be snatched back in this brutal fashion? 
 What was the idea of making us suffer so? " 
 
 " Oh, Phoebe, how can I answer that question? I 
 don't know. But I'm glad we had her. Those years 
 are precious " 
 
 Tug broke off abruptly, gnawing his lips. 
 
 "Well, I'm not glad," Phoebe maintained almost 
 shrilly. " I would rather not have had her at all, 
 than just for a little." 
 
 " I'll have to go downstairs now, Phoebe," Tug 
 said gently, " unless you need me. There are all 
 kinds of things to be attended to telephone calls 
 and the children and flowers coming " 
 
 4 Yes, of course." Phoebe admitted this with a 
 strange air of detachment. " I'm so glad that you 
 
154 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 can do it, Tug. I couldn't. You won't let anybody 
 come up to see me, Tug? " 
 
 " No. I promise you that." Tug closed the door 
 softly. 
 
 " When I think," Phoebe went on in a tone of 
 bitter reminiscence, " that for so many years I wor- 
 ried for fear something would happen to Bertha- 
 Elizabeth. She was always such a frail-looking little 
 girl. I realize now that she was one of those delicate- 
 seeming children who are really very strong. But it 
 never occurred to me that anything would happen to 
 Phoebe-Girl. Never! She's always been so well 
 and she was always the first one to throw off any of 
 the children's diseases that they got. Do you remem- 
 ber, mother, that Christmas when Keith's had a 
 Christmas Tree on the stage and at the end of the 
 performance, every child in the audience marched 
 up to receive a present? When Phoebe-Girl came 
 into the glare of the footlights do you remember 
 how the audience applauded? Those wonderful 
 big eyes ! And those extraordinary eyelashes ! And 
 that complexion, like cherries and milk! Oh, how 
 beautiful she looked ! How she smiled and dimpled 
 when they applauded her ! And God let that beauti- 
 ful baby drown ! Mother, do you mean to tell me 
 there's any meaning in it? " 
 
 "Yes, Phoebe, I believe there is. Of course I 
 don't know what it is, though." 
 
THE NEST EGG 155 
 
 " I guess nobody knows what it is," Phoebe said. 
 " I'd like to see anybody have the impudence to try 
 to explain it to me. Do you remember, mother, for 
 how many years she said ' I are ' and ' I were ' ? I 
 never corrected her. She learned at school." 
 
 " Phoebe dear," her mother pleaded, " don't you 
 think you'd better get up ? I do believe it will help 
 a little, if you occupy yourself." 
 
 " No, I shall stay here until until I don't 
 
 know what it is I am waiting for; but I shall stay 
 here it until it comes." 
 
 There came a third knock on the door. " Come ! " 
 Phoebe's voice intoned metalically. 
 
 Bertha-Elizabeth entered. 
 
 Bertha-Elizabeth's face, tiny, tense, triangular, 
 showed no signs of weeping; but she was as blanched 
 as the white middy blouse she wore; and her eyes 
 looked bigger and darker than usual. " Mother 
 dear," she said, " Cousin Lora has just come. She 
 would like to arrange the flowers, if you want her 
 to. I thought I would ask you what you wanted. I 
 would much prefer to do it myself, if you'd trust 
 me enough to let me. Please, mother! " 
 
 Her mother did not answer. But she continued 
 to look at her daughter. For an instant there was 
 a faint light, as of inquiry, in her face. Very simply 
 Bertha-Elizabeth answered that light. u The garden 
 is full of red roses red, red roses. And Phoebe- 
 
156 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 Girl loved red roses best. You know, mother, she 
 always loved red flowers and hair ribbons and 
 belts and tarns everything red. Mother, do you 
 remember how she always insisted on having a Red- 
 Riding-Hood cape? " 
 
 Phoebe did not answer her daughter. But she con- 
 tinued to look with a growing intentness at her. 
 
 " We children Tug and Edward and Cely and 
 the twins have been picking the red roses all the 
 morning. And now the little ones, Micah and Mari- 
 an-Elizabeth, are pulling off all the thorns. I 
 thought, mother, if you didn't mind, Daisy and Cely 
 and I would make a little bed of roses for Phoebe- 
 Girl to lie on and a coverlet to put over her and 
 we'd place red roses in her hands and her hair and 
 
 all about the room I thought we'd cover her 
 
 grave with the flowers people are sending But 
 
 I know she'd like red roses close to her they're so 
 
 warm and she loved them so And, mother, 
 
 do you mind if I wrap her first in her little Red- 
 Riding-Hood cape?" 
 
 Phoebe's eyes seemed to grow to her daughter's 
 face. 
 
 " And, mother, we've been talking it over. Toland 
 and Tom Connors and the twins want to carry 
 Phoebe-Girl to the hearse and through the graveyard 
 to her grave. We don't want anybody else but us to 
 do it. May we, mother? Oh, mother, mother!" 
 
THE NEST EGG 157 
 
 For Phoebe had leaped out of bed, had caught 
 Bertha-Elizabeth in her eager, trembling arms! 
 " Oh, my darling little daughter, what beautiful ideas 
 you have ! What would I do without you ! What 
 would I do ! Yes, we'll send Cousin Lora away and 
 we will do everything ourselves; we'll make a great, 
 wonderful warm coverlet of roses for Phoebe-Girl. 
 Will you let mother help, Bertha-Elizabeth? " 
 
 " Oh, mother! " 
 
 And now they were weeping in each other's arms. 
 
 " Well, of course, mother," Phoebe was saying, 
 " I've not gotten over it yet. I'm in perfect condi- 
 tion physically " 
 
 " I never saw you looking better," her mother 
 interpolated. 
 
 " And of course mentally I'm more serene. 
 But I don't suppose I shall ever get over it entirely." 
 
 " No, Phoebe," her mother assured her. " You'll 
 never get over it entirely. You musn't expect that." 
 
 " I don't," Phoebe said. " But it isn't such a bit- 
 ter, tearing pain now. It's only a a a constant 
 ache. And then, of course, now there's my hope 
 my great, great hope " 
 
 Phoebe's eyes grew dreamy. It was late in Octo- 
 ber, and the Warburton family had come back from 
 a summer outing in Maine which had been prolonged 
 later than ever before. Phoebe was as brown be- 
 
158 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 cause of swimming, canoeing, her almost forgotten 
 tennis even, as was possible for a blonde to be. Out 
 of this tan coloring, her eyes seemed almost glad 
 again; and her hair more incisive in its effect of a 
 carved shining metal. Her gay smile was beginning 
 to reappear. And those sudden rushes of vivacity, 
 which carried her and her companions to high peaks 
 of enthusiasm, reappeared occasionally in her con- 
 versation. 
 
 She arose now and walked a little aimlessly over 
 to the bureau; opened the bureau drawer; glanced 
 unseeingly at its contents; shut it. The room was 
 still a little stark. The family had arrived that after- 
 noon and although in preparation for them, Mrs. 
 Martin had made the house as normal as possible, 
 many of the details of use-and-wont living were still 
 absent. 
 
 " I'm going to have this room all done over," 
 Phoebe remarked. " Pink and blue this time. I've 
 always had yellow, of course. But with this 
 baby " 
 
 " Oh, Phoebe," Mrs. Martin burst out. " How 
 happy it makes me the thought of another baby! 
 What an ocean of love a baby brings with it into this 
 world. It seems as though I couldn't wait! My 
 arms ache for it! " 
 
 Phoebe gave her mother a long look. " And I 
 guess you know how my arms feel Oh, I look 
 
THE NEST EGG 159 
 
 back to the very day, last June, when you and I were 
 talking on the piazza " 
 
 " Don't, Phoebe ! " her mother begged. 
 
 14 Don't be afraid, mother, I shan't cry. I have 
 myself in perfect control now. But I was only going 
 to say that that very day, I said to you that my 
 family was big enough; that five children were 
 enough. But I've learned better now. No number 
 of children is enough with Death always camping 
 on our trail. Mother, I am going to have just as 
 many children as I can. I'm never going to 
 stop." 
 
 Mrs. Martin sighed. " Well, of course nothing 
 makes me happier than the birth of a grandchild. 
 And yet, Phoebe, I don't want you to give your whole 
 youth up to " 
 
 44 What else am I good for? " Phoebe demanded. 
 44 Here I am a great, husky she-creature with a good 
 husband and a comfortable home. I take child- 
 bearing easily. I bear healthy and if I do say it as 
 shouldn't beautiful children. I not only love my 
 children but I enjoy them. Why shouldn't I keep 
 on having them? " 
 
 "You're absolutely right, Phoebe dear," her 
 mother answered impulsively. 
 
 14 But I don't suppose I shall ever look forward 
 to any other as I'm looking forward to this one," 
 Phoebe admitted. "I'm sure she'll fill Phoebe- 
 
160 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 Girl's place." Phoebe stopped and gave her mother 
 a second long look. 
 
 Mrs. Martin said nothing. 
 
 " Of course, I'm hoping and praying that she'll 
 be the image of Phoebe-Girl. I remember just ex- 
 actly what Phoebe-Girl looked like when she was 
 born. She was the most beautiful baby I've ever 
 seen. Do you remember, mother, how much hair 
 she had? And her eyes, so big and soft! And her 
 wonderful skin ! She was not the least bit pink. She 
 
 was just as white and lovely as a snow child ' I 
 
 remember I gave the nurse a list of telephone num- 
 bers and told her to call up all those women and tell 
 them that Mrs. Warburton wanted them to come up 
 that very day and see a baby that looked exactly the 
 way she ought to when she came walking into this 
 world. And they all came. And do you remember, 
 mother, when she was christened three weeks later, 
 I tied her hair out of her eyes with a smashing, great 
 white bow? Oh, how often I think of that picture." 
 Phoebe stopped, but her look was all question. Mrs. 
 Martin said nothing. 
 
 " Oh, if only, this time, the nurse would put an- 
 other baby into my arms just like that black- 
 haired, black-eyed white skin dimples 
 
 Then I shall know that my lost Phoebe-Girl's place 
 has been filled. I shall feel as though Phoebe-Girl 
 were back. I shall not mourn her any more." 
 
THE NEST EGG 161 
 
 Phoebe stopped; but her silence maintained her 
 aspect of question and she gave her mother a third 
 long look. But Mrs. Martin did not answer. 
 
 " Yes, Tug darling," Phoebe said. " The instant 
 the children come home, let them come right up. I 
 want to see their faces the first time they see the baby. 
 Warn them that they can't stay very long and tell 
 them to be very quiet." 
 
 " Is it all right, nurse? " Tug asked anxiously of 
 the tall, soldierly, gray-haired woman standing at the 
 foot of the bed. 
 
 " Perfectly," the nurse answered. " Mrs. War- 
 burton is as well as she could be under the circum- 
 
 stances." 
 
 u All right," Tug said. ' They're already home. 
 I'll collect them at once." 
 
 Phoebe lay in the middle of her big bed. Her hair 
 parted in the middle and flowing into two rippling 
 braids, one in front of each ear, gave her a look of 
 belated girlhood a childlikeness even. The room 
 had been done over, according to her promise, in 
 chintzes of pale pink and blue. The Colonial bed 
 had been recanopied in pink and blue. Great bunches 
 of roses and forget-me-nots filled vases everywhere. 
 Phoebe's bed-jacket was of blue chiffon over pink. 
 The puff was pink and blue. Out of all this delicate 
 coloring shone two white spots : Phoebe's face pale, 
 
162 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 a little sharp; and another face, tiny, perceptibly 
 blond, that lay sleeping at her breast. Presently, 
 outside, tiptoeing footsteps came stealing upstairs; 
 drew nearer along the hall. A faint knock nicked 
 the silence, forced open the door. There appeared 
 Bertha-Elizabeth, a silvery radiance shining behind 
 her tear-swept lashes; Toland, subdued, even to hair 
 and teeth and freckles; Edward, superior as a pale 
 young prince though frankly curious; Micah, a little 
 perfunctory. 
 
 " Come here, my darlings, and see your new little 
 sister," Phoebe called gently. " I'll let you kiss her 
 when she wakes up." 
 
 The quartette filed over to her side, lined up at the 
 bed-edge; solemnly surveyed the little egg-shaped 
 head with its pale down of hair. 
 
 " Oh, mother, what a darling! " exclaimed Bertha- 
 Elizabeth. " Oh, nurse, when she wakes up, may I 
 hold her in my arms? " 
 
 " Yes," the nurse assented. " And you can help 
 me give her a bath tomorrow if you'd like." 
 
 " Oh, nurse thank you ! Mother, how sweet you 
 look! May Cely see her take her bath? " 
 4 Yes," the nurse permitted. 
 'What's her name, mother?" Toland asked. 
 ' You know you wouldn't tell us what you were going 
 to call her." 
 
 " Yes, that was a secret," Phoebe admitted, " be- 
 
THE NEST EGG 163 
 
 cause if it had been a boy But I knew it would 
 
 be a girl. Her name is Hope. She's mother's hope, 
 you see? What do you think of her, boys? " 
 
 " I think she's great," Toland said v after a period 
 of careful examination. 
 
 Phoebe smiled with a swift rush of her old-time 
 spirit. 
 
 "And you, Edward?" 
 
 Edward palpably struggled with his conscience. 
 " I guess she's all right; but I did think she'd be big- 
 ger and all finished," he said in a disappointed tone. 
 " And of course, I wanted a brother. I would have 
 liked twin brothers like Edward and Gordon." He 
 transferred his long-lashed, great-irised gray gaze 
 from the baby's head to his mother's face. His dis- 
 appointment welled in his look. 
 
 Phoebe laughed outright this time. " Aside from 
 that, she's all right," she summed it up for him. 
 " What do you think, Micah? " 
 
 " I thought she'd be ready to go right out and 
 play. I really don't think she's very useful." 
 
 The baby waked up ; emitted a queer whining cry. 
 True to her promise, the nurse permitted Bertha- 
 Elizabeth to hold her a moment, to soothe her back 
 to sleep. Then she put the baby in the crib and tip- 
 toeing, the children departed. 
 
 Phoebe dozed. " Is that my mother? " she asked 
 when the next nursing period came round. 
 
1 64 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 ' Yes, Mrs. Martin has been here quite a while." 
 
 " I'd like to speak to my mother, nurse. I'm so 
 rested, and I feel just like it." 
 
 " I'll tell her," the nurse assented briskly. 
 
 She departed. 
 
 Phoebe's gray eyes wandered absently out the 
 window over the garden, still stiff with ice, and be- 
 yond to the marshes like planes of silver, and 
 beyond them to the surrounding hills, snow- 
 covered. A blue sky, taut as a pulled blue can- 
 vas, dropped low onto those hills. A file of ever- 
 greens, epauletted with snow, charged to their top. 
 Great white clouds with sails bellying roundly sailed 
 massively above them. In the fireplace a wood fire 
 snapped and sparkled. Phoebe stared dreamily at 
 the mounting flames. Then her eyes returned to the 
 little suckling, grunting creature. She smiled happily. 
 Presently the door opened; Mrs. Martin entered. 
 
 "Well, Phoebe dear, how do you feel?" she 
 demanded briskly of her daughter. 
 
 " Perfectly ripping! " Phoebe said with something 
 of her old italicizing forthrightness. " I never had 
 an easier time. It was a picnic as far as I was con- 
 cerned. She just seemed to walk into this world, as 
 though a little gate in heaven opened and let her out. 
 And I seemed to stand off and watch the proceeding." 
 
 " She's an angel, anyway! " Mrs. Martin seemed 
 to authenticate this impression. 
 
THE NEST EGG 165 
 
 " Yes, she certainly is that." Phoebe looked down 
 again at her busy little daughter. " The little pig. 
 Of course she doesn't look the least bit like Phoebe- 
 Girl But not, after all, that that makes any 
 
 difference, I guess. I found out something, the in- 
 stant they brought her to me. And that was that, 
 although she made her own place in my heart at 
 once, she can't and nobody can fill Phoebe-Girl's 
 place. I don't know that I make myself clear, 
 mother?" 
 
 " I understand, Phoebe. I do understand oh, sto 
 well. I could have told you, and I wanted to; but 
 somehow I couldn't. When you spoke of a new baby 
 filling Phoebe-Girl's place, I knew better. When you 
 were born, I thought you were going to fill little Al- 
 bert's place. But you didn't. You couldn't. That 
 place is vacant in my heart still. Only now, there's 
 a something sweet and lovely about it. It doesn't 
 hurt any more." 
 
 u Why is that, I wonder?" Phoebe asked pa- 
 tiently. '"I don't understand it. I don't believe I 
 shall ever feel that way." 
 
 "Yes, you will, Phoebe. It takes time, but it 
 comes. And this is the way it will happen. Your 
 other children keep changing all the time. You 
 hardly get to know them in one stage before they 
 jump into another. And oh, how it hurts you to see 
 them growing up and then, after a while, passing 
 
166 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 beyond your influence and almost out of your life. I 
 remember when it first dawned on me that I never 
 again was going to see you as a little girl or Ernest 
 as a little boy, how my heart ached! That period 
 is so sweet when you are their entire world, and their 
 happiness springs from you. And their darling little 
 ways! And their lovely little language! It's 
 scarcely here before it's gone forever. And, Phoebe, 
 you never can get it back. It's as though each child 
 was a series of children like those strings of paper 
 dolls you used to cut when you were a child. Only 
 as fast as each new phase appears, the last one dies. 
 And, Phoebe, you never can get it back. My little 
 Albert died. Where he is I don't know. But he's 
 somewhere, I'm sure. And he stayed in my memory 
 as he was. He never grew into another child. I 
 still think he needs me more than anybody. You 
 came and oh, how I loved you! Ernest came 
 and oh, how I loved him! Yet every year, every 
 month every minute, you might say you changed 
 into other children. But Albert was dead. He 
 stayed as he was. I feel as though I'd kept him all 
 those years. I don't think of Albert now as a sorrow 
 or a tragedy He's a little nest egg of happiness, 
 saved up Somewhere in the universe for me. And 
 some time, I know, I'm going to find that happiness 
 and enjoy it, as I never could enjoy it in this life." 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 THE ETERNAL SANTA GLAUS 
 
 "TT TELL, mother," Phoebe exclaimed from the 
 
 VV door of her mother's living room, "I've 
 got bad news for you." 
 
 Perhaps Mrs. Martin was accustomed to an 
 alarmist quality in her daughter; perhaps she con- 
 sidered that a certain inobvious luster of spirit con- 
 tradicted the obvious pessimism of her utterance. 
 At any rate she glanced quietly up at Phoebe and 
 as quietly glanced back at her sewing. ;t What is 
 it? " she asked evenly. 
 
 ;< We're going away for Christmas this year - 
 Tug and I and the children. We're so placed that 
 we can't do anything different. We're going up to 
 Tug's Uncle Jerry's farm in Braeburn, New Hamp- 
 shire." 
 
 " Isn't it rather sudden? " Mrs. Martin asked. 
 
 * Yes. You see Uncle Jerry has written every 
 December inviting the whole family up there. But 
 it has never been convenient before, and besides 
 we've always wanted our own Christmas in our own 
 house. And again, they've always had a big party 
 
 167 
 
1 68 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 and didn't need us so much. But this year he wrote 
 such a pathetic letter! He's getting pretty infirm 
 now. He hasn't been out for months, and they're 
 going to be alone. He said he would like to have one 
 good family Christmas in the old homestead before 
 he died." 
 
 " How does Tug feel about it?' 7 Mrs. Martin 
 inquired. 
 
 " He's as excited as You see, he used to go 
 
 to Braeburn for Christmas when he was a little boy, 
 and he always had the most wonderful times. Last 
 night he gathered the children about him and told 
 them all about the things he used to do. There's a 
 hill in front of the farmhouse where he used to coast 
 so steep that well, Tug says it's the most danger- 
 ous coasting that he's ever done. And then back of 
 the barn there's a great big pond where he went 
 skating. He fell through the ice once and was nearly 
 drowned. Tug says they were always so good to 
 him. He particularly wants to go when they need 
 him because it would be like paying back an old 
 debt." 
 
 "How did the children take it?" Mrs. Martin 
 asked. 
 
 " They're simply crazy with delight. Of course 
 they never saw a real country Christmas before. Oh, 
 I do so hope it will snow." 
 
 " I hope so, too," Mrs. Martin agreed. Her eyes 
 
THE ETERNAL SANTA GLAUS 169 
 
 went out the window to the early December scene, 
 brown tree-trunks and tree-branches criss-crossing on 
 the blue sky; brown paths weaving among brown 
 flower-beds; faded lawns. " I must confess I like 
 SHOW on the ground in winter, especially in the coun- 
 try. The earth looks so naked when the grass and 
 flowers are gone." 
 
 " Of course, at first," Phoebe said meditatively, 
 " I hated to go away and leave you and father. 
 But when I saw how much Tug wanted to do it he 
 says nobody has ever been kinder to him than his 
 Uncle Jerry " 
 
 " I'm glad you're going then," Mrs. Martin ap- 
 proved, " and I think you ought to." 
 
 " That's the way I feel about it," Phoebe affirmed. 
 " Then there's another side of it. I'm glad to get 
 away from Maywood just for the rest it will give 
 me. Do you know, mother, I'm rather tired of 
 Christmas. It's such hard work." 
 
 " I don't wonder," her mother said. " When I 
 consider what you do a Christmas tree and a 
 Christmas dinner, all the presents you give and all the 
 cards you send out, the constant excitement in the 
 house, with everybody coming in to see the Tree, and 
 the children going out to see everybody else's Tree 
 I should think you would be worn out." 
 
 " I am, almost," Phoebe admitted. 
 
 " Christmas has become so elaborate nowadays," 
 
170 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 Mrs. Martin sighed. " The dinner in courses and so 
 many of them, the tree lighted by electricity, and all 
 the special things you get, special boxes to put pres- 
 ents in, and special paper, bags and tags and cards, 
 and cords and ribbons and seals yes, Christmas has 
 really become a terrible strain." 
 
 " The queerest thing has happened to me this 
 year," Phoebe declared in a puzzled tone. " And I 
 can't for the life of me account for it. All my life 
 I've been simply mad about Christmas. From the 
 first of December on, I've never thought of anything 
 else. But the last two or three years, it's grown to 
 be such a burden I've sort of dreaded it. And this 
 year I can't feel Christmas-sy to save my life. We'll 
 bring the children's presents up to Braeburn and we'll 
 let them hang their stockings up Tug says there are 
 beautiful, great old-fashioned fireplaces there. But 
 no tree, no Santa Claus, no elaborate Christmas 
 dinner, no eggnog no anything that is tiresome. 
 I'm going to rest." 
 
 "That's right," her mother approved. " Of 
 course I shall miss you and the children dreadfully. 
 And yet, do you know, I shall enjoy having a quiet 
 Christmas too. How I wish we could go back to the 
 simplicity of years ago! People spend so much 
 money nowadays and they rush round so. Seems as 
 though it could be done in some better way." 
 
 " Some people would like to abolish Christmas 
 
THE ETERNAL SANTA CLAUS 171 
 
 altogether," Phoebe went on thoughtfully, " but I 
 don't think I'm for that; I don't believe in useless 
 giving and I try to do my Christmas shopping early. 
 But yet, when I consider giving it up altogether 
 something happens in my heart. I just can't. 
 Sometimes I think there is something in people that 
 makes them yearn for the things they're accustomed 
 to, like holidays. The trouble is, as you say, that it's 
 no longer simple enough. Christmas has become 
 standardized and commercialized. We go through 
 the motions of Christmas just as mechanically as we 
 went through our exercises in school." 
 
 " So you see, Edward," Mrs. Martin concluded, 
 after she had recounted this conversation to her hus- 
 band, " this means that we will have our Christmas 
 dinner alone. I hope you won't mind. Just think, 
 weVe gone to Phoebe's ever since she's been mar- 
 ried." 
 
 14 No, I won't mind," Mr. Martin declared. " Of 
 course I'll miss the children and the grandchildren. 
 But aside from that, I don't know but that it will be 
 rather refreshing to have a Christmas like the ones 
 we used to have when we first went to housekeeping." 
 
 " I think so too," Mrs. Martin agreed. " I'm 
 kinder looking forward to it. Land, how quiet they 
 used to be ! We were so poor then that I counted 
 every penny. Do you remember that we had Sam 
 
172 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 and Lou Davis to our first dinner? How simple it 
 was! Only turkey and vegetables and a plum 
 pudding! And all the vegetables set right down on 
 the table. When I think of Phoebe's dinner served 
 in courses and with three maids to wait on table 
 I realize what a difference there is in living nowa- 
 days. Lou Davis gave me a handkerchief-case that 
 she'd embroidered herself. She did perfectly beauti- 
 ful work. I remember I felt so cheap because I gave 
 her now, what was it I gave her what was it? 
 Well, I can't remember. But I know I made it my- 
 self on the machine. I couldn't embroider the way 
 Lou did. In those days Christmas giving was 
 simpler, although perhaps folks put more of them- 
 selves into it. I remember after dinner how beauti- 
 fully Lou sang to us. She had a lovely voice she'd 
 have made her fortune on the stage. And she used 
 to sing those old songs, ' Oh, How I Love My Ada ! ' 
 4 Climbing Up the Golden Stairs,' and ' In the 
 Gloaming.' Oh yes, Christmas was so much more 
 happy then." 
 
 She paused as if expecting some comment from 
 Mr. Martin. But all he said was, " Well, this year 
 Christmas will have a chance to revert to type with 
 
 us." 
 
 " Who do you suppose came into the office this 
 morning?" Mr. Martin demanded of his wife a 
 
THE ETERNAL SANTA GLAUS 173 
 
 week later. u Oh, you'll never guess ! " he warned 
 her. " Not in a hundred years. Sam Davis ! " he 
 finally answered her interlocutory stare. 
 
 u Sam Davis!" Mrs. Martin echoed. " Sam 
 Davis! Well, of all things! Why, we were talk- 
 ing about him only the other night ! " 
 
 " That's what I told him," Mr. Martin replied. 
 " He'd just come from the West. He's come on East 
 about a machine he's invented. He's an inventor, 
 you know ! He's had a pretty hard row to hoe. I 
 guess he's practically at the end of his rope. He 
 said if this machine doesn't go but he seems to be 
 sure it will, and I must say, it sounded pretty good 
 to me. Well, he said that he and his wife got talking 
 about that Christmas dinner they had with us nearly 
 forty years ago and that put it into his head to look 
 me up. He said his wife used that catch-all you gave 
 her until it was worn to rags." 
 
 " Oh, that's it a catch-all" Mrs. Martin said 
 with a gratified accent. '* I've been trying ever since 
 I mentioned it to remember what I gave Lou Davis. 
 Did you tell him I spoke of the handkerchief-case she 
 gave me ? " 
 
 ;< Well, I told him you'd mentioned something, but 
 I couldn't think what it was. We had a long talk - 
 Sam went to lunch with me. He's the same fine, 
 open-hearted fellow that he's always been. And 
 and I might as well break it to you, Bertha I don't 
 
174 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 know what you'll say to me. But it's good-by to 
 your quiet Christmas; I invited them to Christmas 
 dinner here/' 
 
 4i I'm glad you did! I'm glad you did* 9 said Mrs. 
 Martin with emphasis. <v I'm just as glad as I can 
 be. I'd love to see Lou again. I'll go in and call 
 on her tomorrow." 
 
 " You can't do that, because they're leaving farj 
 New York to be gone until Christmas morning. I 
 said we'd have dinner at eight o'clock at night. Is 
 that all right? There was. something Sam had W 
 do Christmas day, so he couldn't get out here at 
 
 noon." 
 
 " Yes I don't know but what I like it better at 
 night. It gives me more time to get ready. Phoebe 
 always has her dinners at night." 
 
 " Oh, and, Bertha," Mr. Martin went on in an 
 apologetic tone, " I did another thing. You know 1 
 Rogers in the office? Well, I found out that he 
 wasn't going to have any Christmas dinner this year. 
 So I invited him. He's all alone in the world, you. 
 know. That niece of his, the one he brought up 
 from babyhood, got married last year and went to 
 Seattle to live." 
 
 " That's all right, Edward," Mrs. Martin said 
 heartily. " I'm glad you did. I've always liked Mr. 
 Rogers. I shall enjoy having him here." 
 
THE ETERNAL SANTA GLAUS 175 
 
 " All right, I'll phone Sam early tomorrow all 
 the dope about trains." 
 
 " Well, Edward," Mrs. Martin said two days 
 later, " I don't know what you are going to think of 
 me. But I got a letter from Cousin Debbie today, 
 saying how tired and worn out she was 
 she's been sewing six mortal weeks at the Harrisons' 
 trousseau and on the impulse I dropped her a 
 postcard, telling her to come down and spend Christ- 
 mas with us. She'd just love to see Lou Davis again. 
 Those two were always the greatest trainers when 
 they got together Lou's just as full as she can stick, 
 you know. And then in the afternoon Mrs. Seaver 
 came over. And it seems Gracie's going away to 
 spend Christmas with Ray's people, and she'll be 
 all alone. So I invited her to dinner. I hope you 
 don't mind? " 
 
 " Go as far as you like," Mr. Martin encouraged 
 his wife. u It happens that that makes the number 
 even. Because coming out on the train tonight, I 
 had a talk with Brad Torrey and I ended by inviting 
 him. I don't know when I've talked with Brad be- 
 fore. I thought his life was just filled with dissipa- 
 tion, but it seems he leads quite a lonely existence 
 nowadays. Queer about those gay boys ! There 
 comes a period when all the gaiety goes and then they 
 are nothing but stranded old bachelors, too young for 
 
176 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 their own generation and too old for the next. 
 Brad's just reached that period. Lord, how I used 
 to envy him ! Seemed as though at one time he was 
 always going to dinners and riding in other folk's 
 carriages. Well, the long and short of it all is, 
 that nobody had invited him to Christmas dinner, sa 
 I did. You see that makes the crowd even eight of 
 
 us." 
 
 " It's getting to be quite a party," Mrs. Martin, 
 said, shaking her hands in her characteristic gesture 
 of delight. " Of course, I'm going to have it as 
 quiet and simple as possible. But I do want the 
 house to look pretty. So I stopped into Bradley's 
 today and ordered some holly and mistletoe ; oh yes, 
 and some wreaths for the windows, a kind I've al- 
 ways wanted, big laurel ones with smashing red bows. 
 They were expensive, Edward." 
 
 "Darn the expense!" Mr. Martin commented. 
 " But above all things I want you to have a good din- 
 ner, Bertha. Don't think of economizing. If you 
 need extra help, get it. It seems the Davises are just 
 longing for some home-cooked New England food." 
 
 " Oh yes, I've been planning my dinner ever since 
 you told me they were coming," Mrs. Martin 
 declared. " I'm going to copy Phoebe's Christmas- 
 dinner. We're going to begin with grape fruit 
 great big ones. Then I'm going to have a cream of 
 spinach soup with whipped cream on the top; then 
 
THE ETERNAL SANTA GLAUS 177 
 
 mushrooms on toast real mushrooms, not canned > 
 then the turkey with all the vegetables, sweet and 
 white potatoes, squash, turnip, celery, onions; then 
 a romaine salad with grapes and nuts, and French 
 dressing; then plum pudding and mince pie; ice 
 cream; cheese, coffee and fruit. With olives and 
 candy and nuts, seems to me that'll be a pretty good 
 dinner." 
 
 " Sounds like some feed to me," Mr. Martin/ 
 approved. " Won't it be a lot of work? " 
 
 ' Yes, but I want to do it. I don't know what 
 you'll think of me, Edward," Mrs. Martin went on, 
 " but these are positively the last people I'm going to 
 ask because our table won't hold any more. I 
 couldn't resist inviting Mr. and Mrs. Merriweather. 
 You see, they're all alone here in this country, and 
 the English do make so much of Christmas, and two/ 
 more didn't seem to make any difference " 
 
 "I'm glad you did it," Mr. Martin said heartily. 
 " I like Merriweather. He's a nice fellow. He's 
 lived in the West, too. He and Sam will have a 
 lot in common." 
 
 " Oh, say, Bertha," Mr. Martin began two nights 
 later. u Davis came into the office today. He'd 
 come on from New York on the midnight and was 
 going back on the midnight. He's put that deal 
 through and he's feeling pretty good. We got talk- 
 ing about the Christmas dinner, and I don't know 
 
178 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 exactly how it happened I think he proposed it. 
 Anyway, we went around to a department store and 
 bought a whole lot of fool toys as presents for the 
 dinner party. I haven't had such a good time in 
 months. I wish you could have heard Sam Davis 
 josh those pretty girls who waited on us. Crowded 
 as it was, the whole department was listening to 
 him before we got out." 
 
 " Did you buy something for everybody?" Mrs. 
 Martin demanded. 
 
 " I should say we did. We must have got half a 
 dozen for everybody. We nearly bought the toy 
 department out. And then Sam and I went round to 
 Miner's and he bought a wrist watch for his wife. 
 It seems she wants one awfully. They'd made 
 an agreement not to make each other presents, but he 
 wants you to put it at her place on the table." He 
 drew a little white, paper-wrapped box from his 
 pocket. " He said you might look at it if you wanted 
 to." Mr. Martin undid the paper, opened the box. 
 " Like it? "he asked. 
 
 " Oh, I think it's an awfully pretty one! " Mrs. 
 Martin exclaimed. " It's much nicer than Phoebe's. 
 I like it square. I think Phoebe's is too masculine. 
 And I like that elastic gold bracelet. I've got a great 
 joke on Sam too. A package and a letter came from 
 Lou today. She'd bought a new camera for Sam, and 
 she wanted me to put that at his plate." 
 
THE ETERNAL SANTA GLAUS 179 
 
 " I went into town this afternoon, " Mrs. Martin 
 confided to Mr. Martin, when he came home to din- 
 ner Christmas Eve, " in all this storm and did a lit- 
 tle shopping. When you told me that you and Sam. 
 Davis had bought all those toys, I thought it would 
 be a little more like Christmas if I did them up 
 pretty. So I got a lot of lovely Christmas paper- 
 some gold, and some red and some green Christ- 
 mas ribbon and cord and cards and tags and seals. 
 IVe been working all the afternoon just doing up 
 bundles. It's been great fun, and I didn't get tired 
 at all. Somehow when you have such pretty materials 
 
 to work with and all you want of them " Mrs.' 
 
 Martin led her husband into the living-room. " Look 
 at that! " The capacious couch was piled high with 
 Christmas bundles. 
 
 " Great Scott ! I didn't know that we bought so- 
 much truck," said Mr. Martin. . 
 
 " Now what do you suppose I'm going to do this 
 evening? " Mrs. Martin demanded. " You'll never 
 guess. The idea came to me while I was in town. I 
 bought some cretonne and braid, and I'm going to 
 make Lou Davis a catch-all, as near as I can remem- 
 ber like the one I made her forty years ago." 
 
 After dinner, Mrs. Martin retired to the back 
 living-room, where for the whole evening she busied 
 herself at the sewing machine. Mr. Martin distrib- 
 
i8o THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 uted his attention impartially among the evening 
 newspapers and the Christmas magazines. 
 
 " Well! " Mrs. Martin finally broke three hours 
 of silent sewing, " that's done! What time is it? " 
 
 " Half-past eleven ! " Mr. Martin informed her. 
 " Let's go to bed." 
 
 " Edward," Mrs. Martin said slowly, " I've been 
 thinking of something as I sat here. And I want you 
 to say yes. I know you'll think I'm a fool but, oh, 
 you don't know how much I'd like to do it." 
 
 " Shoot! " Mr. Martin ordered with calmness. 
 
 w I'd like to have a Christmas Tree." Before her 
 husband could object, Mrs. Martin rushed into 
 
 explanation. " You see, with all those presents 
 
 We can't put them on the table, they're too big and 
 
 bulky And then a Christmas Tree looks so 
 
 pretty." 
 
 " Will the stores be open tomorrow? " Mr. Mar- 
 tin asked. 
 
 " I don't know. But I thought some of them 
 might still be open. Phoebe left the key of her 
 house with me and I know just where she keeps the 
 Christmas Tree trimmings. I thought that I could go 
 over there early tomorrow and get them. I'll have 
 plenty of time to dress the Tree in the afternoon. 
 Would you mind walking down to the Centre now 
 just on the chance that the stores aren't all closed? " 
 
 " In this storm ! " Mr. Martin ejaculated. 
 
THE ETERNAL SANTA GLAUS 181 
 
 " It's stopped snowing," Mrs. Martin pleaded. 
 " It isn't so very far." 
 
 " All right," Mr. Martin agreed suddenly. 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad it stormed!" Mrs. Martin 
 exclaimed as they came into the yard. " Phoebe will 
 be so delighted. The children want to do just the 
 things Tug did when he was a boy at Uncle Jerry's. 
 Besides Christmas doesn't really seem like Christmas 
 without snow. 
 
 It had been a heavy storm. The snow lay every- 
 where in great unbroken drifts. And in the sky, 
 like the reflections of it, lay drifts, almost as thick, of 
 cloud. There was no moon, but in the wide black 
 cloud-rifts were piled stars that dropped a brilliant 
 glitter on a world, already frost-silvered. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Martin passed through a street 
 which held twin rows of holiday celebrations. In 
 many houses, curtains were up displaying Christmas 
 Trees that had become cones solid with gleam and 
 color. The main street into which they presently 
 turned was more reticent. The few big old family 
 mansions sat back behind shrouding shrubbery, and 
 the group of stores at the end did not emit a ray of 
 light. 
 
 " Everything seems to be closed up tight as a 
 drum," Mr. Martin commented. " I'm afraid you'll 
 have to go without your tree." 
 
 "Well, keep on," Mrs. Martin persisted. 
 
182 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " Maybe O'Brien will be open. Let's cross over 
 and see. There's a chance he will be working late. 
 
 No, Fm afraid he's gone home. Sometimes he 
 
 Edward! What are those things lying in the street? 
 For the land's sake, they're Christmas Trees! Why, 
 how did they come here? Oh, I know what's hap- 
 pened ! O'Brien's cleaned his shop up, ready for the 
 day after Christmas, and thrown away all the trees 
 he hasn't sold. We can take any one we want. Now, 
 let's look them all over." 
 
 Mrs. Martin finally made her selection; but only 
 after Mr. Martin had lifted upright every tree on 
 the street. Her choice was a sapling, thick and round 
 at the base but tapering to a delicate slimness. Mr. 
 Martin seized it by the thick end, Mrs. Martin by 
 the slim one. They proceeded back through the 
 snow. 
 
 " Edward," Mrs. Martin exclaimed suddenly, 
 " would you mind if I stopped at Phoebe's now and 
 got that box of Christmas trimmings? It will save 
 me the trip tomorrow. I can carry it perfectly well 
 under my other arm." 
 
 " No, of course I don't mind," Mr. Martin said 
 patiently, " only it seems rather foolish. We can 
 go around there tomorrow morning so much easier. 
 And you don't need it till then." 
 
 " I would like to get it now ever so much, 
 Edward," Mrs. Martin pleaded humbly. 
 
THE ETERNAL SANTA GLAUS 183 
 
 " All right," Mr. Martin gave way. " But we 
 can't get in," he added hopefully. 
 
 " I I brought the key," Mrs. Martin faltered. 
 
 Mr. Martin laughed. " Framed on me, did you? " 
 he accused his wife. 
 
 " Well," Mr. Martin said fifteen minutes later, 
 as he sat the tree up in the big window of the living- 
 room, " one thing I'm glad of it's got a stand. I 
 don't have to make one for you. Now, let's go to 
 bed." 
 
 " You go to bed, Edward," Mrs. Martin coaxed. 
 " I'm going to stay up a little while." 
 
 ;< What under the canopy are you going to do 
 now? " Mr. Martin demanded. 
 
 ' Trim the Christmas Tree," Mrs. Martin con- 
 fessed. " Now don't try to dissuade me. I'm going 
 to do it. I feel just like it. You go to bed you're 
 tired." 
 
 " All right," Mr. Martin said with a surprising 
 degree of resignation, " but I'm not so very tired. 
 I guess I'll stay up and help you." 
 
 1 You're wanted on the telephone, Mrs. Martin," 
 one of the maids said towards the close of the 
 Christmas dinner. 
 
 " All right. Keep those doors closed, Annie. I 
 shan't be able to hear a word with all this hullaba- 
 loo." Mrs. Martin went into the hall and took up 
 
1 84 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 the receiver. " Hello ! Hello ! " she called into it. 
 
 "Hello, is that you, mother?" Phoebe's voice 
 answered. 
 
 " Yes, Merry Christmas, Phoebe ! " 
 
 " Merry Christmas to you and father! I've been 
 trying to get you all day, but I couldn't do it until 
 now. This is my Christmas present to myself a 
 long-distance talk with you. I was afraid you'd be 
 lonely and I was afraid you'd think I would be 
 
 lonely. But I haven't been Mother, I've had 
 
 one of the most wonderful Christmases I've ever 
 had in my life. In the first place, Uncle Jerry is a 
 perfect darling the sweetest, gentlest, kindest little 
 old man you ever saw, and Aunt Louise is just as 
 fascinating, the prettiest, dearest, duckiest little old 
 lady. All little bobbing curls and pink cheeks, and 
 the tiniest hands and feet. Well, do you know, after 
 we got up here and we saw how quiet the house was 
 Uncle Jerry almost bed-ridden Tug and I de- 
 cided that we were going to make a regular Christ- 
 mas for them. I told Aunt Louise that if it would 
 be a help to her, I'd just love to get up the Christ- 
 mas dinner. When she saw that I really was crazy 
 to do it, she admitted that she'd love to eat a 
 dinner that somebody else had cooked. She told me 
 she couldn't remember when she'd had a meal in any- 
 body else's house. So yesterday Tug and I motored 
 over to Akron and I bought the stuff for one of my 
 
THE ETERNAL SANTA GLAUS 185 
 
 regular Christmas dinners you know, what I always 
 have, grapefruit, cream of spinach with whipped 
 cream floating on it, mushrooms on toast, and turkey 
 with all the vegetables, romaine salad, with grapes 
 and nuts plum pudding " 
 
 " Yes, I know, 1 ' Mrs. Martin interpolated. 
 
 " Well, I turned Aunt Louise right out of the 
 kitchen, and if you can believe it, I cooked that entire 
 dinner myself. Of course Eliza, Aunt Louise's 
 maid, and Bertha-Elizabeth helped. If I do say it 
 as shouldn't, it was some dinner. Tug says if I 
 wasn't his wife, he'd offer me a job as his cook any 
 day. I can't tell you how Aunt Louise and Uncle 
 Jerry enjoyed it! And I served everything in as 
 fancy a way as I knew how. I scooped the grape- 
 fruit out of the shell and scalloped the edges 
 awfully hard work " 
 
 " I know," Mrs. Martin interrupted. " I've 
 been doing it myself." 
 
 " But that isn't half of it," Phoebe went on, un- 
 heeding. " Tug learned that Uncle Jerry was dying 
 to hear some Christmas music. You see, there's no 
 way that he can hear any music nowadays. So, what 
 do you think Tug did? He hired the best church- 
 choir in Akron to come over here Christmas eve and 
 serenade Uncle Jerry. They agreed to be here 
 promptly at nine. And just as the clock struck, I 
 opened one of the windows at the top. They began 
 
186 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 singing Christmas carols the instant they turned into 
 the drive. You have no idea how wonderful it 
 sounded beginning way off very faint in the dis- 
 tance and then coming nearer and nearer and getting 
 louder and louder with the sleigh-bells making sort 
 of a gay accompaniment. And if you could have 
 seen Uncle Jerry prick up his ears! And how his 
 eyes shone when it dawned upon him what was hap- 
 pening! Of course I had made hot coffee and sand- 
 wiches for the choir. And they all came in and sang 
 around the piano for nearly an hour." 
 
 " I'd admire to have heard that," Mrs. Martin 
 said. 
 
 "That's not half the story," Phoebe sped on. 
 " Tug and I made up our minds on the way home 
 from Akron that we'd got to have a Christmas 
 
 tree We found there wasn't a tree to be bought 
 
 in Braeburn. So what do you think we did? While 
 the children were busy coasting, Tug and I went out 
 in the woods and chopped a tree down. We had the 
 greatest time manoeuvering so's to get it in the 
 back way without anybody seeing it. Tug had to 
 make a frame for it to stand in and well, you know 
 how much of a carpenter Tug is ! I only hope the 
 Recording Angel didn't hear his language. Then 
 late at night, after all those choir people had left and 
 everybody else had gone to bed, downstairs we came 
 and trimmed that tree. We hadn't been able to get 
 
THE ETERNAL SANTA GLAUS 187 
 
 any Christmas trimmings in Braeburn only can- 
 dles and so what do you suppose we did? We got 
 Eliza to string cranberries and popcorn. And that 
 was all there was on that tree except tufts of cotton- 
 wool and candles and confetti. But it looked lovely. 
 I wished you could have seen everybody's face when 
 we led them into the parlor after breakfast. The 
 children were simply crazy about the tree they'd 
 always had their trees lighted by electricity. It was 
 so different from any that they had ever seen. Aunt 
 Louise said she was going to keep it standing the 
 whole year. I've called you up partly to tell you that 
 this is what became of my quiet, simple Christmas. 
 Quiet! I never worked so hard in all my life. Just 
 think I made the coffee and sandwiches Christmas 
 eve! After midnight I trimmed the tree. This 
 morning I cooked the Christmas dinner. Oh, another 
 thing that delighted Aunt Louise ! I had slipped an 
 evening dress in my suitcase you know my pink 
 crepe de chine with all that glittery rhinestone trim- 
 ming and I put it on for dinner. Aunt Louise said 
 nobody had ever worn such a beautiful dress in her 
 house. I've never spent a happier Christmas any- 
 where. And somehow, notwithstanding how I've 
 worked, I feel rested. I've been out of doors all the 
 time. Tug and I have skated and coasted with the 
 children every day. Tug says he never was so sur- 
 prised in all his life to find out how that hill in front 
 
1 88 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 of the house had shrunk. It's really only a mound 
 and he said he remembered it as almost a mountain. 
 As for the lake back of the barn, it isn't a lake at all. 
 It isn't a pond even. It's a pondlet. But oh, what 
 fun we've had skating on it! " 
 
 " And of course the children are having a wonder- 
 ful time," Mrs. Martin commented. 
 
 " You should see them. Bertha-Elizabeth has 
 such pink cheeks and eyes like stars! Sometimes I 
 think she's going to be pretty, after all. Toland 
 has been driving a pung ever since he got here; 
 morning, noon, and night ! And as for Edward and 
 Micah they are coasting or skating every moment. 
 They've made a whole family of snow men and 
 women. I've never seen my children more happy. 
 If only Phoebe-Girl were here " 
 
 1 You may be sure she's having her Christmas 
 too," Mrs. Martin's voice lowered to the deepest 
 depth of tender certainty. " Is Hope all right? " 
 
 " Sleeps like a little top. And cheeks mother, 
 her cheeks are like cherries. And I don't know 
 what's caused it maybe it's the cold; but her hair 
 has crisped up into the loveliest fine ringlets. It's 
 like spun glass." 
 
 " I'm so glad your visit's turned out so well." 
 Mrs. Martin's voice arose to its brisk normal tone. 
 
 " I hope, mother darling," Phoebe resumed, " that 
 you and father haven't been too lonely. I've really 
 
THE ETERNAL SANTA GLAUS 189 
 
 felt wicked enjoying myself so much when you 
 
 What's that music I hear and all that laughing? " 
 
 " It's the victrola your father gave me for Christ- 
 mas," Mrs. Martin exclaimed. " And it's playing 
 a medley of old songs songs that you've never 
 heard, ' Oh, How I Love My Ada ! ' ' In the Gloam- 
 ing/ 'Up-I-Dee,' 'Over the Garden Wall." 1 She 
 called away from the telephone : " Please shut the 
 door, Annie. Your father gave me a beautiful 
 
 wrist-watch, Phoebe, too just like one Oh, 
 
 I've been far from lonely, Phoebe. We've had the 
 most lovely Christmas. In the first place we invited 
 some old friends to dinner. Do you remember ever 
 hearing me mention Sam and Lou Davis? " 
 
 " All my life," Phoebe answered. 
 
 [< Well, they happened to be in Boston 
 
 (Please shut the door, and keep it shut, Annie!) 
 What a racket those people are making! Can you 
 hear me, Phoebe? " 
 
 1 Yes, mother," Phoebe answered, " are you hav- 
 ing a party? " 
 
 Mrs. Martin proceeded in dashes of narrative 
 that for conciseness and speed might have been Phoe- 
 be's own compressed phraseology. The door, open- 
 ing and shutting, let out roars of laughter, continued 
 vociferous calls for Mrs. Martin herself; bursts of 
 music from the victrola " dinner with us the first 
 Christmas after we were married funniest thing 
 
190 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 you ever heard of Lou embroidered a handker- 
 chief-case for me exactly like the one she gave me 
 then a cretonne catch-all, as much like the one I 
 gave her forty years (Yes, Debbie, I'm coming as 
 soon as possible ; I'm talking to Phoebe. Please shut 
 the door!) first thing I knew there were ten of us 
 just as elaborate dinner as yours lot of it myself 
 scraped the grapefruit scalloped the edges 
 made the pudding and pies." 
 
 " I should think you'd be tired out, mother." 
 
 " I suppose I'll be dead tomorrow haven't felt 
 so fresh and gay in years I feel young laughed 
 until my sides ache (Yes, Sam, I'll be back in a 
 few moments, I'm talking to my daughter. Yes, if 
 you please, close the door!) nine courses not a 
 clean bit of china or silver in this house at the last 
 moment, just like you decided to have a tree 
 lying in the snow stopped in your house at that 
 hour your Christmas tree trimmings worked till 
 three in the morning joke-presents Sam and Ed- 
 ward had bought drums horns whistles every- 
 body in gales of laughter without my knowing it 
 your father smuggled Tug's Santa Claus costume out 
 of your house last moment came to the table 
 dressed as Santa Claus " 
 
 " I bet my father looked stunning! " Phoebe said 
 proudly. 
 
 " Yes, he (Yes, Mrs. Seaver, I'll be there in a 
 
THE ETERNAL SANTA GLAUS 191 
 
 jiffy. I'm talking with Phoebe. Do you mind clos- 
 ing the door? You're making such a racket in there, 
 I can't hear a word Phoebe's saying.) He certainly 
 did look stunning, Phoebe." 
 
 " What are you wearing, mother? " 
 
 " My evening dress the gray and silver (In 
 just a few minutes, Mr. Torrey I You see my daugh- 
 ter has just long-distanced me. Yes, please close the 
 door. It sounds as if there were a hundred of you !) 
 all wearing those paper caps that come out of 
 bonbons if you could see Lou Davis in a she and 
 Debbie have raised Cain ever since they got to- 
 gether." 
 
 ''Well, mother," Phoebe declared, "I'm glad 
 you're having such a good time. I've been revising 
 my ideas about Christmas. I understand now what 
 it really means. The idea of Christmas is to give. 
 It doesn't make any difference what kind of giving 
 it is whether it's simple or complicated as long 
 as it's real giving, I've really never worked harder 
 in all my life as in these last few days. But I don't 
 mind it, because the people I did it for needed it so 
 much and enjoyed it so much. It was real giving.. 
 I'm going to try and remember that every Christ- 
 mas after this." 
 
 " I think you're right, Phoebe," her mother 
 agreed. " If you're doing something whole-heart- 
 edly and especially for somebody you love there's 
 
192 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 no hard work about it. It's fun ! (Yes, Mr. Marsh, 
 in just one minute.) You see " 
 
 " Mother, I'm not going to keep you here any 
 longer, you're all together too popular. Besides my 
 children are calling to me. Merry Christmas 
 again! " 
 
 " Merry Christmas, Phoebe ! " her mother an- 
 swered. " Yes, Mr. Rogers, I'm coming now," 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET 
 
 "rr^HE old Murphy house has been let during 
 
 A our absence," observed Phoebe. 
 
 " Oh, you haven't heard!" exclaimed Mrs. Brod- 
 beck. " Why, that's been the sensation of the sum- 
 mer among the stay-at-homes." 
 
 " No, of course," Phoebe admitted indignantly. 
 '* Tug would never think to tell me anything interest- 
 ing like that." 
 
 " The Days have taken it," Mrs. Brodbeck con- 
 tinued. " The Mrs. Day. You know, Phoebe, Mrs. 
 Carl Day you remember that scandal last year 
 across the river." 
 
 " Oh, I do remember ! " said Phoebe. " I thought 
 they left town." 
 
 4 There was some talk of their going," inter- 
 posed Mrs. Fall. " I don't see why they didn't, 
 myself. What's the use of staying in a town after 
 a thing like that? You never can live it down." 
 
 ' They say he wanted to go," explained Mrs. 
 Meredith. " And she didn't. She realized his busi- 
 ness interests were here and his friends and every- 
 
 193 
 
194 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 thing, and I guess she thought that the story would 
 follow her wherever she went. They'd have had 
 to live within a short distance of Maywood, anyway, 
 and so they stayed. Perhaps she thinks she can 
 live it down. I should have left myself." 
 
 " I don't know how I'd act in a case like that," 
 meditated Phoebe in an uncharacteristic instant of 
 indecision. u What would you do, mother? " 
 
 " I'd do exactly what Mrs. Day is doing," Mrs. 
 Martin replied. " But it won't be a bed of roses 
 for her, whatever course she takes, you may be sure 
 of that. If I were " 
 
 " Mother," a voice interrupted, " can I keep this 
 puppy?" 
 
 The women turned. 
 
 It would have been difficult to say which looked 
 the most disreputable, the boy who held the puppy 
 in his arms, or the puppy who nestled so confidingly 
 there. But the puppy a blend of many breeds, con- 
 centrated into one nondescript bundle of long, matted 
 hair and big imploring eyes was at least intact. 
 The boy's face was not dirty, it was encrusted. His 
 shirtwaist was torn; one khaki trouser leg un- 
 strapped at the knee flapped about his ankle. The 
 other disclosed a generous tear at the stocking-knee. 
 
 "Edward Warburton!" Phoebe's voice held as 
 much resignation as vexation. " How did you get 
 
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET 195 
 
 11 We've been chasing him all over the marsh 
 me and Freddie and Tom. Gee, mother, he was 
 scairt of me ! At first, his heart beat like like 
 anything! But now he's all right. He likes me. 
 Aw, let me keep him, mother! " 
 
 Phoebe sighed. " Go right upstairs, Edward, and 
 wash your face and hands; change your stockings. 
 When you have done that, come down and let me 
 see how clean you are. If you look like a human 
 being, then you can give the puppy a bath." 
 
 "Can I keep him, mother?" Edward pleaded. 
 " She oughtta let me, grandma, oughtn't she?" he 
 turned to Mrs. Martin. 
 
 Mrs. Martin maintained a discreet, twinkling- 
 eyed silence. 
 
 " I'll see," Phoebe temporized, " what he looks 
 like after the bath and what your father 
 says." 
 
 Edward disappeared. 
 
 Phoebe glared about the circle. 
 
 " Don't try to put it in words, Phoebe," Mrs. 
 Meredith besought her. " Don't struggle with the 
 inexpressible. Only let me say that we are blood 
 sisters in emotion at this moment. Elliott came to 
 his father last night with a little live alligator 
 somebody'd given him and a proposition to raise 
 alligators in the back yard." 
 
 " I forgot what that Day sr Jal was exactly," 
 
ig6 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 Phoebe took up their conversation finally. " Pretty 
 awful, wasn't it? " 
 
 u Yes," answered Mrs. Meredith. " Another 
 man " 
 
 "How long have they been here?" Phoebe in- 
 terrupted. 
 
 u They moved in the first of July," Mrs. Fall 
 answered. 
 
 " Has anybody been to call? " queried Phoebe. 
 
 " Oh no!" Mrs. Brodbeck's emphasis was as 
 forceful as it was hasty. " Naturally, nobody wants 
 to go there." 
 
 "What does she look like?" Phoebe went on. 
 " I've never seen her." 
 
 " She's rather a pretty little thing," Mrs. Brod- 
 beck returned. " Blonde, fluffy, cute dresses very 
 smartly. She's changed a lot since this business 
 there's a look in her eyes " 
 
 "What sort of a man is Carl Day?" inquired 
 Phoebe. 
 
 " I've never seen him," answered Mrs. Fall. 
 " But Billy knows him and likes him they meet at 
 the Gym. Billy says he's a fine fellow. He's older 
 than she quite a bit and a little deaf." 
 
 " Well," Phoebe declared, " I should say he was 
 either a fool or a hero." She craned her head to 
 look again at the house across the street, as though 
 
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET 197 
 
 now it would present a new aspect to her. u Have 
 they any children? " 
 
 u ' A gentleman or a boob ' is the way Elliott 
 puts it," Mrs. Meredith said, dimpling. " No, they 
 have no children. " 
 
 " And a great blessing, too," commented Mrs. 
 Brodbeck. 
 
 In every possible detail, the house across the street 
 contrasted with the ample Colonial simplicity of 
 the house on whose piazza the five women sat. It 
 was small and new, architecturally much cut-up. The 
 vines, which had done their meager best in one sum- 
 mer's growth to cover the piazza, had, at the ap- 
 proach of autumn, given up the struggle; had faded 
 and shriveled to strings of rattling green. The mats 
 of nasturtiums, however, which bordered the stone 
 foundation of the house, still showed many spurts of 
 blossom-fire. Dahlias and asters in big patches at 
 the side kept this blaze alive, and the fire had ap- 
 parently run underground to burst into flame in the 
 file of maple trees that made a procession of torches 
 across the back. 
 
 It was one of those days in middle autumn - 
 Indian summer in quality which, judging it on its 
 merits, might belong to any one of three seasons. 
 In the air, the freshness of spring, the softness of 
 summer, the crispness of autumn, all touched with 
 the odor of burning leaves, struggled for supremacy. 
 
198 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 The six women sat on the glassed-in side piazza 
 looking over the tennis courts towards the barn. A 
 fire burnt in the outdoor fireplace, but the door to 
 the piazza was open and one of the windows. They 
 sat without wraps, all sewing or knitting a haphaz- 
 ard, suburban group, ranging in type and age from 
 Phoebe's lustrous, virile, deep-tinted youth, to Mrs. 
 Martin's sparse, white-haired, finely characterized 
 middle age including, like way-stations in the prog- 
 ress of womanhood, Sylvia's approaching-forty 
 combination of a delicately faded blondness and a 
 high-burning spirituality; Mrs. Meredith's dusky, 
 dimpled, kittenish bridehood; Mrs. Fall's placid 
 young motherhood, broad-browed and deep-eyed; 
 and Mrs. Brodbeck's comfortable matronliness, 
 grizzled but vivacious. 
 
 " We didn't get home until day before yesterday," 
 Phoebe exclaimed thoughtfully, " and of course as it 
 never entered Tug's head to tell me that the Murphy 
 house was taken, it never occurred to me. I've been 
 so busy that it wasn't until this morning that I noticed 
 the curtains in the window. I think they must be 
 away, because I haven't seen any lights at night. 
 There ! There's somebody driving up now I guess 
 they've come back." 
 
 Involuntarily the six women stopped their sewing 
 to stare. One of the station carriages, proceeding 
 briskly up the street, had stopped in front of the Day 
 
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET 199 
 
 house. Out of it came a single figure that of an old 
 man. He carried an enormous telescope suitcase in 
 one hand and an enormous unfurled umbrella in the 
 other. Both, obviously cheap, were obviously new. 
 He plunged one hand in his pocket and withdrew it. 
 He let the driver pick out his pay from a handful of 
 change with a remark that sent him away smiling. 
 Then the old man mounted the steps of the piazza 
 and rang the doorbell. 
 
 " Unexpected company," commented Mrs. Mere- 
 dith. 
 
 " It's the first time I've seen anybody go there," 
 remarked Mrs. Brodbeck. 
 
 The old man waited, then rang the bell again. 
 Nothing happened. After an interval he tried the 
 doorknob. The door did not open. Depositing the 
 suitcase and umbrella against the side of the house, 
 he descended the steps; walked around to the back 
 of the house. 
 
 " He's trying the back door," Mrs. Fall explained. 
 " Perhaps they've left it open for him." 
 
 "Nice-looking old man, isn't he?" Mrs. Brod- 
 beck remarked. 
 
 ' Very," Phoebe agreed. " It's queer about peo- 
 ple, isn't it ? Some of them you like right off. I know 
 I like him just by the look of his back." 
 
 The old man reappeared, returning from the back 
 of the house. He reascended the steps. He went 
 
200 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 about from window to window, trying them all. 
 Finally, he sat down in one of the big piazza chair, 
 a monument to the quiet patience which only old age 
 learns to exercise. 
 
 " He's evidently come to stay," concluded Mrs. 
 Meredith. 
 
 " I wonder when the Days will get back," Mrs. 
 Brodbeck meditated, a little uneasily. 
 
 Nobody answered. The six women went on with 
 their sewing. Occasionally a head turned and a 
 glance stole across the street to the quiet figure on the 
 piazza. 
 
 " Do I look all right now, mother? " Edward's 
 voice interrupted. 
 
 The women turned and surveyed the figure in the 
 doorway. 
 
 Edward had done nobly. Stockings and waist 
 were changed; trousers were tight. His cheeks and 
 chin glowed with soap polish. A triangle of 
 untouched smut in the middle of his forehead stood 
 out more luridly, however, because of its contrast to 
 contiguous cleanliness. 
 
 " Come here, Edward," Phoebe commanded in a 
 tone noble with resignation. She took a little mirror 
 from her sewing-basket. " Look! " She held it out 
 to him. 
 
 Edward looked into the mirror. Phoebe looked at 
 Edward. And in spite of herself, her pride in him 
 
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET 201 
 
 filled her eyes. Phoebe's children were all comely. 
 Bertha-Elizabeth was spirit-faced and unusual; To- 
 land junior, a giant, early-teens reproduction of his 
 father's virility and vitality. The lost Phoebe-Girl 
 had been a rose-and-snow wonder of velvet surfaces; 
 dimpled contours. Micah had the taut, coppery 
 picturesqueness of a baby Indian. Hope's chubby, 
 pink-cheeked blonde infancy promised much. But 
 Edward 
 
 Edward was a young prince. Caste race 
 breeding all those qualities we obstinately insist 
 on imputing to royalty lay in his graceful, supple 
 lines. And as for his colors secretly Phoebe 
 yearned for the ministrations of a Reynolds or a 
 Hoppner. A complexion of Team and amber; eyes 
 of a vibrant gray that thrilled, under emotion, to 
 gold; hair, tawny-brown, flashing gold too and 
 breaking everywhere into heavy ripples. 
 
 " Gee, I didn't see that honest, mother, I didnfit. 
 I just washed my cheeks and mouth. Generally, it is 
 my cheeks and mouth that get dirty you know that, 
 mother. I scarcely ever bother about my forehead. 
 Why, days and days when I get up in the morning, 
 it's perfectly clean and I don't have to touch it." 
 
 Phoebe sighed obviously after whirling in con- 
 flicting emotions. " Go up and try again, Edward," 
 she ordered with a stony patience. 
 
 " But can I keep the puppy? " 
 
202 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " We'll see. Don't get the soap in his eyes when 
 you wash him." 
 
 " Well," Phoebe went on at once. " I think he'll 
 get it clean this time. Now, tell me all the rest of the 
 gossip. What's happened during my absence ? " 
 
 " Well, everything's happened," began Mrs. Mer- 
 edith. " Or nothing's happened just as you choose 
 to look at it. Fred Towne broke his arm just the 
 day before they were to start on their vacation. 
 Lou Dodge's baby came three weeks ahead of time. 
 The nurse wasn't there nor the doctor, and Lou said 
 she never paid any bills so grudgingly as those two, 
 seeing that she did all the work herself. Little Molly 
 Mayo has acquired the running-away habit and the 
 whole neighborhood has to watch her. Phil Murray 
 was nearly drowned in swimming. The Doanes' 
 house caught on fire in the middle of the night and 
 would have burnt if the dog hadn't roused them 
 by barking oh yes, and Henry Abbott woke up one 
 night and caught a burglar going through his trous- 
 ers pockets. The Lund cat has had kittens. I think 
 that's about all. Still, I could scare up some more 
 items equally exciting if I only had time. Oh, my 
 goodness, yes Mary Fenton had her pocket picked 
 and- " 
 
 " He's coming over here," interrupted Mrs. 
 Brodbeck. 
 
 The old man had risen from his chair on the 
 
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET 203 
 
 piazza, had come hesitatingly down the piazza steps, 
 and was coming hesitatingly across the street. He 
 opened the Warburton gate and started hesitatingly 
 up the path. Phoebe arose. 
 
 " I hope you'll excuse me for interrupting this 
 little sewing-bee," the old man said. " My name is 
 Davis/' 
 
 He was little and slender, but very erect, white- 
 haired, and white-bearded, the type which both grace- 
 less caricature and serious illustration have taught us 
 to believe predominates in what is left of the Grand 
 Army of the Republic. His broad-brimmed hat, his 
 alert, erect carriage helped in this resemblance. His 
 face was old and peaked, whitish and lined, but his 
 smile brought a great deal of illumination to it. He 
 smiled now. His eyes twinkled and little concentric 
 colonies of wrinkles at their corners seemed to pass 
 the twinkle on to other concentric colonies of 
 wrinkles about his lips. 
 
 Mr. Davis looked about him with the air of one 
 who has absolutely established his identity. His 
 look met no response from the six faces. He added : 
 " Elijah Davis from Saugus, Vermont Mrs. 
 Day's father. You're Mrs. Warburton, aren't 
 you? " he asked in sudden alarm. Then at Phoebe's 
 bow of assent and " Won't you come up, Mr. 
 Davis?" the alarm changed to serenity. He 
 mounted the piazza steps, talking all the time. 
 
20 4 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 4 That's all right then. I've come down here to pay 
 Dolly a little visit. This is the first time I've been 
 to see her since she was married. I'm ashamed to tell 
 you that; but it's the truth. Always been intendin' to 
 do it, but never quite made it. And now I'm here, I 
 tell you, ladies, I feel good and ashamed to think of 
 the way I've neglected the best little daughter that a 
 man ever had. But I guess I don't have to tell you 
 what kind of a girl Dolly is, because I know just as 
 well as you do how you appreciate her and how kind 
 you are to her. Every letter she's written has been 
 full of the things you've done for her. Oh, she takes 
 it all in, every bit of it. Nothing's ever lost on her. 
 Well, as I was saying, I planned to get here day after 
 tomorrow. They're expecting me then. They don't 
 know I'm here, but things broke so I could get away 
 two days ahead of time. So I says to myself, 
 4 What's the use of waiting? I might just as well be 
 down there visiting with Dolly as cooling my heels 
 up here in Saugus;' for I'm the kind, as soon as I 
 get it into my head to do a thing, I want to do it. But 
 apparently they've gone off somewhere not expect- 
 ing me, of course. I thought you ladies might know 
 where she was." 
 
 " Take this chair, Mr. Davis," Phoebe said, push- 
 ing a big, cushioned wicker chair towards him. " I 
 think you'll find it comfortable. I don't happen to 
 know where Mrs. Day is, but she's likely to be back 
 
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET 205 
 any moment, and you must wait with us until she 
 
 comes." 
 
 " This is a comfortable chair," Mr. Davis com- 
 mented, as he sank into its capacious arms. " I'd 
 know there was a man in this house. There's sure 
 to be comfortable chairs where the menfolks are. 
 I've allus noticed that." He smiled about the circle. 
 11 Now, ain't this a cozy little place for you ladies to 
 sit and sew ! " His eyes went from the pair of Glou- 
 cester hammocks, carefully upholstered in brilliant 
 chintzes and piled with cushions in extravagant futur- 
 istic colors, to the little tables which bore sewing- 
 bags, sewing-materials, sewing-tools, to the fire 
 crackling and sparkling in the wide fireplace, to the 
 big jars in a green Chinese glaze full of ardent 
 autumn branches. ' You're as snug as a bug in a rug 
 out here, aren't you? You don't any of you know 
 where Dolly is?" 
 
 Mrs. Brodbeck spoke first; her smile, extraordi- 
 narily youthful, making havoc of the middle-aged 
 contours of her face. " I don't know, I'm sure. Mrs. 
 Day didn't happen to mention to me where she was 
 going." 
 
 "Nor to me, either," Sylvia added. She, too; 
 smiled the gentle, light-filled smile that flashed 
 arrow-like across her face and then vanished in a set- 
 tled seriousness. " She's probably gone only for the 
 day." 
 
ao6 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " She'll feel very badly to know that you arrived 
 during her absence," Mrs. Meredith took it up. She 
 unloosed all her dimples on Mr. Davis, who met 
 them with a gallant display of twinkles. 
 
 " However, you must stay with us until she gets 
 home," declared Phoebe. " Oh, thank goodness, 
 here comes something to eat. I hope you like tea, 
 Mr. Davis. Over here, Annie." 
 
 ; ' Well, if there's anything that will go to the right 
 spot this moment," remarked Mr. Davis, " it's a cup 
 of tea. It was an awful hot, dusty ride from Saugus, 
 and I guess I'm just like an old woman I do like 
 tea. That's a smart little contraption." He 
 referred to the green-tinted, wicker tea-wagon that 
 Annie was wheeling across the broad piazza. She 
 stopped in front of Phoebe, adjusted it to a conve- 
 nient nearness, removed the tea-cozy of a brilliant 
 Chinese embroidered silk from the teapot of Canton 
 medallion. Mr. Davis leaned forward and surveyed 
 the arrangement with a pleased and child-like inter- 
 est. " Upper deck covered with cups and saucers and 
 teapot and lower deck with sandwiches, cake and 
 cheese. Now, ain't that handy? " 
 
 " Yes," Phoebe agreed. " It certainly is handy. 
 We use this tea-wagon for everything. We've worn 
 out two of them. The maids take dishes on it from 
 dining-room to kitchen, the children take their toys 
 in and out on it, I take things from the house to the 
 
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET 207 
 
 piazza and back on it. In fact, I think on a pinch we 
 could move with it. Oh, Mr. Davis, I forgot that 
 you don't know our names. Let me introduce you to 
 these ladies: Mrs. Brodbeck, Mrs. Fall, Mrs. Mere- 
 dith, my mother, Mrs. Martin, and my sister, Mrs. 
 Ernest Martin." 
 
 " Oh, those names are all as familiar to me," Mr. 
 Davis said, bowing to each, " as though you were 
 my neighbors in Saugus. Every letter Dolly writes 
 me is full of you and what you've been doing. She 
 says she was never in such a kind neighborhood. 
 Some folks aren't neighborly at all, you know. It 
 isn't any fun to live in a place where people don't 
 take you right in and treat you like themselves. And 
 Dolly's the kind that's always had a lot of notice 
 taken of her. Up in Saugus they think everything of 
 her. She's smart as a trap, bright as a dollar, and 
 quick as a cat. Neat as wax too! Does anything 
 with a needle that any other woman can. And cook! 
 Maybe I'd do better to let other folks say this, but 
 then I've got a great comeback when anybody joshes 
 me about praising Dolly. I always say, * I don't 
 know who's to know any better than I do what a 
 smart girl she is.' ' 
 
 There came an awkward pause. Phoebe busied 
 herself with the tea-things, making no attempt to 
 break it. Mrs. Fall cast down her eyes in a similar 
 embarrassment. Mrs. Brodbeck wet her lips and 
 
208 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 palpably made an effort to speak. As palpably she 
 failed. Mrs. Meredith drew in her breath quickly 
 and then let it out quickly, as though it would bear a 
 rush of words, but she failed, too. Sylvia stared 
 helplessly. 
 
 Mrs. Martin spoke. " Yes, we often say among 
 ourselves," she remarked evenly, " what a remark- 
 able housewife your daughter is." 
 
 The little stiff silence which followed Mrs. Mar- 
 tin's remark might have prolonged itself to embar- 
 rassment. But again interruption helped. Two girls, 
 somewhere in their middle teens, came sauntering 
 onto the piazza, arm-in-arm. 
 
 " Oh, mother!" said one of them. And then, 
 " Good afternoon, everybody ! Mother, could I 
 show Cely your new pink evening gown and the even- 
 ing coat and the slippers and everything? " 
 
 " Good afternoon, Cely ! " Phoebe responded. 
 " Yes " 
 
 " And could I show her what's in your jewelry 
 box ," 
 
 " The Warburton diamonds ! " Phoebe said in 
 amused explanation to the Sewing-Club. " Yes, Ber- 
 tha-Elizabeth. Only promise " 
 
 " I promise you, mother, that I'll put everything 
 back where I find it." 
 
 Bertha-Elizabeth was slender, almost thin. But 
 now, her big lucid eyes were not too big for the deli- 
 
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET 209 
 
 cate angularity of her face. And she showed a color 
 that threatened to become brilliant. Cely Connors, 
 round and strong-looking, with great Erin-colored 
 eyes shining from under the smoky mass of her Erin- 
 colored hair, seemed no longer essentially stronger. 
 
 Cely's eyes went with smiling composure from 
 face to face as she bowed to the members of the 
 Sewing-Club. But Bertha-Elizabeth's gaze, so direct 
 and earnest that it was almost poignant, caught on 
 Mr. Davis' look, stayed there. The old man and 
 the young girl surveyed each other. In one of those 
 sudden soul-comprehensions, common only to youth 
 and age, they took each other's measure; smiled in 
 immediate and radiant friendship. 
 
 " That's a sweet little girl of yours," Mr. Davis 
 said, as Bertha-Elizabeth disappeared. " Something 
 about her face not jest pretty but something bet- 
 ter." 
 
 " I always say that Bertha-Elizabeth looks like an 
 angel on a diet," Mrs. Brodbeck laughed. 
 
 Mr. Davis went back in the conversation to that 
 point where the two girls had interrupted, as though 
 with deliberate courtesy: "Thank you for giving 
 me all those compliments about Dolly. Dolly says 
 you're all as smart as a whip, too." Mr. Davis 
 laughed his chuckling little laugh ; and again the con- 
 centric wrinkles about his old eyes passed the kindly 
 twinkle on to his old lips. " Many's the time Fve 
 
210 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 smacked my lips over her letters, telling me of the 
 good things she's had to eat at your houses. Those 
 little Sunday-night suppers and those picnics in the 
 woods ! Well, if you will believe it, sometimes after 
 reading her letters I've had to go out into the pantry 
 and get a piece of pie or a chunk of cheese, or some- 
 thing." 
 
 He interrupted himself here to take the cup of tea 
 which Phoebe handed him. " Will you have sugar 
 or cream, or both? " Phoebe asked. 
 
 " Both, thank you, ma'am," he said. He poured 
 a supply, conscientiously meager, of cream into his 
 cup. " That's good-looking cream ! " he commented 
 with an air of authority. He picked up the sugar 
 tongs and made an ineffectual effort to capture a cube 
 of sugar. He abandoned that after an instant and 
 with a " Fingers were made before forks," conveyed 
 two lumps with his fingers. But he took great pains 
 not to touch adjacent lumps. He stirred the mixture 
 vigorously; then tasted it. " Lord, that goes to the 
 right spot! " he commented. " Nothing like a taste 
 of tea to set you up." 
 
 For an instant in the flurry of tea-serving, and 
 while sandwiches and cakes and cheese were making 
 the rounds, general conversation died. Mr. Davis 
 continued to drop his cheerful comments, however. 
 
 " This is a mighty pretty neighborhood," he said 
 once between his long sips. " Lots of air and sky 
 
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET 211 
 
 and space. I'm glad Dolly moved where it isn't so 
 crowded. She was used to plenty of space up in 
 Saugus. That's a tidy little hill you've got back 
 there," he added later. " Mt. Fairview you call it. 
 Just a few feet more and it would have been a regu- 
 lar mountain. I'd like to go up to the top some day. 
 I'll bet there's a pretty view there. And the marshes 
 out yonder are handsome at this time of the year, 
 now ain't they? I like the Fall. I didn't useter like 
 it so much when I was young, but now when the 
 leaves come flying down, it makes me feel good- I 
 don't know why. I watched you ladies for quite 
 some time before I made up my mind I'd come over 
 here. You looked as though you were having such 
 a good powwow, I hated to butt in. I says to myself, 
 1 1 know them ladies are talking over everybody and 
 everything, as ladies always do when they're alone, 
 and when a man interrupts, it ruins it all.' When my 
 wife was alive, the Saugus Ladies' Aid used to meet 
 at our house. Almost always I'd go away for the 
 day, but sometimes I'd be home I'm a dentist by 
 profession and my office's in the house and, my 
 land, such a chatter! I couldn't hear myself think, 
 let alone talk. Sometimes I useter suspect that they 
 didn't hear each other speak only themselves. 
 
 Why, once I remember What is it, 
 
 ma'am? " 
 
 He addressed himself to Mrs. Brodbeck, Over 
 
212 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 that lady's broad, kindly maternal face had come a 
 change of expression. Her color rose and her eye- 
 lashes fluttered. 
 
 ' There's Mrs. Day now," she said. " Your 
 daughter's come home, Mr. Davis." 
 
 Mr. Davis jerked his chair about with a sudden 
 energy. He jumped to his feet. " Dolly! Dolly! " 
 he called. " Look who's here ! " 
 
 At the sound of his voice, the woman who had 
 come slowly up the street and turned slowly into the 
 yard of the house across the way, wheeled swiftly 
 around. All that was flesh about her petrified. The 
 small rectangular silver purse which she carried at 
 the end of a chain, oscillated a moment, then it too 
 came to heavy rest. She was a little blonde woman, 
 nc young, but youngish; not pretty, but prettyish; 
 dressed in black and white, inconspicuously, but with 
 a crisp daintiness. As she stared at the picture on the 
 Warburton piazza, the little figure waving its broad- 
 brimmed felt hat in the midst of the six women, the 
 color gradually drifted out of her face. Her eyes 
 lost light, lost expression, darkened; turned to mere 
 rounds of jelly. Her mouth dropped open. 
 
 " Well, I guess I've surprised you, all right," her 
 father called genially. u You'll have to come over 
 here and get me, Dolly. I'm having such a good 
 time that maybe I'll make my visit with Mrs. War- 
 burton." 
 
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET 213 
 
 " Do, Mrs. Day," Phoebe urged civilly, " come 
 and have a cup of tea with us.' 1 
 
 Mrs. Day came back to animation, but only to fall 
 into a very panic of irresolution. She shrank back. 
 She started forward. She stood still, clasping and 
 unclasping her hands. But all* the time, her big 
 eyes stayed glazed dull spots in her white face, and 
 all the time her mouth kept its stricken look of terror. 
 Apparently, some power within apart from her will 
 set her going; finally drove her onward. She 
 crossed the street at a pace that grew from a par- 
 alyzed slowness to panic-stricken hurry. 
 
 Her father ran to meet her. His arms went about 
 her waist. Her arms went about his neck. They 
 kissed, not once, but many times. Mrs. Day's head 
 dropped for an instant to his shoulder. Her eyes 
 closed. He patted her gently. But now her fear 
 and weakness were evaporating rapidly. " Come 
 right home, father," she ordered in a faint voice. 
 "This instant! I'm sorry I was away. You 
 must be tired to death and hungry and dusty 
 and and and hungry and tired to death and 
 
 dusty " She kept repeating herself, as one 
 
 who is thinking of things other than those she is 
 saying. 
 
 ' You must drink this cup of tea first, Mrs. Day," 
 Phoebe interposed decisively. " It will make you 
 feel better." 
 
214 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 As in a daze, Mrs. Day took the cup that Phoebe 
 extended to her. She drank, but it was only with a 
 determined effort. At the first taste, however, as 
 though at the demand of some fierce physical need, 
 she swallowed it in a single draught. She handed the 
 empty cup back to Phoebe. " Thank you, Mrs. War- 
 burton." 
 
 " I've been telling these ladies," her father said 
 jovially, " that I knew all about them before ever I 
 met them. Just think of it ! " He turned to the 
 sextette of silent listeners. " Five years this little 
 girPs been living down here, and never once has she 
 missed writing her Daddy a long letter Sunday 
 night." He turned back to his daughter, threw his 
 arms about her. " And I've told them how you've 
 written all about them and their kindness to you 
 and I've told them how grateful I am to them for it 
 and I've told them that's how I know what good 
 wives and mothers and cooks too they all are." 
 
 His daughter did not speak, but her little hand 
 clutched his arm and her eyes, mutely imploring, 
 went from one face to the other until they had made 
 the round of the six women. There was an interval 
 of dead silence through which a passing motorcycle 
 dragged a jarring chain of sound. 
 
 Phoebe spoke first. She addressed herself to Mr. 
 Davis. " It's very nice of you to say all those pleas- 
 ant things and we're all so glad you're here. You 
 
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET 215 
 
 said you'd like to see the view from Mt. Fairview. 
 My husband and my two oldest sons are going for 
 a tramp up the mountain Sunday. Wouldn't you like 
 to go with them, Mr. Davis? " She turned to Mrs. 
 Day. " That is if your daughter hasn't any other 
 plans for you." 
 
 " No I haven't I haven't thought if father 
 would care why what would you like to do, 
 father? " Mrs. Day faltered. 
 
 " I would like to go first-rate," Mr. Davis 
 declared. 
 
 " All right." Phoebe's manner was now quite 
 offhand. " They'll start somewhere in the middle 
 of the morning, and stay all day. I'll put up a lunch 
 for you all. Mr. Warburton wants to show Edward 
 that's our second boy where he used to play 
 when he was a child. I think you'll enjoy it, Mr. 
 Davis. The view is really very pretty from the top. 
 You can see Boston in the distance if it's a clear day; 
 and sometimes the sunlight flashes on the golden 
 dome of the State House. I hate to take your father 
 away from you, Mrs. Day, but Mr. Warburton will 
 enjoy Rim." 
 
 '* Thank you very much, Mrs. Warburton," Mrs. 
 Day breathed. " Now, father, we must go home." 
 
 She turned swiftly, her little white hand still clutch- 
 ing convulsively her father's bigger, browner one. 
 Half-way down the length of the piazza, she turned. 
 
216 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 44 Thank you thank you all very much for tak- 
 ing care of father like this." Her voice died in a 
 husky murmur. 
 
 The six women sat stock-still and watched them 
 cross the road. 
 
 After dinner that night, Phoebe was called to the 
 telephone. It was Mrs. Meredith. " Goodness, 
 Phoebe ! " she plunged without preliminary into an 
 excited harangue, " you have no idea how that scene 
 this afternoon has haunted me. Wasn't it terrible? 
 That Mr. Davis was such an old darling! Don't 
 you just love him? " 
 
 "I thought he was a perfect duck!" Phoebe an- 
 swered. 
 
 " When I think," Mrs. Meredith poured on, 
 " that he might have gathered from the way we 
 acted or we might have said something that would 
 accidentally have given the whole thing away, I 
 could cry my eyes out. And I really felt for Mrs. 
 Day. Did you ever see a woman with such a case of 
 the rattles?" 
 
 " I never saw anybody turn such a color?* de- 
 clared Phoebe. " I thought she was going to faint." 
 
 " Of course, Elliott is away," continued Mrs. 
 Meredith, " but my brother Henry is here while 
 Jane is at the hospital, and I told him he simply had 
 to do something for Mr. Davi. At first he was 
 
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET 217 
 
 bored and said he wouldn't, but when I explained the 
 situation to him in detail, he said * All right/ 
 Henry's just called Mr. Davis up and asked him 
 if he would go to Keith's with him some night next 
 week. When Henry told him that there were some 
 trained elephants on the bill, you would have thought 
 it was a child going to his first circus. He said, * I've 
 always heard that city folks were so cold, but now I 
 know better.' " 
 
 " Oh, I'm so glad you've done that," said 
 Phoebe. 
 
 " Henry said," Mrs. Meredith went on, and now 
 there was a pause in the flood of words; she spoke 
 slowly, " he didn't see why we don't let bygones be 
 bygones and invite Mr. and Mrs. Day and her father 
 to the house. But I told him we simply couldn't do 
 that. And we can't. Can we, Phoebe? " 
 
 " Of course we can't," Phoebe declared indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 Later that evening, Mrs. Fall called Phoebe up. 
 " Oh, Phoebe dear," she began, " I've been in the 
 dumps ever since this afternoon, thinking of Mrs. 
 Day and her father. I want to do something I 
 don't know what. Of course I can't do anything 
 about her I mean like having her come to the house 
 or that sort of thing. I've got three little girls, 
 and somehow well, it may sound bromidic, but it 
 
218 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 certainly is up to us women to maintain the sanctity 
 of the home. But I can't get her out of my mind. 
 How frightened she was this afternoon ! Of course, 
 she jumped to the conclusion that either we had given 
 the whole thing away to her father or would do it 
 before she got him off the piazza just as though 
 we were cats. Well, I've been telling Billy all about 
 it really, he felt just as cut up as I do. You'd be 
 surprised how much of that kind of feeling there is 
 in Billy. He immediately tried to think of some- 
 thing we could do for Mr. Davis. He's taking a 
 long automobile trip Monday. There's some rich 
 people he thinks may buy the Duncan place, but 
 they want to see the whole neighborhood first, so 
 he called up Mr. Davis and asked him if he wanted 
 to go with him. My dear, he was tickled to death 
 just like a child. I was awfully glad Billy did that. 
 I've been trying to think how we could get around 
 the situation. Of course, I can't do anything for 
 Mrs. Day, for if there's anything we women must 
 do, it's keep up the moral tone of a community. 
 Don't you think so, Phoebe? " Mrs. Fall's voice had 
 a beseeching note. 
 
 " Oh, yes," Phoebe answered decidedly. " I do. 
 Yes, we certainly must do that. Yes, by all means 
 yes." Phoebe put a growing emphasis on each 
 " yes." It was apparent that she had gone over this 
 question many times in her own mind. 
 
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET 219 
 
 The next morning Mrs. Brodbeck called Phoebe 
 up. " Oh, my dear," she began, u I hardly slept 
 all night from thinking of Mrs. Day and her father. 
 Before I fell asleep, I said to myself that I ought to 
 do something for her, and then I wondered if after 
 all you know, Phoebe, I've got two grown-up sons 
 and I've never introduced any element into my home 
 that wasn't beautiful and ennobling. But I kept 
 waking up in the night thinking of those two how 
 white she got and how she clung to him and his 
 pride in her and his perfect faith that we were all 
 crazy about her. Tom didn't get home until nearly 
 three a directors' meeting of course I didn't 
 trouble him then, but I told him this morning that 
 I wanted him to do something that would show Mr. 
 Davis that we really were neighborly and yet would 
 not involve me with Mrs. Day in any way. Well, 
 you know what Tom is like. First he said he was 
 too busy and wasn't interested and couldn't be both- 
 ered to do anything. That's the way he always acts 
 when I put anything unexpectedly to him. But he's 
 just called me up from the office to say that he tele- 
 phoned Mr. Davis at Mrs. Day's and asked him to 
 go to one of the World's Series games with him 
 Saturday afternoon." 
 
 1 That's so like Tom," Phoebe commented. 
 
 " Isn't it?" his wife agreed. " I know just ex- 
 actly how it affected him. It got on his conscience 
 
220 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 and bothered him until he had to do something about 
 it. Tom said Mr. Davis went perfectly crazy over 
 the idea of going to a big game says he's always 
 been wild to see Ty Cobb. Says he won't sleep or 
 eat until Saturday comes. Tom says he likes him 
 just from his voice over the telephone." 
 
 " Well, he certainly is a darling," agreed 
 Phoebe. 
 
 " As for . Mrs. Day why do women do such 
 things, Phoebe? " Mrs. Brodbeck asked earnestly. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," answered Phoebe. " I don't 
 know" The stress she put on the word " know " 
 held a note of irritability. 
 
 " I do wish that we could " Mrs. Brodbeck 
 
 broke off wistfully. " But we can't, can we, 
 Phoebe?" 
 
 " No," Phoebe said stormily. " We can't." 
 
 " Tug," Phoebe said to her husband that night at 
 dinner, " every one of the women who was here 
 yesterday has called me up to tell me that she's going 
 to do something for Mr. Davis I mean every one 
 except mother. Nothing has ever illustrated more 
 perfectly to me the difference between her genera- 
 tion and ours. Mother wouldn't ever think of doing 
 such a thing. Women are certainly growing more 
 fine in their attitude towards each other every day. 
 Of course, we can't do anything for Mrs. Day " 
 
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET 221 
 
 Across the table Phoebe's eyes raked her husband's 
 face pleadingly. 
 
 " I don't see why not," Tug declared. 
 
 11 We can't, Tug, that's all there is to it," Phoebe 
 insisted. " We just can't. Still it's encouraging that 
 there's an impulse " 
 
 " Well, I don't see why not," Tug repeated in a 
 tone of sheer bafflement. " And I must say, I see 
 
 nothing encouraging It's absolutely immoral 
 
 in my opinion to take out a fine impulse in talk. But 
 then I won't butt in. It's a woman's question. 
 YouVe got to settle it yourselves." 
 
 " Mr. Davis went back to Saugus last night," 
 Mrs. Meredith remarked at the next meeting of the 
 Sewing-Club after the laughter of greetings had died 
 down. " He stayed three days over his week. El- 
 liott teased him to go fishing with him Tuesday, and 
 he finally consented. I called him up yesterday after- 
 noon to say good-by. I'm glad for his sake that this; 
 good weather kept up." 
 
 "Yes," Mrs. Fall took it up, "I think it's 
 warmer than it was two weeks ago when we were 
 here. Really, Phoebe, we hardly need a fire today. 
 Fred said that Mr. Davis had the most interesting 
 line of talk that he ever listened to from a hayseed. 
 Mr. Davis has planned it all out for Fred to come 
 
222 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 up there for a week next summer, and Fred says 
 he's going." 
 
 " Tom says it was the greatest fun taking him to 
 the ball game," Mrs. Brodbeck added. " He said 
 Mr. Davis was the most amusing fan he ever saw. 
 Enjoyed it just like a child, and when Ty Cobb made 
 that phenomenal run in the last inning, well, Tom 
 said he had to hold him in his seat." 
 
 The talk drifted to other subjects. 
 
 " I would like to know how Mrs. Day feels about 
 all this?" Phoebe suddenly turned it back again, 
 without reference to the rest of the conversation. 
 
 " I would, too," agreed Mrs. Fall. 
 
 " She probably doesn't know what to think," Mrs. 
 Meredith suggested. 
 
 " I passed her on the street the other day," said 
 Mrs. Brodbeck. " She looked away the instant she 
 saw me, so as not to give me the chance to cut her, 
 but I called out * Good morning, Mrs. Day. Isn't 
 it wonderful weather? ' 
 
 " What did she say? " Mrs. Meredith demanded 
 breathlessly. 
 
 " Oh, nothing epoch-making," Mrs. Brodbeck 
 laughed. " Just something civil." 
 
 " I bet she's a very grateful woman," Phoebe sug- 
 gested. " Don't you, mother? " 
 
 " I don't know," answered Mrs. Martin slowly. 
 " I don't know what she's to be grateful about un- 
 
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET 223 
 
 less you expect her to be grateful to a crowd of 
 women just for not acting like a pack of wolves." 
 
 A moment of dead silence fell. " Well, mother, 
 if you think " Phoebe was beginning. 
 
 " There's Mrs. Day now," Mrs. Fall murmured 
 under her breath. " She's just come out of her 
 house she's crossing the street I think she's com- 
 ing here, Phoebe." 
 
 Mrs. Day was coming to the Warburton house. 
 She turned in at the gate and moved quietly up the 
 path towards the piazza. She bore it engaged both 
 her small hands a big, blue platter, on which, cov- 
 ering something mound-like in shape, glistened a 
 square of damask. Phoebe arose with a " How do 
 you do, Mrs. Day?" 
 
 " Mrs. Warburton," Mrs. Day answered without 
 formal greeting, " this was baking day with me 
 and I thought you might like some of my angel- 
 cake with your tea. I -don't always have good 
 luck with it but this has turned out very well." 
 Her flustered speech came to an end. 
 
 " Oh, thank you very much," Phoebe said. She 
 took the platter from Mrs. Day and placed it on the 
 tea-table; removed the napkin. " Oh, that looks per- 
 fectly delicious light as a feather. Di(J you ever 
 see such cake, girls? " 
 
 The sewing-circle ejaculated admiring superla- 
 tives. 
 
224 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 Mrs. Day stood still, her eyes down. The pause 
 lengthened. When the murmurs died, she tried 
 to speak, but at first words would not come. 
 " And I would like to say," she began finally, " that 
 I appreciate all that you did for my father while he 
 was here every bit of it. My husband does, too, 
 
 and if there is anything I can ever do " Her 
 
 voice, which had started thin and faltering, deepened 
 suddenly on the word " do " and seemed to gain body 
 and volume; her eyelids came up and her glance 
 went, earnest and unembarrassed, from face to face. 
 " to repay you, I hope you will let me. I can't 
 think of anything now except that I'm a good nurse 
 and sometime in case of sickness, especially in an 
 emergency, you might like to know of somebody 
 upon whom you could depend. I'll give up anything 
 I'm doing or any engagement I have to help any one 
 of you. I was dreading my father's visit awfully 
 you don't know how much. I put it off as long as 
 I could. I had a whole lot of lies made up to ex- 
 plain why nobody came to see us, but I didn't have 
 to tell them. He never guessed. He never had 
 such a good time in all his life. But he would have 
 thought it very strange, if it hadn't been for you. 
 Oh, you don't know how grateful I am." 
 
 " I'm so glad your father enjoyed his visit, Mrs. 
 Day," Phoebe said. " We all thought him a per- 
 fect darling, and now," she added, " won't you and 
 
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET 225 
 
 Mr. Day come to dinner with Mr. Warburton and 
 me tomorrow night that is if you haven't any other 
 engagement? " 
 
 " No, I have no other engagement." Mrs. Day 
 said this in a dazed way after a little interval in 
 which dumbly she searched Phoebe's face. " We 
 shall be very glad to come," she added after another 
 dumb interval in which obviously she sought for 
 words. She started to leave. 
 
 11 You mustn't go now, Mrs. Day," Mrs. Mere- 
 dith stayed her. " Not at least before you've had 
 some tea. It's one rule of the club that anybody 
 who comes in on a meeting must eat with us." She 
 handed Mrs. Day the cup of tea which she had 
 hastily poured. " Do sit down." 
 
 Still obviously dazed, Mrs. Day mechanically 
 obeyed her. Phoebe began to cut the angel-cake. 
 
 ' The next meeting of this Sewing-Club," Mrs. 
 Brodbeck went on, " takes place at my house, a week 
 from today, Mrs. Day. We've been meeting with 
 Mrs. Warburton all this month because she has the 
 outdoor fireplace, but next week it will be too cold for 
 that. I want you to come, Mrs. Day if you 
 haven't any other engagement." 
 
 " I shall be delighted," said Mrs. Day. Her daze 
 had departed, and she looked steadily at Mrs. Brod- 
 beck. But her eyes deepened in color, as the tears 
 filled them. 
 
226 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " Mrs. Day, would you go in town with me to- 
 morrow to the matinee to see ' The Tipperary 
 Lad 7 ?" Mrs. Fall asked. "They say it's a 
 scream from start to finish. I should love to 
 have you that's if you haven't any other engage- 
 ment." 
 
 " I'd just love it," Mrs. Day admitted. " I don't 
 know when I've been to the theater." She turned 
 her look directly on Mrs. Fall. Her lips did not 
 quiver, but the tears still hung thick on her eyelashes. 
 
 " I won't invite Mrs. Day just yet a while," said 
 Mrs. Martin, creating a diversion. " I guess she's 
 had enough of us for one spell. She and Mr. Day 
 and Mr. Davis came to dinner the night before Mr. 
 Davis left, and I don't know how many times Ed- 
 ward and I have dropped in on them when they 
 didn't expect us." 
 
 " Oh, Mother Martin! " Phoebe exclaimed, glar- 
 ing at her mother with an expression that was not 
 all mock exasperation. " Think of your entertain- 
 ing Mrs. Day first ! You're always stealing a march 
 on me, but some day I'll get you. You watch me." 
 
 ' You'll have to start early to get ahead of your 
 mother, Phoebe," Mrs. Brodbeck prophesied. " By 
 the way, Mrs. Day, I want to ask you, before in- 
 viting you to join our sewing-club permanently, if 
 you like to sew." 
 
 " Oh, yes, Mrs. Brodbeck, I do," Mrs. Day an- 
 
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET 227 
 
 swered. Her tears seemed to be flowing backwards 
 now; her cleared eyes met Mrs. Brodbeck's with a 
 long look of understanding. " I like to sew, and 
 in the next few months I shall have quite a lot of 
 sewing to do baby clothes/' she explained simply. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 THE VAMP 
 
 "TSNT Molly coming today?" Phoebe War- 
 
 A burton asked Sylvia. 
 
 " She said she was," Sylvia answered. u I can't 
 understand what's keeping her. It's her boast that 
 she's never late to the Sewing-Club." 
 
 " Yes, she does enjoy it," Mrs. Fall remarked,. 
 " It means a lot to her." 
 
 " It means a lot to all of us," Mrs. Day said 
 gently. " I'm sure I don't know what I would do 
 without it. It has grown into my life so." 
 
 " It gives you something to look forward to. I 
 find myself thinking of it all the week." Sylvia 
 spoke a little absently. She had an occasional eye 
 for the lawn and a constant ear for the kitchen. On 
 the lawn, her two little daughters, Elizabeth-Marian, 
 a delicate, laughing pale-blonde child; and Sylvia, 
 brown, very deep-eyed and serious, were playing 
 dolls. From the direction of the kitchen, a door 
 opening frequently, let out the sound of cream being 
 whipped. 
 
 " I've been thinking of it a lot lately analyzing 
 it," Phoebe went on. " I think that one reason that 
 
 228 
 
THE VAMP 229 
 
 we enjoy it so much is that it's a comfortable way 
 of growing middle-aged together." 
 
 "Middle-aged! Phoebe, you monster!" Mrs. 
 Brodbeck charged. 
 
 " Yes, middle-aged!" Phoebe stood stanchly by 
 her guns. " We've reached the age, every one of 
 us, when we're letting down, all along the line. We 
 do over our last winter's evening clothes and our 
 last summer's hats. We don't get massaged or mar- 
 celled or manicured. Oh, I suppose it's bound to 
 be " 
 
 " Yes," Mrs. Fall decided, " it can't be helped 
 with children growing up ! There's so much to buy 
 for them " 
 
 " Here's Molly now ! " Sylvia exclaimed. " Oh ! " 
 This " oh " was merely recognition of Maggie, who 
 came in wheeling the tea-wagon. Sylvia busied her- 
 self with the cups. 
 
 " You're fired! " " You're expelled! " " Charges 
 will be preferred! " came in chorus as Mrs. Mere- 
 dith entered the room. 
 
 Mrs. Meredith did not smile. She slowly drew 
 the worn fur piece from about her neck; slowly took 
 off her hat and coat. " I've been long-distancing," 
 
 " Nothing serious, I hope? " Mrs. Brodbeck que- 
 ried. 
 
 " Of course it's serious," Phoebe declared. " Not 
 one of her dimples is on the job." 
 
230 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " I don't know whether it's serious or not," Mrs. 
 Meredith said without greeting and still without 
 smiling. " I don't know whether I'm in the worst 
 pickle I ever was in or not. I don't know whether 
 I'm a malefactor or not. I feel as though I was 
 going to start a terrible epidemic in this town. I 
 feel as though I was one of those human disease- 
 carriers that you read about in the magazines." 
 
 " My goodness, Molly ! " Phoebe broke in. 
 " What are you talking about? " 
 
 " Listen! " Molly answered. And even now, not 
 one of the dimples, which Phoebe had predicated, 
 appeared in the dusky round of her cheek. '* You 
 remember that I got a note from an unknown female 
 about ten days ago, enclosing a letter of introduction 
 from an old friend of mine, Alice Robinson? And 
 perhaps you remember that the unknown female 
 said she was coming to Boston and that I invited her 
 to spend a week with me." Her eyes, traveling 
 about the circle of faces, apparently culled enough 
 of recollection, for she went on, " Well, this morning 
 I got a letter from Alice. I'll read it. It shouts 
 for itself in large, round, emphatic letters: 
 
 1 DEAR MOLLY : 
 
 In a few days, a girl from this town, Sibyl Storrow, will 
 present to you a letter of introduction, which I have just 
 written for her. She's going to Boston for a visit and 
 knowing that I had friends there, she asked me for letters. 
 
THE VAMP 231 
 
 I was very glad to give them to her because Sibyl is a per- 
 fectly dandy girl. And yet, I thought I would like to write 
 an extra word of explanation something, as you will readily 
 see, that would scarcely go into a letter of introduction. 
 Somehow, it seems only fair to you to do this. I'm not 
 quite sure that it's fair to her; but in thinking it over, I 
 have concluded that I've no choice in the matter. Anyway, 
 I'm taking the chance. So here goes! 
 
 As one woman to another, Sibyl Storrow is absolutely all 
 right in every respect but one. She's perfectly honest in 
 money matters; keeps her engagement; is straight, in short, 
 in all the ways in which we like a woman to be straight. 
 But nevertheless, there's one out about her. She's a flirt. 
 She's an awful flirt. She's the worst flirt I've ever known 
 in all my life. I don't think she means any real harm. 
 Sometimes I think she doesn't realize what she's doing. She 
 can't help it. She was born that way. But she's rather ex- 
 asperating to other women. Everything in trousers is fish to 
 her net babies in the cradle, boys in prep-school, college 
 men, middle-aged business men, doddering senile wrecks 
 from nine to ninety she goes out after them all. And gets 
 them. That's the worst of it she always gets them. 
 
 There's something about her What it is, search me. 
 
 She makes me think of a song I've heard somewhere: 
 
 " What it was that Mary did, Mary didn't know: 
 But everywhere that Mary went, the men were sure to 
 go." 
 
 She isn't very pretty, although she does know how to dress. 
 But she's got something on her that most women don't have. 
 She can't help what she does. She attracts men, that's all 
 there is to it. And so, my warning is, look out for sons, 
 brothers, fathers, husbands, sweethearts. She's perfectly 
 
232 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 impartial. As I said before, I think she's harmless; but 
 fascinate men she must and does. 
 
 Now, if it proves that I've unloosed a human scourge on 
 your neighborhood, please forgive me. What else could I 
 do when she asked me for letters? 
 
 Yours with love but in great perplexity, 
 
 ALICE.' 
 
 Now what do you think of that?" Mrs. Meredith 
 demanded. 
 
 All her dimples were playing now. She was a 
 pretty woman; rounded in contour; velvet in surface; 
 duskily dark. She paused an instant to look into the 
 glass; to pull down a rather tumbled waist; and to 
 adjust the mussed lace at her neck. There was a 
 stir in the room, as much psychological as physical. 
 
 Mrs. Fall and Mrs. Brodbeck made an effort to 
 blank their expressions. Mrs. Day's face took on 
 an unmitigated seriousness. Sylvia alone showed no 
 change. She went on serenely pouring tea. But 
 Phoebe frankly laughed. " It sounds to me as 
 though there was going to be some doings in this 
 town," she said. 
 
 " When is she coming? " Mrs. Brodbeck asked. 
 
 " Tonight," Mrs. Meredith answered. 
 
 " I wonder what she looks like." Mrs. Fall 
 dropped into a little flat interval of silence. 
 
 " I haven't the remotest idea," Mrs. Meredith an- 
 swered. 
 
THE VAMP 233 
 
 u Sibyl," Mrs. Day said musingly. " It's a pretty 
 name." Her china-blue eyes met the china-blue eyes 
 reflected in one of Sylvia's long, old-fashioned mir- 
 rors. They seemed to take reassuring cognizance of 
 the white-and-gold prettiness they met there. 
 
 Phoebe sighed ostentatiously. u Well, girls, I 
 expect we'll have to get out our old duds and do 
 our best to compete with this whirlwind among men. 
 Not that I personally think I have any chance. But 
 if a vicious vamp is determined to tear my hus- 
 band from me, I suppose I won't give him up without 
 a struggle." 
 
 " Oh, she'll have an easy enough time with Tug," 
 Mrs. Fall remarked. " Everybody knows how hard 
 Tug is straining at the matrimonial leash." 
 
 " Please come to a party at my house tomorrow 
 evening," Mrs. Meredith begged. " Bring your hus- 
 bands and all adjacent males, encumbered or unen- 
 cumbered. And let the slaughter begin as soon as 
 possible. Of course I'll sacrifice Elliott on the altar 
 of hospitality immediately. By the time you arrive, 
 she'll probably have swallowed him whole. But un- 
 less she falls in a state of torpor in order to masticate 
 and digest him, I shall expect you to hand over your 
 loved ones to her, one at a time." 
 
 1 Tug," Phoebe commanded, " this is the night 
 you are to put on your glad rags. This is the night 
 
234 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 we are to meet the Circe from the Middle West. Of 
 course, she will have snatched you from me forever, 
 before we get home this evening; so I will now take 
 this opportunity to bid you a long and lingering fare- 
 well. You've been a good husband to me, Tug, and 
 I wish I could have kept you. But with a younger 
 and more beautiful woman in the game, the mere 
 mother of your children must expect to go into the 
 discard." 
 
 14 Well, of course," Tug remarked, " the easiest 
 thing I do is to fall for this vampire stuff. All my 
 life I have hoped that some enchantress like this 
 Helen from Troy would decide to enslave me, no 
 matter what the cost to herself or me. In farewell, 
 I will say, Phoebe, that you have been a good wife 
 and a very satisfactory mother to my children. I 
 hope that your life isn't ruined and that some day 
 you may meet another man who will make you really 
 happy." 
 
 u That's nice, Tug," Phoebe responded with the 
 dancing eyes which always accompanied the long 
 nonsensical dialogues that were her delight and 
 Tug's. " Nobody could ever fill your place. I will 
 say that if you had only taken my advice, you would 
 have a much slimmer figure to present to this 
 charmer." 
 
 " It doesn't make any difference about my figure, 
 woman," Tug remarked with much heat, '* One 
 
THE VAMP 235 
 
 look at this face, featured like a Greek god, and it's 
 all off. They know when they have met their Water- 
 loo. No vamp has ever yet survived the experi- 
 
 ence." 
 
 After which, whistling cheerfully, Tug went up- 
 stairs to his room. At the sight of the evening 
 clothes lying on the bed, his whistling changed to 
 groans. But without further ado, he slapped some 
 lather onto his round ruddy face, irregular-featured; 
 bristling as to mustache; and then dutifully climbed 
 into the shining raiment. " It seems to me that you 
 are looking pretty brisk this evening yourself, Mrs. 
 Warburton," he said to his wife on his return to the 
 living-room. 
 
 " Well, of course, I am doing my feeble best to 
 retain the father of my children," Phoebe explained 
 meekly. And she gave a sideways glance at the shin- 
 ing lengths of tulle-hung blue. " I haven't been 
 able to make up my mind for a long time whether 
 I could afford a new evening gown or not." 
 
 "I'm glad you decided you could," Tug said 
 heartily. " That gown is a bird. You look great. 
 I like you in evening gowns. I wish you'd buy a 
 dozen." 
 
 When they entered Mrs. Meredith's charming big 
 living-room, every chair seemed to hold a coruscat- 
 ing specimen of womanhood. The couch, however, 
 a big, high-backed affair, was surrounded by black- 
 
236 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 and-white masculine units. It was not until Mrs. 
 Meredith said, " Miss Storrow, I want you to 
 meet n that its contents were revealed. 
 
 Then there disengaged itself from the black velvet 
 background, a slight figure in white. That white 
 was lustrous-surfaced. It dropped from slim shoul- 
 der to slimmer ankle, long lines that seemed a pi- 
 quant combination of the mode of Greece with Paris. 
 At the neck, a square of flesh showed a slight olive 
 contrast with this ivory glimmer. Miss Storrow was 
 a brunette, although she was pale; and her eyes were 
 a little indeterminate in color and character. Her 
 hair, however, was far from indeterminate either 
 in color or character. It was jet-black; it clung so 
 close to her head that it might have been glued 
 down; it invaded her forehead, her ears, her very 
 cheeks in long shining loops, equally flat. 
 
 She acknowledged the introductions with a little 
 jerked nod; and turning immediately to a nearby 
 mirror, proceeded so vigorously to apply a lip stick 
 that her mouth seemed to turn to an opening poppy. 
 It echoed that opening poppy the scarlet of long 
 coral earrings; the scarlet of tiny, very pointed, 
 velvet slippers; the scarlet of a narrow tasseled bag 
 the only bits of color in her costume. 
 
 The victrola started the instant Miss Storrow had 
 performed this delicate operation. " IVe not danced 
 with Mr. Warburton yet," she said. She glided in 
 
THE VAMP 237 
 
 Tug's direction and that frankly-astonished gentle- 
 man suddenly found himself whirling her about the 
 room. 
 
 Phoebe, with much-amused gray eyes, watched 
 their progress. " I take off my hat to her," she re- 
 marked upder her breath, seating herself beside Mrs. 
 Day. " I never saw anything so quick or so complete 
 as that. Perhaps you can beat it. I can't." 
 
 " Oh, you've lost most of it! " Mrs. Day said re- 
 gretfully. " It's been wonderful. Well, will you 
 look at that?" 
 
 Passing Mr. Day, though still dancing with Tug, 
 Miss Storrow had reached out a slim hand; had 
 drawn him to them. They danced a trio, for a 
 while. 
 
 "She's a wonder!" Phoebe commented. " Do 
 you know I envy her ! I don't think that I've ever 
 flirted in my life. I'm just beginning to realize what 
 I've missed." 
 
 ' Well, she isn't missing much," Mrs. Day de- 
 clared grimly. 
 
 " Doesn't Molly look sweet tonight?" Phoebe 
 went on. " Look at her gold slippers ! " 
 
 " She told me," Mrs. Day said, " that Elliott ad- 
 mired Miss Storrow's slippers so much that she went 
 in to Boston yesterday and bought three pairs, gold 
 and silver and bronze. Hasn't she darling feet? " 
 
 " Oh, they're not human!" Phoebe affirmed. 
 
238 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " Will you look at that Storrow woman now? " 
 Mrs. Day demanded, in a tone in which indignation 
 wrestled with amusement. 
 
 Somebody had kept on cranking the victrola, so 
 that the dance had been unduly prolonged. Miss 
 Storrow had kept on accumulating partners, until 
 now she moved in the midst of a group of six; a 
 laughing white-and-scarlet accent to the black mass 
 of men. 
 
 At the close of the dance, Phoebe seated herself 
 beside Miss Storrow. But the conversation on which 
 she embarked was so broken by masculine interrup- 
 tion, and by Miss Storrow's own interruptions, that 
 she soon abandoned it. In fact, the evening turned 
 into one prolonged ovation to Miss Storrow. She 
 danced without cessation until the modest hour, 
 shortly after midnight, when the affair broke up. 
 She divided, re-divided, and sub-divided her dances. 
 This was really unnecessary, as she continued her 
 system of accumulating partners. She introduced 
 new solo steps; even group improvements of various 
 terpsichorean kinds. Sometimes came pauses in the 
 music notably, a long one in which supper was 
 served. But when Miss Storrow was not dancing, she 
 was tete-a-tete-ing with one victim, or coquetting 
 with three or four. She was sweetly courteous to 
 the women; but it was apparent that she did not see 
 them when she looked at them ; did not think of them 
 
THE VAMP 239 
 
 when she spoke to them; only half heard them when 
 they replied to her. 
 
 This had a curious but inevitable effect on the 
 party. Gradually it divided into sections; one, con-, 
 sisting of Miss Storrow, the men who crowded about 
 her, the younger girls who subsisted on her rejec- 
 tions : the other, made up of the married women who 
 covertly eyed these proceedings. 
 
 " Molly, isn't this a scream ?" Phoebe said once 
 to her hostess. " My sense of humor hasn't entirely 
 deserted me; but I'm afraid it's wearing a little thin." 
 
 " I've concluded that I never had one ! " Mrs. 
 Meredith admitted. 
 
 14 1 said a long farewell to Tug this evening," 
 Phoebe went on. " He's been very fair. He says 
 no matter what happens, he's going to support me 
 and the children the rest of our lives. What is she 
 like to live with? " 
 
 " My dear ! " Mrs. Meredith poured out a torrent. 
 1 You ought to have been here. I've never been so 
 ignored in my own house in all my life. The moment 
 Elliott comes home she monopolizes him as though 
 they had just become engaged. When I do venture 
 to speak which is very rarely, I assure you she 
 listens to me with such a ceremonious look of interest 
 that I wonder why I started to say anything." 
 
 " I don't know what her plans are," Phoebe com-, 
 mented. " The only place that I've heard of where 
 
2 4 o THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 they permit polyandry is in Afghanistan. When I 
 hear of Tug buying a ticket for the Orient, I'll con- 
 sult a lawyer at once. Your slippers are lovely, 
 Molly." 
 
 " The vamp has flashed a different pair every 
 night. And Elliott just made me go in town and buy 
 some. He said he knew my feet were smaller than 
 hers. They are, too!" Mrs. Meredith's eyes 
 danced with triumph. 
 
 But that evening at the Merediths' was only a deli- 
 cate foreshadowing of what was to happen. Phoe- 
 be's house, which, consciously or unconsciously, every- 
 body admitted to be the social center of the neighbor- 
 hood, became a sort of telephone exchange on what 
 was going on. 
 
 " What do you think that Storrow female has just 
 done?" Mrs. Brodbeck demanded vehemently over 
 the wire a day or two later. " Tom has just called 
 me up from the office for no other reason apparently 
 but to tell me she has just telephoned him from some- 
 where in Boston, where she is lost. She was so fright- 
 ened poor, helpless, shrinking little thing! that 
 there was nothing for him to do but go for her in a 
 taxi. Why didn't she call up Elliott Meredith ? He's 
 her host. Oh yes, I remember, she did tell him that 
 she looked up all their addresses and found Tom's 
 was the nearest. Of course Tom had to invite her to 
 luncheon. Did you ever hear of such a proceeding? " 
 
THE VAMP 241 
 
 " No, I never did! " Phoebe answered with convic- 
 tion. " However, Nina, you looked lovely last even- 
 ing! You were ungallant enough to be the belle of 
 your own party. That blue chiffon over the green 
 made an exquisite effect! Did Tom like it?" 
 
 " Oh yes. He liked it so much that he bought 
 tickets for the opera tonight; and insisted on my 
 wearing it ! I just happened to see it, passing through 
 Shale's, and bought it on the impulse. Wasn't that 
 dress of hers marvelous that dull gray with the 
 Chinese embroidery and those Chinese earrings! 
 How does Tug like Miss Storrow? " 
 
 "Well, he's still going through the motions of 
 devotion to his family. But I expect to lose him for- 
 ever at Mrs. Fall's whist tomorrow night." 
 
 " Well, Phoebe," Mrs. Fall broke out when the 
 two women met marketing a few days later. " I must 
 say that Storrow creature is the coolest proposition 
 that I ever saw in my life. She goes in to Boston on 
 the train with Fred every single morning and comes 
 out with him every single night. Of course at first, 
 she pretended it was an accident. An accident your 
 grandmother! Nobody takes that nine-twenty-five 
 but Fred or the four-fifty for that matter. She sits 
 with him all the time, of course. Fred told me that 
 he wanted to do something for her; so he bought 
 matinee tickets and sent them to her. I almost told 
 
242 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 him that he could depend on me to do the family 
 entertaining of strange women. But, of course, I 
 didn't!" 
 
 '* Well, Miriam, you never looked so well in your 
 life as you did last night. Your hair was really 
 wonderful. Who did it?" 
 
 " Madame Lili. Yes, I thought it looked well 
 myself. And Fred told me that I'd simply got to have 
 her do it twice a week after this." 
 
 "And didn't Dolly Day look lovely?" Phoebe 
 went on. 
 
 " Yes. She made every bit of the lace in that dress 
 herself. She said that she's been working on it on 
 and off for years, but had sort of lost interest in it. 
 But she got a spurt on last week and finished it." 
 
 " She certainly was a fairy vision! " Phoebe said 
 enthusiastically. " She's so little and blonde and deli- 
 cate. She seemed to float in a mist." 
 
 "And wasn't Carl proud of her!" Mrs. Fall 
 laughed a little. " He simply couldn't take his eyes 
 off her all the evening." 
 
 "Wasn't the Vamp marvelous last night?" 
 Phoebe went on. 
 
 " I should say she looked like a nasturtium in 
 all that yellow and orange. And weren't those ear- 
 rings just the right touch? They were like little 
 golden lamps! That dress gave Molly an idea. 
 She's had tucked away for years some beautiful 
 
THE VAMP 243 
 
 brown and green gauze stuff that she got at Liberty's 
 in London. She's going to have it made up 
 right away along the lines of Miss Storrow's 
 dress/' 
 
 " Oh, Phoebe, does the sewing-circle meet at ycur 
 house as usual? " Mrs. Day inquired a day or two 
 later. 
 
 " Yes," Phoebe answered. 
 
 " Did you ask the Vamp? " 
 
 " Of course ! I don't suppose she'll want to waste 
 so much time on a parcel of women. She may come, 
 though." 
 
 " I don't think likely," Mrs. Day said, a slight acid 
 note in her treble accents. " Where do you suppose 
 she is this afternoon? Taking a walk with Carl. He 
 told her about that great big rock on Mt. Fairview 
 that he used to play on when he was a child, and she 
 sort of roped him into showing it to her she really 
 did, I heard her. Of course she spoke of my 
 going too, and Carl was crazy to have me; 
 but naturally I wouldn't butt-in. It's too long 
 a walk for me. She came to lunch with us. I 
 wish you could have seen her when they started out. 
 She was the smartest thing you ever laid your eyes 
 on; a brown walking suit, very short in the skirt; 
 tight-fitting brown gaiters; and oh, such a pictur- 
 esque brown tarn ! Everything suit, gaiters, shoes, 
 
244 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 gloves all the same brown. And tiny amber ear- 
 rings ! I never in my life saw such a disagreeable 
 girl, did you, Phoebe? " 
 
 1 The queer thing about it is," Phoebe answered 
 analytically, " that though I'm trying as hard as I can 
 to despise her, I can't quite pull it off. I've a sort of 
 sneaking liking for her." 
 
 " I should like to know why," Mrs. Day asked in 
 a scathing tone. Then she laughed. " Cat stuff, 
 Phoebe! Is it because she has left off trying to 
 fascinate Tug?" 
 
 " No, ever since she went into the office to read the 
 evidence in that Runyon case, she's called him up 
 every day about it. She even telephoned him at the 
 house this morning while he was at breakfast. Oh, 
 no, she hasn't soft-pedaled one atom as far as Tug is 
 concerned. And yet well, I'm telling you the exact 
 truth when I say that I find something likable about 
 her." 
 
 Mrs. Day groaned in an ostentation of agony. 
 " All right, I'll be there tomorrow." 
 
 " Well, girls," Phoebe greeted her guests the next 
 afternoon, " after all, for five wrecks of matrimony, 
 you are looking pretty well. Everybody's got new 
 clothes." 
 
 Her visitors laughed; but there was an element of 
 exasperation in their mirth. 
 
THE VAMP 245 
 
 " Where is she this afternoon? " Mrs. Day asked. 
 " I don't think she's with my husband." 
 
 " Probably with mine," Mrs. Meredith answered, 
 " if not with Tug or Tom or Fred. Perhaps she's 
 corraled all five." 
 
 " What sort of a guest is she, now that you've had 
 her for a week? " Phoebe asked curiously. 
 
 " Oh, nice enough if she'd ever let me speak to 
 my own husband. I had to signal to him this morning 
 to go out into the hall to ask him for some money. 
 Curiously enough, the servants all like her and Belle's 
 children are wild about her. They come every morn- 
 ing to see her. I must say she has put herself out 
 for them tells them stories and plays games with 
 them " 
 
 " Well, I certainly think she's a strange critter." 
 Mrs. Day's tones seemed to dismiss the problem as 
 a hopeless one. 
 
 " For goodness' sake ! " Phoebe emitted sibilantly, 
 " here she is now, coming up the walk. What 
 brought her here ? " she added in a low tone. " Our 
 husbands must have all thrown her down ! " 
 
 Her guests fell into a constrained silence; listened 
 avidly to the footsteps of the maid crossing the hall; 
 to the opening of the door; to Miss Storrow's fresh, 
 clear tones. And then, as with one accord, they 
 plunged into ejaculatory conversation. 
 
 " Oh, how do you do, Miss Storrow? " came out 
 
246 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 of the chattering in Phoebe's most composed accents, 
 as she rose to greet her guest. " This is a pleasant 
 surprise. I'm delighted to see you." 
 
 '* You would probably like to add * and to what 
 do I owe the pleasure? ' " Miss Storrow said. 
 
 She took off her long slim squirrel coat, revealing 
 a close-fitting gown of blue serge, almost covered 
 with broad black silk braid. The inevitable earrings, 
 this time of jade and gold and as usual long, 
 emerged from under the deep loops of shining black 
 hair. " I'm leaving tomorrow; so that when I got 
 home unexpectedly early from my walk and learned 
 that Mrs. Meredith had come here, it seemed the 
 easiest way to say good-by to you all." 
 
 " Oh, it's too bad you're going so soon. You 
 haven't had half a chance to know Maywood." 
 Phoebe's conventionalities carried a slight frigidity 
 of tone. " We are all sorry to hear that." 
 
 " Are you? That's nice of you to say." Very 
 slightly, Miss Storrow accented the word say. 
 There ensued a brief chill silence. 
 
 Miss Storrow broke it cryptically. " I think I'll 
 have to do it," she announced. Then without expla- 
 nation, she turned suddenly on Mrs. Meredith. 
 " Have you ever visited that little town of Bray 
 where I was brought up, Mrs. Meredith? " 
 
 " No," Mrs. Meredith answered civilly, " I never 
 have." 
 
THE VAMP 247 
 
 " It's a strange little place; dead, dull, uninspired 
 and uninspiring. I've lived fhere all my life. This 
 is the first time I've ever escaped from it." 
 
 " I hope you've had a pleasant visit." There was 
 a faint sarcastic flavor to Phoebe's voice. 
 
 " Oh, delightful ! " Miss Storrow replied, appar- 
 ently as insensitive to the sarcasm in Phoebe's words 
 as to the perfunctory quality in her own. 
 
 " Maywood," she went on, " is really a delightful 
 place to live in. I don't think you Easterners realize 
 the charm there is to your suburban towns. Our' 
 cities are, I think, more brisk than yours. But some 
 of our small towns are deadly. Bray is. I was 
 brought up in a gray, chilling atmosphere. I had no 
 father or mother, or sisters or brothers. I lived 
 alone with an aunt an old maid of a most pro- 
 nounced type." 
 
 She stopped and looked around the circle as 
 though trying to find response of some kind in the 
 eyes which surrounded her. But none came. The 
 women had resumed their sewing; were looking up 
 at her at intervals with an air of polite attention a 
 little dashed with question. Miss Storrow went on : 
 " I don't remember any color in my childhood or in 
 my young girlhood any color of any description. 
 By color, I mean, actual color and a lot else besides 
 books, pictures, music, the theater, dancing; and, 
 
248 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 above all, beautiful clothes and the admiration of the 
 other sex." 
 
 Again she paused. Again she sought the circle of 
 eyes. And now, that interest which she awaited 
 began to shine through the frigid civility of their ex- 
 pressions. 
 
 " I never went to parties or to the theater. I never 
 had men call on me. I don't ever remember ever 
 wearing a dress that wasn't a drab horror. I don't 
 remember ever having anybody tell me how to do 
 my hair. Or what colors became me. And yet I 
 loved beauty. Oh, how I loved beauty! How 1 
 
 longed for a mere brilliant, red hair-ribbon At 
 
 eighteen, I was the ugliest, lankiest, most colorless, 
 most awkward, most uninteresting creature that you 
 ever saw in your life. And then, at the precise 
 moment, I complicated matters by falling in love 
 with Jerry." 
 
 She paused for the third time. And now, definite 
 interest broke out in involuntary movements among 
 her listeners. They dropped their sewing. They 
 stared at her frankly astonished. 
 
 " Of course, I don't have to tell you that, I being 
 the kind of girl I was, Jerry was the handsomest, 
 ablest, most popular man in town. He had all the 
 charms and all the accomplishments proper to young 
 manhood. I fell in love with him in direct proportion 
 to the degree of his attractiveness. I knew him but 
 
THE VAMP 249 
 
 I had never really talked with him. He knew me 
 but he had never really looked at me. It was not to 
 be expected that he would ; for every beautiful young 
 thing in Bray was ready to fall like a ripe peach into 
 his hand." She broke off suddenly to ask, " Are 
 we likely to be interrupted here, Mrs. Warbur- 
 ton?" 
 
 u No," Phoebe answered. " I never receive call- 
 ers on the Sewing-Club day." 
 
 " Oh, in that case " Miss Storrow's voice 
 
 tapered off into silence. She put her hands to her 
 ears; removed the jade earrings. Quite calmly, she 
 began to take the hairpins out of her hair. 
 
 Nobody spoke. Her audience watched, petrified. 
 
 After a few seconds, Miss Storrow resumed her 
 narrative. But all the time, her fingers were travel- 
 ing with a flashing white swiftness through the flat 
 masses of her dusky hair. The pile of shell hairpins 
 grew on one end of the table, and presently a tiny 
 mound of invisible wire hairpins joined them. 
 
 " I was awfully conscious under my shy awkard- 
 ness that I was a complete failure in every way in 
 which a girl can be a failure. And I was very rebel- 
 lious about it. One day I don't know quite how it 
 occurred to me to wonder if that failure were neces- 
 sary. There were half a dozen girls in Bray who 
 were extraordinarily successful socially and great 
 favorites with the men. I began to watch those girls. 
 
250 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 I studied them with a closeness, a particularity, a con- 
 stancy which only a woman, dissatisfied, unhappy 
 and slightly jealous could study her own sex. And 
 do you know, I came to the conclusion that much of 
 it was the result of system. Not all! There are 
 some women who are born to conquer. It's natural 
 with them. They don't have to think of it. But with 
 the rest, it is a system. And I think I discovered that 
 system. Perhaps I didn't. Perhaps I'm like those 
 people who think they can break the bank of Monte 
 Carlo, try it and fail. But anyway I was convinced 
 that I'd found it, and I was perfectly certain that I 
 could put it into operation. But I had to go to a 
 place where nobody knew anything about me. And 
 it was necessary to have the ground laid and every- 
 thing prepared for me." 
 
 By this time, all the pins had emerged from her 
 hair. A curious figure, in the midst of its shining tor- 
 rent, she sat for a moment silent. 
 
 " I came into a small legacy a few months ago. 
 Instead of putting it to a useful purpose, I decided 
 I would use it proving my point. I had one friend 
 one true friend Alice Robinson. I went to Alice 
 and told her my entire plan. I said to her, l There's 
 only one way in which you can help me, Alice, and 
 that is to send a letter to your friends in the East 
 warning them against me as a flirt.' That was the 
 letter you received from her." Miss Storrow 
 
THE VAMP 251 
 
 addressed herself directly to Mrs. Meredith. " I 
 know because I wrote it." 
 
 " So I came East I went to New York and spent 
 one solid month just buying clothes the clothes I'd 
 always wanted and never had. I studied those 
 clothes down to the finest detail. I said to myself, 
 1 Every time I enter a room, it's going to be as though 
 the lights were suddenly turned on ! ' A clever hair- 
 dresser experimented one whole morning, trying to 
 find the most striking way to do my hair. I went to 
 a beauty shop and paid them to teach me how to use 
 cosmetics." 
 
 Suddenly Miss Storrow lifted the mass of hanging 
 hair; submitted it to a few slashing strokes of a side 
 comb; pulled it straight back from her forehead. 
 With a few lithe turns of her hands, she coiled it into 
 a stiff, hard knot; pegged it down. "Ladies," she 
 continued, " behold the original Sibyl Storrow." 
 
 The metamorphosis was a curious one. The 
 picturesqueness which the flat curved black loops had 
 given to a rather pale face, had entirely disappeared. 
 Her features were without distinction. Her eyes 
 had no beauty to help in illumination. With the 
 earrings gone, she had turned ordinary. 
 
 The six women stared at her fascinated. 
 
 " You see, I felt if I could come, with all this prep- 
 aration of clothes and cosmetics, into a community 
 which had been warned of my flirtatious habits, I 
 
THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 could pull off a sensation. And I did it." She 
 paused again; then, " Didn't I? " she demanded. 
 
 Phoebe was the first to recover. " You certainly 
 did." 
 
 " I might say that I don't expect you women to 
 forgive me," Miss Storrow went on with a smile 
 which was very different from her premeditated vam- 
 pire sparkle. " But I know that you are going to do 
 it. The instant I laid my eyes on you, I knew you to 
 be a dandy gang of girls. You don't know how 
 much I hated flirting with your husbands. But it had 
 to be done." 
 
 Mrs. Meredith smiled. " Yes, I see that." 
 
 " What you don't understand is what hard work 
 it was. It really was the hardest kind of hard work. 
 I made a discovery, and I think I have proved it. 
 That discovery is that any woman of intelligence can 
 be a vamp if she will give her whole attention to it 
 and keep on the job every instant. She's got to 
 ignore other women entirely, of course; ride rough- 
 shod over their feelings; behave exactly as if they 
 weren't there. She's got to devote herself to the men 
 all the time. If they start to draw away, she" must 
 leap on them like a lion on its prey. Almost any 
 woman who is willing to give all her time to it can do 
 this. But, I reiterate, it's hard work. I have never 
 slaved so in my life. And now I'm going back to 
 Bray " 
 
THE VAMP 253 
 
 " But not before you lengthen your stay," Phoebe 
 interposed. u And give us a chance to get really 
 acquainted with you. Won't you come here to visit 
 me?" 
 
 " If I'll give her up," Mrs. Meredith put in gal- 
 lantly. 
 
 " Perhaps we can share her," Phoebe decided it. 
 
 " Are you going back to Bray," Mrs. Brodbeck 
 demanded, fascinated, " to dazzle, enchant, and 
 enslave ? " 
 
 "Precisely that!" Miss Storrow admitted. 
 " Within three days I shall be the talk of the town. 
 Those earrings might just as well be rings of electric 
 lights. That lip stick might just as well be a stick 
 of dynamite. For the first time in its history, Bray'll 
 know I'm there." 
 
 " And Jerry? " Mrs. Day queried. 
 
 Miss Storrow meditated a moment. And as she 
 meditated, involuntarily, she pulled her hair into long 
 flat loops on her brow; caught them there with invis- 
 ible pins. That feat accomplished, she sought the lip 
 stick, mechanically applied it. " Yes Jerry. I don't 
 know whether I want to marry Jerry or not now. My 
 ideas have enlarged. I've seen so many fine men in 
 the meantime. But if I still like him, Jerry is 
 doomed. I suppose in that case he'll propose to me 
 in about a month after I get home." 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 PHOEBE DISCOVERS HER SON 
 
 WHERE is Edward?" Ernest asked Phoebe. 
 " I wanted to tell him He isn't so 
 
 much interested in the tournament this year, is he? 
 He doesn't care so much for tennis as he did, does 
 he?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know,'* Phoebe said in a tone that 
 held a challenge to argument. " I think he's as much 
 interested as any of the other boys. Of course, los- 
 ing in both singles and doubles early in the tourna- 
 ment has made some difference." 
 
 Ernest did not seem to hear that argumentative 
 note in his sister's voice. His eyes beat back and 
 forth over the wide, open green space between the 
 big, comfortable, yellow-and-white Colonial house 
 and the big, roomy, weather-beaten Colonial barn. 
 The brown rectangles of the two tennis courts only 
 partially filled that space. A match of boys' doubles, 
 Toland and Jim Connors against Tom Furey and 
 Hammond Halliway, was proceeding on one ; mixed 
 doubles on the others. Both matches were fringed 
 with groups of children. The girls sat primly on the 
 roofed-over, vine-covered settees at either side. To- 
 
 254 
 
PHOEBE DISCOVERS HER SON 255 
 
 gather, Bertha-Elizabeth and Cely Connors, middy- 
 bloused and taut-tressed in duplicate, with ties, belts, 
 stockings of the same daring scarlet, awaited, racket 
 in hand, the call to the girls' doubles. The boys 
 sprawled on the barbarically-colored Indian blankets 
 that dotted the grass ; or they clung to the big gray- 
 lichened rocks that, with an agreeable irregularity, 
 thrust themselves out of the earth. Almost as 
 crowded, grown people sat under awnings, brilliantly 
 striped, in hammocks, vividly cushioned, and on 
 steamer-chairs, gorgeously dotted, on the barn- 
 piazza. At the back of the house, peaceably distant 
 from the noise, a few black-silk old ladies wandered 
 in Phoebe's garden, now a futuristic welter of dah- 
 lias and asters. 
 
 No more than he caught the question in his sister's 
 voice did Ernest seem to see the changing colorful 
 scene over which his eyes wandered. " I think Jim 
 Connors is going to get the cup all right," he said, 
 mechanically. His eyes fixed for an instant on Tug, 
 who, tilted back to a perilous angle in a chair placed 
 on a table, was umpiring the doubles. At his side 
 was a pail of apples. At regular piston-rod intervals, 
 Tug's arm dropped to it; seized an apple; demol- 
 ished it in a half-dozen bites. With the same intent, 
 unseeing look, Ernest followed the progress of a pair 
 of maids who, carrying big glass pitchers foaming 
 with milk, emerged from the house and made 
 
256 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 towards the barn. ;< This is the third year he 
 keeps the cup this time, doesn't he? " 
 
 " Yes," Phoebe answered. " Oh yes, Jim will win 
 all right." A protracted rally brought forth a storm 
 of applause, derisive yells, jeers ; shouts of approval, 
 cheers. Phoebe waited until it died down. " He's a 
 real tennis player, Tug says. Tug thinks he may be 
 a champion some day." She stopped to laugh a little. 
 " Micah's suddenly got ambitious; he practises day 
 and night. He's playing now with Michael Connors 
 in the other court. Do stop to watch him, Ern. He 
 isn't any taller than his racket." 
 
 " Well, I guess I must be going." Ernest's look 
 left the two maids, slid back to his brother-in-law, 
 who was again reaching down into the pail of apples. 
 He transferred his gaze to the grown-up group 
 about him. 
 
 It was a clear calm day in late September, so sunny 
 that, beyond the shade of the piazza, parasols bub- 
 bled in all the colors of the rainbow and so cool that, 
 within that shade, sport-coats and sweaters displayed 
 every variety of stripe and check. The group of 
 women gathered there had the appearance, typical of 
 young mothers in this day, of looking ten years 
 younger than their own mothers at the same age. 
 Short skirts, trim shoes, bare heads, they might have 
 been the sisters of the prim, correct little girls who 
 fringed the tennis courts. 
 
PHOEBE DISCOVERS HER SON 257 
 
 Apparently Ernest's vision registered none of the 
 scene. 
 
 11 Oh, you haven't got to go now, Ern," Phoebe 
 remonstrated. " It's early yet." 
 
 "Guess I'd better. Maybe I'll be back later. 
 Good-by, Phoebe. Good-by, mother." 
 
 " Good-by, Ernie," Mrs. Martin said. " Bring 
 Sylvia back with you." 
 
 " Yes, that's what I'm going home for," Ernest 
 replied. 
 
 She watched her son's tall straight figure pick its 
 way through the groups of children. " Ernie won't 
 be content until he goes home after Sylvia. He's 
 always wanting her to be in everything. He's a little 
 worried over her," she explained. " He thinks she 
 isn't quite as strong as she should be after the birth 
 of little Sylvia. And he's so foolish, because she's all 
 right." 
 
 " Worried! " Phoebe exclaimed. " What makes 
 you think he's worried, mother? Sylvia's perfectly 
 well. The doctor says she couldn't be in better con- 
 dition. Has he said anything? " 
 
 " No," Mrs. Martin answered. " He hasn't said 
 a word. In fact when he's with me, he makes a point 
 of being particularly cheerful." 
 
 " How did you know it, then? " inquired the tall, 
 keen, whimsical-faced gentleman who was Phoebe's 
 father-in-law. 
 
258 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " I don't exactly know how I know, Mr. Warbur- 
 ton," Mrs. Martin confessed. " But Ernie can't fool 
 me and never could. I know what he's thinking and 
 that's all there is to it." 
 
 " It's that female business of intuition again," haz- 
 arded Mr. Warburton semi-humorously. " You can 
 
 always Pretty play! Tom Furey's game is 
 
 improving. If Jim doesn't look out, Mrs. Connors, 
 
 Tom will steal that cup away from him That 
 
 intuition of theirs is the most puzzling thing about 
 women. A man doesn't know what it is, or where it 
 is, or why it is, or how she comes by it, or where it 
 will manifest itself. All he knows is that she's got 
 it and he hasn't. And it's something he can't under- 
 stand or beat." 
 
 " I don't know that I have so much intuition," 
 Mrs. Martin stated cautiously, " except where my 
 children are concerned." 
 
 " Oh, it's particularly in regard to children," Mr. 
 Warburton elucidated, " that it appears. I've always 
 noticed that my wife knew everything that was going 
 on in Tug's mind long before I knew there was any- 
 thing going on there." 
 
 " Oh, so far as their children are concerned," 
 
 burst in Phoebe, " women When I was a girl, 
 
 Mother Martin used to make me so mad! I never 
 could conceal a thing from her. She seemed to read 
 what was going on in my mind just as if it were a 
 
PHOEBE DISCOVERS HER SON 259 
 
 newspaper. I couldn't understand how she did it 
 until I had children of my own. Then suddenly I 
 found I had developed another sense by which I 
 could gather what they were thinking." 
 
 " One way I could always tell when Phoebe was 
 worried or blue or put out," Mrs. Martin smiled rem- 
 iniscently, " was that suddenly, for no reason what- 
 ever, she'd dress up in all her best things. Many's 
 the time she's come marching into the house, looking 
 very much worked-up or very depressed over some- 
 thing. She'd go upstairs for awhile and when she 
 came down, she'd have on everything she could put 
 on. I wouldn't know sometimes, for a long while, 
 what it was all about, although in the end generally 
 I'd find out. But she never can fool me about her 
 state of mind. Never." 
 
 " Don't you be so sure I can't," Phoebe warned 
 her mother. " You must remember that having chil- 
 dren of my own has made a very foxy critter out of 
 me. I may put something over on you yet." 
 
 " I don't expect you'll ever do that, Phoebe," Mrs. 
 Brodbeck remarked. " I'd hate to try to beat 
 your mother's game. She gets things through her 
 pores." 
 
 " Mrs. Warburton," said Miss Darling, who was 
 Mrs. Brodbeck's guest, " hasn't your estate grown 
 since I was here some years ago? I don't remember 
 that your land extended to the corner. Of course 
 
26o THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 that was before I went to Europe and my memory 
 is a little vague " 
 
 ' You are quite right," Phoebe answered. " Mr. 
 Warburton was so afraid that this lot would be sold 
 and people would build too close, that he gave 
 it to me for a birthday gift. At first, I had rather 
 romantic plans. I was going to take the old barn 
 down and put in an Italian garden sunk below the 
 level of the street, with stone seats and a fountain 
 and a sundial and a birds' bath and all the usual 
 things. But finally, I thought I owed it to the chil- 
 dren to make a good play place for them. So I kept 
 the old barn and added two tennis courts." 
 
 " As I remember," Miss Darling said, half closing 
 her sharp eyes, u it was a mass of weeds and 
 bushes." 
 
 " I should say it was," Phoebe agreed. " But oh, it 
 was such fun clearing it up. As we cut down the 
 bushes, all those beautiful rocks came into sight. 
 Some of them had the most lovely lichens on them. 
 At first if any of them scraped off, I used to go out 
 and glue them on again. But I soon got over that 
 habit with the kind of family mine is. But the great 
 discovery was the little pond, way down at the corner 
 in the back. I'd never had the remotest suspicion 
 that there was one there. Of course, the children 
 knew about it, but they had never happened to men- 
 tion it. It seems that Bertha-Elizabeth waded 
 
PHOEBE DISCOVERS HER SON 261 
 
 through it one day in her bathing suit, to see how 
 deep it was. It only came to her waist. My blood 
 ran cold when she told me that. I'd a vision of her 
 getting caught in the mud." 
 
 " Does it dry up in the summer?" Miss Darling 
 asked. 
 
 " No, it seems to be fed by springs. We planted 
 pond-lilies and forget-me-nots about the edge. It's 
 really quite lovely in the summer." 
 
 " Especially when I cover it with kerosene oil 
 to kill the mosquitoes," interpolated Tug, who had 
 come forward in the rest between matches. 
 
 " The barn must be a beauty," Miss Darling said. 
 " I'm going over and look at it later." 
 
 " It's one of the most beautiful old barns in the 
 region," Phoebe declared. u Oh, when I think that 
 I might have sold it or, worse, had it pulled 
 
 down But my guardian angel saved me from 
 
 that sacrilege. I had those dormer-windows put in; 
 gymnasium upstairs; kitchen downstairs. Then 
 Mrs. Connors and I got up cooking classes for the 
 little girls in the neighborhood. The girls are al- 
 ways making candy there. On Saturdays they often 
 cook their own lunch. The gymnasium is pretty nice, 
 too. Tug took care of that. The children keep 
 many of their toys over there; and all the tennis 
 things. And on rainy days, when the whole neigh- 
 borhood calls, I have no confusion in the house/ 1 
 
262 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " It's been a blessing to us! " Mrs. Connors said. 
 " My Jim would never have had the chance to play 
 tennis if Mrs. Warburton hadn't made it so that he 
 could. My Cely plays very well, too." 
 
 " Well, I certainly gave myself a perpetual birth- 
 day gift," Phoebe declared. " It has brought the 
 greatest happiness to both Tug and me to be sur- 
 rounded by so many children all the time. Oh, 
 there's Miss Sharp ! " she exclaimed, inconsequently, 
 
 " I suppose she's come about I wonder if this 
 
 water is ever going to boil ! " She busied herself at 
 the capacious table. 
 
 That table, a permanent part of the piazza fur- 
 nishing, was as big as a kitchen table, the top glass- 
 covered. On it stood a brass samovar and files of 
 cups in a durable, primitively-colored peasant ware. 
 Sandwiches piled platters; cookies and crackers 
 filled Indian baskets. 
 
 ;< Well, even electricity isn't quick enough for me," 
 said Mrs. Brodbeck, " I'm simply perishing for my 
 
 tea." 
 
 " It will be ready in a minute," Phoebe explained 
 absently. " I thought I'd turned the electricity on, 
 but I hadn't. I suppose Miss Sharp has come 
 
 to " She fixed her eyes on the approaching 
 
 figure. 
 
 Of a thin willowyness, of an anemic blondness, 
 Miss Sharp's elaborate dressing combined the faults 
 
PHOEBE DISCOVERS HER SON 263 
 
 most unhappy for her particular type ; skirts too long, 
 hat too broad and both with too much trimming. 
 Everything about her sagged and flopped. Phoebe, 
 herself, for trimness and trigness, made a marked 
 contrast. Her simple navy-blue gown was as short, 
 her slim white boots as high, as fashion permitted. 
 She wore a long cherry-colored silk sweater, tied with 
 a sash in front. Her hair was fluttery with light 
 and shade. Her color, under her vigorous summer 
 tan, was vivid and stable. She arose to greet Miss 
 Sharp. 
 
 " I've come about Children's Day, Mrs. Warbur- 
 ton," Miss Sharp explained. " Is Edward here?" 
 
 44 No," Phoebe answered. " I don't know exactly 
 where he is." 
 
 " He doesn't seem so much interested in tennis this 
 year," Miss Sharp commented. u He was just filled 
 with it last year at this time." 
 
 44 Oh, I think he is," Phoebe answered with a sug- 
 gestion of curtness. 44 You see, he lost in both the 
 singles and doubles early in the tournament. So of 
 course he doesn't have to stay about." 
 
 ' 4 I met Edward just as I was coming in the gate," 
 Mrs. Martin interrupted. 4C He asked me if I would 
 give him a jar of my apple jelly and piccalilli. Of 
 course I said I would but what on earth does he 
 want them for? " 
 
 44 Oh, I suppose he's going on another picnic with 
 
264 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 Freddie Freeman," Phoebe replied. " Yesterday he 
 asked me for a jar of strawberry jam. They're 
 always going off into the woods together, and this is 
 probably their last chance this season. The gypsies 
 break camp in a few days, I believe." 
 
 " He was just getting on his wheel," Mrs. Martin 
 continued, " when he stopped me. He was headed 
 for the camp. How long have those gypsies been 
 coming to Maywood, Mr. Warburton? They've 
 never missed a summer since we've been here." 
 
 " Over a hundred years," Mr. Warburton replied. 
 " I can't remember a time when they didn't come. 
 My father couldn't, for that matter. The two events 
 of the year in my boyhood were when they opened 
 camp in the spring and broke camp in the fall." 
 
 11 I used to be frightened to death of the gypsies 
 when I was a little girl," Phoebe said. " We had a 
 maid once you remember that red-headed Delia, 
 mother who used to threaten to give me away to the 
 gypsies when I was bad. She said they would take 
 me off and never bring me back again. If I thought 
 any of my maids were frightening my children like 
 
 that So of course I was just as afraid of them 
 
 as I could be. When we used to drive past them with 
 you and father in the carryall Carryall! Good- 
 ness, how mid-Victorian that sounds I used to 
 crouch down between you two, hoping they wouldn't 
 see me. But my children seem to be crazy about 
 
PHOEBE DISCOVERS HER SON 265 
 
 them. Of course the boys would be. But even 
 Bertha-Elizabeth is always buying baskets of them. 
 And Hope waves to them whenever we drive by. As 
 
 for Edward Well, the sun rises and sets in 
 
 Freddie Freeman for him." 
 
 " The same with my Jim," said Mrs. Connors, 
 " and young Joe Monahan. They're bewitched by 
 him. Young Freddie has a bold kind of a way with 
 him." 
 
 " Edward is lengthening out," Mrs. Martin com- 
 mented to her daughter and to Mr. Warburton, 
 under cover of a clatter of conversation. ;t With 
 that slim figure and that heavy hair, there's some- 
 thing almost girlish about him, isn't there? " 
 
 14 It hasn't occurred to me," Phoebe answered 
 carelessly. " I suppose he looks about as Ernest did 
 at that age." Although she appeared not to take 
 any special interest in the subject, her voice held a 
 real question. 
 
 " No, I don't think he does," Mrs. Martin 
 remarked vaguely. " Ernie was always a great, big, 
 heavy boy. I don't think he was ever what you might 
 call so refined-looking as Edward. Ernie was such 
 an out-of-doors boy and so fond of sports and, oh 
 dear me, so untidy always. Edward is a regular 
 Martin, though." 
 
 Phoebe pursued the subject, but still with the air 
 of one who makes conversation. " I suppose Edward 
 
266 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 looks about as Tug did," she said to her father-in- 
 law. 
 
 " I don't seem to recall what Tug looked like," 
 Mr. Warburton mused, " but his trouble ran the 
 other way. I was always afraid he was going to be 
 fat. Didn't seem to bother his mother, as I remem- 
 ber." 
 
 " I'm glad Edward is slim," Miss Sharp came 
 into the conversation. " I particularly want him to 
 be as slim as possible. You see, I'm going to make 
 Children's Day a harvest home festival this year. 
 I've found the dearest little dialogue that's just suited 
 to my class. All about the harvest and it's being 
 grown from little seeds planted in the spring, and 
 how our lives should be a harvest grown from seeds 
 planted in our childhood. I want Edward to take 
 the principal part. It requires some one particularly 
 well aesthetic-looking like Edward. I think I 
 shall have him wear long trailing draperies of green 
 with an orange-colored hat, shaped like a pumpkin, 
 and I'll have him carry a sheaf of wheat." 
 
 " That will be very pretty," Phoebe said civilly. 
 
 " Yes, Edward will be too sweet for words," Miss 
 Sharp prophesied. " I'm glad his hair is so long and 
 wavy; please, dear Mrs. Warburton, don't have it 
 cut before Children's Day." She fumbled in the long 
 bead bag she carried. 
 
PHOEBE DISCOVERS HER SON 267 
 
 Phoebe did not speak for an instant. But her teeth 
 caught first on her lower, then on her upper lip. In 
 the pause came confusion, as one set completed itself 
 and new players filed onto the court. Then, " I have 
 him wear his hair a little long because his ears stick 
 out so, when it's short," she explained. 
 
 " I've copied all the parts," Miss Sharp went on, 
 " and I think Edward had better begin studying at 
 once. His is the longest. You see, all the other 
 characters address questions to him, and he explains 
 the principle of the harvest to them. He will have 
 to carry .the whole thing. But then, of course, I've 
 always depended on Edward to do that he seems 
 so much older than the rest." 
 
 She put the typewritten manuscript on the table 
 and accepted the cup of tea which Phoebe handed 
 her. 
 
 " I'll begin with Edward at once," Phoebe said, 
 sliding a cup under the spigot of the samovar. 
 
 ' You're awfully kind," Miss Sharp murmured, 
 " as always. I do think it's so wonderful of you and 
 Mr. Warburton to hold this tournament here every 
 Fall not to speak of letting anybody play on the 
 courts. And then, if that wasn't enough, to offer cups 
 really, I think you two people are wonders." 
 
 " You wouldn't think so," Phoebe affirmed, " if 
 you knew how much fun we get out of it." 
 
268 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 14 Well, if I can trespass further on your hospital- 
 ity," Miss Sharp continued, " I'd like to hold the re- 
 hearsals here." 
 
 " Of course. Any time. The nursery is always 
 at your disposal," Phoebe asserted. 
 
 " Oh, thank you again," Miss Sharp said ef- 
 fusively. 
 
 " Here's Edward now," exclaimed Mrs. Martin. 
 
 Phoebe, still busy at the tea-table, appeared not 
 to hear her mother. But after a while, her eyes 
 raised, watched the boy who was approaching with a 
 look singularly intent. 
 
 He was a tall, slender lad. He had the appear- 
 ance, common to many boys of his age, of being on 
 the verge of shooting out of his clothes. He seemed 
 to grow under your eye. Also, a little, he had the air 
 of a machine whose parts have been selected with- 
 out reference to each other. His nose seemed too 
 big for his face, his head too heavy for his neck, 
 his arms and legs too long for his body. This sud- 
 den disproportion had the effect of breaking into 
 what had been a beautiful childish symmetry, in 
 which the clear gray eyes, shot with gold, and the 
 soft red mouth, enclosing glittering teeth, had per- 
 fectly matched a smaller nose; in which head and 
 limbs had perfectly matched a slender torso. His 
 skin was white. His heavy hair, chestnut in the sun, 
 broke into big waves; it was a little long. 
 
PHOEBE DISCOVERS HER SON 269 
 
 He stopped at a group of boys, folded up on the 
 ground beside them to a bunch of sharp angles. 
 
 " Edward," Phoebe called in a voice singularly 
 penetrating, " come here." 
 
 The sharp angles straightened out. Edward 
 walked to his mother's side, stood waiting. His 
 look, which had carried an element of resolved 
 eagerness, changed subtly as he surveyed the people 
 on the barn piazza; it became impassive. "Son," 
 Phoebe informed him, " Miss Sharp has just brought 
 the dialogue that your Sunday school class is to do 
 on Children's Day. You will wear green robes and 
 an orange-colored hat, shaped like a pumpkin, and 
 you will carry a sheaf of wheat." She watched him 
 intently as she made this announcement. 
 
 Edward shifted his weight from one foot to the 
 other. There was no lightening, rather there was a 
 deepening of the impassivity in his look. "Yes; 
 Miss Sharp told me last Sunday," he said. " Can 
 I have some cake ? " 
 
 1 Yes. But first, run into the house and tell Norah 
 that, when the baby wakes up, she can bring her out 
 here. Then you and Bertha-Elizabeth can begin to 
 pour the milk into the glasses. Ask Cely to help 
 you and Perry and Lawrence. Pass the sand- 
 wiches first, and after everybody's had some, the 
 cookies and cakes." 
 
270 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " I think I'll be going," Miss Sharp announced, 
 " I've got to see some more mothers today. Sup- 
 pose we say we'll have a rehearsal here after school 
 Monday. Good-by, Mrs. Warburton. Good-by, 
 everybody! " She arose. 
 
 Phoebe's eyes followed the ungraceful figure as it 
 manoeuvered its way among the groups of children, 
 stopped at Tug's side where he sat, still eating 
 apples. 
 
 The afternoon wore on. Phoebe poured cup after 
 cup of tea; until Mrs. Brodbeck insisted on taking 
 her place. The children ate sandwiches and drank 
 milk. Comely buxom Irish Norah came out, carrying 
 Hope ; the sleep-scarlet still on her round cheeks and 
 the sleep-stars still in her blue eyes; her golden curls 
 bobbing to Norah's buoyant walk. The baby sub- 
 mitted placidly to her mother's flurry of kisses; to 
 being passed from lap to lap until she reached her 
 final haven in Norah's arms. A girls' doubles fol- 
 lowed the boys' doubles, and Cely and Bertha-Eliza- 
 beth were ignominiously beaten. A boys' singles 
 went on simultaneously, and little Micah, slim and 
 dark and as incisively cut as a boy-Indian, developed 
 an unexpected cool skill; won brilliantly amidst 
 laughter and applause. But through it all through 
 even her son's victory Phoebe remained a little 
 distraite. 
 
PHOEBE DISCOVERS HER SON 271 
 
 Phoebe walked slowly into the house after all her 
 guests had gone. She fussed with books and maga- 
 zines at the big center table; made a preoccupied at- 
 tempt at putting them 1 in order; desisted suddenly; 
 fell to pacing the floor. Abruptly she stopped at 
 one of the long mirrors which faced each other from 
 the ends of the room. A definite look of unease in 
 her eyes grew to a question. The gray eyes in the 
 glass interrogated her sharply. After a moment of 
 hesitation in which she did not answer that question, 
 she went to the foot of the stairs and called Edward. 
 She called half a dozen times and with a rising em- 
 phasis before he answered her. " I was up in the 
 attic, mother, and I didn't hear you at first," he ex- 
 plained finally from over the banister. 
 
 " Come down, son," she commanded, " I want to 
 read that Children's Day dialogue to you." 
 
 " Yes, mother," Edward answered docilely. He 
 clumped down the stairs and sprawled, like a dis- 
 jointed bundle of arms and legs, on the couch beside 
 her. Without comment, Phoebe read the dialogue 
 from beginning to end. Edward listened without a 
 ripple of that impassivity which still hung on him. 
 Phoebe waited, after she had finished, as if expecting 
 something. But Edward made no comment. 
 
 " Now you read it, son," she said at last, " I want 
 to see if you understand it." 
 
 Edward droned his way through the entire dia- 
 
272 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 logue. Phoebe corrected a pronunciation here, an 
 inflection there. She made him repeat long passages 
 phrase by phrase. Again when they had finished, 
 she waited. Nothing came. " How do you like it, 
 son? " she asked at last. 
 
 " Oh, pretty good," Edward answered noncom- 
 mittally. 
 
 " I guess you'd better take it upstairs into your 
 room and study a little before dinner," Phoebe com- 
 manded in impatient tones. 
 
 " All right, mother," Edward agreed stolidly. 
 
 Alone in the living-room, Phoebe resumed her 
 restless pacing up and down. Once she stopped to 
 stare out the window over the deserted tennis courts 
 to where her husband busied himself with nets and 
 rackets, making order of the confused barn-piazza. 
 And once again, she stopped at the mirror to examine 
 the look of trouble which filled her eyes. 
 
 Suddenly she dashed upstairs to her room. There 
 her restlessness concentrated in a frenzy of action. 
 She turned both faucets on in the bathtub and while 
 the water rose to a steaming height, she laid out on 
 the bed an elaborate set of rose-pink underwear, 
 rose-pink silk stockings, rose-pink satin slippers, with 
 big scintillating buckles; an evening dress of rose- 
 pink; a fluttery iridescent ornament for her hair. 
 
 " My word! " Tug exclaimed later when he en- 
 tered the house. " Do you want to put my eye out, 
 
PHOEBE DISCOVERS HER SON 273 
 
 woman ? What a gorgeousness ! Company ? Or 
 don't tell me we're going out somewhere." 
 
 " Neither," Phoebe answered briefly. " I just felt 
 like putting on something pretty after being out in 
 the open air all the afternoon." 
 
 Tug groaned in a rapture of relief. " That was 
 a horrid moment ! I don't want to wander one inch 
 from my own fireside this evening. But you certainly 
 are some peach ! Why don't you dress up like this 
 every evening? That is, if you won't expect me to 
 climb into evening clothes. Isn't that a new dress? " 
 
 " Oh, Tug! " Phoebe ejaculated. " Don't you 
 know that this is my old pink-and-gold that I had 
 three years ago, made over? Madame Rosalie fixed 
 it up with these maline wings and that cloth of gold 
 girdle." 
 
 " It's a perfect pip ! " approved Tug. " Oh say, 
 what's Edward's Sunday-school teacher's name?" 
 
 " Miss Sharp." 
 
 " Sharp ! Sure. It ought to be Flat. I never can 
 think of that girl's name. She's one of those people 
 that you forget all about until you see them again. 
 She stopped beside me, while I was umpiring, to bore 
 me with a long account of a dialogue Edward's to 
 take part in. Seems to me he's pretty big for that 
 sort of thing, isn't he? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know that he is," Phoebe said in a 
 formal tone. 
 
274 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " How old is he? " Tug inquired. 
 
 " Oh, Tug! " Phoebe exclaimed impatiently, " do 
 you mean to tell me you don't know how old Edward 
 is?" 
 
 " Sure I know," Tug asserted trenchantly. 
 " Ten." 
 
 " Twelve ! " Phoebe corrected him in a resigned 
 tone. " Now let me set you right about your chil- 
 dren, Tug." 
 
 She recited the statistics with true maternal ac- 
 curacy and speed. " Haven't you the mental 
 capacity to hold those simple arithmetical facts?" 
 
 " I could if they would only stay those ages," 
 Tug defended himself, " but they won't. You mark 
 my words, a year from now it will all be different. 
 It's been like that right along, ever since they were 
 born. But really, Phoebe, I think Edward is too big 
 for this Sunday school dialogue business. That Miss 
 Sharp geewhillikins, how I despise that girl! de- 
 scribed in great detail a foolish costume he is to 
 wear. And, believe me, if anybody had ever at- 
 tempted to dress me up like that when I was Ed- 
 ward's age, I'd have committed arson on the family- 
 roof." 
 
 " I'm glad my son doesn't have such such 
 fiendish impulses," Phoebe declared frostily. " I 
 disagree with you entirely." 
 
 "Well, all right! It's up to you. You're his 
 
PHOEBE DISCOVERS HER SON 275 
 
 mother." Tug dismissed the subject blithely. " I'd 
 hate to have a son that was a sissy, though." 
 
 " I don't think you need worry about that," 
 Phoebe maintained with extreme hauteur. 
 
 She did not take up the subject again with her 
 husband. But that night, when her mother-in-law 
 dropped in for a brief call, she remarked casually, 
 " Dear me, I never saw anything like the way Ed- 
 ward is shooting up. He outgrows his clothes al- 
 most while they're trying them on. He must be 
 taller than Tug was at that age." 
 
 Mrs. Warburton answered the question in her 
 voice promptly. " I don't know but what he is. But 
 he's not so big round as Tug was. Edward's much 
 more delicate-looking a much prettier boy if my 
 son will pardon me for saying so." 
 
 " Go as far as you like," Tug reassured his mo- 
 ther. " Can't hurt my feelings by not calling me 
 pretty. For my part, I think Edward is too good- 
 looking." 
 
 " Well, I don't," his mother declared immediately, 
 " although he's a very handsome boy indeed. No, 
 he isn't like Tug at that age. He's a regular War- 
 burton though, if I do say it. I do like that aesthetic 
 air he has. There's nothing rude or rough or coarse 
 about Edward. I can't imagine him getting into a 
 street fight. Tug was as good a boy as any mother 
 would want, but he certainly was not what you'd call 
 
276 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 refined-looking. And then he used to mortify me so 
 much by getting into street fights. There was one 
 time there when there was a different enraged mother 
 coming up to see us every week." 
 
 " Well, nobody ever called me a sissy," Tug 
 growled. 
 
 " I don't think anybody would ever refer to MY son 
 as a sissy," Phoebe remarked. 
 
 " No, he's more a mother's boy'' decided Mrs. 
 Warburton. 
 
 Phoebe turned the subject abruptly and did not 
 refer to it again that evening. But the next after- 
 noon, when her father dropped in for his regular 
 Sunday call, she approached it once more. 
 
 " Does it strike you, father, that Edward is un- 
 usually tall for his age ? " 
 
 " Yes," Mr. Martin answered. " He is getting 
 rather weedy, isn't he? He's the first pretty boy 
 I've ever seen in this family. Must take after the 
 Warburtons; the Martins have never produced any- 
 thing but roughnecks. If this keeps up though 
 there'll be only one job open to Edward movie- 
 star. I don't see how he can possibly succeed in 
 business with those eyelashes." 
 
 Again Phoebe changed the subject abruptly. 
 
 " Oh say, Phoebe ! " Tug broke in. " You must 
 have had a nightmare last night. I' waked up out 
 of a sound sleep suddenly. You were jabbering the 
 
PHOEBE DISCOVERS HER SON 277 
 
 funniest string of stuff something about Edward. 
 I called to you; but before I could get to your room, 
 you had quieted down again." 
 
 " Oh, I remember," Phoebe exclaimed electrically. 
 " Queer, I'd forgotten all about it. Isn't it strange 
 how you do? " Her face took on a reminiscent ex- 
 pression, her voice that softness and slowness with 
 which people recall their dreams. " I thought 
 that Edward was climbing some stairs I could hear 
 his feet on every step there didn't seem to be any 
 end to those stairs they just broke off in space, way, 
 way up and I was afraid he'd plunge headlong off 
 them. That reminds me, I'd better have Edward 
 recite his part in that dialogue." She went to the 
 foot of the stairs. " Edward," she called. She 
 waited. There was no answer. Again and again 
 she called. Still no answer. 
 
 " Did you see Edward go out, Tug? " Phoebe 
 called back into the living-room. 
 
 " No," Tug answered, " I haven't seen him this 
 afternoon. Well, I told For " 
 
 " Just after Sunday school," Phoebe reflected 
 aloud, " he went up to mother's for the jelly and 
 piccalilli she promised him. I'm sure he hasn't gone 
 
 out since." 
 
 ; ' Well, I told Fortescue " Tug began again. 
 
 " Edward! Edward! " Phoebe called in a louder 
 voice. 
 
278 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " I'm coming, mother," Edward's voice answered. 
 " I didn't hear you at first. I was in the attic." 
 
 ' Well, what in the name of goodness are you 
 doing in the attic all the time? " Phoebe demanded 
 impatiently as her son appeared at the head of the 
 stairs. 
 
 " Oh, putting things away in my trunk," Edward 
 said, " things I don't want until next summer." 
 
 " If you would only get rid of all those birds' 
 eggs in your room," Phoebe asserted, " I wouldn't 
 mind if you stayed in the attic all night. But now 
 get your part in the Children's Day dialogue. I 
 want to hear you recite it." 
 
 " Yes, mother," Edward said with his customary 
 docility. 
 
 For an hour Phoebe drilled him. Once she in- 
 terrupted herself to say. " You remember, Edward, 
 you are going to wear a long green robe like a girl 
 and a hat shaped like a pumpkin, and carry a sheaf 
 of wheat." 
 
 " Yes, mother," Edward repeated monotonously. 
 
 " I never listened to such pap in my life," Tug 
 remarked the night of the first rehearsal. " Nobody 
 but that Sharp girl jiminy crickets, how I loathe 
 that female! would ever have picked out such a 
 pail of slush. It's all right for the other children; 
 they're so little. Why, the biggest one, Dottie Brod- 
 
PHOEBE DISCOVERS HER SON 279 
 
 beck, only comes up to Edward's elbow but I hate 
 to hear Edward reciting those silly jingles." 
 
 " I think it's very pretty, Tug," Phoebe asserted 
 in a lofty tone. " The effect of the costumes the 
 silver and black of the others against Edward's green 
 and orange is quite charming, I think." 
 
 " Well, I don't," Tug said. " Edward looks like 
 a fool in that pumpkin hat." 
 
 " I don't agree with you, Tug," remonstrated 
 Mrs. Martin. u Edward is such a pretty boy, he 
 couldn't look like a fool in anything. And he's such 
 a good boy! You don't know what a good boy he 
 is ! I don't know of any boy of his age who would 
 be so gentle with the other children. A lot of boys 
 wouldn't take part with them, and you couldn't make 
 them." 
 
 " Well, I'd respect my son more if he wouldn't," 
 Tug grumbled. " Mollycoddle I " 
 
 " Tug Warburton," Phoebe flashed, " don't you 
 dare call my son a mollycoddle." 
 
 " Say, Phoebe," suddenly exclaimed Tug the next 
 morning at breakfast, " you had that nightmare 
 again last night. Sat up in bed and jabbered the 
 craziest line of stuff I ever heard. All about Ed- 
 ward. You must be working too hard." 
 
 "Working too hard!" Phoebe repeated scath- 
 ingly. " Why, I don't have half enough to do. But 
 
a8o THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 I did have a recurrence of that dream I had the 
 other night. You know the one I told you about 
 it of Edward running up the stairs that ended in 
 space." 
 
 Somewhere in the middle of the night, Phoebe 
 woke out of sleep with a start. She was sitting up- 
 right in bed, staring out through the window onto 
 the blanched moonlit garden. Through the open 
 door that led to Tug's room came the sound of his 
 breathing. Otherwise the house was silent. But 
 Phoebe bent her head to a listening attitude, con- 
 tinued to absorb that stillness, as though hunting for 
 a sound concealed in it. Suddenly she jumped out 
 of bed, stepped into the Chinese slippers which lay 
 at her bedside, slipped into the wadded blue dressing- 
 gown which hung over a nearby chair. She glided 
 quietly through the hall to the foot of the attic 
 stairs. She peered upwards, listening. From above 
 came a faint silvery splash of light. Phoebe waited 
 a moment, and in that moment of intense concentra- 
 tion the clock struck one. Noiselessly she ascended 
 the stairs. 
 
 On his knees on the attic floor, a figure bent over 
 a suitcase. Around it lay a miscellany of uncorre- 
 lated articles, clothes, preserves, a tin of biscuits, 
 a bottle of ginger ale ; a camera, an electric torch, a 
 compass, a magnifying-glass. The figure, pajamas- 
 
PHOEBE DISCOVERS HER SON 281 
 
 clad, was tall and slender. Only the top of the head 
 showed. The hair had recently been cut hacked 
 apparently by some amateur hand to an erratic brev- 
 ity. Phoebe rigid in the doorway surveyed care- 
 fully but swiftly all the details of this picture. Her 
 eyes lingered longest on that chopped head. " What 
 are you doing, Edward? " she asked at last. 
 
 Edward started convulsively. The look of terror 
 that his face turned to her, changed to relief when he 
 met his mother's eyes, then to sullen bravado. " Oh, 
 I was just packing up some things, " he said hoarsely. 
 Still kneeling, he sat backwards on his legs and con- 
 tinued to gaze defiantly up at her. 
 
 " What are you going to do with all those 
 things? " Phoebe demanded. Her eye, roving from 
 her son to the floor, caught on the interior works of 
 a clock, all carefully wrapped in tissue paper; the 
 old revolver that was part of the Warburton stage 
 properties. 
 
 Edward wriggled. " Oh, I was just putting them 
 away for the winter ! " 
 
 " But surely, you weren't putting apple jelly and 
 piccalilli away," Phoebe pursued him remorselessly. 
 
 " Well, I thought I'd give them to Freddie," Ed- 
 ward said after a pause, in which obviously he beat 
 about in his mind for a convincing explanation. 
 
 ' You were going to run away from me, Edward," 
 Phoebe accused him pitilessly. 
 
282 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 Edward shuffled. " Aw no, I wasn't," he denied 
 weakly. 
 
 " Oh yes, you were, Edward," Phoebe renewed 
 the attack. " Don't try to tell me anything different! 
 I know better. Now I see that my son doesn't love 
 me any more. He couldn't " 
 
 Her eye, again wandering, fell on, a new object 
 among the litter on the floor. It was a snapshot of 
 herself, Edward's initial effort with his birthday 
 camera. Phoebe had within a month presented each 
 of her children with a picture of herself a product 
 of the latest and most expensive of Boston's artist- 
 photographers. But apparently Edward preferred 
 the work of his own artistry. Faded in background, 
 the figure taken crookedly, stark in attitude and by 
 some divagation of amateur skill, rendered noseless, 
 Edward had framed it in a hideous brass frame, 
 much too large. 
 
 Phoebe plumped down on the floor beside her son. 
 She drew him into her arms. " Oh, Edward, how 
 could you run away from me ? " she sobbed. 
 " Haven't I been a good mother? Don't you love 
 me?" 
 
 Edward's bosom heaved. But he repressed his 
 own emotion manfully. " Don't cry, mother," he 
 begged. " Of course I do ! But, mother, I will not 
 take part in another dialogue. It makes a feller too 
 ashamed to be all dressed up with a lot of girls like 
 
PHOEBE DISCOVERS HER SON 283 
 
 that. It was fierce last year when I was only eleven. 
 
 But now, I'm twelve Well, mother, I will not 
 
 do it! I won't! I was going to run away with 
 Freddie Freeman. And if you try to make me, I 
 will run away sometime. And I'll keep running 
 away. And you can put me in a reform school, if 
 you want to. I don't care. I won't be in that dia- 
 logue. I won't, I won't, I won't! " 
 
 Phoebe did not lift her head from her son's 
 shoulder. But she smoothed his hot little head. In 
 spots her hands touched the naked scalp; elsewhere 
 it encountered little hard bunches of hair spurting 
 off at stiff angles. 
 
 " You shan't do it, my son," she said. " You 
 shan't. You don't understand. Mother doesn't 
 want you to do anything you hate so. It's only that 
 she didn't realize." 
 
 " Another thing, mother," Edward's voice soft- 
 ened for a moment. Then it went on inflexibly. " I 
 will not wear my hair long any more. Makes me 
 feel fierce. Like a sissy. I've had to lick about 
 steen boys for calling me ' Curly-head ' ! I guess you 
 don't know how mad you get when somebody calls 
 you ' Curly-head.' " 
 
 ' You shall wear your hair just the way you 
 please." Phoebe's muffled tones were very humble. 
 " How do you like it to be cut? " 
 
284 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " Short like a boxer," Edward answered defi- 
 nitely. 
 
 " You shall go to the barber's the first thing to- 
 morrow after breakfast," Phoebe assured him. 
 ' You haven't done it quite right, you see." She 
 held him off at arm's length and looked at 
 him. 
 
 From his cropped head, Edward's ears stood out 
 like bat's wings. The elision of his hair seemed to 
 have wiped out the remaining infantile values in 
 his expression. All its disproportionate qualities 
 were, in an equal ratio, exaggerated. His nose 
 seemed even bigger in comparison with the rest of 
 his features, but it matched the new look in his eyes 
 and on his lips. Nobody could possibly call him " a 
 pretty boy " now. 
 
 When Phoebe reached her room, she turned on 
 the light, stood before the mirror, re-braiding the 
 tumbled amber torrents of her hair. Her eyes 
 showed the signs of weeping, but they shone like wet 
 stars. And all the time, happy smiles kept rippling 
 her lips until her face broke in a big glare of hap- 
 piness. 
 
 u Oh, Tug," Phoebe said casually the next morn- 
 ing at breakfast, "I suppose you were right and I 
 was wrong about Edward's being in that dialogue. 
 We've just had a little talk. Edward says he feels 
 
PHOEBE DISCOVERS HER SON 285 
 
 too big to do that sort of thing, and I told him he 
 needn't." 
 
 Tug beamed. " Good for son! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " I've just written Miss Sharp. And last night he 
 asked me if he could have his hair cut short to his 
 head. It seems he hates it the least bit long." 
 
 " So do I," agreed Tug. 
 
 " He got up at seven to go down to the barber's 
 to get it done." 
 
 " Well, young man, what's become of your hair? " 
 his grandmother Martin exclaimed, when Edward 
 came into the living-room that afternoon after 
 school. 
 
 " Oh, I had it cut this morning," Edward ex- 
 plained simply. " Say, grandmother, your apple 
 jelly was great! I ate the whole jar at recess this 
 morning me and Freddie Freeman." 
 
 " Edward asked me," Phoebe added, as her son 
 left the room, " if he could get out of that dialogue 
 for Children's Day. He said he just hated to do it, 
 and I told him he could." 
 
 " Well now, Phoebe," Mrs. Martin said reassur- 
 ingly, " don't let that worry you. I know exactly 
 how you feel about it. Of course, you'd rather he'd 
 do things- like that and be a credit to you, and of 
 course you'd rather he'd wear his hair the way you 
 like it. And I don't blame you. Any woman would 
 
286 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 feel the way you do. I hadn't realized what promi- 
 nent ears he has. He must take that from the War- 
 burtons. But there comes a time in a boy's life 
 when he wants to dress the way he likes, and noth- 
 ing will change him. I went through it with Ernie, 
 and Mrs. Warburton told me she went through the 
 same thing with Tug. I know just how you feel 
 about it, but there's no use in fretting. They will 
 have their own way about certain things." 
 
 At the end of this speech, Phoebe contemplated 
 her mother for an amazed interval. Suddenly she 
 broke into laughter. " Oh, Mother Martin, I feel 
 as tickled as punch. IVe done it! I've done it! 
 I never thought I could, but I have. I've put some- 
 thing over on you at last! " 
 
CHAPTER X 
 HOW IT CAME 
 
 Mrs. Bassett called here yesterday after- 
 noon, Edward," Mrs. Martin remarked to 
 her husband one morning at breakfast. 
 
 "Why do you say ' old Mrs. Bassett'?" Mr. 
 Martin queried. 
 
 Before she could answer, the telephone, on the 
 table at Mrs. Martin's right, rang. She took up the 
 receiver. " Oh, good morning, Mrs. Martin ! " 
 came from it. " I'm so glad that I got you." 
 
 "Good morning, Mrs. Brodbeck!" Mrs. Mar- 
 tin answered. 
 
 " It's an unearthly hour to telephone, but I simply 
 couldn't let you get away before I'd nailed you. I 
 hope I didn't get you out of bed. I've called you 
 up to ask if you'll serve on that Social Insurance 
 committee ? " 
 
 " I don't want to serve on any committee," Mrs. 
 Martin objected. " I'm awful busy these days just 
 being a happy grandmother." 
 
 " I know you are," Mrs. Brodbeck agreed sym- 
 pathizingly. " But you are the only one that's got 
 
 287 
 
288 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 any hold on the subject. Say yes, please. You're 
 always such a helpful darling! " 
 
 " I suppose I'll have to," Mrs. Martin admitted 
 with resignation. " I've been trembling in my boots 
 for fear this would come." 
 
 "That's a duck!" Mrs. Brodbeck approved. 
 1 You're chairman. Will you have the committee 
 meetings at your house ? The other members are 
 have you a pencil there? " 
 
 " Yes." Mrs. Martin reached for the pad and 
 pencil which hung suspended from the telephone; 
 made a few quick notes. " All right! I'll get them 
 together in a day or two." 
 
 " I was waiting for that," Mrs. Martin continued 
 as though there had been no interruption. " But I 
 used the term what is it they say at the women's 
 club? oh yes, advisedly. I said old because she is 
 old. She was only middle-aged a few months ago. 
 But now she's old." 
 
 "What did it?" Mr. Martin asked, a little 
 absently. His attention seemed concentrated on his 
 grapefruit. 
 
 u I don't know what it was in her case," Mrs. 
 Martin answered in a meditative tone. " But I 
 think it was " Mrs. Martin took up the re- 
 ceiver again at a second sharp ring of the bell. 
 " Oh, Mrs. Martin," came Mrs. Day's fluty voice, 
 "would you give me your rule for mincemeat? 
 
HOW IT CAME 289 
 
 That pie the Sewing-Club had at Phoebe's the other 
 day was so delicious, and Phoebe said it was your 
 recipe that you actually made it for her. If you 
 have any objection to giving it " 
 
 " Of course I haven't! " Mrs. Martin insisted in- 
 dignantly; " and I'll come over and make the first 
 batch for you, if you'd like." 
 
 " Oh, you angel ! " Dolly Day exclaimed. " I'll 
 
 be grateful to you as long as I " 
 
 4 Yes, it was worry," Mrs. Martin took up her 
 conversation just where she left it, " worry over 
 Annette's illness. I have watched so many people 
 take the jump from middle age to old age. And 
 there are so many different ways it is done. Some- 
 times it comes as the result of grief or strain 
 or sickness. Oh, Edward ! " Her voice suddenly 
 developed a note almost youthful in its poignant 
 quality. " How I do hate to grow old! Old age 
 I hate those two words! I have the shivers when- 
 ever I think of them! Old age! How I dread it! 
 Edward, I can't tell you how I dread it." 
 
 Mr. Martin looked at his wife strangely for a 
 moment. Something seemed about to burst from his 
 lips; a something abrupt, sententious, conclusive. 
 But he checked himself; obviously said something 
 that was a substitute. 
 
 * There are other ways in which it conies, besides 
 grief " he began. 
 
 
290 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 But the telephone burred interruption again. 
 "Oh, Mrs. Martin, good morning! I've just had 
 a barrelful of wonderful pine-cones sent me from 
 California the biggest and the most gorgeous ones 
 I've ever seen in my life. I'm sending you over a 
 basketful. They look wonderful heaped on both 
 sides e>f the fireplace. I know you'll love them." 
 
 " You were saying, Edward," Mrs. Martin broke 
 out instantly on the tail of her thanks, " that old age 
 came in other ways besides grief " 
 
 " Or strain or sickness," Mr. Martin ended. 
 
 " Td like to know how," Mrs. Martin demanded 
 after a baffled instant. " What do you mean? " 
 
 " Wait and see," Mr. Martin admonished. 
 
 " Perhaps it isn't old age that I dread so much," 
 Mrs. Martin became more and more analytic, " but 
 that horrid interval when we realize that we're grow- 
 ing old. It's like the way we felt " 
 
 Again Mrs. Martin seized the peremptory re- 
 ceiver. " Oh, Mrs. Martin! It's me Annie Doyle. 
 Little Theresa's front tooth is loose. It's the first 
 one. And I don't know whether to pull it or let 
 it come out just natural-like. Is she likely to swally 
 it in her sleep? What do you think, woman dear? " 
 
 "I'd pull it," Mrs. Martin advised. " Tie a 
 thread at one end to the tooth, Annie, and at the 
 other to the doorknob, and then close the door " 
 
 " on that trip to Jamaica," she went on 
 
HOW IT CAME 291 
 
 smoothly, " when we were nearly wrecked and they 
 transferred us from the Stockton to the Martinez in 
 mid-ocean. I wasn't afraid when I was on the Stock- 
 ton and I wasn't afraid when they got us on the Mar- 
 tinez. But on that little boat between well, I was 
 scared nearly out of my five senses. And I feel ex- 
 actly like that when I think of crossing the bridge 
 between middle age and old age. I feel as though it 
 were going to hurt." 
 
 " Well, Bertha, don't think that you're the only 
 one who's having these thoughts damn that tele- 
 phone! Why do you answer it so early?" 
 
 " I don't mind it at all. I like it. Oh, good 
 morning, Mrs. Winter! " 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Martin, I've called you up about those 
 layettes that you made up for the Swanson people at 
 the time of the flood last year everybody says that 
 they were so satisfactory. And I've got to send 
 some to Nebraska you know, the place where that 
 terrible tornado happened! Will you send me a list 
 of the articles?" 
 
 " I was about to say and will continue to try to 
 say " Mr. Martin took it up when Mrs. Martin 
 had finished dictating the list " even if my wife is 
 the most popular woman in Maywood that there 
 are others who feel the same way among them 
 your affectionate husband." 
 
 "At least," Mrs. Martin said, " we've got each 
 
292 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 other. Well, I don't know when old age will come, 
 of course all I do know is that I hate the thought 
 of it." 
 
 Again Mr. Martin looked strangely at his wife 
 and again, obviously, he crushed something back. 
 
 " Do you know what day this is? " Mrs. Martin 
 suddenly demanded. 
 
 " Yes, Bertha-Elizabeth's birthday." 
 
 " You know that we're going to Phoebe's to din- 
 ner tonight? " Mrs. Martin stated questioningly. 
 
 " I've not forgotten," Mr. Martin replied briefly. 
 
 " Of course I've bought Bertha-Elizabeth a little 
 present. But I think it would please her, Edward, 
 if you got her something special yourself.'* 
 
 " Oh, that was all attended to weeks ago," Mr. 
 Martin asserted comfortably. 
 
 He volunteered no confidences, however. This 
 time it was Mrs. Martin who looked strangely at 
 Mr. Martin. And for an instant something, ulti- 
 mately unsaid, beat for egress at her lips. " Oh, 
 of course! You and Bertha-Elizabeth!" she sub- 
 stituted indulgently. " She's your favorite grand- 
 child and you know it, Edward Martin." 
 
 " No, I have no favorite grandchild," Mr. Martin 
 asserted forcibly. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " Mrs. Martin teased him. " Every- 
 body knows she's your pet. Everybody speaks about 
 it! Phoebe wants to have the dinner rather early; 
 
HOW IT CAME 293 
 
 so both the babies can be there. Will you be able 
 to get that five-ten train, Edward? " 
 
 " I can't be quite sure yet," Mr. Martin replied. 
 " But I'll try." 
 
 When Mr. Martin left, Mrs. Martin watched 
 from the window until her husband had disappeared. 
 Then she flew to the telephone. 
 
 " Phoebe," she called into it, " don't you think you 
 ought to tell your father? I've a feeling that he's 
 going to take it awfully hard." 
 
 " Now, Mother Martin, if you go ruining my sur- 
 prise " 
 
 " I won't say a word to him, Phoebe, but I don't 
 think you are making it a pleasant occasion for him. 
 You remember how he carried on when you " 
 
 " It's all right, mother. I'm sure of that. Don't 
 bother about it any more. The children will be over 
 in a few minutes." 
 
 " All right," Mrs. Martin said in a resigned voice 
 to Phoebe's first statement and " All right!" in a 
 delighted one to her second. 
 
 The house was quiet for a while, except for Mrs. 
 Martin's colloquies with the maids in the kitchen; 
 her long telephone consultations with the butcher, 
 the grocer, the confectioner. Then throwing on a 
 sweater, she went into the garden; plucked an arm- 
 ful of the thinning autumn growths. She repeated 
 this process until the entire lower floor bloomed 
 
294 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 with the fall colorings. At about nine, the bell 
 rang. 
 
 When Delia opened the door, the procession of 
 the Martin grandchildren seemed to extend from 
 the steps to the gate. Phoebe's youngest boy, the 
 wiry, straight-haired Micah, stood with his hand still 
 on the bell; like a bronze of a boy. Edward, gray- 
 eyed and red-lipped, with lashes so long they made 
 a violet contrast with his cropped head, was spin- 
 ning a top on the concrete path. Long, lean, lanky; 
 in the husky-voiced shooting-limbed period of ado- 
 lescence, but still a freckly, snub-nosed replica of his 
 father, Toland came next. Toland was trundling, 
 with many strange jerks and sudden full stops, a 
 perambulator, which contained the youngest Warbur- 
 ton baby, Titian-headed Aline. As he approached, 
 the reason for his flounderings became evident. 
 Little golden-haired Hope stood within the frame of 
 the carriage-handles and, fondly believing herself to 
 be the sole means of its locomotion, was pushing it 
 forward with such erratic upheavals of baby strength 
 that occasionally it nearly threw her headlong. Be- 
 hind this came the Martin perambulator, in which lay 
 Ernest's youngest a little, brown butter-ball of a 
 baby black-eyed Dorcas. Her two sisters, jumping 
 rope, formed an acrobatic bodyguard; Elizabeth- 
 Marian, a slender elf of a child, of so exquisitely 
 pale a blonde coloring that it was as though she were 
 
HOW IT CAME 295 
 
 made of silver tissue ; and Sylvia, brown-haired and 
 gray-eyed, a typical little Puritan maiden in her plain 
 navy-blue cape, her severe Dutch crop, and her 
 serious brows. Bringing up the rear, lost in baseball 
 argument, strolled the Martin twins ; big, full-bodied 
 adolescents now ; bursting with vitality. 
 
 It was not alone to the small army of Martin 
 grandchildren that Delia opened the door, but to a 
 confusion which seemed immediately to raise in the 
 old house echoes of a long dead excitement. 
 
 " Wheel the carriages right into the living-room, 
 Delia ! " Mrs. Martin ordered, out of the confusion 
 of greetings and kisses. " I'll keep the babies 
 down here with me. The rest of you can do 
 exactly as you please." She established red-headed, 
 gray-eyed Aline at one side of the room, and brown- 
 eyed, shock-headed Dorcas at the other. They bab- 
 bled and bubbled at each other in a vain effort to 
 establish communication. 
 
 The others trooped in the accustomed way up- 
 stairs to the nursery. Mrs. Martin followed. The 
 little girls gravitated instantly to the corner which 
 held, neatly ranged, a large family of dolls; their 
 wardrobes; their housekeeping arrangements. The 
 little boys made for a shelf, piled with games. The 
 older ones seized the football paraphernalia; slid 
 clatteringly down the backstairs to the yard. 
 
 " I can't stay here long, grandma," big Toland ex- 
 
THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 plained in his husky, changing voice. " But there is 
 a book here on Dutch history that I want to look 
 something up in. I've got to write a composition. 
 Do you remember the name, grandma? That one 
 that grandpa's so crazy about? " 
 
 " ' The Rise of the Dutch Republic,' " Mrs. Mar- 
 tin answered. 
 
 "Sure! that's it!" 
 
 " It's downstairs in the library, Toland, on the 
 shelf near the side window," Mrs. Martin directed 
 absently. She looked about at the quiet room for an 
 instant; then noiselessly descended the stairs. In the 
 living-room, Delia was just handing Dorcas a bottle. 
 Aline was still bubbling and babbling. Mrs. Mar- 
 tin lifted the great copper-headed, purple-cheeked 
 baby out of the carriage; walked half a dozen times 
 the length of the two rooms. 
 
 " You great big girl ! " she apostrophized her 
 grandchild, " are you going to be a giantess? 
 Grandma could eat her alive she's so sweet. Oh, 
 there's Mrs. Eaton coming up the walk, Delia. You 
 go to the door; Dorcas will take care of the bottle 
 
 now." 
 
 u Oh, Mrs. Martin," Mrs. Eaton said, " I've 
 called for the slip of that English ivy you said you'd 
 give me the other day. My soul and body, what a 
 stunning kid Aline is! She looks like a Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds." 
 
HOW IT CAME 297 
 
 "Isn't she beautiful?" Mrs. Martin agreed 
 proudly. " Delia, get me the scissors, please ! " Still 
 carrying her grandchild, she gave directions for the 
 cutting of a slip from the big pot of ivy which grew 
 in the corner. 
 
 The morning wore on. Mrs. Martin took up one 
 baby, then the other. She was interrupted both from 
 within and without a dozen times. Augmenting con- 
 fusion upstairs occasionally called her to the adjust- 
 ment of internecine strife. Neighbors dropped in; 
 one to invite her and Mr. Martin to dinner, to meet 
 an old friend from their Middleton days; another, 
 suddenly called on to preside at a committee meet- 
 ing, to get a little training in parliamentary law. 
 But all of the time, the preparations for luncheon 
 went on smoothly. And at one, the ten of them sat 
 down to a grandparently repast which began, hygieni- 
 cally enough, with chicken soup and ended with a 
 grand flourish of ice-cream, cakes, fruit, candy, nuts. 
 
 As Mr. Martin came up the walk to Phoebe's 
 house that evening, the door opened and Phoebe, 
 herself, came running through the garden to meet 
 him. 
 
 " Welcome, father ! " she called. " And good for 
 you ! You got that early train, after all." 
 
 "Greetings! Yes, one hour ago, I thought I 
 couldn't make it. But here I am." 
 
298 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 It was a sharp November twilight. Large single 
 star-tapers had begun to flame; and already that 
 thread of green gold, which was the crescent moon, 
 was retreating before their light. Phoebe wore no 
 wrap. Her silvery evening-gown bared a bronze- 
 brown square of her neck; covered her shoulders 
 with mere floating films. She linked one vigorous 
 round arm with her father's. But as she walked 
 up the path, the keen dusk seemed but to make her 
 gray eyes more brilliant, to deepen that permanent 
 bloom in her cheeks. 
 
 " Do you know, Edward C. Martin, that you are 
 the best father I've ever had?" she remarked in 
 a coaxing tone. She rubbed her chin on his shoulder. 
 
 " Experience has taught me," Mr. Martin an- 
 nounced, " that there's an object in this flattery. I 
 throw up my hands at once. What is it you want 
 now?" 
 
 " Nothing," Phoebe asserted promptly and trench- 
 antly. " Only an answer to a direct question," she 
 immediately contradicted herself. " Father, your 
 only daughter is suffering from an attack of jealousy. 
 And of whom do you suppose? Her own child. 
 Father, do you love Bertha-Elizabeth more than you 
 love me ? " 
 
 " Certainly," Mr. Martin replied with a prompt- 
 ness and trenchancy equal to Phoebe's own, " a 
 hundred times more." 
 
HOW IT CAME 299 
 
 Phoebe laughed. " I've long suspected it." She 
 gave her father's arm a little loving squeeze and his 
 hand, that by this time clasped hers, an approving 
 pat. 
 
 "Has she had a nice birthday?" Mr. Martin 
 asked. 
 
 " Oh, lovely ! " Phoebe answered offhandedly. 
 " Luncheon of sixteen girls and, believe me, 
 father, it was some luncheon. And of course, 
 loads of presents and telephone messages all day 
 long. Bertha-Elizabeth seems to be very popu- 
 lar. It's a little strange to me considering her 
 type" 
 
 " It isn't strange to me," asserted Mr. Martin. 
 
 * You're prejudiced, old dear! " Phoebe laughed. 
 " But I must say your affection seems to be returned 
 in kind. She could have had a dance tonight, but she 
 preferred a family dinner so that she could be with 
 you, I think. To be sure, her father said he'd give 
 her the dance later." 
 
 In spite of the vivacity of her mood and the vol- 
 ume of her silvery mirth, there was something pla- 
 cating about Phoebe's manner. And as, just within 
 the door, Mr. Martin drew off his greatcoat, she 
 suddenly threw her arms about his neck; kissed him 
 again and again; kissed him with a gentle tender- 
 ness, very different from the bear-hugs to which usu- 
 ally she submitted him. In the living-room, " Well, 
 
300 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 Edward," Mrs. Martin greeted him placidly, " you 
 did make it, didn't you ? I knew you would." 
 
 After forty years of marriage, Mr. Martin had 
 accustomed himself to the ease with which women 
 accept sudden, revolutionary office-adjustments. He 
 did not debate now. "Hello, Ern! Tug!" he 
 greeted his son, and son-in-law and, to the pink 
 vision between them, " Sylvia, my dear, how pretty 
 you look. I gather from the racket upstairs that we 
 are here in force. Where's BertKa-Elizabeth? " 
 
 " She'll be here soon," Phoebe answered. Her air 
 of suppressed excitement seemed suddenly to burst 
 before their eyes. She darted into the hall and pro- 
 duced a series of deep reverberant summonses from 
 the Chinese gong suspended there. Instantly the 
 pandemonium above broke into the staccato of a rush 
 for the stairs. The grandchildren came filing down. 
 
 Mr. Martin eyed the gala procession. " Where's 
 Bertha-Elizabeth? " he again demanded. 
 
 " Oh, she'll be here in a moment," Phoebe replied 
 evasively; but still visibly she boiled with excitement. 
 
 " Mother, you're to sit here. Bertha-Elizabeth is 
 at the head of the table. Father, you are on her right 
 and Ernest is at her left. Sylvia, you're to be on one 
 side of Hope and mother on the other. You two are 
 to keep her in order, if you can. Now, youngsters, 
 run around the table and find where your names are 
 written." 
 
HOW IT CAME 301 
 
 The tramping of adolescent feet; the pattering of 
 baby-steps; the questions and answers; the scraping 
 of the chairs died into silence. 
 
 "Now, Bertha-Elizabeth!" Phoebe called into 
 that silence. 
 
 There came a sound of swift footsteps in the hall. 
 A girl appeared in the doorway; a young girl, and a 
 slim one. Her little face, lighted by big, very seri- 
 ous, blue-gray eyes and colored by a big, very serious 
 deep-pink mouth, showed a kind of angelic angular- 
 ity. She wore a yellow evening-gown, high-lustered 
 and floating. At the top, it scooped out delicate cres- 
 cents of her slim neck and her slim back. At the 
 bottom, it not only touched the ground; but actually 
 lay on it in little ripples of silky light. It made her 
 very tall, that long dress; and as though to supple- 
 ment it, her amber-brown hair almost but not quite 
 straight had been drawn in a thick coiled mass to 
 the very top of her head. 
 
 Bertha-Elizabeth stood very still in the doorway. 
 She looked straight into her grandfather's eyes. Her 
 lips smiled, but her eyes questioned. After their first 
 glance at her, Mrs. Martin and Phoebe turned to 
 watch the effect on him. 
 
 Mr. Martin stared, stupefied, an instant. Then 
 suddenly that stupefaction changed to a smile of 
 delight. "Who is this woman ?" he demanded of 
 his daughter. l 
 
302 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 Bertha-Elizabeth did not wait for Phoebe's an- 
 swer. She ran to Mr. Martin's side, threw her arms 
 around his neck. " Do you like my gown, grandpa ? " 
 she demanded breathlessly. " And my hair? " 
 
 "I think it's great!" Mr. Martin answered, 
 " and very becoming. And your hair looks as pretty 
 as it can look. My eye, I had no idea you were so 
 tall ! And I can't tell you how glad I am to have you 
 a grown woman at last. Now we can go off on some 
 real sprees together." 
 
 " Oh, Father Martin ! " Phoebe remonstrated. 
 "Are you going to keep surprising me, too? As 
 though it weren't enough to have Mother Martin all 
 the time flashing something I didn't expect. I thought 
 you were going to make an awful fuss because I'd put 
 Bertha-Elizabeth in a long gown. You certainly 
 raised enough row when I wore my first long dress." 
 
 "Did I?" Mr. Martin asked. 
 
 " Did you! " Phoebe made a little clucking sound 
 in her throat. "Edward C. Martin, I repudiate 
 you. You've forgotten all about me. It's just as 
 though you had never had me at all. You've let 
 Bertha-Elizabeth fill my place entirely." 
 
 "Well, didn't you put Tug in my place?" Mr. 
 Martin demanded acutely. 
 
 " I guess I sorta did," Phoebe admitted. " And 
 now look at me! Watch him bringing my gray 
 hairs, with wrinkles, to a speedy grave." 
 
HOW IT CAME 303 
 
 " I must confess, Edward/' Mrs. Martin said on 
 their way home, " that you really surprised me to- 
 night. I felt as though you actually liked Bertha- 
 Elizabeth being grown up." 
 
 " I do," Mr. Martin answered promptly. 
 
 " Well now, why? " There was a note of irrita- 
 tion in Mrs. Martin's voice. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know why," Mr. Martin replied 
 vaguely. " You never can tell the reason for these 
 things. All I know is that I feel that way." 
 
 " You certainly are different from me," Mrs. Mar- 
 tin said in a tone slightly disapproving. " Why, when 
 I went over there early this afternoon and saw that 
 child grown into a woman, right before my eyes, as 
 you might say, I burst out crying. I wouldn't have 
 done it for anything, if I'd had a chance to think, 
 because it made Phoebe cry, too. And the two of us, 
 carrying on like that, frightened Bertha-Elizabeth 
 almost to death. The first thing i knew she was 
 crying too. And all the time I was worrying about 
 you coming in and finding her in that long skirt and 
 with her hair done up. Phoebe was determined to 
 surprise you. I begged her not to. But she would do 
 it. It shows that, in some ways, she knows you better 
 than I do. I argued with her. I told her that I was 
 absolutely sure it would spoil your evening. Why, 
 Edward, when I saw your eyes light up the way they 
 did, I could have beaten you." 
 
304 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 14 Well, I'm sorry," Mr. Martin said with a touch 
 of satire, " that I didn't break down and sob if 
 that's what you women expected of me." 
 
 But if Mr. Martin were in any real doubt in regard 
 to his psychological condition, he did not long main- 
 tain that state of mind. The clearing-up process 
 was, however, a subtle and complex business. But 
 although for several days it occupied all his mental 
 leisure, he never spoke of the matter to Phoebe; he 
 never spoke of it to his wife. Those two were always 
 teasing him by asserting that Bertha-Elizabeth was 
 his favorite grandchild. He had always denied this 
 accusation stoutly. Nevertheless it was true. 
 Bertha-Elizabeth was the first grandchild. That 
 was not the whole, nor the main reason why she 
 held her special place in his heart. The real reason 
 was that he thought he saw in her all he loved 
 most in both his wife and his daughter. Bertha- 
 Elizabeth had much of Mrs. Martin's steady 
 seriousness of character. She had much of 
 Phoebe's vibrant radiance of spirit. But Mrs. 
 Martin's beautiful seriousness was, in Bertha- 
 Elizabeth, transfused by a quick, avid intelligence. 
 And Phoebe's flamboyant radiance was, in Bertha- 
 Elizabeth, toned to a fine, still luster. All the sixteen 
 years that Bertha-Elizabeth had been growing up, 
 Mr. Martin had had the feeling that he was seeing 
 
HOW IT CAME 305 
 
 not only his daughter's girlhood (the history of which 
 was written in letters of fire on his heart) but his 
 wife's girlhood (which was all mystery and conjec- 
 ture to him). Now Bertha-Elizabeth had reached 
 the exact point where his friendship with the lovely 
 girl, who had been Bertha Brooks and was now a 
 wife of more than forty years, had begun. Now 
 Bertha-Elizabeth had reached the exact point where 
 his intimacy with the adorable being, who had been 
 Phoebe Martin and was now a daughter of almost 
 forty years, had raised to its sweetest level. In 
 Bertha-Elizabeth's future, he would watch the devel- 
 opment, in duplicate, of these two beautiful girlish 
 eras. 
 
 A few days later Mrs. Martin strolled over to her 
 son's house to make one of her rare calls. The door 
 was open. Maggie, rubbing vigorously, was shining 
 its brightwork. 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Martin," she apprised the caller re- 
 gretfully, " Mrs. Martin ain't in. She'll be turrible 
 sorry to miss you." 
 
 " Oh, I'm sorry too, Maggie ! " Mrs. Martin said. 
 :< Is she coming back soon or is she gone for the 
 afternoon? " 
 
 " She said she wouldn't be back until six," Maggie 
 replied. " She's just after leaving. She's gone over 
 to Mrs. Parker's. She took the three little girls with 
 
306 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 her. You go right in, Mrs. Martin, and make your- 
 self at home." 
 
 " I guess I will sit down for a while, Maggie," 
 Mrs. Martin agreed. " I feel a little tired." 
 
 " I'll folly you in a minute and make you a cup of 
 tea," Maggie promised in friendly Irish fashion. 
 " That'll fix you !" 
 
 " All right," Mrs. Martin approved. " Tea will 
 taste good, Maggie. Where are the twins?" 
 
 " Upstairs," Maggie replied, " and up to some 
 divilment to be sure. Why'd they be staying in the 
 house, if they was up to any good? They gave me 
 my orders not to come upstairs for one hour and I'll 
 folly them orders, believe me. They ain't over and 
 above carrying me downstairs if they don't want me 
 there. The strong young divils that they are. 
 They're almost grown men. But perhaps they'll 
 leave you come up though." 
 
 One of the twins interrupted from above. u That 
 you, grandma? " he called. " Come right up! Ed- 
 ward's here with me. We're going to tell you a 
 secret. But you've got to promise that you won't 
 give us away to father or mother ! Promise first! " 
 
 The two ruddy, olive-dark faces, bursting with 
 a plum-like color in cheeks noticeably downy, and 
 illuminated by large, clearly-glittering gray eyes, 
 hung for a mischievous interval over the banister. 
 
 " I promise," Mrs. Martin agreed recklessly. 
 
HOW IT CAME 307 
 
 The faces disappeared. Mrs. Martin went up the 
 stairs. 
 
 " In the bathroom/' Gordon's voice called. Mrs. 
 Martin followed its clear trail. It led her to an open 
 doorway. 
 
 The twins had dragged a big table into the middle 
 of the room. On it lay instruments of a shining famil- 
 iarity. As she gazed astounded, Edward lathered his 
 face with four slashing strokes of the brush. Ex- 
 pertly enough, Gordon was slapping the razor over 
 his father's strop. 
 
 " Grandma," Edward said in the tone of blague 
 which prevailed to the finest ramification in the Mar- 
 tin family, " it's your privilege to be present at a 
 great historical event our first shave." 
 
 When Mr. Martin arrived home that night, his 
 wife met him at the door. 
 
 "What makes your eyes shine so, Bertha?" he 
 demanded. 
 
 Mrs. Martin did not speak for a moment. She 
 linked her arm with her husband's; clung to him as 
 they walked into the dining-room. " Edward, what 
 do you suppose happened to me today? " 
 
 " Somebody left you a million dollars," Mr. Mar- 
 tin guessed. 
 
 " Much more thrilling than that," Mrs. Martin 
 said with one of her unexpected touches of humor. 
 
3 o8 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " Shoot! " Mr. Martin adjured. " Put me out of 
 my misery." 
 
 " I sat in the bathroom with Gordon and Edward 
 this afternoon and by special invitation, mind you 
 while they shaved themselves for the first time." 
 
 Mr. Martin bore this revelation with a becoming 
 fortitude. In fact, he only grunted. 
 
 u Edward, I can't tell you how excited I was about 
 it. It sort of if you understand what I mean 
 thrilled me. I don't understand why I really don't. 
 Why, when Ernie shaved for the first time, I cried 
 all night long because I thought I'd lost my little 
 boy." 
 
 "Did you?" Mr. Martin unconcernedly asked. 
 " I don't remember." 
 
 "Well, I do!" A touch of grimness tautened 
 Mrs. Martin's voice. u And the strange part of it 
 all is that I've had a sort of reawakening of that old 
 pain all day long. And yet I didn't feel the least bit 
 like that about Gordon and Edward. It was all so 
 queer. Ernie shaved the first time in secret. I just 
 found it out by accident. He'd have died if he'd 
 known I saw him. And I never told him I did. But 
 the twins didn't mind me at all. They only made 
 me promise not to tell their mother. It's different 
 being a grandmother from being a mother. Some- 
 how I think they trust you more." 
 
 " Of course they do ! " Mr. Martin said with 
 
HOW IT CAME 309 
 
 fervor. " Why, Bertha-Elizabeth tells me things 
 
 that she never tells " He stopped. 
 
 " Oh, you two! " Mrs. Martin exclaimed with a 
 great deal of mock indignation and a tiny percentage 
 of real jealousy. " How fine you feel with all your 
 secret understandings ! But do you know, Edward," 
 she reverted to her own experience, " I didn't have a 
 single feeling of sadness about the twins growing up. 
 It gave me the greatest sense of joy. Perhaps it was 
 because I don't feel wholly responsible for them. 
 And then the thought of them being able to take care 
 of themselves and carrying the line on I don't 
 know how to explain it, but it was as though it 
 lengthened my life my life and your life as though 
 we'd achieved something something that was beau- 
 tiful and complete." 
 
 " Edward," Mrs. Martin broke into her husband's 
 reading just before they were going to bed, u do you 
 remember what I said to you the other day about 
 making that leap from middle age to old age?" 
 
 Mr. Martin nodded. 
 
 " Well, today when I watched those boys shaving, 
 I suddenly had a sort of revelation. Why, Edward ! " 
 She paused. Then in a voice that lowered and 
 rounded, she said, " This is old age." 
 
 Mr. Martin did not seem surprised. But he did 
 not speak. He smiled across the table at her. 
 
3io THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 " Yes, this is old age ! " Mrs. Martin had not 
 extracted all the glory from her revelation. " This 
 beautiful world, surrounded by young, growing 
 things, children and grandchildren living a life 
 more busy and useful in some ways than the life of 
 our youth this is old age." 
 
 Tears arose in Mr. Martin's eyes. They did not 
 dim his smile, though. By a kind of magic they 
 seemed to deepen it. 
 
 " Yes, Bertha, this is old age. Or it is what we 
 thought was old age. What is old age anyway? The 
 trouble with the world is that it has always accepted 
 youth's definition. But I'm wondering about that. 
 Sometimes I think the supreme revelation of life is 
 that there is no such thing as old age. Sometimes 
 1 think we ought to call it young age." 
 
NOTABLE NEW FICTION 
 
 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 BY INEZ HAYNES IRWIN 
 
 The third of the " Phoebe and Ernest " Series. $1.60 net. 
 
 The author's response to the request that she tell what 
 happened to Phoebe and Ernest when they grew up. We here 
 see each of them married, with children of their own, and with 
 delightful friends, and perhaps the happiest of all are grand- 
 father and grandmother Martin. The life of them all is rich 
 with responsibility, friendship, love, sorrow and happiness. 
 
 COLAS BREUGNON 
 
 BY ROMAIN ROLLAND 
 
 Translated by KATHARINE MILLER. Probable price, $1.60 net. 
 
 The first novel by this author since his famous Jean- 
 Christophe. It bears the motto " The Good Fellow Lives 
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 sculptor and artist at life is full of contagious gaiety. 
 
 THE OLD MADHOUSE 
 
 BY WILLIAM DE MORGAN 
 
 Author ~of "Joseph Vance," " Somehow Good," etc. 
 
 Dr. Carteret goes to look over a house that had once been 
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 BY MARION BOWER AND LEON M. LION 
 
 The characters, vitally drawn, are gathered at a great 
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 There is a secret treaty, crime, intrigue and sparkling talk. 
 $1.60 net. 
 
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 PUBLISHERS <Ti'i NBW 
 
JEAN-CHRISTOPHE 
 
 By ROMAIN ROLLAND 
 
 Translated from the French by GILBERT CANNAN. In 
 three volumes, each $2.00. 
 
 This great trilogy, the life story of a musician, at first 
 the sensation of musical circles in Paris, has come to be one 
 of the most discussed books among literary circles in France, 
 England and America. 
 
 Each volume of the American edition has its own indi- 
 vidual interest, can be understood without the other, and 
 comes to a definite conclusion. 
 
 The three volumes with the titles of the French volumes 
 included are: 
 
 JEAN-CHRISTOPHE 
 DAWN MORNING YOUTH REVOLT 
 
 JEAN-CHRISTOPHE IN PARIS 
 THE MARKET PLACE ANTOINETTETHE HOUSE 
 
 JEAN-CHRISTOPHE: JOURNEY'S END 
 
 Lovi AND FRIENDSHIP THE BURNING BUSH THE NEW 
 DAWN 
 
 Some Noteworthy Comments 
 
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 as that. . It is moderate praise to call it with Edmund Gosse 'the 
 noblest work of fiction of the twentieth century.' . A book as 
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 Springfield Republican. 
 
 "If a man wishes to understand those devious currents which make 
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 book more illustrative, more informing and more inspiring. Current 
 Opinion, 
 
 "Must rank as one of the very few important works of fiction of the 
 last decade. A vital compelling work. We who love it feel that it 
 will live." Independent. 
 
 "The most momentous novel that has come to us from France, or 
 from any other European country, in a decade." Boston Transcript, 
 
 A 32-page booklet about Romain Holland and Jean-Chris- 
 tophe, with portraits and complete reviews, on request. 
 
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 (PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 
 
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 WHILE THERE'S LIFE BY ELINOR MORDAUN* 
 
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 NIGHTS IN LONDON OUT AND ABOUT LONDON 
 
 4th printing. $1.50 net. $1.40 net. 
 
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 fully done with a mastery of per- 
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 bears in every line the authentic 
 mark of truth." 
 
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 PUBLISHERS 
 
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NOTEWORTHY DRAMA BOOKS 
 
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 This is >robably even more interesting than the author's 
 popular Theory of the Theatre or than his Studies in Stagecraft 
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 recent years. $i.6onet. 
 
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 UNITED STATES 
 
 An intensely interesting book on the most promisingdevelop- 
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 their repertory, and has interesting supplementary discussions 
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 Scenery for Amateurs." $2.00 net. 
 
 Arthur E. Krows's PLAY PRODUCTION IN AMERICA 
 
 With numerous and unusual illustrations and full index. 
 $2.25 net. 
 
 Dramatic Mirror: "Any would-be playwright qr actor 
 should not proceed until he has read and 'carefully digested' 
 this book. There is not a detail in the realm of writing a 
 play or in the art of acting that is not made plain and valuable 
 . . . full of vital information. 
 Richard Burton's BERNARD SHAW: The Man and the Mask 
 
 By the author of "How to See a Play," etc. With Index. 
 $1.60 net. 
 
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 Shaw, calls Dr. Burton's book "The best introduction to 
 Bernard Shaw in print. No other book gives an analysis and 
 study of each play . . . genius of simplicity of expression 
 and effectiveness in interpretation." 
 
 Fanny Cannon's WRITING AND SELLING A PLAY 
 
 Probably the most common-sense and practical book on its 
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 rights, includes a model contract, two detailed scenarios, and a 
 bibliography of reference books and plays. I2mo. With full 
 index. $1.50 net. 
 
 Hartford Courant: "... this rare book . . . the author has the 
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 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 
 
PLAYS AND PAGEANTS FOR YOUNG FOLKS 
 
 PATRIOTIC PLAYS AND PAGEANTS 
 
 By JOSEPHINE THORP and ROSAMOND KIMBALL 
 Directions for costuming, settmg, and music clearly pre- 
 sented. These pageants are being used extensively for high 
 school commencements. 
 
 CHRISTMAS CANDLES 
 
 By ELSIE HOBART CARTER 
 
 Written especially for the Christmas celebrations of Sunday 
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 characters. 
 
 SHORT PLAYS ABOUT FAMOUS AUTHORS 
 
 By MAUD MORRISON FRANK 
 
 Representing Goldsmith, Dickens, Heine, Fanny Burney 
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 their periods. 
 
 LAFAYETTE; COLUMBUS; THE LONG KNIVES IN 
 
 ILLINOIS 
 By ALICE J. WALKER 
 
 A volume of three historical plays which make a strong 
 appeal to patriotism and which children have enjoyed acting. 
 
 UTTLE PLAYS FROM AMERICAN HISTORY FOR 
 YOUNG FOLKS 
 
 By ALICE J. WALKER 
 
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 respectively, which have stood the test of actual production in 
 various schools. 
 
 HOUSE OF THE HEART 
 
 By CONSTANCE D'ARCY MACKAY 
 
 A charming collection of children's plays from the best 
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 Preach, English, German, and Russian, Arranged for use in 
 the grammar grades. 
 
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By HENRY EDWARD KREHBIEL 
 
 Musical critic of the New York Tribune, Author of "Music 
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 CHAPTERS OF OPERA 
 
 With 70 portraits and pictures of Opera Houses. $3.00 
 
 The first seven chapters deal with the earliest operatic per- 
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 the first two seasons therein, 1906-08. 
 
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 Aldrich in New York Times Review. 
 
 MORE CHAPTERS OF OPERA 
 
 1908-1918 
 
 With 40 illustrations from portraits y repertories , and full index 
 $3.50 
 
 The decade here covered included Hammerstein's struggle 
 in New York, Philadelphia, and London, his defeat but last- 
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 there of popular-priced English Opera; the coming to Amer- 
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 There are also interesting excursions into such matters as 
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 War on Concerts as Well as on Opera," etc., etc. 
 
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