#4**- 2. 
 
 /^
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON 
 
 H 
 
 BY 
 
 MARIA LOUISE POOL 
 
 AUTHOR OF "DALLY" ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 
 1892
 
 Copyright, 1892, by HARPER & BROTHERS. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGB 
 
 I. MARTHA S. TRYING "TO GIT A FIT" i 
 
 II. GOING BY BOAT 17 
 
 III. INVITED TO A SEA-ANTS 34 
 
 IV. MAJOR STANGER 48 
 
 V. A BUNCH OF MATERIALIZED PINKS 63 
 
 VI. A LETTER FROM THE COUNTRY 76 
 
 VII. SOME SALESLADIES 90 
 
 VIII. PHILIP S VISIT 103 
 
 IX. AT THE THEATRE 121 
 
 X. AT A BROWNING CLUB 137 
 
 XI. GEORGIE 154 
 
 XII. THE ADVENT OF MARMADUKE 171 
 
 XIII. A LITTLE TALK 188 
 
 XIV. MR. FOSTER S SISTER 204 
 
 XV. A HORSEMAN 219 
 
 XVI. SOMETHING ON HER MIND 234 
 
 XVII. THE EPISODE OF MARY JANE JEWETT. ... 250 
 
 XVIII. ON LOVE 266 
 
 XIX. FERDINAND IN TROUBLE 282 
 
 XX. MARMADUKE AND MARTHY S. MAKE THEM 
 SELVES USEFUL 297 
 
 XXI. ON CHARLES STREET 3 3 
 
 XXII. ALLESTREE S PROPOSITION 323 
 
 XXIII. CONCLUSION . 337 
 
 2137721
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 I. 
 
 MARTHA S. TRYING "TO GIT A FIT." 
 
 " WHICH one of them Tuttle girls is it that is 
 so sut on goin to Borston ?" 
 
 " I should think you d know thout bein told. 
 It s the one that wears that soft felt hat with 
 scarcely no trimmin on it to meet n ." 
 
 The relation between wearing a scantily dec 
 orated soft felt hat and being " sut on goin to 
 Borston " seemed very clear and close to this 
 speaker, however obscure it might appear to 
 the ordinary human being. Mrs. Warner s two 
 daughters always wore very stiff hats with large 
 quantities of cheap flowers on them, and they 
 had never announced any intention of visiting 
 Boston. Perhaps, therefore, their mother had her 
 reasons for coming to her present conclusion. 
 
 " I want to know !" exclaimed Martha Hancock.
 
 2 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 " Then it s Roweny. Wai, she never was like 
 your girls, Mis Warner. Of course Hiram Tut- 
 tle can t give her a cent to go with. And then 
 the temptations there. I hope she won t come 
 to no bad end." 
 
 Mrs. Warner drew in her lips and shook her 
 head. She remarked that she had been greatly 
 blessed in her children, but that there was a 
 mighty sight in bringing up. She didn t be 
 lieve, if she did say it herself, that either of her 
 girls would ever git a notion that they must go 
 where their parents never d been. Of course no 
 one could tell what would happen, but she did 
 think that wouldn t happen. 
 
 Miss Hancock shook her own head in sympa 
 thy. She was forty-four years old, and had never 
 married. She always said, when rallied on this 
 fact, that she had never been inclined to matri 
 mony. She saw enough of it in the lives of her 
 married friends. The apparent acidity of this 
 speech was attributed to the fact that no one, so 
 far as was known in the neighborhood, had ever 
 desired to marry Miss Hancock. 
 
 The people in this village were not given to be 
 lief in those words of Thackeray s that any wom 
 an may wed any man, if she makes up her mind to 
 it. On the contrary, they were sure that all the 
 old maids in the world were so from dire necessity. 
 
 Miss Hancock was commonly called " Marthy
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 3 
 
 S.," to distinguish her from another Martha with 
 the same surname who lived in the same district. 
 When Marthy S. mentioned her vocation, she 
 said she " dressmaked " for such as wanted her. 
 She would usually add that, though she made 
 no pretensions to being stylish, she did think 
 she could put a touch on to a garment that 
 could be equalled by few. 
 
 This was true, although in a different sense 
 from what she meant it. Her patrons, or her 
 victims, always presented the same trussed ap 
 pearance across the chest, and always suffered 
 from the same sense of restraint in the elbows. 
 Naturally, those who had never had any other 
 dress-maker, and these were many in this locali 
 ty, believed that to be trussed, and to be con 
 fined at the elbows, was the condition of woman 
 when she was " dressed up " it was one of the 
 inevitable misfortunes of being born feminine in 
 stead of masculine. 
 
 Marthy S. took in The Fashion Delineator and 
 she did not think it necessary to go anywhere 
 to see what "folks were wearing." She frequent 
 ly made up patterns. She said she wouldn t 
 give in to anybody in the matter of making up 
 patterns. 
 
 Sometimes she was asked if she had ever been 
 in Boston. She always replied : " No, but she 
 had been in Providence."
 
 4 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 It seemed to her that the fact of her having 
 seen the capital of Rhode Island would in a way 
 establish her as a traveller, and would atone for 
 her not being familiar with Boston. Her Uncle 
 George had taken her to a restaurant in Provi 
 dence and they had each had an oyster stew. 
 She often mentioned this stew as being one of 
 the most delicious dishes she had ever tasted. 
 
 I do not know why it is, but the person who 
 comes from the real country to a city always or 
 ders an oyster stew at the eating-house where he 
 stops, and he feels a certain sense of exhilarating 
 dissipation when he eats it, and when he pours 
 in some of the table-sauce he has a sense that 
 he is a cosmopolitan. He thinks he would give 
 a great deal if he could take all his meals at a 
 restaurant. He reads with awe and enjoyment 
 those curious names of wines on the other side 
 of the bill of fare. But he is a Son of Temper 
 ance. 
 
 Mrs. Warner was " running the machine " while 
 Marthy S. cut and basted. At intervals there 
 were pauses while one of Mrs. Warner s daugh 
 ters would be " fitted." This fitting was some 
 times very tedious, and the person undergoing it 
 would at last get very squirmy. It was not 
 agreeable to have Miss Hancock standing by 
 you with her mouth full of pins, pulling you 
 here and pulling you there. She confessed that
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 5 
 
 she did not, at such times, think anything about 
 the sufferings of her patient. She only thought 
 of "gittin a fit." 
 
 The youngest of Mrs. Warner s daughters was 
 about sixteen. She was pale and thin and nerv 
 ous-looking. She was considered to have grown 
 too fast. It was she who was now beneath Miss 
 Hancock s hands. At first she was very calm 
 and patient. She was acting upon a firm resolve 
 she had made, and privately communicated to 
 her sister, that " she wouldn t git into no tan 
 trums this time." 
 
 But after a while she became fascinated by the 
 way Marthy S. put pins into her mouth. The 
 child watched with ever-increasing horror. It 
 seemed to her that no human mouth could hold 
 so many pins, and still they went in and disap 
 peared behind those thin lips. 
 
 Why did not the points of some of them pro 
 trude through the dress-maker s cheeks ? How 
 large was that mouth inwardly, anyway ? Viewed 
 from the outside, it was small, and nipped in at 
 the corners. 
 
 Eunice began to grow faint from standing. 
 Objects were vague before her. She suddenly 
 grasped Marthy S. around the waist, leaned upon 
 her, and cried out, brokenly : 
 
 " Oh, you ll swaller um ! you ll swaller um !" 
 
 Miss Hancock made a gurgling, rattling noise,
 
 6 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 and hastily ejected a great many pins into the 
 palm of her hand. She had almost swallowed 
 them in her sudden alarm lest Eunice would 
 faint. She put the child down on a lounge while 
 the mother brought out the camphor. 
 
 "You d made anybody swaller a rhinoceros, 
 yelling like that," cried Miss Hancock, in uncon 
 trollable anger, when she saw a tinge of color 
 coming to the girl s face. 
 
 Eunice sobbed. She turned her eyes to her 
 mother. 
 
 " She d got in twenty-nine, mother," she said, 
 " and I knew if she put in the thirtieth I couldn t 
 bear it, n she did," with another sob, " she put 
 it in." 
 
 " It s none of our business if she puts in a 
 bushel of pins," said the mother, soothingly. 
 
 " But I tell you I can t endure to see her do 
 it," cried Eunice, hysterically, pushing aside the 
 camphor-bottle and spilling some of the liquid in 
 her eyes. " Rowena Tuttle says that pins don t 
 hurt dress-makers, even when they do swaller um. 
 And she didn t think they d hurt Miss Hancock, 
 anyway." 
 
 " Did she say that ? Did Roweny Tuttle say 
 that?" indignantly asked Marthy S. 
 
 But why should it make one angry to be 
 thought able to take pins safely into the inter 
 nal economy ? Particularly, why should one
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 7 
 
 whose calling is that of a dress -maker be an 
 noyed by any such cause ? 
 
 Poor Eunice was trying to clear her eyes of 
 the camphor ; she was using her mother s apron 
 for that purpose, and she did not see the warn 
 ing looks which her parent directed to her. She 
 went on with entire recklessness : 
 
 "Yes, Rowena said so, n when I said I didn t 
 believe that pins was good fur anybody, she said 
 your stomach must be lined with um, and when 
 a person had a brass inside, a few pins more or 
 less wouldn t make no dif runce." 
 
 " How silly you do talk, Eunice !" said Mrs. 
 Warner. " She don t mean nothin , Marthy. 
 She s kinder high-strickey, she is." 
 
 Eunice was laughing and crying, and could 
 not say whether she meant anything or not. The 
 waist of her new blue cashmere was pinned about 
 her, and her arms were bare. She huddled a shawl 
 on her shoulders. 
 
 " You re dretful foolish to talk so," whispered 
 her mother. " You see Marthy s jest s mad s 
 she can be." 
 
 But Eunice did not seem to repent. 
 
 The dress-maker had turned to the table where 
 she had been " cutting out." She lifted the long 
 shears which lay there and viciously snapped 
 them in the air. One felt sure, from her action 
 and from the expression of her face, that if
 
 8 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Rowena Tuttle had been between those blades 
 in reality, as she was in Miss Hancock s imagi 
 nation, Rowena Tuttle would have been cut in 
 twain. 
 
 Marthy presently bethought herself that she 
 was a professor. She walked about the room 
 with the shears uplifted in her hand. 
 
 " I never could endure that girl, anyway," she 
 said, in a high voice, " n I sha n t like her any bet 
 ter now, you may be sure, Mis Warner. What is 
 one of Hiram Tuttle s girls, I sh d like to know, 
 more n other folks? And she er stickin up her 
 nose at everybody !" 
 
 " She don t stick up her nose." 
 
 These words came very decidedly from the 
 lounge where Eunice sat. " She s jest brighter 
 than some people, that s all." 
 
 " Eunice !" 
 
 Mrs. Warner spoke severely. 
 
 "Let her go right on, Mis Warner; let her 
 go right on," said Marthy S., red with excite 
 ment. 
 
 "Well, she is brighter," persisted Eunice. 
 
 Possibly the girl was taking her revenge for 
 the uncomfortable way in which Miss Hancock 
 had pinched and pushed her while trying to get 
 a fit. 
 
 Mrs. Warner now informed her daughter that 
 whether she was faint or not, if she spoke an-
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 9 
 
 other word in the next ten minutes she should 
 leave the room. 
 
 This threat had its effect. There was entire 
 silence on the part of Eunice. Her mother again 
 told Miss Hancock that " it was only them chil 
 dren s silly talk, V she didn t think Marthy ought 
 to take it so serious." 
 
 It is so very easy to be calmly cheerful over 
 an annoyance which affects some one else. It 
 may be that Mrs. Warner s cheerfulness irritated 
 the dress-maker. At any rate this latter person 
 repeated that dreadful motion with her shears, 
 and she remarked in a shrill voice that " Mis 
 Warner hadn t been told she had a brass in 
 side." 
 
 " Law !" responded the other, comfortably, " I 
 almost wish I had got one ; then mebbe fried 
 cakes n pickles wouldn t be so apt to hurt me." 
 
 She went on to say for the third time, with 
 great seriousness, that she did think that Mar 
 thy was making a great deal too much of a 
 few thoughtless words that " didn t really mean 
 nothin ." 
 
 After a few more minutes had passed the dress 
 maker resumed her work. Eunice was unpinned 
 and allowed to put on her old gray wool gown. 
 She was sulky and did not attempt to speak, even 
 when the time prescribed for silence had passed. 
 
 Miss Hancock s scissors hissed through the
 
 10 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 blue cashmere and the cambric with dangerous 
 swiftness. Mrs.Warner s sewing-machine whirred 
 on with pauseless industry. The winter sunlight 
 came in at the small -paned windows and fell 
 brightly on the gay braided rugs on the yellow 
 floor. The cat placed herself in the middle of 
 the sunshine, curled her tail about her front paws 
 and blinked and purred. 
 
 Eunice sat for some time by one of the win 
 dows and stared out on the narrow road, which 
 made a turn here, and went off straight up a long 
 hill. At the turn was a guide-board, and on the 
 board the words "To Boston 29 miles;" there 
 was also a hand with the stump of an index fin 
 ger pointing up that hill. That direction might 
 have said 290 miles to Boston, and the idea of 
 distance would not have been any greater to the 
 child looking at it. People around here were 
 not in the habit of going to Boston. Nothing 
 called them there. The nearest railroad station 
 was eleven miles away. It was true that there 
 were people over in the " middle village " who 
 often went to the city. But this hamlet was in 
 effect almost as remote as if it had been a great 
 deal farther away from any large town. 
 
 Up at "the Corners" there was a boat-shop 
 where they built boats, and from which, about 
 once a week all the year round, a man drove to 
 Boston with two boats. The smaller was set
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. II 
 
 into the larger, they were fastened on two pairs 
 of wheels very far apart, and drawn by one horse. 
 The driver started in the morning. The next 
 day he returned, sitting on a folded horse blank 
 et near the front wheels. 
 
 Eunice often thought this man must know 
 the world thoroughly. She envied him. Now 
 as she sat with her forehead pressed against the 
 glass she heard the rattling of wheels coming 
 down the long hill. She knew instantly that 
 it was the rattle of the boat - cart on its way 
 home. There was no snow, the road was hard 
 and almost white ; everything passing over it re 
 sounded. 
 
 " There s Reuben Little comin home," said 
 Mrs. Warner, as she stopped her machine and 
 drew out a long seam from it. " It must be 
 mighty tedious drivin so fur in the winter-time." 
 
 " I guess Reub keeps liquor enough down to 
 make the time pass tollable well," responded 
 Marthy S. " I should think his wife d hate to 
 have him go to Borston so, where he c n git 
 liquor so easy." 
 
 The dress- maker threaded her needle before 
 she added that wives had to put up with a 
 good many things that they d have dif runt if 
 they could. 
 
 Mrs. Warner said "that was so" with more 
 fervor than she would have employed if she had
 
 12 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 not wished to propitiate Marthy S. for the treat 
 ment she had received at the hands of Eunice. 
 
 Meantime the four wheels had clattered down 
 the incline, turned with dangerous shortness 
 round the corner, and had very unexpectedly 
 stopped a little beyond the house. 
 
 Mr. Little apparently did not wish to take the 
 trouble to leave his position among blankets and 
 old buffalo robes. He made a beckoning move 
 ment with his whip towards Eunice, who imme 
 diately dashed out of the side door and ran up 
 to him. 
 
 The man finally disinterred a brown paper 
 package from somewhere near his feet. He held 
 it out to Eunice. 
 
 " Roweny had me git that framed in Borston," 
 he said, " V she told me to give it to you when 
 I come by. They said where they put on the 
 frame that it was ruther good for a emmytoor. 
 Mcbby you know what a emmytoor is. I 
 don t. I told um my niece done it. I let urn 
 know she could do lots better n that. Clk ! 
 Git up!" 
 
 He swung the whip around, the horse started, 
 the wheels began to rattle. 
 
 Eunice dashed back into the house again. 
 Her mother and Miss Hancock had been watch 
 ing her with that keen curiosity which seems in 
 separable from a life among such surroundings.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 13 
 
 They both hung over Eunice as she tore the 
 wrappings from her parcel. 
 
 " I declare !" exclaimed Mrs. Warner, in undis 
 guised delight, " ain t it jest as nat ral as life ? 
 N there s the old butternut, n I do believe it s 
 the roan cow by the brook there. N the chim 
 ney look at the chimney !" 
 
 In the speaker s mind it seemed little short 
 of marvellous that a chimney could be made so 
 "life-like." 
 
 It was a water-color sketch of the old Warner 
 place. Perhaps it was crude, perhaps it showed 
 great ignorance, but there was something in it 
 that was able to hold the attention for a mo 
 ment, something which might make one say: 
 There is life." 
 
 To those now gazing at it the sketch seemed 
 phenomenal. 
 
 A gray house with a two - story front, and 
 sloping down to one low story over the kitchen. 
 No projection, no "jet " at the eaves, everything 
 bare and rigid. An immense chimney with many 
 chinks in it ; a stretch of meadow at the right 
 with a brook running through it, and some cows 
 standing. Not a tree, save one distant butter 
 nut and some young willows by the stream ; a 
 pale-blue summer sky overhead. 
 
 Eunice breathed a long breath of delight. Mrs. 
 Warner was stepping here and there to get new
 
 14 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 views of the picture. Her face also was ra 
 diant. 
 
 Marthy S. preserved an unflattering calmness 
 of demeanor. She said she never seen no sky 
 but what was bluer n that. 
 
 Eunice cast a withering glance at her, but did 
 not think it worth while to speak. 
 
 "The grass ain t anywhere nigh green enough," 
 went on the dress-maker, feeling her critical pow 
 ers expanding with use. "And I never noticed 
 that medder when there wa n t more crows flyin 
 over it." 
 
 Here she sniffed very decidedly, and said that 
 anybody could make a picture as good as that. 
 
 Eunice now lost her ability to keep silent. She 
 looked up at Marthy S. 
 
 "You re talkin like that," she said, with the 
 unutterable scorn of youth, " because Rowena 
 said that about pins. I should be ashamed to 
 be so mean !" 
 
 Mrs. Warner was still so pleased with the sketch 
 that she could not rebuke her daughter as she 
 ought to have done. 
 
 Miss Hancock again was conscious of the 
 strong necessity of remembering that she was a 
 professor. 
 
 " We ll hang it up in the parlor next to the 
 scene," said Mrs. Warner, with pride ; " they ll 
 kinder set each other off mighty well."
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 15 
 
 There was a large chromo in the Warner par 
 lor. It had been there ever since Eunice could 
 remember. It consisted of a pile of mountains 
 at the right, two deep chasms at the left, and in 
 the middle, very far away, were the turrets of a 
 massive castle. There was a red gloom over the 
 whole like the hue on the stage when the red 
 lights have almost died away. 
 
 The name of this object was " A Scene in Ger 
 many," but it was always deferentially mentioned 
 in the family as " the scene." The possession of 
 it was felt to confer a kind of distinction. 
 
 Eunice had a vague feeling that she did not 
 wish her gift to be placed near the scene. The 
 only well-defined objection which she could urge, 
 however, was that if this sketch were hung in 
 the parlor no one could ever see it, for the par 
 lor was always shut up. 
 
 Miss Hancock had gone back resolutely to her 
 basting. 
 
 The sunlight had suddenly left the kitchen. 
 There was only a brilliant glow in the west, 
 which was reflected vividly on the old house and 
 over the now brown meadow. 
 
 A rush of bitter cold air from the north-west 
 came against the doors and windows, making 
 them rattle. 
 
 Miss Hancock took her basting to the lightest 
 place; she glanced out, thinking that she should
 
 1 6 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 have to borrow an extra shawl when she walked 
 home after supper. 
 
 As she looked she saw a figure coming from 
 among a clump of pine-trees, through which the 
 road ran to the west. It was the figure of a 
 young girl walking rapidly. 
 
 The dress-maker s aquiline face darkened with 
 irritation as she gazed. 
 
 " If that ain t her now," she exclaimed to her 
 self. " I don t see how in time she happens to 
 look so stylish, I declare I don t. She don t 
 dress, nohow, but there s something or other 
 about her." 
 
 When the girl came nearer it could be seen 
 that her fur cap was quite worn and shabby, 
 and had been cheap to begin with. Her coarse 
 blanket shawl was like other blanket shawls. 
 Nevertheless, Miss Hancock was perfectly right, 
 though rather indefinite, when she said of this 
 girl that " there was something or other about 
 her."
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. If 
 
 II. 
 
 GOING BY BOAT. 
 
 "THERE S Rowena now," cried Eunice War 
 ner, as a dark object went quickly by the win 
 dow. 
 
 The child started up and carefully put down 
 the sketch she had been holding. 
 
 " I guess she s come over to be thanked," re 
 marked Miss Hancock, with some venom. 
 
 Eunice had no time to retort, for the porch 
 door opened immediately and Rowena Tuttle 
 entered. 
 
 "Take your things right off," said Mrs. War 
 ner, hospitably, " n stay to supper. I s pose 
 Georgiana s had to keep some scholars after 
 school or she d be here by this time ; but tain t 
 late neither. It does git dark so quick this sea 
 son of the year." 
 
 Rowena had nodded at the dress-maker and 
 looked at Eunice. She sat down and threw back 
 her heavy shawl. 
 
 " No, I can t stop to supper," she answered.
 
 l8 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 " I was down here to Mrs. Morris s, and so I came 
 to see Gcorgie a minute." 
 
 " She ll soon be to home now," responded Mrs. 
 Warner. " We ve ben admirin the picture, Ro- 
 weny. We set a lot by it already." 
 
 " She s goin to hang it by the scene," said 
 Eunice, discontentedly. "You know the scene, 
 don t you, Rowena?" 
 
 The girl smiled brilliantly. 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 Then she seemed to restrain a laugh. She 
 knew that the dress-maker was looking at her, 
 and she also knew that, for some reason, there 
 was malevolence in her gaze. 
 
 When Rowena spoke she uttered her words in 
 a clear-cut way that sometimes seemed almost 
 incisive in contrast with the slovenly manner in 
 which people chewed their syllables in this vil 
 lage. This was one of the sins which were laid 
 at her door. She was too good and too fine to 
 talk like other folks, "and she nothin but Hiram 
 Tuttle s daughter." From a child, however, Ro 
 wena had taken to correctness of speech as some 
 boys take to mischief as soon as they can com 
 pass it. When she spoke, even in the most cas 
 ual manner, there was a curious thrill in her voice 
 which always made a stranger turn quickly to see 
 who had spoken. She was hardly responsible for 
 this, and if it suggested deeps, or heights, or any-
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 19 
 
 thing in her nature out of the common, ought she 
 to be blamed ? 
 
 " It was awful good of you to give me that," 
 said Eunice, with enthusiasm. 
 
 " I thought you might like a keepsake when 
 I m away," was the reply. 
 
 "So, you re really goin , be ye?" asked Mrs. 
 Warner, with some awe mingled with reproach 
 in her speech. It could not be right for a girl 
 to leave a good home where she might have a 
 chance to sew straw part of the year and do slop 
 work when straw was dull. 
 
 It must be remembered that this was the one 
 of Mr. Tuttle s daughters who was " sut on goin 
 to Borston." 
 
 "Yes, I am really going. I must have a chance, 
 Mrs. Warner ; I feel that I must." 
 
 As she spoke, the girl rose and walked to the 
 window. She turned there and looked back at 
 the woman who was preparing to make griddle- 
 cakes for supper. 
 
 As she moved across the floor one saw that 
 it is not clothes that make a person " stylish," 
 though clothes are not to be despised as aids. 
 A woman is born stylish just as she may be born 
 with blue eyes. The attribute may not be im 
 mediately perceptible, but it is ready to appear 
 at the proper time, if it be her birthright, as the 
 second teeth come at the appropriate period.
 
 20 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Rowena s rusty dress hung on her "with an 
 air ;" the shawl slipped off her shoulders now as 
 she stood there as shawls never slip from shoul 
 ders undowered with that mysterious, elusive gift 
 which Marthy S. could recognize, but could not 
 achieve. 
 
 " I suppose you think I am very wicked, Mrs. 
 Warner," said Rowena. " I know your girls nev 
 er would think of leaving home unless they were 
 married." 
 
 "I m terrible afraid you ll git into temptation, 
 Roweny," said Mrs. Warner, stirring her cake bat 
 ter rapidly. " Somehow it don t seem right." 
 
 " Temptation ?" cried Rowena. " I shall be 
 hard at work ; I shall have one little room and 
 get my own meals. I shall live like a slave com 
 pared with the way I live now." 
 
 " Then why do you go ?" wonderingly ques 
 tioned her hostess. " But I s pose you expect 
 to make a lot of money. Now for a picture 
 like that you give Eunice I shouldn t wonder if 
 you d git as much as a dollar, or a dollar n a 
 quarter, shouldn t you ?" 
 
 " It s more likely I shouldn t get a cent," re 
 plied Rowena. "But I ve got to make money, 
 somehow. It s all father can do to let me have 
 what I ve been earning this last year." 
 
 " I should think," remarked Miss Hancock, 
 now folding her work with remarkably quick
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 21 
 
 motions, " I should think that a good principled 
 girl d stay to home, if she had a home. Women 
 that go gallivantin round hither and yon ain t 
 thought much of by folks that keep where they 
 should. Tain t gen rally liked here that you 
 should leave your father n mother n brother n 
 sisters, Roweny. I speak as a friend. It seems 
 my duty to say what is gen rally thought." 
 
 Rowena looked for an instant in silence at the 
 dress-maker; a scarlet flush rose to her face as 
 she did so. 
 
 " I wonder why it is that when folks speak as 
 a friend they are always so horribly disagreea 
 ble," she said. 
 
 " The truth ain t always pleasant, Roweny," 
 responded Marthy S., feeling an inspiring sense 
 of having performed a duty. 
 
 She had intended for a long time to tell this 
 girl what folks thought. She now felt better nat- 
 ured. She advanced from the window and in 
 quired if Rowena had a pattern of that skirt, or 
 did she git it out of The Delineator. She was told 
 that she had no pattern, and it did not come out 
 of The Delineator. 
 
 " It ain t just right ; there s too much of a fall 
 to the back, but still " began the dress-maker. 
 
 Here the porch door again opened, and a short, 
 thick-set girl came in impetuously and rushed 
 across the room at Rowena, exclaiming :
 
 22 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 " I was most sure that was you I saw through 
 the winder. Now you ve got to stay to supper, 
 n Eunice n I ll walk home with you." 
 
 This was Georgiana Warner, who taught school 
 in the north district. She brought in a great 
 whiff of fresh, keen air with her. She laid vio 
 lent hands on Rowena, and carried off that per 
 son s " things " into the bedroom, Mrs. Warner 
 looking on admiringly the while. Everything 
 Georgie did was admirable in her mother s eyes. 
 What other girl of her age had earned a " cham 
 ber set?" Who but Georgie could have com 
 bined a herring-bone pattern with something 
 else as indescribable as it was lovely, and have 
 introduced the combination into a bed-quilt? 
 
 The three girls clustered round the lamp-stand, 
 leaving space for Marthy S. to continue to baste 
 at one side of it. 
 
 " Seems to me you re dreadful sober," at last 
 said Georgie, after the sketch had been volubly 
 commented on. 
 
 In truth Rowena felt an odd tightness about 
 her throat as she looked around the familiar room 
 and listened to the familiar voices. 
 
 " I don t know when I sh ll be here again," she 
 said, huskily. 
 
 " But you ain t goin fore next week," hastily 
 exclaimed Eunice. 
 
 " Uncle Reuben goes Monday with the boats.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 23 
 
 I m going with him to save money. I shall be 
 too busy to come here again." 
 
 Afterwards Miss Hancock felt constrained to 
 say that Roweny Tuttle " did show some signs 
 of feelin about leavin them Warner girls that 
 night. Whatever end Roweny might come to, 
 she certainly did show feelin that night." 
 
 The snow was slow in coming this winter. 
 The roads were still bare and hard on that day 
 when Rowena came out of the door of her home 
 as she heard her uncle Reuben s cart rumbling 
 along the stretch of level ground from the 
 west. 
 
 At this moment she almost wished she had 
 never " sut out " in this way. 
 
 The cart stopped. Dimly she saw her father 
 and uncle tugging and straining to get her trunk 
 into the smaller boat, which was set down in the 
 larger. 
 
 Her mother and two younger sisters were clus 
 tered about her. 
 
 " Don t go out yet, Roweny, you ll only git 
 chilled fore you start," said Mrs. Tuttle, her lips 
 quivering as she spoke. " It ll take urn some 
 time to h ist that trunk in. You might s well 
 se down. Put your feet right on that stick of 
 wood in the oven n keep um warm. I ll be 
 wrappin up the soapstonc." 
 
 Rowena sat down as she was bidden and put
 
 24 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 her feet, with "rubbers" over her boots, in the 
 edge of the oven of the cook-stove. 
 
 She could not speak. She had never felt so 
 utterly miserable in her life. She hated Boston. 
 She was no longer interested to know how the 
 city looked. She did not know, after all, as she 
 could ever learn to be even the most ordinary 
 art student. It seemed utterly preposterous now 
 that she had ever thought of trying to study art. 
 She could not do it. 
 
 She was struggling against a powerful desire 
 to turn and fling herself in her mother s arms 
 and declare that she could not leave her. Her 
 ears heard dully her mother s voice saying : 
 
 " You know I ve put the plum-cake n the corn 
 beef n the bread in the right-hand top of your 
 trunk. I wouldn t resk puttin in no pies nor no 
 preserves, though I did want to, you re so fond 
 of um. Your father s put the lamp kerosene stove 
 in a separate box. Don t forgit to have Reuben 
 leave it where you stop. You ll want it to boil 
 your coffee and eggs, n do whatever you can do. 
 I s pose you ll have to live mighty close. You 
 know we sh ll send in victuals most every week 
 by Reuben. 
 
 Mrs. Tuttlc kept talking on as if she were afraid 
 to stop. The sound of the commonplace words 
 helped her not to break down entirely. 
 
 When she had wrapped up the hot soapstone
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 25 
 
 in an old newspaper that steamed about the stone, 
 she came and stood by her daughter s chair. 
 
 Rowena pulled off her mitten, put her hand 
 out, and took her mother s hand in a close clasp. 
 She could not help sobbing a little as she did so. 
 
 " Don t, Roweny," whispered the mother, trem 
 bling. 
 
 " No, no, I won t. And Boston isn t so far but 
 I can come back any day." 
 
 "Arty day. And be dearly welcome." 
 
 Now Mrs.Tuttle sobbed. Rowena pressed her 
 cheek against the rough hand. 
 
 " Mother, if you cry I shall feel like killing my 
 self," she said, almost violently. 
 
 " Sho, now! How foolish we be!" responded 
 the mother, immediately swallowing her tears. 
 
 One of the girls had gone to the window, and 
 from that position she now announced that " Fa 
 ther had got a ladder, n they were tryin to shove 
 the trunk up on that. But it kep a-slippin back." 
 
 " I hope I sha n t keep slipping back," remarked 
 Rowena, with a hysterical laugh. 
 
 Mrs. Tuttle laughed too, even more hysterical 
 ly. She said she hoped they wouldn t hender 
 Reuben too long. She was thankful the wind 
 was in the north-west, and so Roweny wouldn t 
 have to face it. 
 
 The girl rose and walked about the room. She 
 looked at everything in it as if she should never
 
 26 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 be there again. But she did not dare to look at 
 her mother s face. 
 
 " There ! The trunk has tumbled in," cried the 
 observer at the window. 
 
 " All ashore that s goin ashore !" shouted Un 
 cle Reuben s jolly voice. 
 
 Rowena hurriedly kissed her sisters, held her 
 mother fast a moment, and heard the tremulous 
 words : 
 
 " I know you ll keep straight, Roweny. N 
 don t forgit us." 
 
 She ran down the path. Her father held the 
 ladder in place, and she climbed up and stepped 
 over into the boat. There were a great many 
 blankets and shawls in the bottom of the boat. 
 Mrs. Tuttle came out with the hot soapstone, 
 which was carefully placed at the girl s feet by 
 her father, who had come aboard with her. 
 
 He also said : " I m sure you ll keep straight. 
 P raps the Tuttles ain t no great for layin up, but 
 they ain t crooked. Good-bye." 
 
 He went down the ladder and then set it care 
 fully against the fence. 
 
 All the Tuttles were in the yard. They waved 
 their hands. 
 
 Uncle Reuben said " it wa n t nothin to go to 
 Borston. Clk ! Git up !" 
 
 In another moment the cart had gone round 
 a curve. The Tuttles ran into the house. How
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 27 
 
 the wind swept about ! How the dust blew over 
 the frozen road ! 
 
 There was a slight gray film rising in the north 
 and west. 
 
 Mr. Tuttle stood a good while by the kitchen 
 stove with his hands in his pockets. He was a 
 thin man with a stoop in his shoulders, a long 
 face, with a great development on his head of 
 the bump that is called benevolence. 
 
 He would have been rather "beforehanded "if 
 he had not twice " signed " for friends who were 
 sure they could pay long before the notes were 
 due. But they did not pay, and Mr. Tuttle had 
 to raise the money each time. 
 
 His wife had made him pledge himself never 
 to sign again. He was now out of the debts so 
 incurred, but he was no longer a young man. 
 
 At last he said that if the wind got into the 
 east he guessed there d be a tough snow-storm, 
 by the way the sky looked. 
 
 He walked out towards the barn. His wife, 
 watching him, thought he was more bent than 
 usual. 
 
 " He always did think everything of Roweny," 
 she whispered. Then she hurried about the 
 house-work which had been "left standing." She 
 was glad there was so much to do. She hus 
 tled the girls off to school, for it was not yet 
 nine o clock.
 
 28 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 When the boats passed the Warner place all 
 the family came to the door. Rovvena stood up 
 and flung out her hand. She saw that Georgie 
 was crying. 
 
 Uncle Reuben repeated his remark that " it 
 wa n t nothin to go to Borston." 
 
 After that Rowena wrapped herself heavily, 
 and gave herself up to her thoughts. They were 
 not quite so dismal, now the wrench of parting 
 was over. She began to see the road-sides and 
 the distant pastures. She thought the differ 
 ent hues of brown were charming. She began 
 to compound in her mind the colors she would 
 use in sketching that far-away hill, where the 
 stunted savins now looked blue-black in the cold 
 air. 
 
 All at once she became aware that Uncle 
 Reuben was pulling in his horse and saying, 
 " Whoa !" 
 
 An open wagon was driven alongside, and a 
 young man sprang out of it. In some way he 
 managed to get into the boat with two or three 
 agile movements. 
 
 "You d better remember that these horses 
 won t bear much courtin this weather," said Un 
 cle Reuben, slapping his hands against his chest. 
 
 Now he was in the boat with Rowena, the 
 young man apparently had nothing to say. He 
 stammered, and was very red.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 29 
 
 " I wanted to say good-bye," he at last began. 
 "I think it was kinder mean not to let me say 
 good-bye." 
 
 " I am not hindering you," responded Ro- 
 wena. 
 
 Uncle Reuben chuckled. The young man, 
 whose name was Barrett, felt it was very hard 
 to have old Little sitting there listening. He 
 had a clear vision of Little in the store the next 
 evening telling every particular of this interview, 
 with dreadful embellishments. 
 
 Philip Barrett took a good grip of his resolu 
 tion, and turning his back on the place where 
 the driver sat, he murmured, in a pleading voice, 
 
 " I do wish you d write to me, Roweny." 
 
 " I shall be so very busy," was the reply, in the 
 same murmur. 
 
 " But think how lonesome I sh ll be ! I tell 
 you I can t stan it, Roweny." 
 
 Barrett reached down and seized the thick 
 mittens that contained the girl s hands. 
 
 At that moment his horse, left alone, began 
 to walk forward, and its owner was obliged to 
 straighten himself and cry out : 
 
 "Whoa! Hold still, can t ye?" 
 
 He saw that Rowena was smiling when he 
 turned to her again. He grew more red. 
 
 " Tain t no laughin matter with me, I c n tell 
 you," he cried, indignantly. " I jest as lives hang
 
 30 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 myself if you don t write. Stop, you old brute, 
 you ! Little, do git down V stop that boss !" 
 
 " I m too stiff in the joints to keep climbin in 
 n out er this rig," was the response. 
 
 " Oh, I ll write," hastily said Rowena. 
 
 Barrett squeezed the mittens hard for an in 
 stant. Then he scrambled down somehow and 
 ran headlong after his horse, which was now trot 
 ting along the road. 
 
 Mr. Little looked over his shoulder at his pas 
 senger. He told her it must be a great thing to 
 be a girl n have beaus ; but she did not reply. 
 
 Finally the long stretches of country were left 
 behind. There were large villages now. Rowe 
 na looked at them eagerly. Then tall buildings, 
 the gilded dome of the State-house, spires, chim 
 neys were in sight. But it was a long time then 
 before they reached the pavements. The film 
 over the sky had increased. Some flakes of snow 
 were falling when the boat-cart turned into At 
 lantic Avenue, where the load was to be deliv 
 ered. 
 
 Rowena never knew how she got down. She 
 had not known a city was like that. A " thick- 
 settled place " she had expected, but not this rat 
 tle and turmoil. 
 
 She had a glimpse of ships and the water in 
 the harbor when she rose to her feet in the boat. 
 
 There was some joking among the men where
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 31 
 
 they stopped about the passenger old Little had 
 brought. 
 
 She walked with her uncle to a melancholy- 
 looking house on Hudson Street. This was where 
 he took his meals while he was in Boston. He 
 bought so many tickets for three dollars, he ex 
 plained to her, and he used these tickets for his 
 meals. The woman who kept this house would let 
 Rowena a room. This woman came to the two as 
 they waited in a dark parlor, which was supposed 
 to be heated through a register. This register 
 apparently opened into a boiler wherein cabbage 
 was cooking in some underground regions. 
 
 Mrs. Jarvis nodded at Rowena. She asked her 
 if she had ever been in Borston before, and when 
 the girl said " No," she said, "Indeed," and look 
 ed at her in pitying surprise. 
 
 Mrs. Jarvis was a very spare woman with a 
 narrow forehead, and gray hair rolled up in that 
 fashion sometimes called " pompadour." This 
 roll appeared to increase the length of her face 
 by a great deal more than the height of the roll 
 itself. When Rowena first looked at her she had 
 a bewildered idea that at least a third of Mrs. 
 Jarvis s height consisted of face and hair. 
 
 Mr. Little explained that this was the girl who 
 wanted that room. Mrs. Jarvis said " Certainly," 
 and went and said something down a spout which 
 obviously led into the kitchen. This spout, so
 
 32 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Rowena thought, must also act as a conductor 
 of cabbage odor, for even a register going at its 
 full capacity could not bring up so strong a fra 
 grance. Mrs. Jarvis returned to the parlor, but 
 had a preoccupied air, as if waiting to hear from 
 the spout. 
 
 She remarked to Rowena that she would find 
 Borston very pleasant. She appeared to be about 
 to say something more when a hollow sound was 
 heard in the spout, and the lady immediately told 
 Rowena that, as the servants were all busy, she 
 herself would show her the room. 
 
 Mr. Little, who was somewhat subdued, said 
 he guessed he d go down and take his grub, and 
 he disappeared in a place even darker than the 
 parlor and hall were, and which Rowena after 
 wards learned was the stair-way leading to the 
 dining-room and kitchen. 
 
 Rowena followed her hostess up four flights, 
 and was then shown into a little room with a 
 very small cylinder stove with no fire in it. 
 
 " Shall you require fuel?" asked Mrs. Jarvis. 
 
 Rowena felt very miserable and helpless. She 
 said feebly that she would need a fire. She could 
 hardly speak. 
 
 "Fuel will be extry," said Mrs. Jarvis, "though 
 some lets their room doors remain open dooring 
 the day, and has heat from the halls." 
 
 Rowena had not noticed that there was much
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 33 
 
 heat in the halls, save what would unavoidably 
 come in the warm cabbage vapor. 
 
 It was at last settled that a servant should 
 come immediately and make a fire. 
 
 Mrs. Jarvis turned to go, but she came back to 
 ask: 
 
 " Shall you require meals?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You will do light house-keeping?" 
 
 Rowena did not know just what light house 
 keeping was, but she said she thought she should 
 do it. Mrs. Jarvis said again that she believed 
 Rowena would find Borston very pleasant. Then 
 she went out into the hall. The girl sat down on 
 the bed, and said aloud that she would go home 
 with Uncle Reuben the next day. 
 
 She was very hungry and very cold, and with 
 all her emotions there was mingled a delirious 
 desire to demolish that pompadour roll on the 
 top of Mrs. Jarvis s head. 
 
 At last the fire was made, her room was warm, 
 and she had eaten some bread and corned beef 
 from her trunk. There must be something stim 
 ulating in corned beef, for Rowena now felt that 
 she could better combat her inclination to re 
 treat. 
 3
 
 34 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 III. 
 
 INVITED TO A SEA-ANTS. 
 
 ON the morning after her arrival at that house 
 in Hudson Street, Rowena rose long before it was 
 light. She felt that if she should fail of seeing 
 her Uncle Reuben when he came for his break 
 fast she should die. 
 
 The fire had long since gone out in her stove. 
 It seemed miles away, in an undiscovered and 
 dreadful country, that the supply of kindling and 
 coal probably was kept. 
 
 She did not dare to turn on the gas lest some 
 thing should explode. She knew that there was 
 nothing gas liked so well as exploding. She 
 would get a small kerosene lamp that very day. 
 When kerosene exploded she knew where she 
 was, or thought she did, which was equally com 
 forting. 
 
 She dressed herself in the semi-darkness. With 
 a shawl wrapped about her she went out into the 
 narrow, musty hall and leaned over, listening. An 
 Irish servant girl came out of the room opposite 
 and brushed indifferently by her. Rowena wished
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 35 
 
 she dared to ask if she might come down and get 
 some wood and coal, but the girl went clumping 
 along flight after flight, and Rowena could not 
 speak. The house was as mysterious to her as 
 any Radcliffe Castle. Once, when some door was 
 slammed open far down in the abyss, she heard a 
 frightful sound, and did not know that it was the 
 milkman s call. She wondered if she should al 
 ways be trying not to cry. 
 
 Presently there were more steps somewhere in 
 the halls. She heard Mrs. Jarvis s voice asking 
 somebody where " them tickets were," and then 
 inquiring if " the reg lars had begun to come in 
 yet." She could not hear the replies. She told 
 herself that her Uncle Reuben must be more of 
 a reg lar than otherwise, since he was there at 
 certain times. The cabbage odor of the day be 
 fore had become stagnant now, and the active 
 perfume was that of frying liver and bacon, with 
 something that was probably called coffee. Ro 
 wena did not care whether she ever ate or not. 
 She had no oil for her little lamp-stove, and no 
 coal. She could not imagine when she should have 
 any breakfast. But she could not swallow food. 
 
 She knew that she must go down to the ground 
 floor if she expected to see her uncle. He was 
 part of her home. 
 
 " My darling home," she said, in a whisper, and 
 twisted her hands in her shawl.
 
 36 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 What if Reuben Little had eaten already and 
 gone? 
 
 She started hastily, but she was obliged to go 
 slowly, it was so dark, and she was sure there 
 were rents in the stair carpets. As she went 
 on the smell of bacon became stronger and the 
 sounds of dishes rattling louder. And this was 
 Boston ! 
 
 At last she finished her cautious descent and 
 stood in the hall into which the street door was 
 opening constantly to admit what she supposed 
 to be the reg lars. Each deposited a ticket with 
 Mrs. Jarvis, who sat at a small table in the open 
 door-way into the parlor. Nearly all of this lady s 
 patrons were of those who are obliged to be at 
 their work at seven o clock. 
 
 There was the most reduced flame of gas going 
 at the mouth of the one burner which stood out 
 from the wall high up towards the dingy ceiling. 
 This blue flame revealed the fact that every one 
 who came in was covered with snow. Few had 
 umbrellas. There was a hasty stamping of feet, 
 a flinging down of hats, a delivery of tickets, and 
 then a rush down the stairs into the basement. 
 
 It seemed to Rowena as she stood there shrink- 
 ingly that nearly all of these were girls. Where 
 did they all come from ? What were they doing? 
 As they went by her each gave her one swift, cold 
 glance.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 37 
 
 Mrs. Jarvis was constantly saying "good-morn 
 ing " in a dry, impersonal tone. She kept her 
 tickets in piles. She wore a wadded, loose morn 
 ing-gown. It was-so much wadded, and had such 
 a large pattern of palm -leaves on it, together 
 with a hitherto unclassified tropical fruit, that the 
 wearer looked very much as if she had wrapped 
 her bed-comforter about her. The pompadour 
 roll on the top of her head was so exactly as it 
 was the night before that Rovvena, gazing tremu 
 lously at it, felt almost sure that it must have 
 been taken off and put in a box before its owner 
 retired. 
 
 In a lull in the arrivals Mrs. Jarvis leaned back 
 wearily in her chair, and her wandering glance 
 rested upon Rovvena. She said " good-morning " 
 again, this time with a slight show of interest. 
 The girl hurriedly advanced. 
 
 " Do you know whether my uncle, Mr. Little, 
 has come in yet ?" she asked, quickly. 
 
 " I don t think so ; good-morning, Miss Chute," 
 as a pallid girl in a long, straight " gossamer de 
 posited her ticket, and then almost ran down the 
 stairs. 
 
 " I hope I haven t missed him," said Rowena, 
 in a low, strained voice. 
 
 "I presume not; I presume he will soon be 
 here. Did you sleep well, Miss Miss 
 
 "Tuttle," said Rowena, feebly.
 
 38 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 But Mrs. Jarvis did not hear her. Somebody 
 had come to buy a package of twenty-five tick 
 ets for three dollars. This person was a stout 
 young man, with an ulster so long that it drag 
 gled about his heels. Rowena had stepped into 
 the parlor and was standing directly behind Mrs. 
 Jarvis, leaning over that lady s chair and watch 
 ing the door eagerly. 
 
 She did not see the young man. But he watch 
 ed her quite intently. As he put the tickets into 
 his pocket she uttered a cry and rushed out into 
 the hall again. 
 
 "Holloa, Rovveny!" cried Uncle Reuben, 
 stamping his feet briskly. " Bright n early, ain t 
 ye? Grand snow-storm. Guess Phil Barrett 11 
 wish you could try his sleigh. If this keeps up 
 I sh ll have to go back on runners. Of course, 
 you ain t got to goin yet. Come down to break 
 fast with me. I ve got lots of tickets. I ain t in 
 any hurry. How do you like Borston?" 
 
 Rowena caught the man s hand and held it 
 fast. 
 
 " I hate Boston," she answered, with subdued 
 violence. 
 
 "That s cause you ain t got to runnin yet. 
 You ll think dif runt in a day or two." 
 
 Uncle Reuben spoke so comfortably that the 
 girl felt calmed. She went down-stairs with him. 
 By this time the outward flow had set in ; but
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 39 
 
 people were constantly filling up the empty 
 places. Rowena did not see a single face ; there 
 was for her only a confused nightmare-like med 
 ley of human beings, a good deal of heavy, much- 
 chipped white crockery, a lavish provision of 
 food and drink, some talking and laughing, two 
 black-haired Irish girls running back and forth 
 between kitchen and dining-room, bearing plates 
 and cups and saucers. 
 
 Mr. Reuben Little felt that he was doing the 
 honors of Boston. He conversed affably with the 
 stout young man opposite, who had taken off his 
 voluminous ulster, and now revealed a large, pale- 
 pink necktie that bulged out a great deal in front, 
 and threatened to retain a number of crumbs of 
 bread and potato and some drops of coffee. It 
 did not have the least effect on the pink neck 
 tie that its wearer was constantly trying to thrust 
 back into a more retiring position. Rowena did 
 not know that this person was talking at her, 
 though he never addressed her. But all the oth 
 er girls at the table knew it, and most of them 
 thought she was a bold piece to allow it. When 
 she walked away they looked at her. The young 
 man hurried up-stairs after her. He opened the 
 front door with his ulster on his arm. Then he 
 lingered. The clouds were breaking away. The 
 sun was beginning to shine. 
 
 Reuben Little would not, after all, be delayed
 
 40 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 by the storm. He said good-bye to his niece. 
 He wondered why she clung to him so, and what 
 made her so pale ; but he concluded it was be 
 cause she hadn t got to runnin* yet. 
 
 Mrs. Jarvis, still at her ticket -table, saw the 
 parting. She told Rowena to come right into 
 the parlor a minute and stand by the register. 
 She spoke as if standing by the register would 
 be very comforting. So Rowena did as she was 
 bidden. She crouched by the iron lattice, and 
 felt that her misery was greater than she could 
 bear. 
 
 After a time Mrs. Jarvis beckoned to her. Ro 
 wena went to the woman s side and began to 
 look at the pompadour roll, succumbing more 
 and more to the strange fascination it had for 
 her. 
 
 "You ll soon be cheerful," said Mrs. Jarvis, 
 feeling her rather dried-up heart going out some 
 what towards this girl. "Of course, I m always 
 busy, but if I have a minute I will try to make 
 Borston agreeable. I think you ll find Borston 
 very pleasant. It is a privilege to live here. 
 
 Rowena tried not to groan. She said " thank 
 you," and was moving towards the stairs, think 
 ing she would go up to her cold room and cry 
 the rest of the day. 
 
 "Stop a minute, Miss Miss 
 
 "Tuttlc," again said Rowena, and again her
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 41 
 
 hostess did not hear her, for she went back to 
 her table to take two tickets from two girls who 
 were laughing so that they seemed to fall down 
 into the lower hall. 
 
 " I was going to say," went on Mrs. Jarvis, re 
 turning, " that it would probably do you good to 
 come into the parlor here this evening. We are 
 going to have a sea-ants." 
 
 Rowena looked and felt bewildered. But she 
 was thankful to know that Mrs. Jarvis meant to 
 be kind. 
 
 " Madame Van Benthuysen will be present," 
 said Mrs. Jarvis, with great unction. " Of course 
 you have heard of Madame Van Benthuysen?" 
 
 " No, ma am," said Rowena, conscious of a de 
 praving ignorance. 
 
 Mrs. Jarvis looked at her pityingly. The roll 
 of hair even had a commiserating aspect. 
 
 " Madame makes it her home in Borston," 
 went on Mrs. Jarvis. " She resides in Harrison 
 Avenoo. She says the mental atmosphere of 
 this city is more congenial than the mental at 
 mosphere of any other place. She sometimes 
 speaks of it as soulful. I do not suppose there 
 is a human being on the face of the globe as sen 
 sitive to mental atmospheres as Madame Van 
 Benthuysen." 
 
 Rowena stood in silence. She was greatly per 
 plexed. She wished, confusedly, that if the air
 
 42 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 here were soulful she might have a realizing sense 
 of it. She had not thought of the air as being 
 in the least like that. But perhaps it was differ 
 ent in Harrison Avenue. 
 
 " I shall be glad to have you present this even 
 ing at about eight," resumed Mrs. Jarvis. "We 
 expect the sea-ants to be peculiarly interesting. 
 Madame gave me to understand that she was al 
 most sure that her first husband, Major Stanger, 
 who was killed in the battle of Bull Run, would 
 be with us." 
 
 Mrs. Jarvis made this ghastly announcement 
 with the utmost satisfaction of manner. Rowenu 
 felt her hair rising. How could she be present ? 
 And yet it seemed ungracious to refuse. She 
 wished Major Stanger would not appear. It was 
 possible that an engagement in heaven or hell, 
 or in some intermediate sphere, would keep him 
 away. Still, the girl knew she must come ex 
 pecting to meet the major. 
 
 It was only in the vaguest and slightest way 
 that Rowena had ever heard of Spiritualism, and 
 she knew nothing of any of the terms used by 
 its followers. 
 
 " Have you ever attended a sea-ants?" inquired 
 Mrs. Jarvis. 
 
 " No, ma am. I don t know what they are." 
 
 "Is it possible? And you don t know wheth 
 er you could be a medyum or not ?"
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 43 
 
 " Oh, no, no !" 
 
 Rowena put out both her hands, as if warding 
 off the thought. She began to make a backward 
 movement towards the door. 
 
 " You have that peculiar expression about the 
 eyes that usually indicates great medyumistic 
 powers," went on Mrs. Jarvis, showing a new in 
 terest in her lodger. " Have you never had no 
 thoughts of being developed ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! no !" cried Rowena again, this time 
 more emphatically than before. A wild idea 
 came to her that she would run away if there 
 were danger of being developed. 
 
 "You shrink now because you are ignorant," 
 said Mrs. Jarvis. " Ignorance is always coward 
 ly; it is only as you reach forward that you get 
 into the full stream of spiritualistic light. I m 
 sure madame will be interested in you. Don t 
 fail to come at eight." 
 
 Rowena did not know how she could es 
 cape the sea -ants. She gave her promise to 
 be present, thinking she might die before 
 night. 
 
 When she had climbed half the stairs to her 
 room, she came back and asked if she might 
 take up some fuel. She was shown into a dun 
 geon underneath the house, where there was a 
 quantity of coal and some small bunches of kin 
 dling. She was told to come here for fuel, and
 
 44 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 did not know that she paid for having it carried 
 to her room. 
 
 An hour later she was sitting over her little 
 stove, which was now red-hot. She had tidied 
 her room, she had made a list of the things she 
 must immediately buy. She must go out on the 
 street. She wished that she had something be 
 sides that heavy, coarse shawl a jacket, for in 
 stance. But she must hoard all her money for 
 her living and her lessons. She looked at a card 
 she held in her hand. " Mr. Allestree, Studio 4, 
 No. Tremont Street." 
 
 In five minutes she was walking up Beach 
 Street, with a small portfolio of her own sketches 
 under her arm. She was very pale, and her heart 
 beat heavily. She had to inquire her way a good 
 many times ; and when at last she had mounted 
 the broad and what seemed to her magnificent 
 staircase of that building on Tremont Street, she 
 found that Mr. Allestree would not come for 
 nearly two hours. It was now not much after 
 eight. 
 
 She went back, and sat the two hours in her 
 room. She could not buy tea, or kerosene, or 
 any such vulgar necessity until she had seen 
 Mr. Allestree. It seemed to her that she could 
 hardly breathe until she had seen him. And 
 perhaps he would not take her. 
 
 She held herself in her room ten minutes after
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 45 
 
 the time mentioned by some official she had seen 
 in that place. 
 
 She did not know whether to knock or go bold 
 ly in. She knocked twice, and then had her hand 
 on the latch, when the door was suddenly flung 
 open from the inside by a lady who held a pal 
 ette in her left hand, together with a maul-stick, 
 and who had a paint-brush between her lips. 
 
 As soon as she released the door she removed 
 the brush from her mouth and said : 
 
 " I don t know why you can t come right in." 
 
 Rowena stepped in, and the door clanged shut 
 behind her. She felt dazzled. She knew vaguely 
 that there were busts and casts and statues and 
 drapery and pictures, framed and unframed, ev 
 erywhere about ; but what dazzled her was the 
 woman who had opened the door, and who now 
 stood looking at her with that calm kind of a 
 gaze which one gives to an inanimate object 
 which cannot look back. Rowena knew very 
 well that she was only an object to this person ; 
 she was indignant, but she was drawn all the 
 same. 
 
 The woman was dressed in something light 
 gray and soft ; there was a fall of pale, thin silk 
 at one side of her skirt, and some of the same 
 silk was fluffed about her throat, and by some 
 means stood up high, and, in a manner, framed 
 the face, which was radiantly colorless, except
 
 46 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 for the lips. It was high-featured and thin and 
 disdainful and questioning. It had a quantity 
 of light, reddish hair, short and curly on the 
 forehead hair of the exact hue of the thick eye 
 brows and eyelashes. Rowena, who, even in her 
 most embarrassed moments, involuntarily no 
 ticed colors, said to herself: 
 
 " Her eyes are green, and oh, how red her lips 
 are!" 
 
 " I wanted to see Mr. Allestree," said Rowena, 
 at last, making a great effort. 
 
 The woman now turned and walked off to an 
 easel at the end of the room. She had evidently 
 been at work there. As she walked she said that 
 Mr. Allestree might not be in for an hour ; that 
 Rowena might wait if she chose. Was she one 
 of his pupils? 
 
 Rowena shyly followed across the immense 
 room. She was possessed by a desire to see this 
 woman s work. 
 
 " I want to be one of his pupils," she said. 
 
 Her voice sounded so young, so clear, and it 
 had so markedly that quality in it which has been 
 mentioned that the other occupant of the room 
 turned again, then deliberately put down her pal 
 ette and other tools. 
 
 "Have you brought some of your sketches in 
 that portfolio?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes."
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 47 
 
 " Show them to me. I ve studied everything. 
 Now I m digging at art. Show me your sketches." 
 
 Rovvena resented the tone, but she obeyed the 
 command. She was very slow in untying the rib 
 bon which bound her portfolio ; her fingers trem 
 bled so, and she could not steady them. The 
 other woman watched her intently. 
 
 " You have good hands," she remarked, coolly, 
 not caring that the words made Rowena flush 
 hotly. " I like them." Then she suddenly added : 
 " I hope you haven t come here to Allestree 
 just because you can daub placques, and put aw 
 ful hints of daisies on squares of black satin to 
 hang up in your rooms. Horrible things ! That s 
 what most women do, and think it s art. If I 
 can t do some real work, I shall ah, did you do 
 that?"
 
 48 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 IV. 
 
 MAJOR STANGER. 
 
 Row EN A had at last spread open her portfolio. 
 The first sketch that lay there was the original 
 of the Warner homestead, a copy of which she 
 had given Eunice. 
 
 Her companion reached out a long, slim hand 
 with an imperative motion and took the sheet. 
 But she did not say anything, though Rowena 
 stood looking at her with dilated, hoping, and 
 fearing eyes. 
 
 Every sketch was taken out and gazed upon 
 slowly and keenly, and in silence. 
 
 At last Rowena could bear it no longer. She 
 walked to the easel, where this woman had been 
 at work. 
 
 Presently a voice close beside her asked : 
 
 " What do you think of it ?" 
 
 " I think it is bad," said Rowena. 
 
 "And you dare to tell me so?" 
 
 " Why not tell you so, since you asked me ?" 
 
 The country girl turned an astonished glance 
 at her interlocutor, who answered it angrily.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 49 
 
 "Mr. Allestree does not say it is bad," she re 
 marked. 
 
 " Perhaps it isn t ; I only think it is," responded 
 Rowena, humbly, " and I am very ignorant." 
 
 The other woman s face flushed and paled. 
 Every movement of hers had a certain graceful, 
 final decision in it, and was rapid without being 
 hurried. She took up a brush and drew it across 
 the landscape in oil, which was almost finished, 
 on her easel. A broad line of crimson paint was 
 left on the picture. The action seemed to have 
 dissipated her anger. She turned with a sin 
 gularly sweet smile to the girl who was close 
 to her. 
 
 " I knew it was bad all the time. I m not a 
 fool," she said, " but all my friends praised it. 
 They said I must stick to my latest fad, I was 
 born to be an artist, and all that rot. You have 
 told me the truth ; you can t lie. I might better 
 have stuck to theosophy. What do you think 
 of theosophy, Miss ?" 
 
 " Tuttle," said Rowena, and as she said that 
 word a vivid vision of Mrs. Jarvis and her morn 
 ing-gown and her hair rose before her. 
 
 " Miss Tuttle," said her companion, promptly, 
 " what idea have you formed about theosophy?" 
 
 " I don t know what it is," replied the girl, 
 blushing with shame. 
 
 " Nobody knows what it is," was the unex- 
 
 4
 
 50 ROWENY IN ROSTON. 
 
 pcctcd rejoinder, " but it is sometimes entertain 
 ing to talk as if we knew. A whole lot of us 
 meet here and there and talk and talk. It is 
 great fun at first, but afterwards it gets to be a 
 bore. But one must do something, or what s the 
 use of living in Borston ?" 
 
 The speaker was standing directly in front of 
 Rowena. She spoke in a voice that was not high 
 or loud, but that could be heard with a peculiar 
 distinctness, each word being like a perfectly 
 formed bit of marble suddenly chipped off and 
 sent out on its mission. It was evidently a hab 
 it, long cultivated, that she should speak thus. 
 
 Rowena tried to listen understandingly, but 
 she was waiting for the master to come, and she 
 was wishing she dared to ask what this stranger 
 had thought of her sketches. But of course she 
 had not liked them, or she would have told her. 
 
 Just then the great door of the studio clanged 
 again. A large man in a fur-coat entered briskly. 
 
 " There is Allestree," said the woman, in an 
 undertone to Rowena, who began to tremble piti 
 ably. She gathered her sketches hastily into her 
 arms and hurried out towards the door. Alles 
 tree saw her coming, and was sorry for her. 
 
 "Another poor devil who thinks she can paint," 
 he said to himself, as he threw off his cap and 
 coat. She stood and waited. 
 
 "Well?" he said.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 51 
 
 " Will you look at these ?" 
 
 Rowcna now held herself straight and stiff. 
 She was thinking she could go home. Her fa 
 ther and mother would be glad to see her. She 
 could get a school. 
 
 The man glanced to where the other woman 
 stood, far away, near her easel. 
 
 "Good-morning, Miss Phillipps," he said. 
 
 Rowena thought he dreaded to look at her 
 work. Again she said to herself, " I can go home. 
 If I can t get a school, I can do slop work." 
 
 Allestree threw himself down in a long chair 
 and put his legs on the foot-rest. 
 
 " Give them to me, please," he said. 
 
 She laid her armful across his knees. He took 
 up a sheet. 
 
 " H m," he said. 
 
 He took up another sheet. Again he said 
 "H m." 
 
 He had so much beard on his face that the 
 girl could not make out one expression more 
 than another, and at last she lowered her eyes 
 and waited in despair. 
 
 Finally he turned himself sideways and looked 
 at her. 
 
 " Did you want me to give you lessons?" 
 
 "Yes if you think 
 
 " We ll make a beginning. Come to-morrow 
 at eleven."
 
 52 ROWENV IN BOSTON. 
 
 He held out her sketches to her. She took 
 them mechanically. It was all she could do not 
 to cry with relief and joy. Since Allestree would 
 teach her there must be some promise in her work. 
 
 She did not know how she got to the door. 
 As she was trying to open it Miss Phillipps 
 walked quickly to her. 
 
 " Here is your portfolio," she said. With two 
 or three deft movements she fastened the sketch 
 es in place. 
 
 "Wait one moment outside for me," she said, 
 and opened the door for Rowena, who stepped 
 without, and stood dazed and tremulous. She 
 thought of Uncle Reuben, and hoped she should 
 soon "git to runnin ." 
 
 The door swung open again, and Rowena was 
 joined by Miss Phillipps in heavy furs. 
 
 " It occurred to me that I could take you 
 home," she said. " My carriage will be here. 
 You seemed so overcome." The two went down 
 the stairs. " You were afraid Allestree would 
 not teach you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " He would not if he had not seen you had 
 some talent. It s my opinion that you have a 
 great deal. He took me because I am Miss 
 Phillipps," with a little laugh. " Here s the car 
 riage. Get in. Where do you live ? Hudson 
 Street, driver."
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 53 
 
 Miss Phillipps sat down beside Rowena, who 
 was almost sure her senses were leaving her. But 
 through the whole time a shrewd good sense had 
 enabled her to guess that her companion was a 
 person who had whims, and who could afford to 
 indulge them. 
 
 " I shall see you at the studio," remarked Miss 
 Phillipps. 
 
 " But you have spoiled your picture." 
 
 " I spoiled that long ago. I shall begin an 
 other. How old are you ?" 
 
 "Almost twenty-two." 
 
 " And I m thirty. I suppose you are very 
 poor?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Don t look so proud. I m not going to 
 offer you alms. Is this your place? What is 
 that sign over the basement window ? Twenty- 
 five tickets for three dollars tickets for what ?" 
 
 " For meals." 
 
 " Oh ! Do you have tickets ?" 
 
 " No. I m going to do light house-keeping in 
 my room at the top of the house." 
 
 "Oh! Cook your own meals? I should like 
 that much better. Perhaps when you know me 
 well you will invite me to lunch ? You look as 
 if you never would. Don t let your face show 
 so plainly what you feel. What are you going 
 to do evenings?"
 
 54 ROWENY IN 15OSTON. 
 
 " This evening I am going to a sea-ants in the 
 parlor here," replied Rowena, with some desper 
 ation in her manner. 
 
 " A sea-ants ? Mercy ! Can it be there are 
 still Spiritualists? I went through all that long 
 ago." 
 
 " I haven t been through it yet," said Rowena. 
 
 The driver had been holding the door open for 
 the last few minutes, but Miss Phillipps had put 
 a detaining hand on Rowena s arm as she asked 
 her questions. 
 
 " Well, good-bye." 
 
 Miss Phillipps smiled and leaned slightly tow 
 ards the young girl as she said this. Rowena 
 wished that she did not feel such a strong attrac 
 tion towards this lady when she smiled like that. 
 
 She stepped out onto the sidewalk. As she 
 did so, Mrs. Jarvis looked from the parlor win 
 dow. She was dusting that room that it might 
 be in good order for the evening. 
 
 The carriage rolled away through the mud and 
 slush, and Rowena mounted the steps. Her 
 cheeks burned and her eyes sparkled. 
 
 Mrs. Jarvis came to the parlor door, which was 
 always open into the hall. There was almost 
 deference in her manner. 
 
 "Wasn t that Miss Phillipps?" she inquired. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I didn t know she was a friend of yours. I ve
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 55 
 
 seen her preside at different meetin s, woman suf 
 frage, and so on. She s a great reformer, I ex 
 pect." 
 
 Mrs. Jarvis looked at Rowena as if hoping she 
 would explain. 
 
 " She isn t a friend of mine. I never saw her 
 before. She was at the studio. I don t know 
 why she brought me here." 
 
 Rowena thought she would be dishonest if 
 she did not say this. 
 
 "She must be very kind," remarked Mrs. Jar- 
 vis, beginning to whisk her feather-duster again. 
 
 As Rowena climbed the stairs she said to her 
 self that Miss Phillipps did not seem exactly kind 
 to her. And yet the girl had not resented the 
 questions, nor the incisive abruptness of them. 
 
 By supper-time Rowena told herself she was 
 "settled," and felt as if she had been occupying 
 that attic for months. She made tea and boiled 
 eggs on the top of her kerosene stove. She 
 dipped a tough-looking substance from a tin can 
 labelled " Swiss Condensed Milk " into her soli 
 tary teacup. She had some baker s rolls and 
 something she had bought for butter. She had 
 really begun to "room-keep;" she was doing 
 light house-keeping. 
 
 Even the dexterity and the thrift of a New 
 England country girl cannot make it cosey or 
 home-like to get one s meals on the top of a
 
 56 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 small oil-lamp stove. There is a certain desola 
 tion about a boiled egg that has been hopping 
 up and down in a saucepan over that flame. 
 
 Rowena was conscious of the desolation, even 
 in her triumph that Allestree would give her les 
 sons. Besides, her eggs were store -eggs, and 
 had forgotten that they had once been laid by 
 real hens. She wished she had not spent her 
 money for them, but had eaten corned beef from 
 her trunk, as she had done for dinner. But, for 
 some unknown reason, even corned beef, if you 
 have brought it in a trunk, loses the original 
 delicacy of flavor which so endears this dish to 
 the rural inhabitant. 
 
 Rowena had " made out her supper," as her 
 mother would have said, and was pensively try 
 ing to stir a second wad of condensed milk into 
 a second cup of tea. She was thinking that she 
 had been very remiss in not asking at the very 
 first the price of the painting-lessons. She was 
 also trying not to think about that old house 
 she had left the day before. She was impatient 
 to become hardened. All those girls down-stairs 
 who were coming and going through the hall 
 they were hardened, of course. They were not 
 homesick. 
 
 She sat long in front of her stove. The door 
 was open, and she could look in upon the bright 
 coals. She did not light her new lamp. All at
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 57 
 
 once she found that she was sobbing and the 
 tears were running down her cheeks. 
 
 Somebody knocked at the door. Rowena 
 went and opened it, glad that her room was so 
 dark. 
 
 There was a rustling of black silk as Mrs. Jar- 
 vis, in her best gown, entered. 
 
 " I was afraid you had forgotten the sea-ants," 
 she said. " I m expecting Madame Van Ben- 
 thuysen every minute. Most of the friends are 
 here." 
 
 Mrs. Jarvis did not say that she had told the 
 friends that her new lodger was a particular 
 friend of " that Miss Phillipps." 
 
 Rowena went timidly down the stairs behind 
 her hostess, who had waited for her to make her 
 piteously simple toilet. 
 
 At the last step Mrs. Jarvis suddenly was 
 aware that some very nervous fingers were 
 clutching her arm. 
 
 " Remember," hurriedly whispered Rowena, 
 " I won t be developed ! I wouldn t be a medi 
 um for the whole world !" 
 
 She shuddered violently. Before any reply 
 could be made the outer door, directly in front 
 of them, was opened, and a young man entered, 
 followed by a tall lady in a gray fur circular. 
 It seemed to Rowena that the ulster of the man 
 was familiar ; the way it flopped about the an-
 
 58 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 kles recalled something to her. The next in 
 stant she knew that it recalled a pale pink neck 
 tie and bread crumbs and coffee drops. 
 
 Mrs. Jarvis rushed forward to greet the person 
 in the circular. The two women kissed each 
 other loudly. They talked in a mumbling, rapid 
 way for a moment, while the young man took 
 off his hat in a pointed manner to Rowena, who 
 still kept her place on the lower stair. She could 
 hear the murmur of conversation from the par 
 lor. She had thoughts of flying back up the 
 stairs. The young man appeared to suspect 
 that she had such thoughts, for he moved around 
 behind the two and whispered, with a deprecat 
 ing look: 
 
 " Don t go; you ll find it great fun." 
 
 Rowena forgot how very improper it was to 
 speak without an introduction. 
 
 " If I do stay," she said, in the same voice, " I 
 won t be a medium." 
 
 Then she blushed painfully, and knew she had 
 done very wrong. 
 
 The young man flushed up with pleasure be 
 cause she had answered him. He was going to 
 say something more, when Mrs. Jarvis turned and 
 drew the girl forward, saying : 
 
 " This is my young friend, Miss I didn t quite 
 catch your name, my dear." 
 
 " Tuttle," said Rowena.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 59 
 
 " Oh yes, Tuttle. You see, she is a sensitive 
 subject, open to influence." 
 
 Madame Van Benthuysen was not only tall, 
 but large, and her circular made her almost im 
 mense. She had a dark face, with heavy-lidded 
 eyes and thick, black eyebrows. 
 
 She took Rowena s hand with one of her own 
 and put the other arm over the girl s shoulders. 
 A great fold of the cloak nearly enveloped the 
 slight figure. 
 
 " My dear child, I am truly glad to see you," 
 said madame, in a rolling, unctuous voice, that 
 was indicative of great good nature and enor 
 mous self-esteem. " The conditions are lovely 
 to-night. I knew it as we came along in the 
 horse-car ; I said to my nephew, Ferdinand, said 
 I, I feel that the conditions were never more 
 propitious than to-night. " 
 
 The speaker pronounced propitious as if it 
 were spelled " propishuous," and she uttered the 
 word with such an air that Rovvena almost 
 thought that she herself had always been mis 
 taken about that word. 
 
 "Were you coming to the sea-ants in the hope 
 of being developed?" inquired madame, still 
 holding the cold, slender hand warmly in her fat 
 fingers. 
 
 Rowena, with a great effort, removed her hand. 
 Again the nephew of madame, who was now in
 
 60 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 the background, saw that she had the impulse 
 to run away up those stairs. He moved forward 
 rather precipitately, and asked if he might be 
 presented to the young lady. His aunt imme 
 diately performed the introduction with effusion. 
 Then she proceeded to lay aside her circular. 
 During this process she informed Mrs. Jarvis, 
 who was assisting her, that the reason her circu 
 lar wore so well and looked so fresh was because 
 she never sat down in it. If you sat down in a 
 circular you ruined the fur and crushed the silk. 
 Economy was one of the first of virtues with 
 her. She was never ashamed of economy. The 
 major had always said she could dress better on 
 twenty-five dollars than any other woman could 
 on a hundred. 
 
 She was now smoothing the front breadths of 
 her black satin gown, and adjusting herself gen 
 erally before the small mirror in the hat- rack. 
 Rowena was conscious of a sort of shock when 
 she saw that madame also wore a pompadour 
 roll and how black it was, and how it shone ! 
 
 Involuntarily the girl s hand went up to her 
 own head ; she feared lest she herself might have 
 such a roll it might be the first visible symptom 
 of development towards mediumistic powers. 
 
 " Is Major Stanger coming to-night?" 
 
 It was Rowena who asked this question, be 
 cause an ungovernable curiosity prompted her.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 6 1 
 
 Madame turned from patting her hair. Rowe- 
 na did not know why the young man broke into 
 a laugh, which he instantly strangled. It was 
 the most natural thing in the world, Rowena 
 thought, for her to make that inquiry. Had not 
 Mrs. Jarvis told her that that gentleman was ex 
 pected ? Rowena still hoped he would not be 
 present. 
 
 " It is impossible to tell until I am under con 
 trol," rather coldly answered madame. And then 
 they all went into the parlor, and the dozen la 
 dies present all shook hands with madame, and 
 the one man who was already there nodded icily 
 at madame s nephew. 
 
 They all sat down. Madame was opposite a 
 closed card-table. At first there was a little des 
 ultory talk, but very soon there was complete 
 silence. Everybody looked at madame save the 
 stout young man, who looked at Rowena. 
 
 Madame continued to smile in a broad, gen 
 eral way, even after her elbows began to twitch 
 and she had shut her eyes. 
 
 All at once she crossed her legs in a very pro 
 nounced manner. She placed one hand on her 
 hip. She put the other hand to her face and ap 
 peared to twirl a mustache. 
 
 " Gad," said she, in a husky voice. 
 
 Everybody moved a little, in subdued wonder 
 and admiration.
 
 62 ROVVENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 "Gad," said madamc again; "seems to me 
 there s a new gal here, ain t there?" 
 
 More admiration. 
 
 " It s the major," whispered some one. 
 
 Mrs. Jarvis held up her finger for silence. Ev 
 erybody listened breathlessly for more words of 
 wisdom. 
 
 Madame asked for a cigar. She said some 
 thing about a cocktail. She seemed to smoke 
 and to drink. She was evidently now a person 
 ating medium. 
 
 Rowena was sorry for her. She did not reply 
 when Mrs. Jarvis asked in a very low tone if it 
 wasn t wonderful. 
 
 But after a moment Rowena, in that clear 
 voice of hers, asked if it was Major Stanger. On 
 being told that it was, without a doubt, she said 
 it was very lucky that the major had been killed, 
 for he must have been horrid when in the flesh. 
 
 She could not guess why such daggers were 
 looked at her. She had forgotten that the ma 
 jor had once been the husband of the medium. 
 She was liable to forget such things, and there 
 fore her remarks were sometimes quite electrify 
 ing in their frank simplicity. Ferdinand, who, 
 she now perceived, was sitting very near her, 
 thrust his handkerchief into his mouth and look 
 ed at her over it with eyes that almost fright 
 ened her.
 
 ROWENY IN I5OSTON. 63 
 
 V. 
 A BUNCH OF MATERIALIZED PINKS. 
 
 MRS. JARVIS S narrow forehead appeared nar 
 rower than ever with that frown upon it. She 
 looked at Rowena with such persistence that 
 the girl s face grew deeply red. 
 
 Madame Van Benthuysen continued to smoke 
 an imaginary cigar and to sip an imaginary cock 
 tail. She seemed to find the occupation rather 
 exhilarating. She said something more about a 
 " new gal," and wanted to know where the deuce 
 she came from referring to Rowena. She said 
 there was nothing so thundering skurse in the 
 world as a pretty gal. If they had any of that 
 article, just trot um out. If he was a judge of 
 anything on the footstool he was a judge of that 
 article. 
 
 I find that I do not know whether to use the 
 masculine or feminine pronoun in my present 
 description. When I say "she" I am thinking 
 of the medium, and when I say "he" I am 
 thinking of her "control." I could wish that
 
 64 ROWENY IN HOSTON. 
 
 the pronoun of common gender had been in 
 vented ; this would include both Major Stanger 
 and his widow, and would relieve a reporter of 
 any embarrassment. 
 
 The company began to titter in a delighted 
 manner, and to look at each other. Those who 
 had had the pleasure of the gentleman s ac 
 quaintance before the battle of Bull Run ex 
 plained that they should have known him any 
 where. Those who had not previously met him 
 said that it must be the major, for they could 
 almost smell the cocktail, and if it had been an 
 impostor they could not possibly have done that, 
 now, could they? 
 
 Ferdinand Foster, the nephew, began to be 
 afraid that his aunt would get drunk ; he thought 
 she showed symptoms of ordering another cock 
 tail. He wished he knew what to do. He 
 thought he would ask for a communication. He 
 consulted with Mrs. Jarvis, who, in the bottom 
 of her heart, was beginning to think they had 
 had enough of the gallant soldier. Stanger had 
 now relapsed into a silence that was only broken 
 by an occasional "Gad." This remark was va 
 ried by whiffs of tobacco and sips of liquor. 
 Rowena s face showed such unutterable disgust 
 that young Foster was afraid she would leave 
 the room. 
 
 Suddenly madame threw away the stump of
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 65 
 
 the invisible cigar. With her eyes fast closed 
 she rose from her chair and stepped over to 
 where Rowena was sitting. (Let me say here in 
 parenthesis that, in justice to my narrative, I find 
 that I must use the masculine pronoun part of 
 the time.) Madame Van Benthuysen put his 
 arm about Rowena s shoulders. 
 
 " Thunderin pretty gal !" he said. 
 
 Rowena started up with a furious motion. At 
 the same instan^ Ferdinand seized madame s 
 arm and led her back to her chair, in which she 
 sat down heavily. 
 
 The other gentleman here rose with some 
 pomposity, and remarked that " the control was 
 perhaps too strong for the medyum. It was 
 sometimes the case that, when the conditions 
 were specially favorable, the control was too 
 powerful for the medyum." 
 
 He walked to madame, whose head was hang 
 ing down and mouth hanging open. He made 
 a few passes across her forehead. She soon be 
 gan to twitch again and to gasp. She opened 
 her eyes, looked wildly about, and then resumed 
 her natural expression. She asked if the major 
 had been there. 
 
 All this time Rowena was standing, holding 
 the back of her chair. 
 
 Before any one could answer madame s ques 
 tion, Ferdinand said impressively that he had 
 5
 
 66 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 been hoping to hear from his grandmother that 
 night. He had come to the sea -ants in that 
 hope. 
 
 Madame did not notice his remark. She 
 looked at Rowena and asked if there was no one 
 in the spirit land she would like to have a mes 
 sage from. 
 
 Rowena said that she had no one in the spirit 
 land ; none of her friends had died. 
 
 "No bond of affection in other spheres?" ex 
 claimed madame, who was evidently preparing 
 now for a very different control from the major. 
 
 It was plainly felt that it was an unlucky 
 thing that Rowena had no friends who had 
 " passed away." One little woman questioned 
 her closely. Were her uncles and aunts all liv 
 ing? Grandparents on both sides? Cousins? 
 Indeed! How singular! Suddenly Rowena re 
 membered that one of her mother s sisters had 
 died before the girl s birth. This fact she ac 
 knowledged under cross-examination. 
 
 " I was sure of it !" cried the little woman. 
 She turned towards madame. "A precious aunt 
 of our sister here has gone on into the flower 
 spheres. Cannot we hear from that dear one ?" 
 
 But Rowena was now inwardly almost frantic. 
 She tried to be calm. She said she did not wish 
 to hear from that aunt. She said she would not 
 hear from her. She had never known her and
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 67 
 
 was not interested in her. She was very tired. 
 She thought she might better go to her room. 
 
 She walked to the door. They all looked at 
 her as the girls at the table had looked at her.* 
 
 Ferdinand was so angry that it was with diffi 
 culty he restrained himself from getting up and 
 kicking over his chair. 
 
 His aunt saw his face. She was very fond of 
 him. She rose hastily and followed the girl, who 
 was mounting the stairs rapidly. 
 
 " My dear," said the rolling, full voice, very 
 kindly, " do come back for a moment." 
 
 Everybody felt how honored that little chit 
 was. What did it mean ? 
 
 Rowena came back, very tremulous and very 
 indignant. 
 
 " It is not polite to Mrs. Jarvis," said madame. 
 " Come." She held out her hand and Rowena 
 put hers in it. As she did so the woman drew 
 her nearer and whispered : " There will be a 
 slight c lation by-and-by. Sometimes there is 
 charlotte-russe." 
 
 There was such a curious mixture of moth 
 erly kindness and ridiculousness in the woman s 
 words and manner that the lonely girl was touch 
 ed. She wanted to cry and to laugh. 
 
 "There! there!" whispered madame again. 
 " Did the major try to make love to you?" 
 
 " He was dreadful !" hotly cried Rowena.
 
 68 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Madame smiled complacently. " I knew the 
 conditions were very propishuous," she said. 
 "The major was always fond of young ladies. 
 It was his way." 
 
 The two entered the room again. Young Fos 
 ter sprang to see that their chairs were ready for 
 them. Madame Van Benthuysen resumed her 
 place by the card-table. 
 
 The gentleman who had made passes over the 
 medium s forehead now again came forward. He 
 said he was under influence. He said he should 
 be obliged to ask madame to give him her hand. 
 He requested that from himself and the medium 
 there be a circle of joined hands formed. He was 
 obeyed. While the circle was forming the gen 
 tleman became more and more agitated. He 
 even uttered a smothered war-whoop, and be 
 trayed symptoms of jumping up and down. 
 
 Ferdinand confidentially informed Rowena 
 that old Thompson s control was Red Jacket, 
 and that he guessed Red Jacket was coming on 
 the stage, by the appearance of things. The 
 speaker had kept out of the circle because he 
 saw that Miss Tuttle was careful to do so. 
 
 It was evident that madame was not over- 
 pleased at the advent of Red Jacket. She looked 
 rather glum, and let her hand lie very loosely in 
 deed in the man s clasp. As she told Mrs. Jar- 
 vis later when the c lation began, " It was always
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 69 
 
 very trying when that old Thompson put himself 
 forward. There were lots of spirits crowding to 
 be heard through her, but they had to go back 
 to their spheres on account of Red Jacket. And 
 Red Jacket was never interesting." 
 
 He was not interesting now. As Mrs. Jarvis 
 said, " he hollered a good deal." He also had 
 recurrent inclinations to engage in a war-dance, 
 and was only restrained by the persistent and 
 unyielding power of the circle of hands. 
 
 Mrs. Jarvis was always afraid her furniture 
 would suffer at the hands of this control. She 
 had not meant that Mr. Thompson should be pres 
 ent this evening, but he had come. She knew 
 how very ready a hole \vas to appear in her worn 
 carpet, and how the horse-hair of the chairs was 
 longing to unravel itself. There were reasons 
 connected with the charlotte-russe, too, why she 
 would have preferred that this medium should 
 stay away. 
 
 Her face was now very strained and anxious. 
 Red Jacket had just jumped up and down on the 
 poorest place in the carpet. If he did it again 
 she was sure Here her attention was diverted 
 by the appearance of Madame Van Benthuysen. 
 That lady was plainly going into her second 
 trance. She sank into a chair; the circle was 
 broken ; Mr. Thompson gradually disposed of 
 Red Jacket, and seemed to be quite sulky at the
 
 70 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 necessity for such disposal. Madame began to 
 murmur something about " Flowers of heaven ! 
 Beautiful blooms of the spirit land ! How beau 
 tiful !" 
 
 She went on in a low voice which charmed 
 Rowena s ears. The words flowed in an easy 
 tide, not meaning much, but seeming to the girl 
 to mean something extraordinarily lovely. 
 
 Rowena sat spellbound, eagerly bending for 
 ward in her chair, her eyes on madame s face, 
 which now did not seem so swarthy nor so 
 "fleshly." 
 
 After a few minutes Mrs. Jarvis rose and noise 
 lessly made a request of Mr. Foster, who imme 
 diately stood up and turned off the gas from all 
 the burners of the chandelier. 
 
 Rowena was inexpressibly astonished. At first 
 the room seemed entirely dark, but presently the 
 light from a street lamp dimly relieved the abso 
 lute darkness. No one spoke, save that madame 
 went on with her monologue. Rowena was some 
 what subdued and somewhat alarmed. 
 
 Suddenly the girl was aware of the odor of 
 flowers. The odor made her think of the per 
 fume from the bed of pinks in the front-yard of 
 the old house at home; and of warm summer 
 days when the birds were singing in the apple- 
 trees. She felt a stinging of the eyes and a hur 
 rying of the pulses.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 71 
 
 Something cool and soft touched her hands, 
 which lay clasped tightly in her lap. The voice 
 went on. Through the mist in her eyes she dim 
 ly saw Foster s figure moving towards the chan 
 delier again. The monotonous voice of madame 
 ceased. There was the crack of a match, and then 
 the glare of the gas again. 
 
 All the people looked at each other ; then they 
 looked at Rowena, who perceived on her lap a 
 bunch of white carnation pinks. 
 
 With an exclamation she raised the flowers to 
 her face. As she did so she saw Foster s eyes 
 upon her, and something in their expression made 
 her think of Philip Barrett. She heard one of the 
 women saying : 
 
 " They have been materialized," and she won 
 dered what those words meant. She was still 
 thinking of that bed of pinks at home. 
 
 It was not for some time that she understood 
 that these were supposed to be spirit flowers. 
 She was not quite clear whether they had been 
 made by spirit influence out of the air of the 
 room, and had accidentally fallen into her lap, or 
 whether they had dropped there directly from 
 heaven. 
 
 She did not like to think they had been pro 
 cured by Mr. Foster ; no one appeared to sus 
 pect him in the least, and he, after that first 
 glance, looked so impressively innocent that Ro-
 
 72 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 wena gave up all thought, save that of simple 
 gratitude for the blooms themselves. 
 
 Then there was the collation, which was brought 
 round on plates by Mrs. Jarvis and one of her 
 friends. There was cake, and bread, and cold 
 ham ; but there were no " charlottes." Mr. 
 Thompson spoke somewhat feelingly of the ab 
 sence of this delicacy, and Madame Van Ben- 
 thuysen said that she was always conscious of a 
 great sense of sinking after being under influ 
 ence, and charlottes removed this sinking more 
 rapidly than anything she had ever tried. Ro- 
 wena judged from appearances that perhaps ham 
 might in time have an effect on that sensation in 
 madame s internal organization. 
 
 Mrs. Jarvis seemed very much worried ; she 
 explained that at the last moment her baker 
 had disappointed her, and she had always found 
 charlottes from every other baker to be rancid. 
 This was a sweeping libel on other bakers, but 
 the company seemed to accept it and tried to 
 hide their disappointment. The little woman 
 said emphatically that nothing in this world 
 " took hurt " so quickly as charlottes. You 
 might get a mess and think they were as good 
 as they could be, and all at once they were taken 
 hurt. She didn t know why twas they were so 
 perishable. 
 
 Very soon after the collation the company
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 73 
 
 broke up. The person whom Red Jacket con 
 trolled went away in a very glum manner. Per 
 haps he had reckoned on damaging Mrs. Jarvis s 
 furniture more seriously, and was disappointed. 
 
 Madame Van Benthuysen took a very affec 
 tionate farewell of Rowena. The great circular 
 again partially enwrapped the girl. Its owner 
 whispered that she was longing to know her 
 better, and that she should call on her upon the 
 first spare moment that the spirits gave her. She 
 spoke as if the spirits worked her very hard. 
 
 At last the street door had shut on the last 
 woman. Mrs. Jarvis looked so weary as she be 
 gan to set back the chairs that Rowena stopped 
 to help her. 
 
 "I sha n t have no chance in the morning," said 
 Mrs. Jarvis; "the reg lars begin to come so early, 
 and I can t trust anybody else to take the tick 
 ets. I sh ll have to pick up and wash these dish 
 es before I go to bed. I can t ask the servant- 
 girls to do it. Sometimes I think it don t pay 
 to try to have a good time. That old Thomp 
 son set me all on edge." 
 
 Rowena packed up the dishes and hurried 
 down into the kitchen with them. The water- 
 bugs scuttled away in battalions as she opened 
 the door. The small gas-jet revealed their hur 
 rying forms. The country girl had never seen a 
 water-bug before. If they had not retreated be-
 
 74 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 fore she could possibly turn her back, she would 
 have run. 
 
 She had never seen any place so desolate as 
 that kitchen was. It was so different from that 
 cosey room where one might live in thrifty com 
 fort in her own home. 
 
 The steaming water came out of the faucet 
 onto the pile of dishes in the pan. Mrs. Jarvis, 
 coming down after her labor in the parlor, found 
 that she had very little to do. Her thin, worn 
 face lighted up. 
 
 " I declare, you do know how to take hold," 
 she said. 
 
 At last the furnace was attended to and the 
 two women slowly mounted the dingy basement 
 stairs. It was after midnight. Rowena went into 
 the parlor for the bunch of pinks she had left 
 there that she might work. 
 
 Mrs. Jarvis paused an instant to look at them. 
 She glanced up in the girl s face, but Rowena 
 was bending over the blooms. 
 
 " I should think a sight of them if I d had 
 them," remarked the elder. " Tain t often the 
 conditions are all right. I do almost think you d 
 develop first-rate." 
 
 Rowena hurriedly said " good-night." But be 
 fore Mrs. Jarvis could lay herself down to rest, 
 she must pull out the bed-lounge in the back 
 parlor and arrange it that she might repose
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 75 
 
 upon it. By that time the arrival of the ear 
 liest reg lars seemed so near that Mrs. Jarvis 
 again asked herself whether or not it paid to 
 have a sea-ants, particularly if old Thompson 
 were coming.
 
 76 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 VI. 
 
 A LETTER FROM THE COUNTRY. 
 
 "WHAT did you have at the seance last night?" 
 suddenly asked Miss Phillipps, as she paused close 
 to where Rowena sat at work drawing. 
 
 " Carnation pinks." 
 
 " From where?" 
 
 " From heaven." 
 
 " Oh yes, I remember. We used to have flow 
 ers from heaven at our seances if the condi 
 tions were right if no frost had touched the 
 conservatories of Paradise. What else ?" 
 
 " Ham and bread and cake." 
 
 " From heaven, also ?" 
 
 " No ; from the butcher s and the baker s, at 
 the corner." 
 
 Rowena suddenly laid down her pencil. She 
 looked up at the woman near her. 
 
 " Miss Phillipps," she said, earnestly, " truly, 
 where do the flowers come from ?" 
 
 The girl s face was so earnest and innocent 
 and eager that Miss Phillipps, who resisted very 
 few impulses, felt that she deserved praise for
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 77 
 
 not yielding to the temptation to kiss that 
 face. 
 
 She said, instead, gravely and distantly, on ac 
 count of her resistance : 
 
 " They are materialized." 
 
 Rovvena was silent, and resumed her work. 
 
 This was her first lesson. She was told to do 
 what she could, with cardboard and pencils, with 
 a clay figure of a dog set up before her. Allestree 
 had told her that, technically, she knew absolute 
 ly nothing. 
 
 Miss Phillipps had tried to encourage her by 
 saying that Allestree had never told her even as 
 much as that. Technique was something that 
 might be acquired, but one had to be born with 
 talent. Of course, she would not be obliged to 
 do anything at all with that clay dog. Alles 
 tree did not care what he put people at, at 
 the first. He watched them to see what was in 
 them. 
 
 The girl flushed and paled as she heard those 
 words. Miss Phillipps went on with her own 
 work. She seemed to do exactly what she pleased 
 in the studio. She had now begun a cluster of 
 Indian-pipes, growing from a patch of grayish- 
 green moss, near a small clump of sweet-fern. 
 She said that any idiot could do flowers, after a 
 fashion; they would not be flowers, but people 
 would think they were, particularly if you labelled
 
 78 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 them. She doubted if Indian-pipe was a real flow 
 er, however. Probably it was a kind of fungus. 
 
 There were a dozen or more pupils at work 
 now in the great studio. They were very silent. 
 Allestree, in a blue velvet jacket, was walking 
 slowly behind them, pausing and criticising, then 
 standing in the centre of the room and talking 
 instructively, often using phrases of which Rowe- 
 na was entirely ignorant. If she had dared she 
 would have thought him verging on the grandil 
 oquent ; but he was so big, and had such a beard, 
 that it was appropriate that he should be gran 
 diloquent. 
 
 The girl felt very small and helpless and wretch 
 ed, even though she had been admitted here. 
 
 " Elsewhere," Allestree had just said, in his 
 magnificent baritone, "elsewhere they talk about 
 art ; in Boston they love it." 
 
 Then he walked up and down, his beard gath 
 ered in his left hand, his head bent. He had a 
 large diamond on the third finger of the hand 
 that held the beard, and every time Rowena 
 looked up a ray from the diamond seemed to 
 smite her. 
 
 He went on talking. He did not examine very 
 particularly the work of his pupils this morning. 
 He stopped oftenest at the side of the latest 
 comer, but he made no remark. As Miss Phil- 
 lipps had said, Rowena could do very little with
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 79 
 
 that clay dog. She wondered why it had been 
 given her. She drew and erased, and drew and 
 erased, until she felt that there was no hope for 
 her. The hour was nearly over. 
 
 Nobody talked, save that Miss Phillipps made 
 one or two remarks concerning the folly of think 
 ing that more than one or two in a century might 
 learn to paint. The principal point, she said, was 
 to find out who these one or two were ; when that 
 was discovered, the rest might put away their 
 brushes. 
 
 Allestree listened to her with some deference, 
 but he made no reply. Such a theory as that 
 would not be good for the painting-master. 
 
 Miss Phillipps suddenly looked at her watch, 
 and then left abruptly, not again speaking to 
 Rowena, who felt unreasonably depressed, and 
 who was very thankful when the lesson was over. 
 One or two of the other pupils smiled at her and 
 nodded, but the majority did not notice her. 
 Why should they? 
 
 She passed by Allestree, who was standing 
 with a brush in his hand before a winter land 
 scape. He turned and watched her as she went 
 towards the door. 
 
 Something made his face soften. He stepped 
 quickly after her. The thought in his mind was 
 that he should like to make a sketch of her as 
 she walked. What he said was :
 
 80 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 " Don t be discouraged. This is only the first 
 lesson." 
 
 A flash of sunlight seemed to fall suddenly on 
 the girl s face. 
 
 " Oh, thank you !" she said, hurriedly, and went 
 out of the door. 
 
 The rest of the week was very dreary indeed, 
 in spite of all she had to encourage her. She 
 would only take one lesson a week at present. 
 She had learned the price of those lessons, and 
 they were very high. She did not see Miss Phil- 
 lipps : she hardly saw Mrs. Jarvis. She stayed in 
 her room most of the time and did light house 
 keeping. Sometimes, when she went out for a 
 bit of butter or some rolls, she would walk up to 
 a brighter part of the city and stroll across the 
 Common, thinking it was a very poor make-be 
 lieve of the country. Once, in a carriage that 
 quickly turned the corner of Park Street, she 
 thought she saw Miss Phillipps with a gentleman 
 beside her, and both were talking animatedly. 
 
 The sight made the girl more gloomy than 
 before. 
 
 The " reg lars " seemed to be very faithful at 
 their meals, and Mrs. Jarvis was faithful at her 
 ticket-table in the parlor door-way. Rowena be 
 gan two or three sketches, trying to obey, in the 
 attempts, some hints Allcstree had given. But 
 everything was confused and vague. She wrote
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 8 1 
 
 a long letter home : in the letter she talked of 
 everything in the country, but of nothing in the 
 city. She would have it ready for her Uncle 
 Reuben, for whose coming she longed pitiably. 
 But the day she expected him there came a blind 
 ing snow-storm. Now she did not know when to 
 expect him. She would have sent her letter by 
 mail, but she knew her father only went to the 
 post-office when other business called him to 
 "the Corners." The letter might lie there a 
 long time. 
 
 On this day she received an epistle directed 
 with such extreme care, on ruled lines on the en 
 velope, that Rowena stared at it for some time 
 before she opened it. She had never seen Philip 
 Barrett s handwriting before. She was surprised 
 at the warmth of her feeling when she saw his 
 name. But the letter was far from being warm. 
 It had evidently been composed under the influ 
 ence of a determination to write a letter, let the 
 consequences be what they might. It began, 
 "Respected friend," and it was signed, "Respect 
 fully, P. Barrett." It bore not the slightest in 
 ternal evidence as to whom it was addressed. 
 
 The writer related every particular of a recent 
 snow-storm ; gave the depth of the snow on the 
 level, and the height of the highest bank. He 
 spoke in a tone of considerable awe of the fact 
 that corn had risen three cents a bushel within 
 6
 
 82 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 the last week. In this connection he stated that 
 wharf-rats had done a good deal of damage in 
 the corn -houses. It was not known how that 
 kind of rats had come so far inland. The writer 
 had shot one. He was still lame from this act, 
 for his gun was an old one and had never been 
 very good, and had kicked considerably. 
 
 All throughout the epistle the author of it 
 never once wrote the pronoun " I," but always 
 referred to himself as " the writer." 
 
 At the conclusion the writer hoped that he 
 might receive an early reply. 
 
 Rowena smiled, with a quiver in her lip ; then 
 she laughed as she had not done since that time, 
 so long ago, when she lived at home. 
 
 She wondered how long it had taken Philip to 
 compose this document. She could guess how 
 arduously he had worked at it. And he had not 
 put in it a single item of interest. It was as if 
 he had started with the idea that everything that 
 the recipient might care to know must be scru 
 pulously kept out. And he had adhered to this 
 idea with perfect success. He had not even men 
 tioned his horses and his two setter dogs, and he 
 knew how Rowena liked them. 
 
 The average bucolic mind of New England 
 does not consider the art of familiar composi 
 tion as one that is needful in this life. The 
 average bucolic mind is very stiff in the joints
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 83 
 
 when contemplating the perpetration of an epis 
 tle to a friend. There are instances, generally 
 among women, where one is able to " reel off a 
 letter jest as easy;" these instances are looked 
 upon as remarkable, and the person thus gifted 
 is not envied, but is thought to have an extreme 
 liability to shiftlessness. The connection between 
 shiftlessness and a certain " glibness "with the pen 
 is obscure, but powerful. Philip Barrett had not 
 this glibness, and he was not shiftless. 
 
 When this young man had finished this article 
 he read it many times, and copied it until the 
 words ceased to mean anything to him. He said 
 to himself that he would rather mow the whole 
 east meadow than to write another letter. But 
 he knew he should write another ; he knew he 
 should feel so drawn to Rowena Tuttle that he 
 could not help it. The perspiration burst from 
 his forehead as he thought of another attempt 
 like this one. 
 
 It was wonderful, considering the power it re 
 quired to inspire this man to write, that there 
 should be no sign of the inspiration in the re 
 sult. It would have been as appropriate to 
 send that missive to old Uncle Lenas Torrey as 
 to Rowena. 
 
 Philip s mother furtively watched the progress 
 of the composition. Her son sat at his father s 
 old desk at one end of the kitchen. The first
 
 84 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 evening he wrote something on a slate. After 
 a great deal of " smooching " a few paragraphs 
 were let to stand over night, and were carefully 
 locked in a drawer. 
 
 Mrs. Barrett grew very weary as every even 
 ing this writing was continued. One night her 
 boy seemed to be so nervous that she silently 
 steeped some catnip and offered it to him. It 
 was refused. She told Eudory Barnes that " if 
 Philup didn t git his letter done fore great while 
 she, for one, should go ravin distracted." 
 
 But there came a day when the last copy was 
 made and the thing was put in the post-office at 
 the Corners. Then there was a reaction. Philip 
 sat as if half alive over the cook-stove the next 
 evening. He was picturing Rowena as getting 
 the letter and reading it in the midst of luxury. 
 He had a nebulous belief that all people in cities 
 lived in luxury. This thought gave him very un 
 easy feelings concerning Rowena. If she forgot 
 him, it should not be because he did not write to 
 her. Some day he should go to Boston and call 
 upon her. But not yet. He had not got round to 
 it yet. He was resolved to do it, though. Mean 
 while he could be thinking about it. 
 
 Rowena, sitting by her little stove, and forget 
 ting that her tea was boiling on the lamp, won 
 dered why Philip s unimportant words made her, 
 after she had laughed, feel so much like crying.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 85 
 
 She allowed her tea to continue boiling, and 
 wrote to him. And again she said nothing about 
 the city, but asked a score of questions about the 
 country. She wanted to know how the dogs were, 
 the horses, the sleighing, the evening meetings. 
 She hardly knew what she did write, only that 
 she was unusually moved. The home she had 
 left seemed so remote, but so unutterably dear. 
 
 She heard the wind and the snow moaning 
 around her window. She tried to drink her tea, 
 but it was bitter. It seemed as if it must be very 
 late in the evening. She looked at her watch, 
 and found it to be half after seven. By this time 
 her father and mother had been sitting a good 
 while by the kitchen stove. Her eldest sister 
 had become sleepy over her " sums " for the next 
 day. The rest had gone up-stairs to bed in the 
 " open chamber," where it was so cold, and where 
 the snow would be sifting in. 
 
 Rowena started up and began frantically walk 
 ing the room and wringing her hands. How was 
 she to bear it? What should she do? Again she 
 thought of the slop work and the straw, and per 
 haps Georgie Warner would speak to the com 
 mittee about getting her a school. 
 
 "Ain t you at home?" This question was 
 asked impatiently outside her door. When the 
 door was opened, it revealed Mrs. Jarvis stand 
 ing there. She said she didn t know how many
 
 86 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 times she had knocked. Then she added, with 
 some awe : 
 
 " You ve got a caller down in the parlor." 
 
 " It s Uncle Reuben ! He has come after all !" 
 
 Rowena was going to rush by her hostess. But 
 a hand detained her. 
 
 " Tain t your Uncle Reuben. It s a lady. I 
 guess she ll be tired of waiting." 
 
 " But I don t know any lady." 
 
 " It s that Miss Phillipps." Mrs. Jarvis could 
 hardly have told why she always employed the 
 demonstrative adjective pronoun in mentioning 
 that lady. 
 
 In her mind at this moment two emotions 
 were struggling resentment because she had 
 just been snubbed by that Miss Phillipps, and 
 pride that this woman had chosen to call on one 
 of her lodgers. 
 
 Rowena ran down the stairs. By this time she 
 had acquired a useful dexterity in avoiding the 
 holes in the stair carpet. As she went she wished 
 she were not quite so glad of this visit. Her com 
 mon-sense told her that it was a perilous attrac 
 tion which she felt. Miss Phillipps fancied to 
 take her up ; by-and-by she would set her down. 
 Entirely inexperienced as she was, Rowena had 
 this fear strongly; she could not have told why; 
 perhaps something intangible in the lady s pres 
 ence itself gave it to her.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 87 
 
 The visitor stood beneath the one gas light. 
 The long, close fur cloak and small bonnet, the 
 thick fluff of hair, thin face and vivid eyes, made 
 a picture which Rowena s glance took in eagerly. 
 She liked it. It stirred her pulses. It was new 
 and strange. The lady was not pretty, but she 
 had grace and lovely clothes and savoir-vivre, 
 and, above all, she showed her interest in her 
 new acquaintance. 
 
 Miss Phillipps stepped forward quickly. She 
 held out both her hands. She wore gloves which 
 fitted as Rowena had never known gloves to fit. 
 
 " I m glad you have come," exclaimed Miss 
 Phillipps. " Five minutes more in this room 
 would have made me insane. Why do they al 
 ways have the trial of Effie Deans in such a 
 place as this ? And that dreadful portrait of 
 a Spirit Friend? Won t you ask me up to 
 your own room ? However dreadful it is, it 
 can t be so bad as this. You will have diffused 
 an atmosphere in it. It isn t because the furni 
 ture is poor. I hope you don t think I care a 
 rap for that kind of thing. I m not so low as 
 that. It is here the speaker gave a little 
 shudder, " it is the feeling of it as if it had 
 held so many commonplace people in it, and 
 they had all left their impress. I suppose the 
 walls are covered with invisible portraits of dull 
 folks. You know there s a theory that the walls
 
 88 ROVVENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 of houses retain pictures of every scene which 
 has been enacted within them. Some day some 
 thing will be discovered that will bring out all 
 those impressions. It will be an awful day. I ve 
 been looking into that. It is quite bewitching." 
 
 As she talked in her careful, rapid way, Miss 
 Phillipps continued to hold Rowena s hands close 
 ly. Now she looked at her keenly, curiously. 
 
 " You have been crying," she asserted. " What 
 a pale face you have ! And what a curious little 
 quiver in the right side of your upper lip. You 
 would cry again, now, if I were not here. Please 
 do take me to your room. If I stay here I shall 
 be very disagreeable ; and I feel as if I could be 
 quite the reverse if you will make the conditions 
 right." 
 
 Rowena spoke for the first time. She said 
 " Come," and the two went up the stairs. 
 
 Miss Phillipps cast a rapid glance about her. 
 She sighed. 
 
 " This is better. Any place where you stayed 
 would be better. I m going to take off my cloak. 
 I told the driver not to come for an hour. Do 
 you mind unfastening this upper clasp ? Thanks." 
 
 Rowena put the cloak on her bed. Her guest 
 did not seat herself immediately. She stood, 
 slowly removing her gloves. 
 
 She looked almost continuously at the girl, and 
 her face grew softer and softer, until Rowena
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 89 
 
 wondered why she had ever thought it disdain 
 ful. 
 
 " Will you allow me to kiss you ?" 
 
 The question was unexpected, but it should 
 not have been so, as it was in keeping with the 
 expression of the speaker s countenance. 
 
 Rowena smiled and came nearer. The lady s 
 lips touched hers gently. Then she sat down in 
 the little rocker close to the bit of a stove, and 
 Rowena drew up a chair near her. How very 
 strange it was to the girl. She knew that her 
 guest had spoken truth when she had just said 
 she could be very agreeable if the conditions were 
 right. Evidently they were right. Although Miss 
 Phillipps sat silent for a few moments, she seem 
 ed to radiate satisfaction and enjoyment ; when 
 a person produces such an effect that person is 
 usually agreeable. 
 
 Miss Phillipps s feet were stretched out tow 
 ards the stove ; she leaned far back in her chair, 
 her hands, which to-day were ringlcss, hanging at 
 each side of her. Although she sat in such a 
 position, she could not look indolent. 
 
 Rowena waited for her to speak. At last she 
 made this remark : 
 
 " We are weeding out our Browning Club."
 
 go ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 VII. 
 
 SOME SALESLADIES. 
 
 ROWENA tried to look interested in the fact 
 that a Browning Club was, as her father would 
 have put it, " bein wed out," like a bed of pars 
 nips. The country girl could not have believed 
 it possible that that great man s name could be 
 mentioned so flippantly, not to say disrespect 
 fully. She did not know how to make any re 
 sponse to such a remark. She did not know that 
 in Boston nothing is so great but one may be 
 come familiar with it. 
 
 She had once belonged to the book-club which 
 led a struggling and doubtful existence in Mid 
 dle Village. She had then taken out a volume 
 of poems called Men and Women. She had read 
 "One Word More "with ardent eyes and beating 
 heart. She should always remember the author s 
 name. 
 
 " They were getting insufferable," went on Miss 
 Phillipps. "Several of them pretended to under 
 stand him. I decided to form a new club and 
 drop those creatures."
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON . 91 
 
 " Why shouldn t they understand him ?" asked 
 Rowena, calmly. " I think he is real easy." 
 
 Miss Phillipps suddenly sat upright. She 
 turned a confounded face towards her compan 
 ion. 
 
 " Well, you are delicious !" she said, more slow 
 ly than she usually spoke. 
 
 Rowena reddened with anger. For some rea 
 son she did not find it agreeable to be called de 
 licious. 
 
 Miss Phillipps seemed to wish she had some 
 kind of a glass with which to examine the girl. 
 At last she became conscious of what she was 
 doing. She withdrew her eyes. She laughed, 
 noiselessly, but with intense enjoyment. She 
 put out her hand and took Rovvena s reluctant, 
 cold fingers. 
 
 " Do forgive me !" she said, pleadingly. " But 
 what can I do before one who finds Browning 
 real easy? What have you read of his?" 
 
 Rowena told her, stiffly. 
 
 - Miss Phillipps suddenly became warmly caress 
 ing, and the girl s anger melted before that man 
 ner. 
 
 " I always think of what Jo Gargery said about 
 reading, When you do come to a J and a o, how 
 interestin readin is ! When you do understand 
 Browning, he is divine. And what should we do 
 here in Borston without him ? We can have a
 
 92 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 go at Psychic Research, Christian Science, and no 
 end of things ; you think you can see your way 
 into them, but there s always Browning. No, we 
 couldn t get along here without him. Mr. Hern- 
 don said at our last meeting that he didn t think 
 life would be worth living when he was once 
 convinced that he understood Sordello. There 
 would be no object. I don t feel precisely like 
 that, but still" 
 
 Miss Phillipps s gaze came back from what she 
 would have called " the ail-where," and rested on 
 Rowena for a moment in silence. Her next re 
 mark was so unexpected that the girl felt help 
 less before it. 
 
 " I have the dearest little seal-skin jacket," said 
 she. Then she added, " but it doesn t fit me 
 across the shoulders." 
 
 As she spoke her eyes rested on Rowena s 
 shoulders in an interrogative manner. She went 
 on. " How did you get a dress to look like that ? 
 It is really chic. That must be a miraculous coun 
 try from which you came. Who is your dress 
 maker ?" 
 
 Rowena laughed. 
 
 " Marthy S. is the dress -maker in our dccs- 
 trict," she answered, with a drawl. " She can cut 
 coats and pantaloons, too. She s bound to git 
 a fit." 
 
 The girl laughed again, and then grew sud-
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 93 
 
 denly sober, as the picture of the lonely, snow- 
 covered fields, the narrow sleigh-track, the mel 
 ancholy houses, came vividly to her mind. 
 
 As for Miss Phillipps, she felt as if she had an 
 entirely new specimen of humanity before her; 
 and she exulted accordingly. This was not her 
 idea of a country girl at all ; and yet she was 
 keen enough to take in, as if it were a delightful 
 odor, the innocence, the utterly unsophisticated 
 nature with which she was now in contact. She 
 also felt that she had discovered Rowena, and 
 she had a pleasing and decided consciousness 
 that, so far as the girl proved interesting, she 
 was in some sense not only the discoverer, but 
 the author, the proprietor. 
 
 " Marthy S. not only got a fit, she got more an 
 air in this instance, "said Miss Phillipps. " She 
 ought to come to Borston. If there is anything 
 Borston needs it is style. She has brains enough. 
 If we can only combine brains and style, we shall 
 have the most delightful result in the world. 
 Now I know a New York woman if I only catch 
 a glimpse of the hem of her gown ; there s a 
 something about that hem that tells the whole 
 story. But the chances are that the owner of 
 the gown has never heard of Madame Blavatsky, 
 or if she has, she thinks madame is some kind of 
 a milliner." 
 
 Miss Phillipps resumed her lounging position
 
 94 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 in the very unadaptable chair furnished by Mrs. 
 Jarvis to her top-story lodgers. 
 
 Rowena blushed as she said that she did not 
 employ Marthy S. ; she cut and made her own 
 dresses. She found she had kind of a knack, and 
 so she had saved some money that way. 
 
 " Oh," said the other, " it is what you call a 
 knack, is it ? And that soft hat you wear ? Is 
 that a knack, too ?" 
 
 " I guess tis. Do you like it?" timidly. 
 
 "I adore it." 
 
 There was silence after this. There was a 
 somewhat beatified expression on the elder wom 
 an s face as she rested her head on the back of 
 her chair. Perhaps she explained this by saying, 
 presently, with a deep drawn breath : 
 
 " I knew I should like your atmosphere." 
 
 Rowena had never had her atmosphere praised 
 by any one else, and she felt somewhat confused. 
 She did not attempt any response. 
 
 In a moment Miss Phillipps said : 
 
 " Did I mention my seal-skin jacket ?" 
 
 " Yes," responded Rowena, wonderingly. She 
 even thought there was some embarrassment now 
 in her guest s manner. 
 
 " May I show it to you ?" 
 
 " Why, of course," still more wonderingly. 
 
 Miss Phillipps rose. 
 
 "How do you ring here?"
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 95 
 
 " We don t ring ; we go out in the hall and 
 scream down the stair -way. It is like calling 
 down a well, for nobody hears." 
 
 " I certainly shouldn t scream down this stair 
 way just for amusement." 
 
 Rowena had opened the door, and the two 
 stood in the gloom of the upper hall. Miss Phil- 
 lipps thought she could feel her garments becom 
 ing saturated with the combined odors of the 
 place. She wondered what her lungs thought of 
 the air, and how long they would take it in be 
 fore, in the language of the day, " they went on 
 strike ?" 
 
 " Where is the jacket ?" asked Rowena, inno 
 cently. 
 
 " In a box in the carriage. Can t you get a 
 servant to go out and get it?" 
 
 The girl disappeared down the stairs. The 
 lady left standing there felt a sense of unreason 
 able disappointment at Rowena s alacrity ; and 
 when the girl came back with the box in her 
 hand and a sprinkling of storm on her face and 
 hair, Miss Phillipps was suddenly very cold in 
 deed in her manner. 
 
 Rowena felt the change instantly. The two 
 entered the room in silence. Miss Phillipps took 
 the jacket from the box. She said it was too 
 loose for her ; she had a curiosity to see it on 
 Rowena; and she helped the girl to put it on.
 
 96 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 An irrepressible exclamation of pleasure came 
 from Rowena as she saw a portion of herself in 
 the little mirror. Miss Phillipps seemed to stiff 
 en still more. 
 
 " Would you like to wear it ?" she asked, icily. 
 
 Rowena turned towards her with a radiant face. 
 
 " I would like to wear one like it," she said, 
 eagerly ; " it fits exactly." 
 
 She seemed loath to take it off. 
 
 " It will give me pleasure if you will wear this 
 one," remarked Miss Phillipps, in a stately man 
 ner. 
 
 It was now Rowena s turn to stiffen. She re 
 moved the garment and laid it on the bed. 
 
 It was odd that Miss Phillipps should look re 
 lieved. She had brought the jacket expressly 
 that she might give it to this girl. 
 
 Will you not oblige me," she asked. There 
 was something almost dramatic in the way in 
 which Rowena turned to her companion. 
 
 " You meant it as a present ?" she inquired. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Thank you very much. I m sorry you thought 
 that way of me. I have a shawl " here the 
 proud young voice began to tremble. " I know 
 it isn t pretty, but it keeps me warm, and I ve 
 got to wear it. I sha n t take your jacket. I 
 do wish you hadn t offered it to me. I do 
 wish"
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 97 
 
 Here the voice stopped altogether. Rowena 
 stood very straight. But she hung her head. 
 
 Miss Phillipps put her hands behind her. She 
 seemed to put them there to be sure that they 
 should not touch Rowena. It was plainly no 
 time to touch her now. 
 
 " The moths will eat the jacket," said she, 
 smiling. 
 
 "Let them," responded the other, still with her 
 head down. 
 
 " But I also am not without New England 
 thrift ; I hate to see things destroyed." 
 
 No answer. Rowena gave a side glance at the 
 jacket. Then she turned her back more decided 
 ly upon it. 
 
 " What if I should leave it here while you think 
 about it?" suggested Miss Phillipps. "Where is 
 the disgrace in your acting as a sort of package 
 of camphor and tobacco in regard to this fur jack 
 et? Consider yourself merely as an animated 
 anti-moth packet." 
 
 "No." 
 
 A deep sigh followed this monosyllable. 
 
 Miss Phillipps s spirits were rapidly rising. 
 
 "Why not oblige me?" 
 
 But Rowena did not feel that she could com 
 mand her voice sufficiently to try to say any 
 thing. 
 
 The owner of the garment now rapidly re- 
 
 7
 
 98 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 turned it to the box. The odor of camphor was 
 very strong in the little room. 
 
 Miss Phillipps went close to the girl. She 
 looked at her a moment in silence, and the high 
 bred, somewhat mocking face softened a good 
 deal. 
 
 " Since you will not wear that, will you do 
 something else for me?" 
 
 Rowena lifted her eyes to the face before her. 
 She clasped her hands and said, fervently : 
 
 "Oh yes!" 
 
 "Will you join our new Browning Club?" 
 
 The moment she had made this request Miss 
 Phillipps did not know how she was going to 
 live up to it ; but she would not be so weak as 
 to withdraw it. 
 
 Rowena s first emotion was one of thankful 
 ness that she could know something further of 
 the man who wrote " One Word More." So she 
 said "Yes," Avith effusion. 
 
 But when her visitor was gone and she sat 
 alone, and the wind and sleet beat on the win 
 dow, she wondered at herself that she had obeyed 
 any such impulse. Of course she could not go. 
 She wished she had never seen Miss Phillipps. 
 It was horrible to have a glimpse of lovely things. 
 No, she would not go. What a wretch she must 
 be, that she could not help thinking of that jack 
 et ! She found it so difficult to put it out of her
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 99 
 
 mind that she resorted to the desperate remedy 
 of going down into the parlor to see Mrs. Jarvis. 
 
 The supper hour was long since over. She 
 was greatly astonished to find Ferdinand Foster 
 and three or four girls engaged in shrill laugh 
 ter. Mrs. Jarvis was not there. Rowena made 
 a quick backward movement and would have re 
 treated up the stairs, but one of the girls ran for 
 ward and caught her hand, crying out in the 
 sharp voice that one hears so much in the east 
 wind here perhaps it is the east wind which 
 makes the voice : 
 
 " Now don t you go to runnin right away, s if 
 you was too good to stay here. Lemme intro 
 duce ye to the rest. We ve got an off night. 
 Twas so horrid stormy we finally concluded to 
 stay here n try high jinks in this old parlor. Mr. 
 Foster got Mrs. Jarvis to say we might have the 
 room. I m sure I d know what we should do 
 without Mr. Foster. There ain t hardly any gen- 
 tlemun that s ever at leisure. They re jest bound 
 up in business. We ladies have to git along with 
 precious little of gentlemun s society. I tell the 
 other ladies I guess I shall go West. They say 
 ladies are so scarce out there that the gentleman 
 crowd up to the deepo when the trains come in, 
 and jest pop the question as the ladies step out 
 the cars. So you see they re engaged before they 
 leave the deepo. Now that s what I call an in-
 
 100 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 terestin country to live in. What s Borston to 
 that?" 
 
 Shrieks of laughter greeted these words, which 
 were so rapidly spoken that they almost seemed 
 one long word of many syllables. Rowena could 
 not help laughing, though she felt shy and in 
 definably disgusted. She reproved herself for 
 being disgusted. These were working-girls. She 
 was a working-girl herself. 
 
 She was introduced quickly by the girl who 
 had appointed herself her guide, and who was at 
 tired in a black dress so tight that it was only by 
 a constantly renewed miracle she could breathe. 
 She had a small face, that made Rowena think of 
 a weasel her father had caught in a trap set near 
 a chicken -coop. She gave the country girl an 
 impression that she would say something decid 
 edly vulgar the next time she opened her lips, 
 and she was continually opening her lips. But 
 there was a kind of good-humor about her which 
 prevented Rowena from positively hating her. 
 
 One of the company patronizingly asked if 
 Rowena were learning to color photographs, and 
 if she were going to be paid by the hour or the 
 piece, advising strongly that she try to be paid 
 by the piece. She herself had tried the "touch- 
 ing-up business," as she called it. She had tried 
 most everything. She was now in R. H. Black s 
 dry-goods. She d about as lives be a saleslady
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. IOI 
 
 s anything. If you felt cross you could snub 
 folks no end. 
 
 Here some one across the room, who had been 
 examining the speaker with the greatest interest, 
 suddenly shouted : 
 
 " Mattie, seems to me you ve been trimming 
 your bangs, ain t you ?" 
 
 The girl who had been talking with Rowena 
 quickly put her hand to her forehead. 
 
 " No, I ain t trimmed um ; I ain t combed um 
 half out. I was kind of saving um ; I didn t 
 know but somebody might ask me to the the 
 atre to-night." 
 
 Here she gave such a look at young Foster 
 that there was another universal shriek of laugh 
 ter. Some one clapped her hands and cried : 
 
 " That s right ! Give it to him !" 
 
 Foster looked irritated. He had looked so 
 ever since Rowena s entrance. He did not 
 come near her, but he appeared to find it diffi 
 cult to keep his eyes from her face. 
 
 He was standing by the mantel in front of the 
 register. His face was almost sulky. His hands 
 were thrust far down in his pockets. He was 
 wondering what kind of an ass Miss Tuttle would 
 think he was. Perhaps she would not think of 
 him at all ; that would be worse still. 
 
 "Ain t there no other gentlemun coming?" 
 asked a new voice. " I thought you said you
 
 102 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 had two friends that were coming to-night, Mr. 
 Foster. I might just as well have stayed in my 
 own room and had a nap." 
 
 Again every one laughed. There were peals 
 of laughter apparently every time anybody 
 spoke. Mr. Foster grinned. He replied that 
 perhaps his friends had found a place where the 
 girls were prettier. 
 
 In the hilarity excited by this remark the 
 door-bell rang violently. The girl who had wel 
 comed Rowena ran to open it. She admitted 
 two young men in rough ulsters with the great 
 collars turned up above their ears. A burst of 
 laughter immediately filled the narrow hall. 
 
 Mr. Foster remained in the parlor. He turned 
 towards Rowena, who was looking on in a kind 
 of benumbed attention. 
 
 " I s pose you think we re a set of wild beasts, 
 don t you, Miss Tuttle ?" 
 
 She smiled at her questioner. He appeared 
 so depressed that she wished to cheer him. And 
 it was quite remarkable how much cheered he 
 was immediately. 
 
 " Only wild beasts don t laugh," she said. 
 
 He laughed now so delightedly that she was 
 surprised. He became animated. 
 
 " A set of idiots, then," he said. " But we re 
 really rather of a good sort, only not deep, you 
 know. Don t you go and run away from us.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 1 03 
 
 We ain t going to have a sea-ants. Major Stan- 
 ger won t be here. My aunt s got a sea-ants up 
 on Harrison Avenoo to-night, and I guess the 
 major 11 be there. Anyway, he won t be here. 
 Do stay; we fellows have ordered some oysters 
 n ice-cream to be brought in about ten. I 
 wanted awfully to ask you, but I couldn t get a 
 glimpse of you, for all I ve tried so hard. I 
 thought my aunt would have called on you be 
 fore this. She was quite taken with you. She 
 said" here young Foster stopped to laugh 
 again "she said she thought you d develop into 
 the best medyum there was in Borston. And 
 that is saying a good deal, for Borston is just 
 stuffed with medyums. What ain t Christian 
 Scientists and Buddhists, and all that, don t you 
 know, are medyums. You ve got to be one or 
 the other if you live here. Which shall you 
 choose ?" 
 
 Ferd Foster s appearance had become so cheer 
 ful, not to say happy, that he did not look like 
 the same youth Rowena had seen when she first 
 came down-stairs that evening. She did not say 
 she would stay, but she lingered until the oysters 
 and cream were brought in from " a caperer s " 
 on Washington Street. This was Foster s joke, 
 and it was laughed at with an abandon that re 
 newed itself and began afresh ; and when Foster 
 said gravely that he knew they d find the oysters
 
 104 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 good, for he was very particular as to who ca 
 pered to him, the girl with the wasp waist went 
 into such convulsions of laughter that Rowena 
 was really alarmed. She had known one girl at 
 home who, in the neighborhood parties, had be 
 come celebrated as a " trainer," but secretly Ro 
 wena was convinced that this Miss Martin was 
 the greatest trainer she had ever seen. 
 
 It was after eleven o clock before the salesla 
 dies went to their lodging-rooms. These rooms 
 were close by. Poor, little, chilly rooms they 
 were, too. The young men walked away with 
 them. Rowena could still hear them training, 
 as they went along the narrow sidewalk; their 
 piercing laughter came back to her on the cold air. 
 
 Mrs. Jarvis came out of the back parlor, where 
 she had just pulled out her folding-bed and 
 spread the sheets on it. She looked so weary 
 that again Rowe na helped her " trig up " the 
 parlor. 
 
 The landlady did not seem to think there had 
 been any unusual noise. She made the startling 
 remark that young folks would be young folks, 
 and she s posed they must take their good times 
 when they could get em. 
 
 I hope no one will think any the less of Ro 
 wena if I record that the last clear image in her 
 mind before she fell asleep was the image of her 
 self in that seal-skin jacket.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 105 
 
 VIII. 
 
 PHILIP S VISIT. 
 
 ROWENA was hurrying down Tremont Street. 
 She had been up since six o clock. At twenty 
 minutes after that hour she had drunk her coffee 
 and eaten a baker s roll. If she had been at 
 home she would have given the roll to the chick 
 ens. It had never been good, and now it was 
 stale. Having eaten it, it remained not only 
 heavily present in the digestive tract, but in her 
 mind also. She kept thinking how poor it had 
 been, and how good her mother s hot biscuit al 
 ways were. She thought she must need some 
 thoroughwort or sarsaparilla, now it had become 
 spring. She felt, as her uncle Reuben had said, 
 " kind of pindlin ." 
 
 On his last trip to Boston he had attempted 
 to bring in a squash-pie as an offering from his 
 wife to Rowena. The attempt had resulted in 
 the most disastrous failure. When it arrived it 
 was "jest pig s victuals," as he said, ruefully. It 
 was eventually gathered up in the public cart 
 which stopped at Mrs. Jarvis s.
 
 106 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 But the home-made sausages, and the " souse," 
 and the gingerbread from the Tuttle homestead 
 came in good condition. Rowena cried over 
 them, even over the souse. She ate them thank 
 fully. They were gone now. But the letter 
 accompanying them remained. It was a joint 
 production of all the Tuttle family. By this 
 statement I do not mean that it was long. 
 These people could not express themselves with 
 pen and paper. The most terse statement of 
 facts was presented. One sister announced that 
 it was believed that " Georgie Warner had got a 
 beau. He worked winters in the factory at Mid 
 dle Village. He had red hair. He was called a 
 likely man." 
 
 Rowena thought this might account for Geor- 
 gie s remissness in writing. Another sister wrote 
 that " Philip Barrett s gray horse had died of the 
 botts." 
 
 Rowena could repeat the entire epistle from 
 beginning to end. She was doing so as she 
 walked now. She had come out for a long tramp 
 before it was time to go to the studio. As she 
 approached that place she was thinking of her 
 mother s counsel that she " should be sure and 
 not work too hard." 
 
 With her mother s words in her mind, and 
 with their effect in her face, making it soft and 
 tremulous, she paused as an object fell at her
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 1 07 
 
 feet. She had not been noticing anything 
 around her. Mechanically she picked up the 
 object, a short, cane-like whip, such as she had 
 seen in the hands of horseback riders. At the 
 same moment a voice above her said : 
 
 "Oh, it is Miss Tuttle ! Thanks," for Rowe- 
 na gave the whip into Miss Phillipps s hand. 
 " Don t dismount, Keats ; there is no need." 
 
 Now Rowena saw the two riders, Miss Phil- 
 lipps and a gentleman, who lifted his hat while 
 he looked at the girl rather more markedly than 
 was necessary for the polite salutation of a 
 stranger. 
 
 As for the country girl, still quivering with 
 her thoughts of home and the beloved ones 
 there, the sight of these two, mounted on glossy 
 horses, dressed scrupulously, with the indescriba 
 ble air of wealth and leisure and refinement, the 
 sight of them was like a picture, not as if they 
 were living human beings. Rowena felt remote. 
 She hardly responded to Miss Phillipps s words. 
 
 The two rode on. Again the gentleman raised 
 his hat. Miss Phillipps waved her hand and 
 smiled. 
 
 Something bitter and rebellious rose in Rowe- 
 na s heart. It was still there when she reached 
 the studio, and she was late. Breathless, flushed, 
 she walked in among the class of young ladies. 
 The model was already posing. Allestree was
 
 I08 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 moving up and down the long room after his 
 manner, with his big beard held in his left hand. 
 
 Hurriedly Rowena took her customary place. 
 She arranged her brushes. She looked at the 
 model, who was a young girl with arms and 
 bust undraped that they might be studied and 
 copied. 
 
 Rowena s hands trembled. She had walked 
 too far and too fast, and she had not yet become 
 accustomed to the idea of a model at least, not 
 a model like this. The girl s face, as she stood 
 there, with all those eyes upon her, was as inex 
 pressive as a bit of wood. 
 
 Allestree sometimes walked up to her and 
 slightly touched her neck or arm as he spoke 
 of some muscle that must be well brought out. 
 Every time he did so Rowena shrank and her 
 lips quivered that is, at first. After a time she 
 forgot that her model was alive. The spirit of 
 her work had entered into her. 
 
 It was not until the class broke up and she 
 was putting on that despised shawl that she 
 again thought of the two she had seen on the 
 street. She envied them. As she descended the 
 broad marble stairs, which no longer overawed 
 her with their grandeur, she said, aloud : 
 
 "Yes, I envy them. How mean I must be to 
 feel like that !" 
 
 She was recalling the man s face, which bore
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 1 09 
 
 a slight family resemblance to that of Miss Phil- 
 lipps. There had been a monocle in the right 
 eye, and Rovvena strongly resented the effect 
 it gave. She had childishly wished to strike it 
 out. She did not believe there was any need 
 of it. 
 
 Miss Phillipps was getting careless about com 
 ing to the studio. Her group of Indian-pipes on 
 their moss-bed had not grown of late. 
 
 Instead of going to her room, Rowena wan 
 dered across the Common and out towards the 
 Public Gardens. She was senselessly irritated 
 and despondent. Her art was drudgery. 
 
 She did not see that many people turned to 
 look back at her. The ugly shawl could not hide 
 the springing grace and style of her carriage. She 
 did not see some one coming hesitatingly down 
 the walk that led from the direction of the State 
 House. She had just decided in her own mind 
 that the gentleman with Miss Phillipps was the 
 same she had once seen in the lady s carriage, 
 when a hesitating, almost deprecating, voice said : 
 
 "Ain t that you, Roweny?" 
 
 She paused suddenly, the color leaving her face 
 in the excess of her surprise. It was almost as 
 if she had looked in at the old kitchen at home 
 to hear that slow, nasal tone. 
 
 She held out her hands, impulsively. 
 
 " Oh, Philip !" she exclaimed.
 
 110 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Young Barrett could now hardly speak from 
 sheer joy at the greeting given. Of course he 
 was sufficiently masculine in his appreciation of 
 himself to feel that it was her gladness at seeing 
 him. He could not suspect that all the happi 
 ness and freedom of her old life seemed to come 
 back to her at sight of him. 
 
 He held her hands. He stammered out rapt 
 urously that "he d ben kinder fraid she wouldn t 
 know him." 
 
 " Know you ? Do you change so rapidly out 
 there?" 
 
 She withdrew her hands. She laughed gayly. 
 
 Philip laughed also. The two stood looking at 
 each other. The people who hurried by glanced 
 smilingly at them. 
 
 Philip had bought a new suit of clothes for 
 this visit. He had bought them at Middle Vil 
 lage, and he had been very proud of them. They 
 bagged where they should have been snug, and 
 were snug where they should have bagged. But 
 he did not know it. Where he lived a new suit 
 was a new suit. The art of dressing is not in the 
 least a complicated affair in remote New England 
 towns. 
 
 At last Rowena bethought herself and moved 
 on. Philip walked by her side. He was still 
 smiling broadly. He had never been so happy 
 in his life before. He was glad he had given all
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. HI 
 
 that time and labor and those forces of life to 
 writing that letter. He would write another, if 
 necessary. He guessed he could write a letter 
 if he " sut out." 
 
 When the two reached the Tremont Street 
 pavement a horseman came slowly close to the 
 curb. It was the man who had, a few moments 
 ago, ridden by with Miss Phillipps. He again 
 looked seriously at Rowena, with a kind of in- 
 tentness that made Philip ask, quickly: 
 
 "Who in time is that feller?" And the girl 
 only said, " I don t know." To which her com 
 panion remarked " that he hoped he stared hard 
 enough." 
 
 The mere sight of that horseman had somehow 
 quenched Rowena s pleasure in meeting Philip. 
 She tried to keep her face set to its first look. 
 She made an attempt at a sprightly interest in 
 Philip s talk. She asked questions, and did not 
 wait for the answers. But Philip only remem 
 bered her greeting. 
 
 He said he was going to stay in Boston until 
 the next day. He announced proudly that he 
 had engaged a room at a hotel on Brattle Street, 
 where his uncle Tim used to put up, and he 
 guessed it was a first-rate house. He had left 
 his bag there. He wanted Rowena to go over 
 to Bunker Hill with him that afternoon. In the 
 evening they would go to a theatre. He didn t
 
 112 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 spend money very often. He guessed he could 
 afford to lay out a little once in a while. 
 
 So he talked on eagerly, his honest face ear 
 nest, his eyes constantly seeking those of his 
 companion. 
 
 He came into the house on Hudson Street. 
 He had already been there once, and had been 
 directed to the studio. Now he sat in the par 
 lor while Rowena went to her own room. He 
 thought the parlor was beautiful. He found no 
 fault with the atmosphere, as Miss Phillipps had 
 done. It seemed to him a fascinating luxury 
 that the apartment should be heated by a fur 
 nace. The picture of the " Spirit Friend " on 
 the wall was wonderful, though he could make 
 nothing at all of it, it was so vapory and unde 
 fined. But he supposed it was a work of great 
 art, and he hoped Rowena would some time be 
 able to copy it. 
 
 He did not dare to walk about in the room. 
 He sat with his feet very near together and his 
 hat on his knees. He inhaled the odor of onions 
 that came up through the furnace and from the 
 basement. 
 
 Mrs. Jarvis, in her palm-leaf, wadded morning- 
 gown, came to the door and inquired if he had 
 called to buy meal tickets. At that question, 
 so unexpectedly put, he could hardly tell whether 
 he wanted meal tickets or not. He had in-
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 113 
 
 tended to disport himself among the various res 
 taurants, for he had all the countryman s appre 
 ciation of restaurant food. 
 
 But now he had a confused sense that it might 
 be in some way a favor to Rowena to buy tickets 
 of her landlady. He said he guessed he d take 
 some; how much was she selling them for? 
 
 It ended by his purchasing twenty-five tickets 
 for three dollars. As he paid for them he inci 
 dentally remarked that he had come in to wait for 
 Miss Tuttle. At this Mrs. Jarvis said, with some 
 animation, that she thought, and Madame Van 
 Benthuysen also thought, that if she would only 
 let herself be developed Miss Tuttle would make 
 one of the finest medyums in Borston. 
 
 As he heard this, Barrett felt his hair rising 
 and his hands growing cold. He had heard of 
 mediums. He knew they were liable at any 
 moment to find their affinities. What if Rowena 
 should find her affinity? 
 
 He did not dare to say that he hoped Miss 
 Tuttle would not be a medium for fear Mrs. 
 Jarvis might, in some mysterious way known 
 only to spiritualists, cause the girl to be devel 
 oped at once. Barrett s ideas about spiritualism 
 were something the same as the generally re 
 ceived notion regarding Salem witchcraft. One 
 never knew who would next be declared a witch. 
 
 So great was his perturbation at the thought 
 
 8
 
 114 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 of Rowena s becoming a medium that he would 
 not speak to the girl on the subject when she 
 presently came down-stairs and took a seat near 
 the register. 
 
 He sat looking at her yearningly. He now 
 saw she was pale. He also told her she was 
 "kinder pindlin ." She laughed at that. He 
 said " he s posed she could paint n dror s good 
 s anybody now." 
 
 At this she laughed again, now with some bit 
 terness. She was learning every day how dif 
 ficult excellence is, and how much drudgery 
 there is on the road to it. And she had also 
 heard a great deal of talk about the folly of 
 women in trying to be artists. But she could 
 not give up her hope. Once in a while her brush 
 would, apparently of its own volition, make a 
 few strokes that gladdened her like an inspira 
 tion. She meant to toil for the time when there 
 would be more such strokes. Once Allestree, 
 looking at her work at such a time, had said in 
 his autocratic way: 
 
 " Miss Tuttle, you will do. You have the 
 touch." Then he had added, as if to himself: 
 "if only the confounded feminine limitations do 
 not interfere!" 
 
 Miss Phillipps had heard these last words. 
 She had left her easel and walked to Rowena 
 and put her hand on her shoulder as she looked
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 115 
 
 at the picture. She had pressed the hand caress 
 ingly. 
 
 " Don t believe his heresies," she had remarked. 
 "There are no more insurmountable feminine 
 limitations than masculine. In fact, art is sex 
 less." 
 
 " It should be, but it isn t." With this re 
 joinder Allestree had seized his beard and walked 
 away. 
 
 Rowena drank in all this talk and all these in 
 fluences. She had moments of thinking. She 
 was very wise indeed. 
 
 She felt wise now as she sat opposite Philip 
 Barrett. She wished he had not procured a new 
 suit of clothes. All his natural dignity was hid 
 den by that dreadful Middle Village suit. And 
 he looked at her so persistently. Worse than 
 that, he somehow gave her the feeling that she 
 had given him the right to look at her thus. 
 
 What had she written him ? And what had 
 been her manner just now when she had met 
 him? What made him hold his hat as if it were 
 a basket of eggs ? 
 
 " I s pose you ve ben to the monument a 
 good many times sence you come to the city, 
 ain t you ?" 
 
 Barrett put this question rather timidly. He 
 was sensible of some change in Rowena s man 
 ner, though he could not account for it.
 
 Il6 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 " What monument?" she asked. 
 
 He looked surprised. For him there was but 
 one monument. He had told his mother he was 
 coming to Boston principally to see it. 
 
 " Why, Bunker Hill, of course." 
 
 " No ; I haven t been there," indifferently. 
 
 " I wish you d go with me this afternoon." 
 
 He was greatly cheered by her consent. He 
 took her to Copeland s for dinner. He was sur 
 prised that he had so little appetite in the midst 
 of such luxury. In the horse-car ride to Charles- 
 town he gave a detailed account of the case of 
 botts which had resulted in the death of his gray 
 horse. 
 
 In this recital Rowena showed a good deal of 
 interest. She now became animated and asked 
 many questions about "all the folks." Barrett 
 eagerly replied. He showed an almost pitiable 
 desire to say what would please her. He watched 
 her. He felt there was something in her face he 
 had never seen there before. He wondered what 
 it was. He thought it was miserably foolish in 
 her to study art. Women needn t study art. Of 
 course she would get over it in a little time. 
 But, meanwhile, he found it very hard to bear. 
 She could paint and draw well enough now to 
 make pictures to hang up in the sitting-room. 
 In Philip Barrett s mind it was the very pinnacle 
 of excellence in art to be able to hang something
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 117 
 
 of your own in the sitting-room. He did not un 
 derstand Rowena, but he meant to do so. 
 
 They climbed wearily to the top of the monu 
 ment on Bunker Hill. When they stood there 
 Philip found it more interesting to look at his 
 companion s face than at the view. But she 
 looked at the view. It was not a clear day. 
 There was an uncertainty of outline that made 
 the outlook peculiarly lovely and which stirred 
 her soul. She uttered one or two exclamations 
 of delight. Barrett had the discretion not to re 
 spond. He thought it was "very pretty" to see 
 everything spread out so before them. He would 
 tell his mother about it. 
 
 Rowena clasped her hands. The wind blew 
 her hair about the soft hat. Her eyes were ra 
 diant. 
 
 " That must be the Charles," she said, in a low 
 voice. " And see, where the high light strikes 
 that shore ! What a delightful effect !" 
 
 Philip s spirits rose again. He wondered what 
 she meant by " high light," but he had a kind of 
 feeling that the beauty of the scene was some 
 thing he had procured for her. This feeling gave 
 him immense satisfaction. 
 
 After a while they crept down within the tow 
 ering dungeon and emerged into the world with 
 other people again. 
 
 Philip pleaded with the girl to go to supper
 
 Il8 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 with him. They rode back to Boston and stroll 
 ed rather aimlessly along the streets. Rowena 
 was getting very tired, but Philip did not think 
 he should ever be tired. He said as much, rather 
 ardently. 
 
 At last they had supper in a place where the 
 waiter girl was in convulsions of laughter with 
 another waiter girl. The effect of this hilarity 
 was such as to dampen Barrett s spirits a great 
 deal. He could not shake off the idea that they 
 were laughing at him. 
 
 It did not occur to cither of these people that 
 a chaperon was necessary. It was a simple and 
 ordinary thing that they should go about thus. 
 
 Evidently Philip had laid out a plan of battle 
 to which he would adhere. He was so grieved 
 when Rowena said she thought she would not go 
 to the theatre in the evening that she relented. 
 
 He went somewhere and returned about seven, 
 while Mrs. Jarvis s later reg lars were coming in. 
 He had orchestra tickets for the Hollis Street 
 Theatre. He said he guessed one play was the 
 same as another, but some one had told him the 
 Kendals were about the thing. Did Rowena 
 know what the Kendals were? He would have 
 been perfectly calm and unsurprised if she had 
 answered that they were a species of gorilla. 
 
 Now that the name was mentioned, Rowena 
 remembered that she had heard Miss Phillipps
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 119 
 
 say to some one in the studio that there was a 
 certain strong charm about Mrs. Kendal s act 
 ing, but that she could wish the woman did not 
 " pose so much at virtue " in her private life, it 
 was wearing it was protesting too much. No 
 one suspected her of being otherwise than exem 
 plary. 
 
 The girl had felt a cynical ring in the voice 
 that spoke those words, but she had not in the 
 least understood them. 
 
 Now at mention of the Kendals a swift inter 
 est sprang up in her mind. She forgot her fa 
 tigue. She had never been to a theatre in her 
 life ; neither had her escort. She ran up-stairs 
 for hat and shawl. When she descended she 
 met Ferdinand Foster and his aunt, Madame 
 Van Benthuysen. The latter was in her volumi 
 nous circular. Her voice was as rolling as ever. 
 She threw one arm and part of the circular over 
 Rowena s shoulder and kissed her. She said 
 she and Ferd had come to call on her. She had 
 really been so occupied with one spirit and an 
 other for the last week or two that she had not 
 had a minute of her own. 
 
 Inside the parlor Philip was waiting, and heard 
 these words. He also saw the impressive man 
 ner with which Foster looked at Rowena. The 
 country youth was much struck with the glory 
 of Ferdinand s necktie and watch-chain. He ex-
 
 120 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 perienced a sinking of the heart as he saw them. 
 His own tie was a narrow black ribbon. He 
 wished he had worn the silver chain that be 
 longed to his watch ; but he had left it at home 
 lest it might tempt pickpockets. 
 
 He stepped forward in time to see Rowena 
 smile at Foster. Almost at the same moment 
 Foster said he and his aunt were going to get up 
 a little party to hear the Kendals and have a 
 supper afterwards. Of course Miss Tuttle would 
 be one of them. 
 
 As he finished speaking Foster swung himself 
 round in his big, rough ulster, and saw a fellow 
 in the parlor glaring at him.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 121 
 
 IX. 
 
 AT THE THEATRE. 
 
 YOUNG Foster glared back at young Barrett 
 in the narrow hall on Hudson Street. As they 
 looked the natural antagonism of one to the 
 other sparkled in their eyes. 
 
 Rowena hastened to introduce them. She felt 
 that there was thunder in the air, but she could 
 not guess why. 
 
 The two men nodded ferociously at each oth 
 er when she mentioned their names. 
 
 Madame Van Bcnthuysen shook hands in her 
 large, cordial way with Philip. She told him she 
 hoped he would stay over and come to their sea- 
 ants on Harrison Avenue that evening. 
 
 As Philip did not know what a sea-ants was he 
 was not alarmed, and only thought this lady was 
 very kind. Her fur circular and her black satin 
 gown made as much impression on him as the 
 necktie and chain of her nephew. His heart 
 sank at the knowledge of what fine friends Ro 
 wena had. But did he not desire fine friends for 
 her?
 
 122 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 He could not keep his eyes from Foster. He 
 was sure that if that person s ulster had been an 
 inch longer in the skirt or an inch higher in the 
 collar he could not have refrained from throw 
 ing him out into the street. He vaguely heard 
 Madame Van Benthuysen talking about a thea 
 tre party, " The Queen s Shilling," balcony, sup 
 per. What did it mean ? Was Rowena going 
 with them ? 
 
 After a few moments Rowena turned to Philip 
 and said she was ready to go. Foster was trium 
 phant and smiling. He repeated two or three 
 times that they d have no end of a jolly even 
 ing. He insisted on shaking hands with the girl 
 before she left ; he bent over her hand with a 
 good-natured swagger. He seemed delighted 
 when she laughed at his rattle. 
 
 When she and Philip were in the street she 
 did not notice that her companion was sulky. 
 But when they reached the theatre the great in 
 terest and novelty of everything absorbed them 
 both. 
 
 There was a pleasure to Rowena in being gen 
 tly hustled by well-dressed people. She liked 
 the semi-darkness, the mingled odors of perfumes. 
 They both thought they had never seen any 
 man so wonderfully well dressed as the usher 
 who came sliding up to them to take their tick 
 ets and conduct them to a seat. Even before
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 133 
 
 the curtain rose, the gilding, the upholstery, the 
 whole aspect of the place, together with the 
 murmur of music from the unseen orchestra, 
 gave Philip a strong impression that it must be 
 wicked to be there. Anything so pleasant and 
 so unlike anything he had ever known would 
 necessarily be wicked. He recalled with a pang 
 of conscience that the evangelist now preaching 
 in Middle Village had said distinctly that thea 
 tres were works of the evil one. 
 
 In an awed whisper he gave this information 
 to his companion. But Rowena laughed ; she 
 was much further from Middle Village than 
 Philip was. She did not care what the evan 
 gelist told those people. Her face showed her 
 pleasure. There was not an attraction, from the 
 dome downward, that did not appeal to her ar 
 tistic nature with a tingling sense of joy. The 
 strains from the hidden instruments thrilled her. 
 This was her first night. You whose first night 
 in a theatre is involved in the mists of the past, 
 do not laugh at her. How much would you give 
 could you change places with her? 
 
 Very soon Philip lapsed into a bewildered si 
 lence. All through the evening he was more 
 puzzled than entertained. 
 
 They were so near the stage that when the 
 curtain rose on the first scene of the " Iron Mas 
 ter" Rowena felt a shock of almost disillusion-
 
 124 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 ment ; she saw so plainly how the people were 
 made up, and the pitch of their voices startled 
 her. But when, in a moment, Claire came in, re 
 freshingly unmade up, speaking theatrically, Ro- 
 wena gave a long sigh of delight, and from the 
 first sight of the heroine she gave herself up to 
 fervent love and admiration for her. She went 
 through with Claire with all her love and all her 
 misery. She longed to rush upon the stage and 
 fling her arms about her. When the husband 
 went out to fight the duel and the wife beat 
 upon the locked door and shrieked in her agony, 
 Rowena sprang up in her seat and made a frantic 
 effort to get away, crying : 
 
 " I must let her out !" 
 
 The curtain fell. Rowena shrank back to her 
 place and covered her face with her hands. Ev 
 erybody looked at her. Philip did not know 
 what to do. He did not know but that he 
 ought to aid in the effort to unbar that closed 
 door whereupon Claire had struck in her suf 
 fering. 
 
 Among those who looked at Rowena when 
 she thus stood were two people in a box at the 
 right. A man and woman sat in front, Miss 
 Phillipps and her cousin, Keats Bradford. The 
 lady s white silk cloak was on the back of her 
 chair; her slightly tinted gown was high in the 
 neck and long in the sleeves, but still it gave
 
 ROVVENY IN BOSTON. 125 
 
 with perfect effect the impression of evening 
 dress. She had flowers in her hair and in her 
 hand ; her pale face was a little flushed with in 
 terest, and her emerald-colored eyes were very 
 brilliant ; her lips even more than usually red. 
 The thick fluff of hair, the straight brows, the 
 keenly alive face, made it reasonable that her 
 companion should have deliberately decided that 
 she was in great good looks to-night. 
 
 He had just said that Mrs. Kendal was satisfy 
 ing, that she never overdid things, when he saw 
 Rowena standing there palpitating with the emo 
 tion roused by the scene before her. He half 
 rose, as if he would shield the girl, and he paused 
 abruptly in a sentence. 
 
 Miss Phillipps followed his glance. 
 
 " Rowena Tuttle !" she exclaimed. 
 
 The young man breathed a long breath of re 
 lief when Rowena sat down and people stopped 
 gazing at her. He polished his glass on his hand 
 kerchief and put it to his eye. 
 
 " Is she alone with that man?" asked Miss Phil 
 lipps. She had, in spite of her unconventional 
 spirit, strict ideas on some topics. 
 
 " Not exactly alone," was the answer, "as there 
 are several hundred people with her." 
 
 The lady did not reply. She bent forward, and 
 aimed her glass at Rowena so persistently that the 
 girl presently seemed to feel it focussed upon her.
 
 126 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 She removed her hands from her face and made 
 a great struggle for composure. She was in ter 
 ror lest Philip should speak to her. She did not 
 think she could bear the sound of his voice just 
 now. But when she saw the lady in the box she 
 experienced a glow of pleasure. Miss Phillipps 
 removed her opera -glass the instant she had 
 caught Rowena s attention. She gave her a 
 glance that warmed her, but reproved her as 
 well. It is not good form to show emotion in 
 public; but Rowena had forgotten herself. She 
 became painfully crimson. 
 
 " If the play were not about over I would send 
 you down, Keats, to bring her here," said Miss 
 Phillipps, autocratically. 
 
 Presently the play was done. Claire had been 
 lugged rather unnecessarily to the front of the 
 stage, and it was discovered that the bullet had 
 not injured her seriously ; everybody was going 
 to be happy ever after ; the handkerchiefs were 
 put away ; people bustled towards the door. 
 Rowena tried to wake from her illusions. Philip 
 said he guessed the theatre must be finished, for 
 all the folks were going out. 
 
 The two moved with the rest. As they stood 
 on the sidewalk, Miss Phillipps and her cousin 
 came out and entered a carriage. As she sat 
 down, and while Bradford had his foot on the 
 step, the lady saw Rowena and her friend stand-
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 127 
 
 ing near in the lamplight. She beckoned im 
 peratively. People usually obeyed her before 
 they considered whether they needed to do 
 so. 
 
 Rowena advanced, with Philip behind her. 
 She vaguely saw the shining white expanse, the 
 low waistcoat and white tie, beneath Bradford s 
 overcoat. He had a pair of gloves in his hand. 
 He fell back with a deferential movement as she 
 approached but not far back. 
 
 " Did you like it ?" asked Miss Phillipps, tak 
 ing the girl s hand closely. 
 
 " Oh, I " began Rowena, when the other bent 
 so near that her breath was on Rowena s face, as 
 she whispered, hurriedly : 
 
 "You did not remember that I told you not 
 to show all you feel in your face. You are like 
 a poor little lamb, with no shield nor buckler, and 
 wolves all about. Dear, good-night !" 
 
 As she let go the hand she said, aloud : 
 
 " Don t forget, it is the Browning Club to-mor 
 row night." 
 
 Rowena was very pale as she walked away. 
 She knew her friend was right, but she was hurt, 
 all the same. 
 
 " I heard what you said," remarked Bradford, 
 as the carriage rolled on. " Don t you know it 
 is her greatest chawm that her face does miwwor 
 her feelings. You re all wrong."
 
 128 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 " I m right," said the other, positively. " I m 
 going to protect that girl." 
 
 " By all means, pwotect her," sinking back on 
 the cushions. " I ll help you pwotect her." 
 
 Miss Phillipps glanced up at him. 
 
 " Do wait, Keats, until I ask for your help. 
 And can t you pronounce the letter R? you are 
 so ridiculous! I suppose you think it is Eng 
 lish?" 
 
 "To be widiculous? I know it s English." 
 
 The next day Rowena experienced a sense of 
 relief when she thought that Philip was going. 
 She was somewhat weary. She told herself that 
 it was all that new suit of clothes. She liked 
 Philip best in his overalls and "jumper." There 
 was a simplicity and manliness about him when 
 he was on his own farm. 
 
 His face was very long when she was called 
 down to the parlor to bid him good-bye. He gave 
 her the twenty-five meal tickets he had bought 
 of Mrs. Jarvis. He said he hoped Rowena would 
 use them, for it must be kind of lonesome to take 
 one s victuals all by one s self. When she hesi 
 tated he explained that " they wouldn t do him 
 no good, n she might s well have um." 
 
 He sat uneasily, holding his hat more than 
 ever as though there were eggs in it. She wait 
 ed. She had exhausted herself in conversation 
 the day before. There did not seem another
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 1 29 
 
 thing to say. Something was evidently resting 
 heavily on his mind. At last he got up and 
 stood before her. 
 
 " It s not time to go yet," she remarked. 
 
 " No, it ain t." 
 
 He put his hat on his head, and then, remem 
 bering his manners, he took it immediately off, 
 and instantly converted it again into a recepta 
 cle for eggs. 
 
 " Does that feller git up them sea-antses him 
 self?" he asked, sternly. 
 
 "What fellow? Oh, you mean Mr. Foster? 
 No ; it is his aunt who is the medium." 
 
 Rowena tried not to laugh, remembering how 
 short a time it was since she herself had any 
 knowledge of seances. 
 
 Philip suddenly changed his ground. 
 
 " I s pose," he said, " that the feller is very 
 agreeable." 
 
 " Oh, I don t know him any scarcely." 
 
 " Be you goin to the play with him ?" 
 
 Rowena rose. She was going to reply angrily, 
 when she saw how miserably unhappy her com 
 panion was. There was a look in his eyes that 
 went straight to her heart. 
 
 " I don t know," she said, feebly. 
 
 Philip put his eggs desperately down on the 
 floor. His face was very pale and drawn. He 
 kept his glance upon her a moment in silence. 
 
 9
 
 130 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 He wondered blindly what there was different 
 in her; what was it? Then he said aloud, and 
 indignantly: 
 
 " It s jest livin in Borston ! You can t live in 
 a thick settled place n be jest the same. I 
 ought to er known it. I ought to er known it !" 
 
 His big brown hands shut hard. 
 
 " Philip," said the girl, very gently, " don t 
 let s quarrel." 
 
 He looked at her so wistfully that she hung 
 her head. She felt that she could not keep the 
 tears back much longer. In some inexplicable 
 way it seemed to her as if in being hard to Phil 
 ip she was ungrateful to her old home and all in 
 it that she loved. 
 
 " I ain t goin to plague ye," he said. " I 
 wouldn t plague ye for all the world. And I c n 
 wait. I guess I ll be goin to the deepo. What 
 sh ll I tell um to home for you ?" 
 
 Rowena s gratitude made her almost effusive. 
 She was so thankful for what she hardly knew. 
 
 A short time later she stood at the door and 
 saw Philip go down the street. He did not look 
 back, but walked sturdily on. 
 
 She went up to her own room and sat down. 
 Immediately her thoughts of Barrett grew warm 
 er. She did not know that when that Middle 
 Village suit was removed from her eyes the 
 wearer of it assumed a different aspect.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 13! 
 
 Then it occurred to her that this evening she 
 was going to the Browning Club. There was 
 a tumultuous quickening of her pulses at the 
 thought. She was conscious of a shy longing to 
 see this new kind of people. And the prospect 
 of meeting Miss Phillipps was always a distinct 
 pleasure to her. 
 
 Does not one who has spent much time in 
 Boston remember the large women with gray 
 curls looped up each side of their large faces? 
 They are ruddy, with a comfortable conscious 
 ness of living in Boston diffused through their 
 redundant personality. They always look, as 
 you see them walking on Charles or Beacon 
 Street, as if they had just descended from an in 
 tensely Bostonian coupe. If you peer into that 
 coupe you will see the last Atlantic in the pock 
 et ; perhaps, also, a pamphlet on Nationalism, or a 
 sketch of Confucius as he was, not Confucius as 
 we have thought he was. Somebody in Boston 
 has found out the exact facts concerning him, 
 and to Boston is given the discovery. 
 
 The horses in the shafts will not have any 
 check- rein nor any curb -bit, for this kind of 
 woman does not confine herself to theories. She 
 has a very soft spot in her heart for animals, for 
 everything that is abused or that does not have 
 its rights. 
 
 Besides The Atlantic and the pamphlet, there
 
 132 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 is often also in this carriage a dog. He is sitting 
 calmly superior to mere " foot folks." He is a 
 well-groomed King Charley or Yorkshire. Never 
 a fox terrier for this kind of woman. The dog 
 meets your eye with a gentle pity in his expres 
 sion, a pity for you because you are not a York 
 shire sitting in a coupe" belonging to a person 
 like his mistress. He knows there is a sketch of 
 Confucius in the vehicle with him, and he re 
 spects himself accordingly. He wags his little 
 stub of a tail if you approach. He is perfectly 
 affable. He knows his position too well not to 
 be so. He is like his dear friend and mistress ; 
 it is a good thing that, incidentally, he has 
 wealth, but he is sincere in his conviction that^ 
 wealth is not to be compared with culture and 
 blood. He probably has clear ideas as to what 
 Buddha preached ; anyway, his eyes are bright 
 enough to have such ideas. He is not going to 
 fall into Nirvana when he dies; he confidently 
 expects that in the future state cats will be pro 
 vided for him to worry. 
 
 There were three of these gray-haired ladies 
 in the rooms of the house on Charles Street 
 where Miss Phillipps lived. They put up tor 
 toise-shell-handled eye-glasses and looked at Ro- 
 wena when she entered, not impertinently, but 
 with the questioning air they gave to everything 
 new.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 133 
 
 There were young ladies, also, in the rooms, a 
 few men. There was a murmur of talk and low 
 laughter. 
 
 The rooms themselves were, in reality, almost 
 simple, but they seemed magnificent to Rowena. 
 There were low fireplaces, in which smouldered 
 heavy oak logs. There was no gaslight, but 
 queer old lamps shed a mellow light. To this 
 country girl everything appeared in. keeping with 
 Miss Phillipps. 
 
 It was enough for Miss Phillipps that she was 
 Miss Phillipps ; enough for her house that it was 
 hers. 
 
 This hostess when she chose could do some 
 kind things with a grace that made them more 
 than kind. 
 
 An almost tender light came into the green- 
 tinted eyes as their owner saw that black-clad, 
 slender, hesitating, and altogether charming fig 
 ure in the door-way. 
 
 Ignorant and unsophisticated as Rowena was, 
 she could not be awkward. There is a hesi 
 tancy like that of the flower stalk which hardly 
 knows from which direction the breeze is com 
 ing. 
 
 A man standing at the end of the first room, 
 with his hands behind him, rather carelessly list 
 ening to one of the gray- haired ladies, saw Ro 
 wena the instant she appeared. He saw, also, a
 
 134 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 swift suffusion of gladness go over the girl s face 
 as she met Miss Phillipps s glance. That lady 
 walked quickly to her side and took both her 
 hands in an impressive welcome. This welcome 
 was meant to show her own feelings towards 
 
 o 
 
 this stranger, and to set an example. 
 
 "Who is this that Vanessa has taken up now?" 
 asked Mrs. Sears, with her glass up. 
 
 "Weally, I don t know," was the answer from 
 the gentleman whom Rowena had seen riding 
 with Miss Phillipps. 
 
 Though he said " weally," he did not look like 
 a man who would say it. Though he had a glass 
 in his eye, he did not look like a man who would 
 have a glass in his eye. There were several in 
 congruities about this individual. 
 
 " Vanessa is sometimes very trying," went on 
 Mrs. Sears, as their hostess led Rowena to an 
 old lady who was sitting near the fireplace hold 
 ing a screen between her face and the heat. 
 " She takes up a person or a theory with ardor, 
 and then " 
 
 " She puts them down with ardor," said the 
 gentleman. " It doesn t hurt the theowy, a the- 
 owy can stand it ; but a person doesn t like it, 
 naturally." 
 
 "That girl is something quite out of the ordi 
 nary," said Mrs. Sears. She had removed her 
 glass. Now she lifted it again. " She is why
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 135 
 
 searching for fitting terms of praise " she might 
 almost be one of Us." 
 
 The man smiled. 
 
 " Where did you say she came from ?" 
 
 " From Middle Village or thereabouts." 
 
 " But I thought you didn t know anything 
 about her." 
 
 " I don t. But I know Vanessa has secured a 
 girl from Middle Village with whom she is now 
 infatuated." 
 
 An inarticulate murmur was all the response 
 to this remark. 
 
 Miss Phillipps was now bringing Rowena to 
 Mrs. Sears. 
 
 Keats Bradford thought he had never admired 
 his cousin Vanessa as strongly as he admired her 
 now. You would have said from her manner it 
 was a princess whom she was conducting, choos 
 ing to do this rather than wait for the people to 
 be conducted to the princess. 
 
 It must have been a very hard-hearted elderly 
 lady indeed who could resist the desire to greet 
 Rowena warmly. There was about her the pen 
 etrating grace of unsullied youth, and nothing 
 is more attractive to age. Moreover, her own 
 indescribable and individual personality, which, 
 perhaps, Miss Phillipps called her " atmosphere," 
 which is born with one, and which makes one be 
 loved or shunned, this was markedly winning.
 
 136 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Mrs. Sears took the girl s hand in her thick, 
 cushiony palm. 
 
 " So you have come to study Browning, Miss 
 Tuttle? It is an occupation which never fails." 
 
 The words did not mean very much, but they 
 were said with the accompaniment of the kind 
 est smile. Mrs. Sears made room for Rowena on 
 the little couch where she sat. 
 
 The young man near her instantly came for 
 ward and asked to be presented. The girl re 
 membered him very well, but she tried not to 
 let her face show that she did so. She was be 
 ginning to heed the advice Miss Phillipps had 
 given her concerning a reticence of countenance. 
 
 The gentleman did not address her, save a few 
 words after his greeting. He continued to con 
 verse with Mrs. Sears. But he had the ability to 
 let the girl know that she was in his thoughts ; 
 that, though he talked to Mrs. Sears, it was that 
 Miss Tuttle might hear him. 
 
 Presently he looked at his watch. He said it 
 was almost time for him to read that selection. 
 He walked away a few steps, then he returned 
 and said to Rowena : 
 
 " I have the honor to open the meeting. I 
 shall not wead the extract I selected yesterday. 
 I want you to hear something else the first time 
 you come. I shall ask you what you think of it, 
 so please pay attention."
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 137 
 
 X. 
 
 AT A BROWNING CLUB. 
 
 " Rivals, who . . . 
 
 Tuned, from Bocafoli s stark-naked psalms, 
 To Plara s sonnets spoilt by toying with, 
 As knops that stud some almug to the pith 
 Pricked for gum, wry thence, and crinkled worse 
 Than pursed eyelids of a river-horse 
 Sunning himself o the slime when whirrs the breeze 
 Gad-fly, that is." 
 
 " Oil, no ; I never go anywhere without my 
 little geological hammer, not even down Wash 
 ington Street. My -hammer and one of Ibsen s 
 plays. One never knows, don t you know, when 
 one may find a specimen ; and it is so inter 
 esting to get a new one and then, if I have 
 to wait a few moments in a shop, don t you 
 know, if I have Ibsen with me, I don t lose any 
 time, you see." 
 
 " It must be quite dreadful to lose any time," 
 said Mrs. Sears, with an indulgent smile that had 
 a suspicion of irony in it. " Did you bring your
 
 138 ROWENV IN BOSTON. 
 
 hammer with you to-day, Miss Sargeant ? You 
 might pound away at Childe Roland. I think 
 it would bear all your strength." 
 
 " Is it to be Childe Roland again to-day?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The owner of the geological hammer tossed 
 her head. She had that type of weasel -face 
 which Rowena had noticed in one of the sales 
 ladies that evening at Mrs. Jarvis s. She did 
 not look any more refined. She was painfully 
 alert. She tossed her head again. She said for 
 her part she was tired of that poem, if it were a 
 poem. Why didn t they drop Browning and take 
 up Ibsen ? She was told that this was not an 
 Ibsen club. She flung her bits of hands out and 
 her bangles tinkled. She gave sharp glances at 
 Rowena, who still kept her place by Mrs. Sears. 
 
 " I went out to Diamond Hill the other day," 
 she began. " Rhode Island, you know. Real 
 ly a curious place; might be a thousand miles 
 away. Natives don t know anything; stand about 
 in overalls aren t they overalls, Miss Tuttle?" 
 
 "They are overalls, "replied Rowena, her clear 
 voice contrasting with the chipping noise this 
 Miss Sargeant made in talking, "also jumpers," 
 added Rowena, with a slight laugh. 
 
 Miss Sargeant stared an instant. Then re 
 peated: "Also jumpers. Thanks. They stand 
 around in these things, and look at you till you
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 139 
 
 feel their eyes boring like gimlets. I could feel 
 them in the back of my head. They fry their 
 beefsteak there, too in lard. And they expect 
 you to eat pickles with it large cucumbers 
 steeped in vinegar." 
 
 " Did you get any specimens, Miss Sargeant?" 
 
 " Magnificent rough amethysts. I should 
 think there must be a strata of these amethysts 
 somewhere there, a strata upthrown by some 
 subterranean action. Shouldn t you say so, Mrs. 
 Sears?" 
 
 The elder lady had shrunk perceptibly at the 
 word " strata," which was spoken as if spelled 
 "strarter." 
 
 " Don t you think, Miss Sargeant," she said, 
 with some emphasis, " that you might better use 
 your geological hammer a trifle less, and look 
 into the subject of singular and plural forma 
 tions a trifle more? Pardon an old woman s 
 advice." 
 
 The girl stood an instant in vindictive silence. 
 She was very fond of that word " strarter." 
 
 She walked away. 
 
 Mrs. Sears glanced at Rowena. 
 
 " Do you think I was harsh, my dear ?" she 
 asked. " But then, I know Delia Sargeant so 
 very well. If I can be the means of teaching 
 her to say stratum when that is what she means, 
 I slxill have done an excellent thing. I may
 
 140 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 confide to you that her friends are very weary of 
 what she does not know about geology. Ah, 
 Mr. Bradford is going to read. Some one usu 
 ally opens the session by reading a selection. 
 I m glad it s not Mr. Herndon, for he never 
 reads anything but Sardello. He says we 
 don t meet to discuss what we know, but what 
 we don t know. To tell you the truth, Miss Tut- 
 tle, I have reached that age when I like to talk 
 about things I understand." 
 
 There was such a whimsical look on the speak 
 er s face that Rowena could not tell if she were 
 speaking as she felt. Before she could make any 
 attempt at a reply some one rapped on a table 
 which held many different copies of the poet 
 they were to study. 
 
 A stout man with a very large bald head and 
 English whiskers said in a heavy voice that Mr. 
 Bradford had kindly consented to read for them. 
 
 " That is Mr. Herndon," said Mrs. Sears. " He 
 lives to struggle with things he doesn t compre 
 hend. The moment he sees a subject clearly, 
 that moment it ceases to interest him. Odd, 
 isn t it?" 
 
 Instead of standing there by the table, which 
 was very far away from the couch which held 
 Mrs. Sears and Rowena, Mr. Bradford sauntered 
 down the room until he came to a window near 
 that couch. He stood in a nonchalant attitude,
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 141 
 
 with his back to the light. As a reader in select 
 companies he was rather of a lion, but this girl 
 from the country could not know that, and she 
 would not have respected him any more had she 
 known it. 
 
 The young man began : 
 
 " O lyric Love, half angel and half bird, 
 And all a wonder and a wild desire, 
 
 His voice was not specially musical, but it in 
 terpreted the words with a force as if fire ran 
 along with his utterance. Rowena felt her heart 
 burning ; every syllable clove its way to her soul. 
 Had there been a human being who could write 
 such words as those ? And he had loved. And 
 he had lost. But he could not despair. 
 
 She did not think of the reader at all. She 
 did not know that after those two first lines his 
 eyes had left the book and were, though not 
 openly, watching her. 
 
 Miss Phillipps thought she had never heard 
 her cousin read so well. There was not the least 
 art about it. He was simply letting himself be 
 borne on by the lines. Even she forgot herself 
 in listening. And she forgot Rowena, until just 
 as Bradford came to the last. Then, as she saw 
 the girl, a cloud came over her face. It was 
 cruel to play on a sensitive and unsophisticated 
 nature in this way. And yet Miss Phillipps
 
 142 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 knew that she had never loved Rowena as 
 warmly as at this moment. The young face 
 gleamed transparent the eyes seemed reaching 
 out to heaven itself. 
 
 Silently Miss Phillipps glided round behind 
 her guests. Again she was conscious of that de 
 sire to protect Rowena. 
 
 There was an instant murmur as the reader s 
 voice ceased. Rowena heard some one whisper, 
 "Dear!" close behind her. She knew the tone, 
 and interpreted it. 
 
 She so quickly recovered her ordinary look 
 that her friend s estimate of her rose greatly. 
 
 Miss Phillipps did not address her again ; she 
 made some remark about Browning as a poet of 
 the emotions. 
 
 Mr. Hcrndon rose to read a portion of " Childe 
 Roland." 
 
 Miss Sargeant said, when the portion had been 
 read, that she judged that the passage was so 
 "electrically stimulating" that it was not need 
 ful to know clearly what it meant. 
 
 Another young lady, in an almost man-like 
 severity of costume, said that what had most 
 struck her in this author was his " formative en 
 ergy." He created, he energized : he said " Let 
 this be," and straightway it was. He was, more 
 than any one who had come before him, a kind 
 of god.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 143 
 
 Miss Sargeant now said earnestly that he was, 
 above all else, Bostonian. There were some nat 
 ures so endowed that, though they had never 
 seen Boston, they were yet Bostonian. She con 
 sidered Browning so endowed. 
 
 Rowena heard in amazement. She saw Miss 
 Phillipps s lips fold tightly together. She saw 
 the smile on Keats Bradford s face. Mrs. Sears 
 turned to her with an impatient movement. 
 
 " I wonder why it so often happens," she said, 
 " that people with the least mind are so ready to 
 let us know their limitations." 
 
 Mr. Herndon said ponderously that he be 
 lieved the question now before the club was the 
 question as to what the dark tower was. It was 
 asserted positively that "Childe Roland to the 
 dark tower came," but what was the tower? 
 Symbolical, of course. But symbolical of what ?" 
 
 " The round squat tower, blind as a fool s 
 heart, " recited Miss Sargeant. 
 
 " Built of brownstone you see they used 
 brownstone without a counterpart in the whole 
 world. " 
 
 This girl sat by a table holding a volume of 
 poems in her hand. She was perfectly sure of 
 herself. She never meant to give up this club. 
 She knew they could not get along without her, 
 and she loved to throw light. She knew that 
 her own ideas were clear.
 
 144 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Rowena rose and walked to the table, taking 
 up one of the copies of the poem that lay there. 
 By this time she was so interested that she had 
 forgotten her surroundings. 
 
 She resumed her seat and read the poem for 
 the first time, experiencing a strange, baffled feel 
 ing, and that kind of admiration awakened by 
 power, even when it is obscure power. She read 
 the poem again, her face lightening. She looked 
 up with flashing eyes. She leaned forward. She 
 fastened her glance on Mr. Herndon. 
 
 "It is glorious endeavor sticking to your 
 ideal it is keeping on with the fight dauntless 
 courageous it is oh, how hard it is to find 
 words !" 
 
 A deep red covered her face. She suddenly 
 sank back, almost against Mrs. Sears. But she 
 kept her fiery glance on Mr. Herndon. Before 
 that gentleman could speak Miss Sargeant, in 
 her voice like the rattling of dry sticks, made 
 this remark : 
 
 "That is very well. But what is the tower? 
 We are losing sight of the main subject. A 
 brownstone tower we know that much." 
 
 Mr. Bradford advanced from the window where 
 he had remained since he read from The Ring 
 and the Book. 
 
 " Miss Tuttle is wight," he said. 
 
 He looked over at the girl.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 145 
 
 " Of course we are glad to know about the 
 brownstone," bowing to Miss Sargeant. " We 
 have Mr. Browning s explicit word for that. I 
 cannot help wishing we could know if there was 
 a bay window, or anything of that sort ; but we 
 can only judge by internal evidence. I think 
 from the text it was a plain tower, without any 
 such window. What is your opinion, Miss Sar 
 geant ?" 
 
 Miss Phillipps had been standing with one 
 hand leaning on a table. She walked forward. 
 Her face did not often flush, but it was flushed 
 now. 
 
 " How silly we all are," she exclaimed, with 
 that air she had of being permitted to say any 
 thing. She went on rapidly, and with the man 
 ner of one who gives an ultimate decision. 
 
 " It is just a gloomy phantasy the sporting 
 of a strong mind. We take it seriously, we try 
 to find what is not there." 
 
 She spoke nearly ten minutes, carried on by a 
 kind of strenuous earnestness that often took 
 possession of her when she spoke at any gather 
 ing of people. She showed a power which re 
 vealed to Rowena why women concerned in any 
 public meetings usually tried to have " that Miss 
 Phillipps " one of the speakers. 
 
 After she had ceased, Rowena cared very little 
 for what followed. She hardly listened to it.
 
 146 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 She sat quietly by Mrs. Sears, and heard vaguely 
 all the talk. 
 
 Mr. Bradford came and stood behind the 
 couch where she sat. Sometimes he bent over 
 and said a word or two in an undertone to 
 Mrs. Sears. It was always said so that Rowena 
 might hear it. He always glanced at her. He 
 found it extremely pleasant to stand there, and 
 he liked very much to do things which he found 
 to be pleasant. This girl had gratified a some 
 what exacting taste the first time he had seen 
 her on Tremont Street, with her portfolio under 
 her arm. He had been rather surprised at him 
 self that he had remembered her face and figure 
 so well. Young women were usually very flat 
 and unprofitable. They made eyes, they put in 
 flections in the voice, they sidled ; they pranced, 
 or they were demure, not because they really 
 were so, but because they chose to appear so. 
 And they were, some of them, painfully intel 
 lectual; they kept one s mind strained up to the 
 verge of insanity; they never let one down. 
 
 This young man, lounging behind the couch 
 where Rowena sat, was conscious of a delightful 
 feeling of refreshment. He did not speak to her, 
 because it was enough to be there, knowing that 
 he might address her if he chose. Since it was a 
 Browning day, it was appropriate that he should 
 think of that much -quoted line from Evelyn
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 147 
 
 Hope about " spirit, fire and dew." He even 
 went further than that. His mind suddenly 
 seized upon, 
 
 "There s a woman like a dew-drop, 
 She s so purer than the purest." 
 
 The whole song murmured itself over, and the 
 sense of it tingled in his veins and diffused itself 
 deliciously through him. He had not thought he 
 was impressionable ; certainly he had not been so 
 in these later years. But then, with an inward 
 smile, he told himself a man did not often meet 
 a woman like this one. The city life spoiled 
 women ; so did country life spoil them, in its way. 
 
 When at last the club broke up and the mem 
 bers were departing, Miss Phillipps detained Ro- 
 wena. 
 
 " Will any one be frightened if you don t go 
 back to that Hudson-Street place to-night?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "I don t suppose they will even know whether 
 I m there or not," was the reply. 
 
 "Then, of course, you ll stay. Keats, there is 
 no need for you to linger." 
 
 " You are awfully careless about hurting a fel 
 low s self-esteem, Vanessa," said the man. "I 
 don t want to go yet. I want to sit by this fire a 
 minute. I m so weary of Miss Sargeant and that 
 other little weasel of a girl."
 
 148 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 He flung himself down and looked into the 
 fireplace, where the log was now a big coal. 
 
 The two girls were standing. " She was just 
 like a weasel," responded Rowena, eagerly ; "and 
 there s one at R. H. Black s a saleslady ; only 
 one is a member of a Browning Club, and I 
 guess the other isn t," she laughed. She was 
 in great spirits, better than at any time since 
 she had come to Boston. " Miss Phillipps " 
 she turned with an impulsively fond movement 
 towards that lady "you said you had been 
 weeding out your club ; why didn t you weed 
 out Miss Sargeant ?" 
 
 " Yes, why didn t you ?" from Bradford. 
 
 But Miss Phillipps did not choose to reply. 
 She sat down and drew Rowena to her side. 
 She \vas silent. She looked thoughtful, even 
 slightly troubled. But she was very tender 
 towards the girl near her. She did not notice 
 her cousin. Still, he was content not to be no 
 ticed by her. 
 
 " I intended to take Miss Tuttle down to what 
 you call that Hudson-Street place," he said, after 
 a silence. " I thought she might give me pri 
 vately some of her views of us to-night. But, 
 since I am not to be useful that way, I can be 
 simply ornamental and comfortable, here." 
 
 He stretched his feet towards the fire and 
 thrust his hands into his pockets.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 149 
 
 Rowena looked at him with a laugh in her 
 eyes. The glance was returned. Then she turn 
 ed her own gaze towards the fire. She felt the 
 pressure of Miss Phillipps s arm about her shoul 
 ders, and the touch gave her happiness. She was 
 beginning to lose that fear she had had of fickle 
 ness in her friend s regard for her. Just now she 
 had no fear of anything. She had never been so 
 much at home with any one. Looking back now 
 she told herself that, of course, she had been at 
 home with Georgie Warner. But Georgie, though 
 she loved her, " had not known things." And 
 then, one slightest touch of Miss Phillipps s hand 
 was more of a caress than a vigorous hug from 
 Georgie. Rowena had not known there were 
 such people in the world as this new friend of 
 hers. She did not know now but that the world 
 was full of them, only they did not live out near 
 Middle Village, or the Corners, or on Hudson 
 Street. 
 
 The silence continued so long that Bradford 
 rose. There was still humming over in his mind 
 " There s a woman like a dew-drop." He had 
 been dangerously near repeating those words 
 once or twice as he sat there. 
 
 " Keats, I do wish you would go," said his 
 cousin. 
 
 "Thank you," he responded," I don t think I 
 can stay any longer this evening, though you
 
 150 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 urge me so kindly. Good-night, Vanessa. Good 
 night, Miss Tuttle." 
 
 He held out his hand, a slender hand like that 
 of his cousin. 
 
 He strolled to the door. He came back. 
 
 " Are you weally going to pweside at the Psy 
 chical Wesearch to-morrow, Vanessa?" 
 
 He looked down at the two, but saw only the 
 younger face with its pure outline and shining 
 eyes. 
 
 "Yes, I am." 
 
 "Oh, well," shrugging his shoulders," they told 
 me I must pweside if you concluded not to do it 
 yourself. I wanted to get myself up a bit, don t 
 you know." 
 
 He stood an instant. His cousin did not glance 
 at him, or she would have been startled by some 
 thing in his face. 
 
 "Your sweetness is very long drawn out to 
 night, Keats," she said. 
 
 " I know it. I m weally going now. Good 
 night," to Rowena, who bent her head in si 
 lence. 
 
 This time the young man lifted the curtain at 
 the entrance, and presently the outer door shut 
 heavily. 
 
 When he reached the pavement he straight 
 ened himself and stood still a moment, looking 
 vaguely about him. Then he smiled. Then he
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 151 
 
 gave a long, shrill whistle, and started to walk 
 briskly down the street. 
 
 In the room he had just left the silence con 
 tinued for some time. 
 
 Rowena, within her companion s arm, looked 
 happily into the fire. 
 
 " Was that a country friend with whom I saw 
 you at the theatre?" 
 
 The question came like a kind of blow to the 
 girl. She moved uneasily. 
 
 " Yes," she answered. 
 
 " Are you going to marry him ?" Rowena now 
 sat upright. 
 
 " No ; no, indeed !" she almost cried out. 
 
 " He means to marry you. He has a good 
 face ; he has also a strong will." 
 
 Rowena s heart contracted. She hurriedly 
 rose and stood before her questioner. 
 
 " Why do you talk to me like that ?" she ex 
 claimed. 
 
 Instead of replying, Miss Phillipps said : 
 
 " You should not go alone with him to the 
 theatre." 
 
 Rowena blushed. " Not go alone with Philip 
 Barrett ?" she said. " Not go alone with Philip ?" 
 
 The eyes of the elder woman were searching 
 the face before her. 
 
 " Perhaps, without really knowing it, you love 
 him," she said.
 
 152 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Rowena turned indignantly away from that 
 gaze. 
 
 The words opened bewildering possibilities to 
 her. Did she not know herself ? She recalled 
 Philip s face as he had said " he didn t want to 
 plague her," and " he could wait." The recol 
 lection almost melted her. She could at this 
 moment recall nothing of all that in his appear 
 ance which had irritated her. She was only 
 conscious of his noble unselfishness and his 
 devotion. 
 
 " I don t think I love him," she said. 
 
 Her face took on a wistful expression. She 
 looked down at her companion. 
 
 " Don t you know when you love a man ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 Miss Phillipps laughed slightly. She reached 
 forth and drew the girl down by her again. 
 
 "According to the old-fashioned stories," she 
 replied, " we knew when we loved just as we 
 knew when lightning flashed before our eyes. 
 But we have changed all that. Now we are not 
 sure of anything." 
 
 Rowena pressed closely. She timidly lifted 
 her face so that her friend could look down into 
 her eyes. 
 
 " I think I m almost sure of one thing," she 
 whispered. She put her lips to the warm palm 
 of the hand that had drawn her near.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 153 
 
 " Of what ?" 
 
 " If I felt to a man as I feel to you I should 
 know I loved him." 
 
 Miss Phillipps s eyes flashed through a sudden 
 dew. She smiled as few ever saw her smile. 
 
 " My darling !" she said.
 
 154 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 XI. 
 
 GEORGIE. 
 
 WHEN Rowena went back the next day to her 
 attic on Hudson Street she began to work ar 
 dently. The old inspiration and love of her art 
 burned within her. She sat at her easel, and her 
 brush made no false move. 
 
 And yet it did not seem to her that she was 
 thinking so much of what she was doing as of 
 the Browning Club, and of her friend with whom 
 she had breakfasted. That was ideal life. She 
 smiled as she held her brush over her palette, 
 choosing her colors. She chose the right colors 
 this morning. 
 
 She rose and walked away to view her work. 
 
 " If I might always drink coffee from a cup 
 like that," she said aloud, laughing like a child, 
 "and always have Miss Phillipps opposite me as 
 I drank it, perhaps then my work would be 
 worth while. Can it be that I am a Sybarite 
 after all? Can Hiram Tuttle s daughter, who 
 was sut on goin to Borston, be a Sybarite ?" 
 
 She laughed again.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 155 
 
 She approached her canvas and put a few 
 more touches on the face she was sketching. 
 
 She had believed that the longer she stayed 
 away from home the more strong would be her 
 desire to return to it. She was surprised to 
 know that the precise opposite might be true. 
 
 This thought passed rapidly through her 
 mind, and immediately was superseded by mem 
 ories of the hours she had just spent in Charles 
 Street. She recalled that Miss Phillipps had 
 quoted to her some words of George Eliot, that 
 " No list of circumstances ever made happiness." 
 
 That must be true. Just now Rowena felt 
 that she could be happy anywhere, that 
 
 "God s in His heaven, 
 All s right with the world." 
 
 Outside the day was balmy and delightful. 
 The fire in the cylinder stove made her room too 
 warm. She knew that in the orchard at home 
 the bluebirds and "Harry-wickets" were sing 
 ing; that robins were hopping about in the 
 yard ; the frogs peeping in the meadow back of 
 the house. Also, sure sign that spring was well 
 advanced, men were coming up from Taunton 
 with new herring for sale ; it was now so late 
 that the herring would be cheap enough to buy. 
 
 As she thought of all these things her heart 
 did not ache as it had done at such memories ;
 
 156 ROWENV IN BOSTON. 
 
 she was conscious only of a gentle and not un 
 pleasant sadness. 
 
 She worked all the forenoon and into the 
 afternoon, only pausing to eat the chop she 
 broiled over the coals. 
 
 She had actually forgotten that this was the 
 day of the week when Uncle Reuben usually 
 came in. 
 
 There was a sound on the stairs. A voice 
 which she did not recognize, but which was 
 familiar, said : 
 
 " I guess I c n find my way somehow." 
 
 Rowena opened her door. Somebody in the 
 gloom shouted : 
 
 " There she is now !" 
 
 Somebody sprang at her, and hugged her and 
 kissed her. 
 
 " It s Georgie Warner!" cried Rowena, pulling 
 the new-comer into the room and shutting the 
 door. 
 
 " Of course it s Georgie Warner," exclaimed 
 the owner of that name. " I ve been calc latin 
 on this for more n a month, but I wanted to sur 
 prise ye. n I guess I ve done it. I told mother s 
 soon s the roads got settled I sh d git a chance 
 to come in with your uncle Reuben ; n here I 
 am. How be ye, anyway ?" 
 
 Although Georgie taught school, and could 
 "talk grammar" when it was necessary, she did
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 157 
 
 not consider it necessary now. She fell back 
 upon the dialect that slipped so easily from her 
 tongue. 
 
 She looked sharply at Rowena as that girl re 
 plied that she was perfectly well, and " awful 
 glad " to see Georgie. 
 
 After a few moments of incessant talking, 
 Rowena bethought herself that now would be 
 an excellent time to use one of the meal tickets 
 that Philip had left with her. Mrs. Jarvis s din 
 ner extended from twelve until two. They had 
 just time. Georgie tried not to be impressed 
 with the luxury and profuseness before her. It 
 was a strange thing to have a servant come and 
 mention several kinds of meat and fish to her 
 and wait for her to choose. At home, if they 
 had baked sparerib they had no other meat. 
 This variety was princely. But Georgie was not 
 so overcome but that she ate heartily. Rowena 
 sat by her and was hospitable. 
 
 There were not many now at the table ; but 
 before the two girls left, while Georgie was eat 
 ing cranberry-pie, and wishing she knew how the 
 lemon-pie tasted, a young man came swaggering 
 round the room and sat down opposite. He 
 seemed so very glad to see Rowena that Georgie 
 was greatly impressed. Of course it was Fer 
 dinand Foster. He was bedecked with his 
 chain; his necktie to-day was not pink, but it
 
 158 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 was ornate. He had a daffodil in his button 
 hole. 
 
 He eagerly told Rovvena that he had secured 
 first-rate seats for to-morrow night first row in 
 the balcony. His aunt had put off all the spir 
 its, so as to make a sure thing of it. They d 
 have the jolliest kind of a time. If Miss Tuttle 
 did not think it wicked, he would order some 
 champagne for supper. Would she let him or 
 der it? 
 
 " Oh no ; that would be foolish," said Rowena. 
 " Don t order it." 
 
 She rather liked Mr. Foster ; he was so good- 
 natured, and such a rattle ; she need never take 
 him seriously. 
 
 "Just as you say, of course," he answered; 
 " but there s nothing a bit wicked about cham 
 pagne." 
 
 Georgie s amazement grew with every moment. 
 Her last morsel of pie nearly choked her. 
 
 When the two were safe up-stairs again she 
 looked solemnly at Rowena. 
 
 " I s pose," she said, " that is your beau. He 
 dresses beautiful, n he seems real pleasant ; 
 but She did not know how to go on. She 
 went to the small looking-glass and patted her 
 hair. Rowena watched her with eyes full of 
 laughter. Georgie had on her best blue cash 
 mere gown, with imitation Valenciennes about
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 159 
 
 the throat and wrists. Marthy S. had cut this 
 gown, and it bound about the chest and fettered 
 the arms, like all of that lady s fitting. But 
 Georgie was conscious of being very much dress 
 ed in it ; she had even wondered what Mr. Fos 
 ter thought of it. 
 
 Now, standing at the glass, she wondered 
 again, as she went through small, pigeon -like 
 movements. 
 
 "But what?" asked her friend. 
 
 "Why, I must say I was as surprised s I could 
 be when the gentleman mentioned that wine. 
 For my part, I ve always considered champagne 
 as the wickedest kind of wine there is. I guess 
 all them horrid, mean women you read about 
 always drink it, don t they?" 
 
 " I don t know." 
 
 " Mebby you drink it, Roweny?" in a hushed 
 whisper. 
 
 " No ; I never tasted it in my life." 
 
 Georgie s face showed her relief. She gazed 
 intently at her companion. 
 
 " Yes ; you be changed, somehow. Philup told 
 me you was kind of dif runt, somehow ; n you 
 be." 
 
 " I m not a particle different. How can you 
 be so foolish?" 
 
 Rowena spoke angrily. She could not help 
 asking:
 
 l6o ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 "Did Philip say that? He ought to have 
 known better." 
 
 " He told me. He said he shouldn t mention 
 it to another soul. He said you was just as 
 nice, nicer, f anything, but you was dif runt he 
 couldn t tell how ; I can t tell how, either." 
 
 "Of course you can t tell. Tisn t so!" indig 
 nantly. 
 
 Georgie and Rowena sat down on the side of 
 the bed. They " took hold hands," as they had 
 done when children. 
 
 "Yes; tis so, too," responded Georgie, with 
 the persistence that had characterized her when 
 a child. " I was kinder sorry for Philup ; he 
 seemed so sorter down. But he said you treat 
 ed him the best kind, n he had a grand time 
 goin round with you. Do you go round with 
 Mr. Foster much ?" 
 
 Rowena s face was burning now with various 
 emotions. 
 
 " I don t go round with him at all, and he isn t 
 my beau!" flinging out the last word in 
 disgust. 
 
 " But you re goin somewhere with him. 
 What d he mean by the balcony, n so on?" 
 
 " I did say I d go to the theatre with him and 
 his aunt." 
 
 " Oh, his aunt s goin ?" 
 
 This fact seemed to modify the aspect of
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. l6l 
 
 things, in Georgie s eyes. Where she lived, if a 
 man really admired a girl, no third party ever 
 accompanied the two anywhere. She was be 
 wildered. She shook her head. 
 
 " I don t care," she said, emphatically, " he s 
 jest awfully taken with you even if his aunt is 
 goin ." 
 
 " It isn t just as it is at home," said Rowena, 
 somewhat sadly. " Men are not taken with any 
 body, even if they dp appear to be. That Mr. 
 Foster is only a oh, a fellow who has his meals 
 here," with a laugh, "and has an aunt who is a 
 medium." 
 
 Georgie had something to communicate con 
 cerning her own history, or she would have given 
 a more extended expression to her horror that 
 Rowena should know a medium. She knew 
 there were mediums as she knew there were 
 hyenas. 
 
 She had come in to tell about her own love 
 affair, and to see Rowena. She considered 
 Rowena her most intimate friend, and half the 
 delight of having a love affair would be lost if 
 she could not tell her most intimate friend 
 about it. 
 
 She said she did hope she never should know 
 a medium. She never had known one, and 
 mebby she never should. 
 
 Having said this she was silent. She gazed
 
 162 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 at her friend with a face of mingled curiosity 
 and importance. The admiration in Mr. Foster s 
 eyes when he had looked at Rowena, and he had 
 looked at her all the time, had greatly impressed 
 Georgie, and raised Rowena in her estimation, if 
 that were possible. 
 
 And what was there " dif runt " in her com 
 panion? She was just as cordial and warm in 
 her manner, "jest as dear s she could be." She 
 had nothing to complain of. What was it ? 
 
 She nestled closer to her as they sat on the 
 bed. She blushed. She said she s posed Ro- 
 weny hadn t heard anything special, had she? 
 
 Rowena said promptly that she had received 
 a despatch about a certain person in Middle Vil 
 lage a red -headed person, wasn t it with a 
 mischievous glance. 
 
 Georgie said she must own that she s posed 
 his hair was red, but he was real good, and there 
 vva n t no likelier man anywhere round. But 
 she would tell Roweny, though she hadn t let 
 out a word to any one else that she cared, and 
 she shouldn t, either ; that there was one thing 
 she wished could be changed, but it couldn t be 
 changed, and it wa n t no use cryin for spilt 
 milk." 
 
 She leaned her head on Rowena s shoulder, 
 and was held closely there. At last Rowena 
 said :
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 163 
 
 " I m so sorry if something isn t right. Are 
 you going to tell me what it is ? Perhaps it 
 won t always be so." 
 
 " Yes, it ll always be so, s long s the world 
 stands ; n the worst of it is everybody else 
 knows it. It ll always be true that Jim Town- 
 shend was jilted by that nasty old Jewett girl at 
 the Corners. Homely old thing, with her nose 
 all turned up !" 
 
 Georgie sobbed, but directly controlled herself. 
 
 "You ve seen Mary Jane Jewett, ain t you? 
 She used to come over to evenin meetin s some 
 times. She s one of them kind that always has 
 a beau. I d know what tis, but the fellers are 
 continually running after her. She s as homely 
 as pison, n as bold as brass." 
 
 " I ve seen her," said Rowena. " It s unac 
 countable that men like that kind of woman." 
 
 "Ain t it?" flashed out Georgie. "You see, 
 I m takin her leavin s. Jim was crazy about 
 her. He expected to marry her. All to once t 
 she give him the mitten, and was goin with 
 Charley Simmons. His mother was mighty glad 
 it was broke off. But she said Jim was in a ter 
 rible way for a long time. They most lost their 
 crop er medder hay cause Jim was so upset. 
 You see it happened long the first of last Au 
 gust. Then I got acquainted with Jim. He s 
 ben workin at the Corners this last winter, n
 
 1 64 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 he used to come real often to a place where I 
 had to board in the worst of the weather. He s 
 jest s good s he can be. I d know what did 
 make him like that girl." 
 
 Georgie paused, rather breathless, her face red 
 and her eyes full of indignant tears. 
 
 " Has he ever said anything about her to 
 you ?" 
 
 " Oh yes ; he said she bewitched him. He 
 said he couldn t help it. He said he guessed it 
 was jest like being drunk. But she wa n t noth- 
 in to him now, and never would be again. He 
 said he thanked the Lord he had got acquainted 
 with me. He s jest s good s he can be." 
 
 Here Georgie sobbed once more. Rowena 
 tried to think what to say to her. She sympa 
 thized almost too keenly to be able to speak easi 
 ly. She plainly remembered " that Jewett girl," 
 and the memory of that face was not reassuring. 
 It was an animal face, not pretty, but there had 
 been something in the owner of it that had made 
 Rowena watch her as she talked with her at 
 tendant, watch and distrust her, thoroughly re 
 pelled. 
 
 " I s pose you think I m jest as silly s a goose," 
 at last said Georgie. 
 
 "No, I don t." 
 
 " But you wouldn t er taken up with her leav- 
 in s, would you ?"
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 165 
 
 This fact appeared to be very galling to 
 Georgie. 
 
 " I shouldn t worry about that," Rowena an 
 swered, cheerfully. " Better be a man s last love 
 than his first," with a laugh. " It s all right if 
 you love each other, and he is good. Not wor 
 thy of you, of course," with a hug. 
 
 Georgie brightened a great deal. " Oh, I ain t 
 half so good s he is. He s as stiddy ; n he s 
 got something laid up. N I m makin the love 
 liest pattern of a bedquilt you ever see. Ma says 
 it beats all I ever did before, all holler. I shall 
 teach the summer term, for I want to git a little 
 more money, n then in the fall, p raps " 
 
 She paused and left a blank. She prattled on 
 without pause for the next hour, all about herself 
 and her plans. She said Rowena s folks were all 
 well and gittin along first-rate. Mr. Tuttle " had 
 taken some sarsaparilla for fear his humor would 
 work, it being spring, so." But Georgic believed 
 his humor hadn t yet worked. There was noth 
 ing like sarsaparilla if you steeped it yourself 
 and put a little dandeline root in it. She had 
 been taking some. She had brought a bottleful 
 of it to Rowena. She reckoned humor was as 
 liable to work in Borston as anywhere. The 
 bottle was in her bag, and Uncle Reuben was 
 going to bring the bag along when he came over 
 from " delivering them boats." She was going
 
 1 66 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 to stay all night and go back with Mr. Little. 
 " They d have time to talk over everything, 
 wouldn t they?" 
 
 She seemed inclined to go back to the subject 
 of the unusual pattern of the bedquilt she was 
 making, and to the goodness of Jim Townshend. 
 
 But Rowena was able to turn the tide some 
 what. She was aware of a pricking of conscience 
 because she could not be intensely interested 
 in that bedquilt pattern. She wondered if this 
 lack of interest was because she was " dif runt." 
 Had there been a time when this subject would 
 have enchained her attention? 
 
 She redoubled her efforts to listen absorbedly. 
 She could not conceal from herself that she was 
 getting weary. In a short pause in the mono 
 logue she suddenly bethought herself that they 
 would go to walk. Although her window had 
 long been deeply shadowed, she knew the sun 
 light was warm and bright on the Common. 
 Georgie would like to look in at the shop windows. 
 
 It turned out that Georgie was entirely unin 
 terested in the Common and the State House, 
 and wished to give her attention to the things 
 in the windows. 
 
 At the corner of Winter Street a gentleman 
 jostled against them. He took off his hat and 
 began an apology. He had a glass in his eye. 
 
 " Oh, it is Miss Tuttle," he exclaimed, eagerly.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 167 
 
 " I ve just been to Hudson Street. They couldn t 
 find you. I left something. My cousin would 
 have come, only she s at the Psychical Wesearch, 
 you know." 
 
 He did not linger. The crowd drifted in. 
 
 "The land sake!" cried Georgie. "Is that 
 another " 
 
 " Don t say beau !" interrupted Rowena, indig 
 nantly. 
 
 "Well, I was goin to say it," confessed the 
 other. " What makes um look so awful glad 
 when they see you ? But I don t wonder ; I sh d 
 think they would. There always was something 
 or other bout you, Roweny ; I never knew what. 
 This feller ain t so dressy as that one we saw to 
 dinner, is he? But he s got kind of a high n 
 mighty look, s if twould do him good to be 
 taken down, somehow. N what a funny little 
 glass that was ! How does he keep it in his eye ? 
 I sh d think twould fall out. What do you 
 s pose he s left there where you live?" 
 
 Rowena wondered, too. She answered that 
 she did not know, something his cousin, Miss 
 Phillipps, had sent. Miss Phillipps had been 
 very kind to her. 
 
 Georgie glanced shrewdly at the girl, whose 
 face was touched by the feeling the thought of 
 Miss Phillipps awakened in her. Georgie s eyes 
 wandered over the figure by her side.
 
 1 68 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 " She s dressed in jest the same clo es," she 
 said to herself. " I s pose I sh d be shamed to 
 go round here in that old shawl." 
 
 Georgie wore a rough jacket which seemed to 
 have been purchased where Philip Barrett pro 
 cured his garments, for it produced the same ef 
 fect on the beholder. " But Roweny c n carry 
 off things," concluded Georgie in her own 
 mind. 
 
 The two girls tramped about until nightfall. 
 Georgie made several small purchases in refer 
 ence to the fact that she was " fixin " that is, 
 fixing to be married. She thoroughly enjoyed 
 herself. She almost felt dissipated. 
 
 When they returned Rowena thought it seemed 
 a good time to use two more meal tickets, and 
 they went down to Mrs. Jarvis s table again. 
 
 It was now the hour of the greatest crowd. 
 They were obliged to wait a few minutes before 
 they could have seats. 
 
 The salesladies with whom Rowena had spent 
 that evening nodded and laughed at her. They 
 sat opposite to where the two found places. 
 They were talking loudly and earnestly. Georgie 
 thought they looked and seemed very stylish. 
 She listened greedily to what they said about 
 the different kinds of goods that were fashion 
 able this spring. 
 
 " There s been such a feeling for small checks
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 169 
 
 along back," said one of them, " but I guess 
 tain t going to hold out." 
 
 " Yes ; n you know there was quite a feeling 
 for large muffs in the first of the winter. Our 
 firm got a lot." 
 
 " So did ours. Ain t it funny about the silk 
 mufflers ? I give up wearin one s soon s I saw 
 all the girls from the country had em. We used 
 to say we could tell what suburb a girl came 
 from by the muffler she wore. If she was from 
 Newton, twas blue and brocaded. The Maiden 
 girls went into fine stripes." 
 
 They laughed shrilly. They gobbled and 
 drank. They talked of the different theatres, 
 and usually called the more noted actors by their 
 first names. They kept an eye on Georgie, who 
 did not try to disguise her admiration for them. 
 She was lost in looking at their slim waists as 
 they left the table. They all wore black frocks, 
 and these frocks encased their waists without a 
 wrinkle, and were as unyielding to any move 
 ment of the wearer as if they had been iron. 
 The bangs on their inane foreheads were all of 
 the same length and of the same degree of friz- 
 ziness. They only varied in color. 
 
 Miss Martin, who had " trained " so on the 
 night of the oyster supper, was in excellent spir 
 its. She informed the company that she was 
 going to " the Borston " that night, and she
 
 170 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 would bet they couldn t guess who had invited 
 her. 
 
 Several of the salesladies immediately tried to 
 guess, and each attempt was greeted with volleys 
 of laughter. 
 
 When Rowena and her guest were mounting 
 the basement stairs Georgie said, almost envi 
 ously, that she hadn t known that Roweny had 
 so much good society ; but then she supposed 
 Borston was full of good society. 
 
 As they reached the hall Mrs. Jarvis, at her 
 ticket-table, beckoned to them. 
 
 "There s been something left for you, Miss 
 Tuttle. I didn t know what to do with it exact 
 ly, and so I had one of the girls put it down sul- 
 ler. I guess you ll find it all right." 
 
 " Goodness !" exclaimed Georgie, " what on 
 earth can it be ? Can t I go with ye to git it ?"
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 171 
 
 XII. 
 
 THE ADVENT OF MARMADUKE. 
 
 THE two girls turned back and groped their 
 way down into the cellar, the liveliest curiosity 
 animating them. 
 
 It was very dark, and very dismal, and very 
 damp down there. In her surprise that what 
 Mr. Bradford had brought should be in the cel 
 lar, Rowena had not thought to go up to her 
 own room for her lamp. She did not know of 
 any lamp nearer than her room. She now pro 
 posed that she should go for that necessary ar 
 ticle, while Georgie should remain exactly where 
 she was until the light was brought. But Georgie 
 protested that "she d ruther die than stay there 
 a minute alone." She said she had already 
 heard the strangest noise, and if she should hear 
 it again she would not answer for her senses. 
 
 She grasped a fold of Rowena s skirt, and thus 
 followed her companion up to where that high 
 and solitary gas-burner in the hall shed light 
 on the incoming and outgoing reg lars. There 
 Georgie consented to wait. And as she waited
 
 172 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 she secretly hoped that the splendid Mr. Foster 
 would come in to his supper while she was 
 there. But he did not come. 
 
 Presently the two were in the cellar again, Ro- 
 wena holding her lamp high and walking slow 
 ly, Georgie directly behind her. 
 
 "There!" said the latter, "I heard that noise 
 agin; do you think it can be rats? Why didn t 
 you ask Mrs. Jarvis what it was that was brought? 
 How awful queer they should have put it here, 
 anyway. Do you think it s flowers, or is it 
 alive?" 
 
 The rays of the lamp now fell behind the stairs 
 upon a basket, and the basket moved. 
 
 There was a hole in the cover, and from this 
 hole emerged a small, hairy head, with two ex 
 cessively bright eyes in it. A combination of 
 whine and growl came from this head, and the 
 basket rustled again. 
 
 There was a card on the handle. The two 
 girls rushed at the basket. Could this be " it ?" 
 
 It certainly was it, for the card bore the words, 
 " Miss Rowena Tuttle." 
 
 It seemed hardly a moment before Rowena 
 and her friend were in the attic room. The 
 cover was torn off. A blue -and -tan Yorkshire 
 terrier put his very hairy paws on the edge and 
 barked. Then he paused to wag his stub tail. 
 He peered from under his fine, long hair at his
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 173 
 
 companions, who stood back to let him do as he 
 chose, only uttering frantic exclamations of de 
 light. He put up his nose and sniffed, and his 
 nose was exceedingly small and exceedingly 
 black. 
 
 He jumped out of the basket and shook him 
 self. Perhaps he weighed five pounds, but his 
 self-appreciation, to judge by his manner, could 
 not have been greater if he had weighed two 
 hundred pounds. 
 
 Now that he stood on the floor it was per 
 ceived that there was another card fastened to 
 the scarlet ribbon round his neck. 
 
 This card was gently removed so that the dig 
 nity of the wearer might not be hurt. In close 
 handwriting Rowena read aloud : 
 
 " Pardon the whim of an old woman who 
 wishes you to have an entertaining companion 
 who will never bore you, and who wants Marma- 
 duke to have a faithful friend. 
 
 " CAROLINE APPLETON SEARS." 
 
 At the word " Marmaduke " the terrier pricked 
 up his ears and wagged his tail again. Then he 
 began a minute and exhaustive tour of the room, 
 smelling over and over at every object within his 
 reach. 
 
 " It s from Mrs. Sears," remarked Rowena. " I
 
 174 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 thought Miss Phillipps sent it. Oh, isn t he a 
 darling! See his little tail! Oh, you precious 
 thing, you! Marmaduke, come here and kiss 
 me!" 
 
 She sat down on the floor. Georgic also sat 
 down on the floor. At this moment Marma- 
 duke s explorations had taken him under the bed. 
 They heard him snuffing there. He came to the 
 edge and looked when he heard his name called. 
 He wagged. His eyes shone. He paused a short 
 time, looking from one to the other. 
 
 "Do come and kiss me, you darling little 
 love !" pleaded Rowena, holding out her hands. 
 
 He wagged again. Then he turned and went 
 back. His two admirers continued to sit there. 
 When he again appeared there was a fuzz of dust 
 on his nose. He came leisurely forward at last, 
 climbed into Rowena s lap, and licked her lips, 
 absolutely refusing to bestow a touch on any 
 other part of her face, but his atom of a red 
 tongue was quite persistent. 
 
 He sat down on his haunches and gazed at 
 Georgie, not replying in the least to her blandish 
 ments, but retaining a very amiable aspect, as 
 much as to say: 
 
 " I m very fond of incense. But I don t re 
 spond if I don t choose, only go right on with 
 the incense ; it keeps me in a good-humor." 
 
 Rowena retained her position for a long time;
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 175 
 
 every muscle in her body soon became rigid, but 
 how could she move while Marmaduke chose to 
 sit on his little haunches in her lap and look so 
 awful cunning? 
 
 Georgie also remained on the floor. Every 
 time the dog put out his tongue, and every time 
 he didn t put it out, the two girls declared they 
 wanted to squeeze him. His brilliant dark eyes 
 surveyed them with searching discrimination. 
 After a while he curled himself round into a ball 
 and reposed upon Rowena s lap. 
 
 "Shall you keep him?" asked Georgie, after 
 having declared that he " was a great deal cun- 
 ninger asleep than he was awake." She ventured 
 to rise, very carefully, lest he be disturbed ; but 
 Rowena kept her position. 
 
 " Keep him !" cried she; "I wouldn t part with 
 him for anything. Look at the sweet fluff of 
 hair on his head! do you think I d part with 
 that ? And I do believe he s almost beginning 
 to love me already." 
 
 Georgie stood looking down at the two. 
 
 "You know Phil Barrett wanted to give you a 
 setter puppy." 
 
 "Yes, I know he did," in a low voice. 
 
 "And you wouldn t take it." 
 
 "No; I couldn t have a dog as large as that 
 here. I suppose I really ought not to keep this 
 one; but I shall!" with emphasis.
 
 176 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Georgie turned away. She looked into her 
 satchel. She brushed her hair very gently at the 
 glass, but she did not seem to be thinking of 
 what she was doing. Even the sight of herself in 
 that blue cashmere did not divert her thoughts. 
 
 " I declare, she suddenly said, facing round 
 upon her friend, and not sufficiently thoughtful 
 of Marmaduke s slumbers " I do declare I m 
 real sorry for Philup." 
 
 Rowena answered, almost crossly, that she 
 didn t know why anybody should be sorry for 
 Philip just because a lovely old lady had given 
 her a perfectly bewitching Yorkshire. 
 
 Georgie did not retreat. She never did retreat. 
 
 " Tain t that," she said, in her solid way. 
 " You re all taken up with them folks. I s pose 
 they be terrible fine. But you know we can t 
 keep sociating with that kind of folks. They ll 
 stop it when they git ready ; n when they stop 
 it they won t be hurt any, but you will." 
 
 Rowena did not reply: her heart was like lead. 
 She knew that her friend had common-sense and 
 probability on her side. The knowledge hurt 
 her. In vain she told herself she might take the 
 good the gods provided. The mere thought that 
 Miss Phillipps might become indifferent brought 
 a bitter pang with it. 
 
 " Yes ; they ll stop it, as you say," she said, 
 tremulously. " I m expecting it all the time.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 177 
 
 And I do love Miss Phillipps so ! There isn t 
 anybody like her." 
 
 She bent over the dog and gathered him up 
 in her arms. 
 
 " But I shall have you, you darling sweet 
 heart, you precious precious !" she cried, rather 
 hysterically. 
 
 Marmaduke, thus disturbed, twinkled his eyes 
 at her and yawned, showing a black-roofed mouth 
 and extremely white teeth. Then he extricated 
 himself from her embrace, jumped on the bed 
 and curled up in the centre of the pillow, not 
 without a previous examination, which left it to 
 be inferred that Mrs. Jarvis s pillows were not 
 according to his deserts, and not what he had 
 been accustomed to. 
 
 Rowena leaned back against the wall and 
 looked up at her friend with a dreary smile. 
 
 " If my friends fail me and my art fails me," 
 she said, " perhaps I can have your school when 
 you leave it to be married. You know I must 
 earn my living some way." 
 
 "Why don t you take my school?" asked the 
 other, quickly. " Your folks d be jest as glad as 
 they could be." 
 
 Rowena sprang up. Enthusiasm blazed sud 
 denly in her eyes. She walked to the easel where 
 was the picture on which she had been at work 
 that day. She turned it about. She had often
 
 178 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 tried her hand at heads, but never seriously at a 
 likeness before. 
 
 This was the head of a woman. It had thick, 
 reddish hair lying profusely on the forehead, 
 green-tinted eyes, and a very red mouth, with a 
 disdainful curve in it. The straight brows lay 
 across a white forehead. 
 
 Thus far this, as a whole, was the best she had 
 done. Rowena was sure of that. She wished 
 Allestree might see it. He would not look so 
 much at the expression as at the drawing. 
 
 Georgie Warner advanced and gazed with some 
 awe at this object she said it almost spoke. 
 Then she asked : 
 
 "It s her, ain t it?" 
 
 Rowena smiled at the picture. 
 
 "Yes, it is Miss Phillipps," she answered. " It s 
 only a sketch, you know. She never sat to me. 
 I wish she would. I wanted to do this. But I 
 really love best to paint from nature fields and 
 hills and sky meadows, where the scent of white 
 violets comes on the warm wind anything, al 
 most, in the country. I can learn I must learn ! 
 It s in me !" 
 
 She took a brush, but she put it down again. 
 
 Her friend could not understand. She herself 
 liked to make bedquilts of a remarkable pattern; 
 that was something that was not only pretty but 
 useful. She wondered if Rowena were not a little
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 179 
 
 unbalanced. If she only ever decided to marry 
 Philip Barrett, things would be all right. Any 
 way, she loved her the best of any friend she had. 
 Of course she excepted Jim Townshend Jim 
 was a man. It was the way to love a man best, 
 but Rowena came next. 
 
 She did not see her way clear to any reply to 
 Rowena s words, so she said, with a good deal of 
 emphasis : 
 
 " I can t bear that face ! Does she really look 
 like that jest as if you was dirt for her to 
 tread on?" 
 
 "She does have that expression a good deal," 
 was the answer, the speaker still smiling at the 
 canvas. 
 
 " Then I sh d think you d hate her." 
 
 " Not if she treads on other folks and smiles at 
 me," was the reply, rather mockingly. 
 
 " But I sh d think you d always be dreadin 
 when your turn would come," persisted Georgie. 
 
 " Don t let s talk like this any more," cried 
 Rowena. She immediately put an artful ques 
 tion about Mr. Townshend. 
 
 At the appointed time the next day the two 
 girls walked to Atlantic Avenue, where they 
 found Uncle Reuben just putting his horse into 
 the shafts of the boat-wagon. He had expend 
 ed his last supply of meal tickets, and his wife 
 had decided that he need not lay out any more
 
 l8o ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 money that way, but might " take his victuals 
 with him," which he did. Owing to this arrange 
 ment Rowena was not sure of seeing him every 
 time he came in. He usually brought cooked 
 food from Mrs. Tuttle for her daughter, but she 
 often had to go down to Atlantic Avenue for it. 
 As Marthy S. had hinted, Mr. Little had a weak 
 ness for "liquor," and there were seasons when in 
 many ways, as his neighbors said, "you couldn t 
 depend on him more n you could on the wind." 
 Still, he was never so drunk that he could not 
 manage his horse, and come in and go out of 
 Boston safely. Or perhaps his horse was now 
 so wise in this business that he needed no man 
 agement. 
 
 When Rowena and Georgie found him now, 
 his face was so red and he was so conversation 
 al that they knew directly that he had " had too 
 much." 
 
 He even acknowledged that he had had too 
 much. But he explained at great length that 
 the reason was because " he d ben havin a spell 
 of his cussed nooralgy." He was obliged to take 
 something for that. " He guessed he should ride 
 it off long fore he got home." He did not say 
 whether " it " referred to the neuralgia or the ef 
 fect of the liquor. 
 
 Rowena tried to persuade her friend to go 
 home by train. She was afraid her Uncle Reu-
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. l8l 
 
 ben would think his "nooralgy" needed even 
 more medicament. But Georgie said she wasn t 
 afraid. " If it come to that she could take the 
 reins n drive jest s well as Mr. Little. Her folks 
 d be expectin her. She had told Jim she should 
 surely come." 
 
 At mention of Jim, Rowena refrained from 
 any more urging. The two friends embraced 
 under Uncle Reuben s eyes. He said he was 
 glad to see there was affection somewhere in the 
 world, but there wa n t much where he lived. 
 
 Three young men in the boat-office were much 
 interested in the parting. They bet ten to one 
 that the two would turn back for a second hug, < 
 and the two did so. 
 
 Marmaduke was under one arm and beneath 
 Rowena s shawl, save for his head. His presence 
 made the embracing more difficult than it would 
 otherwise have been. 
 
 When at last Georgie was mounted on the 
 seat beside Mr. Little and the wheels of the cart 
 began slowly to revolve, the terrier bristled his 
 beard and mustache and barked furiously. 
 
 Rowena watched the cart out of sight. When 
 the weather was a little milder she would go home 
 for a week. Georgie carried with her a volumi 
 nous epistle to Mr. and Mrs. Tuttle. This letter 
 was full of genuine love and longing to see them. 
 
 Mrs. Tuttle read it for the third time after she
 
 1 82 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 had put her dried-apple pies into the oven to 
 bake. The back door was open, and the frogs 
 were very loud in the meadow there. Blue- 
 wings were cleaving the air, and the owners of 
 these wings were saying blithely, over and over, 
 " Dearie ! Dearie !" 
 
 " I m glad she s gittin kind of weaned from 
 home," said Mrs. Tuttle, with a sigh ; " she won t 
 suffer so much. But it makes me sorry, too. But 
 that s nature, I expect. The young ones go. Oh, 
 I do hope there won t nothin happen to Ro- 
 weny ! I don t know what her father would do." 
 
 Mrs. Tuttle put the letter in the pocket of her 
 calico skirt. She looked in at her pies. Then 
 she went to the open door and stood there a 
 long time, not seeing anything, conscious only of 
 a dull sense of loss and dejection. 
 
 This was the first letter her daughter had writ 
 ten home in which there was something that 
 showed that new interests were really crowding 
 upon the old. The mother could not put her 
 finger upon that something, however. It was 
 not in words, but it was there. 
 
 Mrs. Tuttle furtively passed a corner of her 
 apron across her eyes. " Yes," she said again, 
 " I m real glad she s gittin weaned from us jest 
 nough so t she won t be homesick. Of course 
 that Miss Phillipps is good to her. I sh d think 
 everybody d be good to Roweny. I guess I ll
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 183 
 
 make a jelly cake to send next time Reuben 
 goes." 
 
 She was about turning away from the door 
 when a rattling of wheels was heard, and a pair 
 of horses hitched to a farm cart came into the 
 yard. Standing up in the cart, driving, was 
 Philip Barrett. A glossy red setter ran nosing 
 about, then came forward tumultuously to greet 
 Mrs. Tuttle. She put her hard, thin hand on his 
 head while she watched his master descend from 
 the cart. 
 
 " Come right in, Philip," she said, cordially ; 
 " I ve got a cup of coffee that ain t cold yet. 
 I ve ben expectin you d call ever sence you went 
 to Boston." 
 
 The young man walked in slowly, as he did 
 everything. He had just come from the Corners, 
 where he had mailed a letter to Rowena. He 
 had been at work all his spare time on this docu 
 ment since his return. 
 
 Rowena s letter, the first and only one she 
 had yet written him, and which breathed such 
 a warm friendliness, he carried about with him. 
 It had been so worn that he had now protected 
 it by enclosing it in two stout envelopes. When 
 he was out of doors, busy on his farm, he liked 
 to put his hand to his pocket where the letter 
 was. He talked to his dogs about the girl ; he 
 confided to them his hopes and his misgivings.
 
 184 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Now, as he sat down in the " roundabout " 
 chair commonly occupied by Mr. Tuttle, he re 
 marked that the "spring was ruther forrard of 
 the two." 
 
 "So tis," responded Mrs. Tuttle. " Hiram got 
 in his early pease some time ago." 
 
 After this there was a long silence. The wom 
 an looked wistfully at her guest while he drank 
 the coffee she had given him. Then he gazed at 
 the cook-stove, from the oven of which Mrs. Tut 
 tle now withdrew the two dried-apple pies. 
 
 " I s pose you seen her, of course," at last said 
 Mrs. Tuttle; " cause she writes she seen you, and 
 how kind you was. I hope you had a good time." 
 
 "Yes, I had a real good time." Philip paused 
 lengthily before he added : " She needn t go to 
 sayin I was kind. Kind to her!" 
 
 Something almost like a flash came to his 
 steady blue eyes. 
 
 "Yes; she was jest as nice s she could be. 
 When she first seen me on the Common I al 
 most made up my mind she was about half s 
 glad s I was. Half s glad would have ben 
 enough I wouldn t arst for no more." 
 
 "Wa n t she glad afterwards?" anxiously. 
 
 " She was jest s nice s could be," reiterated 
 Philip ; " but I thought she was some absent- 
 minded. You see, Mis Tuttle, she s got some 
 other friends. There was a feller in a chain n
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 185 
 
 necktie, with a long coat on, real dressy, and 
 with a lot to say for himself. He had an aunt 
 that wore a fur cloak. They come to see Rovve- 
 ny. They wanted to take her to the theatre. I 
 only seen him a minute; but I seen the way he 
 looked at her." 
 
 At this intolerable memory Philip rose sud 
 denly from his chair and walked to the win 
 dow. 
 
 "We can t be surprised that folks like Rowe- 
 ny," said Mrs. Tuttle, with a mother s pride. 
 
 " No ; I ain t surprised," from the window. 
 
 After a little hesitation, Mrs. Tuttle walked to 
 Philip and put her hand on his shoulder. This 
 was an action that, in an undemonstrative New 
 England woman, meant a great deal. 
 
 "I wish she d never gone to Borston!" cried 
 Philip, almost violently, turning round and facing 
 his companion. 
 
 " I s pose I hadn t ought to come to you like 
 this ; but I ve ben thinkin it all over every min 
 ute sence I got home, n I couldn t seem to help 
 comin ; n I made up my mind that I wish she 
 never d gone to Borston." 
 
 " It ain t no use talkin like that," returned 
 Mrs. Tuttle, sorrowfully. " She was crazy to go. 
 It wa n t no notion that would pass off, either. 
 She was sut on it, n has been sence she was half 
 grown up. She s gone without clo es n saved
 
 1 86 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 every cent. Oh, it would er killed her not to 
 gone to Borston to learn how to paint." 
 
 Philip took a strong grip on the top of a chair 
 near him. He was very pale, and his eyes were 
 hollow. He looked at his companion pite- 
 ously. 
 
 " If I didn t love her jes s I do, if I hadn t 
 loved her all my life, I sh d try to git over it ; 
 but I can t even try. I might s well think I could 
 stop bein Philip Barrett, as that I could stop 
 lovin Roweny." 
 
 There w r ere tears in the woman s eyes as she 
 heard him. If there was one longing strong with 
 in her, it was that her daughter might consent to 
 marry this man. But she had always been wise 
 enough to say nothing on the subject to any 
 one. 
 
 " I d ruther she d marry you than any other 
 bein on the footstool, Philip," she said, earnest 
 ly; "but what c n I do?" 
 
 "You can t do nothin," returned the other, 
 bracing up visibly. " Things have got to jest 
 take their course. But I won t give up I can t 
 give up. I ve been a good deal down lately. I 
 hope you ll overlook my talkin so, Mis Tuttle. 
 Tain t my way to, you know; but I ve been so 
 down." 
 
 " I ain t nothin to overlook," she said, warm 
 ly. " I know how close-mouthed you gen ly be.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 187 
 
 But who should you speak to, if not to Roweny s 
 mother, I d like to know?" 
 
 Philip went out to his cart. His dog sprang to 
 greet him. He drove away somewhat cheered. 
 The very fact that he had spoken to Rowena s 
 mother cheered him.
 
 1 88 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 A LITTLE TALK. 
 
 " IF there were such a state of body and mind 
 as being tired, I should say you were in that 
 state." 
 
 Miss Phillipps had just taken her seat in Mrs. 
 Jarvis s top-story room, on the afternoon of the 
 day on which Georgie Warner had started home 
 with Mr. Little. 
 
 Rowena was mending her stockings. Marma- 
 duke was in the centre of the pillow on the bed. 
 He had been down to investigate the ankles and 
 skirts of the new-comer, and had returned to his 
 pillow. The lady had noticed him, but as yet 
 had not spoken of him. 
 
 Rowena looked pale and fagged. She had 
 really exerted herself to entertain Georgie, and 
 she had never known before that a good deal of 
 information in regard to patterns of bedquilts 
 and about Jim Townshend might at last become 
 wearing. 
 
 She let her stockings drop unheeded to the 
 floor.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 189 
 
 " I am so tired !" she said. 
 
 "You mustn t say that," returned her friend, 
 " because there is no such thing as being tired. 
 Looking at everything from the inmost and 
 that is the only way to look at things you can t 
 by any possibility be tired." 
 
 Rowena stared helplessly. She said nothing 
 in response. 
 
 Miss Phillipps leaned back in her usual posi 
 tion in the little rocker. She seemed kind, but 
 rather absent and absorbed. 
 
 She wore several rings to-day. She turned 
 them on her fingers. 
 
 " Have you formed the habit of looking at all 
 things from the inmost?" she asked. 
 
 " No," said Rowena, still more helplessly, " I 
 haven t." 
 
 "You must, then. Begin with me from this 
 very hour to form that habit." 
 
 Rowena said she would try. Then she ex 
 claimed, boldly, that she didn t know how to try. 
 
 " It is in the inmost where God dwells in us. 
 View everything from that stand-point. Then, 
 you see, we shall be charitable in our judgment. 
 It is a great thing to be charitable." 
 
 " Yes," said Rowena. She could comprehend 
 that last remark, and was cheered that she could. 
 
 " There is, in very truth, no death ; and we are 
 law. God is law, love, wisdom, force. It is dis-
 
 1 90 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 orderly to pray, and, above all things, we must 
 not be disorderly. You dear little thing!" with 
 a sudden warm look at the girl, " do you know 
 what I m talking about?" 
 
 " Not in the least." 
 
 " I thought you didn t. But you must learn," 
 more seriously ; " it is the principal thing in life. 
 You see, what with my Browning and Psychic 
 Research and Sloyd and painting, and one or 
 two other things that I can t call to mind just 
 now, I ve let my mind-cure and my Christian Sci 
 ence fall into the background. I went to one of 
 their lectures this morning. I really must keep 
 up with that, if I let other things go. I ve been 
 trying to think what I can best drop. But what 
 has tired you so?" changing her manner again. 
 " That is, if you are still in the old thought, and 
 think you are tired." 
 
 But Rowena was not going to admit that the 
 visit of her friend from the country had wearied 
 her. 
 
 " One isn t vigorous in the spring," she an 
 swered, evasively. "I think I must need some 
 of mother s bitters, made of dandelion root, and 
 such wholesome things." 
 
 Saying this, she remembered that Georgie had 
 brought her a bottle of this approved medicine. 
 She would begin to take it the next morning. 
 
 " One is vigorous always vigorous. It is only
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 19 1 
 
 that one much choose to be so," said Miss Phil- 
 lipps, strongly. 
 
 " I surely should choose to be so." 
 
 Miss Phillipps did not heed the girl s words. 
 She rose and walked to the bed, where she look 
 ed at Marmaduke,who in turn looked at her with 
 great interest, but did not think it necessary to 
 rise from his recumbent position. 
 
 " Where in the world did you get such a dar 
 ling as this ?" she inquired. " Don t you see he s 
 a thoroughbred and a regular angel of a York 
 shire?" 
 
 Rovvena came to the bed. 
 
 " I guess I know he s an angel of a Yorkshire," 
 she replied, fervently. " I was going to ask you 
 how I might have a chance to thank Mrs. Sears. 
 I don t even know where she lives." 
 
 " Did Mrs. Sears send you this dog?" 
 
 " Yes ; and I want to thank her. Mr. Bradford 
 brought him yesterday when I was out with 
 Georgie." 
 
 " Mr. Bradford brought him ?" 
 
 " Yes. It was very kind of him." 
 
 " Very." 
 
 Miss Phillipps now stooped down and picked up 
 Marmaduke, who, though thus disturbed, retain 
 ed his amiability and licked the lady s lips, declin 
 ing, as he always did, to caress any other portion 
 of the human countenance.
 
 IQ2 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 She looked over him at Rowena. 
 
 "And you wouldn t take my seal-skin jacket!" 
 she said. 
 
 Rowena colored deeply. 
 
 "A dog seems different, don t you think?" 
 
 " Yes, a great deal better. I wish I had given 
 you this one. He will be a comfort to you. He 
 ought to be very happy in being a comfort to 
 you, Miss Tuttle." 
 
 These words were accompanied by a soft glance, 
 which the girl felt go straight to her heart. 
 
 Marmaduke now leaped back onto the bed. 
 
 " You will probably see Mrs. Sears at my house 
 soon. You can thank her then. She lives at No. 
 Beacon Street. But I am frittering away my 
 time and yours," in a more business-like tone. 
 " You see, I came this afternoon particularly to 
 tell you that you must not live in the old thought 
 any more. You must take up the science." 
 
 " With you ?" 
 
 " Certainly, with me." 
 
 " Oh yes, Miss Phillipps, I think I would take 
 up anything with you." 
 
 This remark was received with a warm, approv 
 ing smile. 
 
 " That is because you are ignorant. If you 
 knew me better you would not be so charming 
 in your confidence. Supposing we go into the- 
 osophy a little at the same time?"
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 193 
 
 " Is theosophy very hard ?" hesitatingly in 
 quired Rowena. 
 
 "Well, it is not real easy, like Browning, for 
 instance." 
 
 " Don t laugh at me, Miss Phillipps." 
 
 But the lady did laugh, and Rowena could not 
 help joining her, until the small, dingy room was 
 full of the sound, and Marmaduke sat up on his 
 haunches and asked what it was all about. 
 
 " I don t think I shall have time for theoso 
 phy," at last Rowena said. " You know I m in 
 earnest about my painting. I must succeed in 
 some degree in that." 
 
 She spoke with an almost solemn emphasis, 
 and her visitor respected the feeling. 
 
 " I won t tempt you. But I shall hold you to 
 the Christian Science. What have you on the 
 easel there? Let me see some of your work. 
 Your lessons should have some effect by this 
 time." 
 
 Miss Phillipps spoke with the abruptness and 
 positiveness which she sometimes used. 
 
 She walked quickly to the easel and turned it 
 about. 
 
 It was the sketch of her own head which she saw. 
 
 Rowena watched her face with tremulous anx 
 iety. Her pulses seemed all crowding into her 
 throat. She had unbounded confidence in this 
 woman s judgment of her work. 
 13
 
 IQ4 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 She thought a faint color came into the pale 
 face which was in profile as she watched it. 
 
 " I was too bold, I know," murmured Rowena, 
 deprecatingly. 
 
 "You hitched your wagon to a star, " was 
 the sarcastic response. 
 
 It was another long moment before Miss Phil- 
 lipps turned to her companion. When she did 
 speak she used Allestree s very words. 
 
 "You have the touch," she said. She looked 
 at the picture again. " Crude as it is, it is abso 
 lutely alive." 
 
 Rowena s eyes shone. She felt as if she had 
 been drinking wine. 
 
 Now her friend turned her back on the canvas 
 and moved nearer the girl. 
 
 " Have I really such a cruel expression as that ? 
 
 "Sometimes; not now." 
 
 " Little truth-teller ! But you hurt." 
 
 She went back to the sketch as if drawn to it 
 by invisible cords. 
 
 " Senour painted my portrait two years ago. 
 I ll show it to you when you come to my house 
 again. He hasn t put a bit of that look in; and 
 I never saw it in my mirror. Is it really so 
 marked?" 
 
 The tone in which this question was put was 
 almost wistful. It was hard to reply, as Rowena 
 did reply:
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 195 
 
 "Yes, it is; but not always." 
 
 " Oh, I should hope not always. If I had no 
 different face for a friend I would shoot myself 
 forthwith. And I ve been quite set up in my 
 mind when I have looked at Senour s portrait. 
 The only assurance this thing gives me is that 
 I have an aristocratic countenance to face the 
 world with. I should judge that human beings 
 in general were but dirt beneath my feet." 
 
 " That is just what began Rowena, and 
 then paused in confusion. 
 
 Her friend instantly caught her up. 
 
 " Just what some one said of it, you were going 
 to say?" She spoke sharply. " Keats Mr. Brad 
 ford has not seen it?" 
 
 "Oh no!" 
 
 " Who then ?" 
 
 " Only my friend, Georgie Warner, who went 
 away this morning." 
 
 "Your friend, Georgie Warner, knew what she 
 was talking about. I forgive her. I shall for 
 give you. But I shall not forgive myself for fur 
 nishing the material for that look. 
 
 " We have talked more than enough about it. 
 Now I am going home. I walked down here. If 
 you did not look so so weeny, I used to say 
 to my dolls when they were ill, I should ask you 
 to come out for a stroll." 
 
 The speaker put on her hat and mantle, which
 
 196 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 she always removed if only for a few moments 
 stay. She walked to the door. Then she came 
 back and put her hands on Rowena s shoulders. 
 
 " I shall treat you," she said, after an intent 
 look. 
 
 " Treat me ?" repeated the girl. 
 
 Miss Phillipps gave her a little shake. 
 
 "Yes. You must not say my words over after 
 me. I shall treat you. I shall say inwardly, 
 you know Rowena have you any other Chris 
 tian name? no then I shall say Rowena Tut- 
 tle, you are not weary, for there is no such thing. 
 You are fresh and strong. When I have said 
 this a few times, with emphasis, and put myself 
 in the new thought, and in the God-current, you 
 will be surprised at the delightful sense of well- 
 being that will come to you." 
 
 "You will stay with me to do this?" hesitat 
 ingly inquired Rowena. 
 
 " Oh no. Thought knows no space. I could 
 treat you a thousand miles away just as well as 
 here." 
 
 Miss Phillipps looked and seemed quite seri 
 ous. Rowena felt a trifle uncomfortable. 
 
 " Can any one treat me, any one who chooses," 
 she asked, anxiously and I cannot help myself ?" 
 
 Now Miss Phillipps laughed. 
 
 "Why do you talk in that way?" she said. 
 
 " Because I should have a choice, decidedly,"
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 197 
 
 she answered, firmly. " I won t have any one 
 not any one treat me but you." 
 
 There was intense seriousness and almost alarm 
 in Rowena s face and voice. 
 
 Miss Phillipps suddenly put her arms about 
 the girl and kissed her. Instead of being amused, 
 she seemed touched. 
 
 A moment later Rowena was standing at the 
 hall door watching the lady as she walked along 
 the sordid, dingy street. How out of place her 
 face and figure looked in it ! There was still 
 sunlight in the open spaces and in the country, 
 but here it was almost twilight. As the girl 
 looked, there came almost a terror in her heart 
 that she should care so much for this woman. 
 
 She saw one of the salesladies from R. H. 
 Black s coming for her supper. The two met 
 and the saleslady turned to look back. She 
 tossed her head as she came up the steps. She 
 gave Rowena a disagreeable glance. 
 
 " I guess that is that Miss Phillipps that Mrs. 
 Jarvis tells about, isn t it?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Has she been here to see you ? She looks 
 odd enough on this street, walkin as if nothin 
 was quite good nough for her to step on. She d 
 better stay where she belongs !" 
 
 The saleslady went down into the basement. 
 
 A young man in a light suit, with gloves and a
 
 198 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 cane, now appeared, walking rapidly. He raised 
 his hat eagerly and with a flourish as he saw the 
 figure at the door. He hastened, but Rowena 
 had disappeared when Ferdinand Foster had 
 reached the steps. 
 
 Miss Phillipps had turned onto Essex Street. 
 She was thinking very intently, and not expect 
 ing to meet any one she knew, when she was 
 aware of a tall, masculine form approaching. It 
 was very familiar. 
 
 "Why, Keats! How came you here?" she 
 asked, as her cousin gravely lifted his hat. 
 
 "How came you here?" he responded. He 
 turned and walked with her. 
 
 " I came here in the interest of Christian Sci 
 ence," she answered. " Can you give as reason 
 able an explanation ?" 
 
 He fancied she was looking at him sharply, and 
 he was annoyed. 
 
 " I m not sure I shall explain at all," was the 
 cool response. " I weally suppose a man may 
 stroll on Essex Street and not be guilty of en 
 gagement in any very sewious intwigue." 
 
 " Oh, if you are going to take that tone," and 
 Miss Phillipps walked faster. He kept beside 
 her. He swung his stick; he adjusted his 
 glass to his eye. At last he laughed. But 
 she was very serious. She did not glance at 
 him.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 199 
 
 " You have been to see your latest and strong 
 est fad," he remarked. 
 
 " I am so tired of that word !" she said. 
 
 "What word? I used several." 
 
 " Fad." 
 
 He laughed again. She frowned distinctly. 
 
 The two turned into Washington Street. He 
 kept beside her, and said cheerfully that he knew 
 she did not want him, but that he was bound to 
 walk home with her; he had something particu 
 lar to say. She might better become resigned at 
 once. W T hereupon she assumed a pleasant aspect 
 immediately, but walked even faster than before. 
 
 Neither spoke until they struck across the 
 Common. They did not appear to wish to go 
 directly to Charles Street. Now, with the roar 
 of the city somewhat removed, Miss Phillipps 
 turned to her companion. 
 
 "Well?" she said. 
 
 But Mr. Bradford did not seem quite ready to 
 speak. He gazed about him vacantly. 
 
 "You had an air as if you were going to ar 
 raign me before the bar of justice," she contin 
 ued, after a moment. 
 
 "I am." 
 
 " Go right on. Don t mind hurting my feel 
 ings." 
 
 The man turned to her with sudden sternness. 
 " I object to your latest fad," he said.
 
 200 ROWENV IN BOSTON. 
 
 Miss Phillipps paused in her walk. 
 
 " So you will use that word," she responded, 
 and then continued, frivolously: "Let me think 
 do you mean Sloyd, or hypnotism, or Ibsen ? 
 I m interested in all, but I can t tell you positive 
 ly which is the latest." 
 
 She looked quite scornful and disagreeable. 
 All the unpleasant possibilities in her face be 
 came accentuated. 
 
 But Mr. Bradford was not intimidated. He 
 rather assumed a more masterful manner. 
 
 " I mean Miss Tuttle," he said. 
 
 " Oh, you don t call her a fad ? You must 
 have very few words from which to choose in 
 your vocabulary, Keats, Avhen you arc reduced 
 to calling Miss Tuttle a fad." 
 
 " I am sorry for her I mean, I shall be sorry 
 for her." 
 
 "You shall be sorry for her?" Miss Phillipps 
 glanced up at him and smiled very exasperating- 
 ly. " Do you know precisely at what period this 
 sorrow is to begin ?" 
 
 "That depends upon you." 
 
 " Really, you are crediting me with a great 
 deal of power." 
 
 " I want to pwotect her. She is going to need 
 pwotection." 
 
 " Hardly if you are her champion." 
 
 "Vanessa, be sewious, be humane."
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 2OI 
 
 Miss Phillipps looked about her. 
 
 " He asks me to be humane," she said to the 
 surrounding air. 
 
 " I am in earnest. You are the crudest 
 woman I ever knew, Vanessa, sometimes. I 
 even think you capable of being unkind to 
 that girl ; and if you ever do make her suffer 
 you will be a howwible bwute. I shall hate 
 you." 
 
 Miss Phillipps suddenly turned aside and said, 
 sweetly, 
 
 " Let us sit down here a moment." 
 
 The two sat down on one of the iron benches. 
 The woman s face was much changed and soft 
 ened. Her lips were slightly tremulous as she 
 said: 
 
 "How could you think I would hurt her?" 
 with a stress upon the last word. 
 
 " Oh, you won t hurt her until you are weary 
 of her. I have known you since I ve known any 
 body, Vanessa." 
 
 " But she appeals to something strange, unused 
 in me, Keats. You don t believe it. But it is 
 true. When I am with her it is almost as if I 
 also were unhackneyed, unsullied by the world. 
 You can t be near her and not breathe pure air. 
 She is a tonic. She is something better. When 
 I look in her eyes I feel once more as if I might 
 keep true to the dreams of my youth."
 
 2O2 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 The speaker s voice ceased almost inarticu 
 lately. 
 
 The man did not reply. He had averted his 
 face, and appeared to be gazing out towards the 
 pond. 
 
 " I want to protect her, too," went on Miss 
 Phillipps, hurriedly. " She will suffer so much, 
 I am afraid. I want to take care of her. Keats," 
 turning upon him with a most unexpected sav- 
 ageness, " are you going to make love to her?" 
 
 "Why shouldn t I do what you are doing?" 
 
 " For the best of reasons because you are a 
 man." 
 
 " You have given just the weason why I should 
 do it; it is a man s glowious pwivilege to make 
 love to a woman. Vanessa, you are usurping mas 
 culine rights." 
 
 For some inscrutable reason Mr. Bradford drop 
 ped his earnest manner with the utmost abrupt 
 ness. He rose and stood before his cousin, look 
 ing down at her whimsically. 
 
 " Miss Tuttle comes very near adoring you,Va- 
 nessa, and I know you like to be adored. Shall 
 we walk on ?" 
 
 " I wish you would let me go home alone, now, 
 Keats," responded the other. " I want to think, 
 and you confuse me." 
 
 Mr. Bradford went away in silence. 
 
 " I was foolish enough," he said to himself.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON". 203 
 
 " Rowena Tuttle must take her expewience in 
 life as we all must, and when Vanessa is weally 
 in earnest why she is in earnest." 
 
 The young man strolled along aimlessly until 
 he found himself opposite Mrs. Sears s house. 
 
 He rang. He was allowed to go into a small 
 apartment on the ground floor, which Mrs. Sears 
 was in the habit of calling her " withdrawing 
 room," because she said she withdrew there from 
 bores. 
 
 She was knitting and reading. She was of 
 the opinion that women over sixty ought to knit 
 stockings occasionally. One could always give 
 them to the poor. 
 
 " I hope you know it is a great favor to be per 
 mitted to enter here," she said, as Bradford came 
 forward. 
 
 A small dog, almost exactly like Marmaduke, 
 slowly lifted himself from the skirt of her dress 
 where he had been reposing, shook back the hair 
 from his eyes, and then sprang forward. Brad 
 ford picked him up and put him comfortably on 
 his knee at he took the chair his hostess moved 
 towards him. 
 
 This young man was fully aware that he had 
 called now upon this old lady because she had 
 said some very nice things of Miss Tuttle, and 
 because she had sent Miss Tuttle a terrier.
 
 204 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 XIV. 
 MR. FOSTER S SISTER. 
 
 " I NEVER did see such a flirt in all my life, I 
 declare !" 
 
 Rowena was slowly descending the stairs from 
 her room. It was not yet eight o clock, but she 
 considered it extremely late. She had a small 
 tin pail in her hand. She was going out to the 
 corner for some milk for her morning coffee. It 
 was raining. Two girls were hanging dripping 
 water-proofs on the pegs of the hat-rack in the 
 hall ; one of them was Miss Martin, and it was 
 she who now cried out shrilly that she " hated a 
 man flirt above ground." 
 
 At this stage in the conversation they saw Ro 
 wena. 
 
 "Holloa, is that you ?" said Miss Martin. "We 
 were talkin about Mr. Foster. Did you know he s 
 an awful flirt ?" 
 
 Rowena wondered why the two looked so close 
 ly at her as this question was put. She paused 
 at the last step and rested her pail on the top of 
 the post.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 205 
 
 " No ; I didn t know it," she said. 
 
 " Well, he is ; he s jest awful. They do say 
 now he s got a girl out in Maiden and one in 
 Roxbury. I d know how many he s got in 
 Boston." 
 
 They still gazed sharply at her. 
 
 " I hope none of them are inclined to be jeal 
 ous," she remarked, somewhat embarrassed by 
 their scrutiny; resenting it, but feeling helpless. 
 
 Miss Martin laughed boisterously. 
 
 " I pity um if they be," she said ; " I guess 
 they d have to take it out in being jealous, don t 
 you, Jen ?" 
 
 Jen said she guessed they would, too. 
 
 Rowena had a sensation of disgust, and of self- 
 reproof that she was disgusted, a feeling she had 
 known when in Miss Martin s company before. 
 She knew that all working- girls were not like 
 this. She made a movement to go. They ap 
 peared disposed to linger a little before going 
 down to breakfast. 
 
 "Ain t to-night the night you re going to the 
 theatre?" inquired Miss Martin. 
 
 Rowena could not tell why she should feel 
 somehow ashamed that she must reply " Yes." 
 
 "The medyum s goin , ain t she?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The two girls giggled. Miss Martin said she 
 hoped she wouldn t go into a trance. Then she
 
 206 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 informed Rowena that she, Miss Martin, and a 
 "gentleman friend" had been asked to join the 
 party, but " they d ben otherwise engaged. Be 
 sides," she added, with another laugh, "she didn t 
 know s twas necessary to have a dooenna along ; 
 there couldn t be half as much fun." 
 
 Now Rowena opened the hall door and stepped 
 out into the street. She could not tell why she 
 was conscious of a sense of humiliation. Her 
 cheeks burned as she recalled the talk and the 
 glances she had just heard and seen. She wished 
 she were not going to the theatre. She tried to 
 think of some excuse she could offer. The more 
 she thought of the subject the stronger was her 
 disinclination. 
 
 She walked by the grocery where she was to 
 get her milk, and hurried back to it. She bought 
 an extra pint every day now because Marmaduke 
 had shown a liking for that kind of food, and she 
 had learned that he was rather particular. She 
 never dared to have him on the street without a 
 string attached to him. She scrupulously took 
 him a long walk in this manner every day. She 
 was already absurdly fond of him. She conversed 
 with him as she sat in her room painting hour 
 after hour. 
 
 She considered that she had had a piece of 
 great good-luck lately. She had sold two little 
 water-color sketches, both of them bits of the up-
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 2 07 
 
 land pasture back of her home. The small sum 
 she received she put away in the bottom of her 
 trunk to be sacredly reserved for the use of Mar- 
 maduke ; if he wanted a scrap of something good 
 he must have it. He was a person who quite ap 
 preciated a scrap of something good. 
 
 Now, if Marmaduke had not been waiting for 
 her in her room, Rowena felt that she would 
 have liked to prolong her stroll indefinitely. It 
 was spring. It was raining gently. Even the 
 town could not avoid letting one know that it 
 was spring. And how busy the sparrows were ! 
 How they fought ! A few bunches of fading, 
 trailing arbutus were in a shop-window that she 
 gassed. She thought the housatonia must be 
 thick in the lane that led from the cow- yard, 
 and the saxifrage among the rocks in the or 
 chard. She sighed. But though she sighed she 
 did not feel that poignant pang which she had 
 known so many times in the first weeks of her 
 stay. 
 
 She now hurried along with her tin pail. When 
 she came in sight of her house she grew hot again 
 and thought of the interview with those girls. A 
 sudden fear came to her that she would meet 
 Mr. Foster before she could possibly get to her 
 room. She ran up the steps and did not slack 
 en her pace until she was at the top of the first 
 flight. Marmaduke began to bark when he heard
 
 208 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 her coming, and when she opened the door of 
 her room she set down her milk that he might 
 leap into her arms. She hugged him and con 
 fided to him the fact that she had not half lived 
 until he came ; that she should not half live if 
 he should go away. She had a joy in the knowl 
 edge that it is so safe to love a dog. 
 
 In a short time she was drinking her coffee, 
 and Marmaduke was lapping milk and greatly 
 dabbling his beard and mustache in the liquid. 
 He kindly ate, also, a small quantity of boiled 
 egg, then went and sat on the window-ledge lest 
 some stray cat should walk over the roof below 
 and he should not see her. 
 
 Rowena tried to settle calmly to her work; she 
 was thinking all the time of the theatre -party. 
 At last she rose and went down-stairs, taking the 
 terrier under her arm. She liked to feel his lit 
 tle warm body held closely to her, and he looked 
 out from this position as if he were thoroughly 
 used to it. 
 
 Mrs. Jarvis had just risen from her ticket-ta 
 ble. Since spring had really come she wore until 
 noon a palm-leaf loose gown that had precisely 
 the same effect as the wadded gown, only it was 
 not wadded. Her pompadour roll never varied 
 by as much as a hair. Her shabby face lighted 
 a little at sight of the girl. 
 
 "I m jest going down for my breakfast," she
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 209 
 
 said. " They ve all gone, finally, and I hope I c n 
 have a minute s peace. Don t you want a cup of 
 coffee with me ?" 
 
 Rowcna went to the dining-room with her. 
 The girl had almost come to have a sort of lik 
 ing for the always -tired hack of a woman by 
 whom she sat now. 
 
 " Nothing tastes good," said Mrs. Jarvis, after 
 trying to eat some lukewarm ham-and-eggs. She 
 pushed the plate from her. She now glanced at 
 Rowena. " Seems to me you look kind of wor 
 ried yourself." 
 
 " I don t want to go to the theatre to-night. 
 I m worrying about that now," replied the girl, 
 with a smile. 
 
 " Goodness ! I hope you won t have anything 
 worse n that to worry about. Most girls d be 
 fretting cause they couldn t go. Madame Van 
 Benthuysen s going, ain t she?" 
 
 "Yes," said Rowena ; " she has put off the spir 
 its for one night I m sorry I said I d go. Can t 
 you think of an excuse for me, Mrs. Jarvis?" 
 
 The young voice fell very sweetly on the wom 
 an s ears. The elder woman turned and met the 
 young, questioning eyes. 
 
 " I guess you d better go," she counselled. 
 
 " You ll have a real good time. They like you 
 
 first-rate, and they ll be awful disappointed if 
 
 you don t go. Ferdinand s sister is comin in 
 
 14
 
 210 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 from Newton on purpose to go. You ll like her. 
 She s a book-keeper, only she s out of health 
 now. Her firm thought so much of her that 
 they re keeping her place for her. Oh, you d bet 
 ter go." 
 
 Rowena sighed, and offered Marmaduke a bit 
 of ham, which he refused. He had his front 
 paws on the extreme edge of the table, and was 
 looking leisurely and thoroughly about him. Pos 
 sibly he was thinking that Mrs. Sears s dining- 
 room did not in the least resemble this one. 
 
 " I suppose I shall go, then," said Rowena. 
 
 " Oh yes, of course. They did it jest for you, 
 I guess. Madame was real taken with you. Have 
 you thought any more about being developed ?" 
 
 "Oh no." 
 
 " Well, there s time enough. You ll get used 
 to the idea after a while." 
 
 When it was time to begin to get ready for the 
 evening Rowena needed a great deal of moral 
 courage to enable her to rise above the thought 
 of her clothes. She did not quite succeed in the 
 effort, but she did not give up the attempt. She 
 felt, however, that it was contemptible to be con 
 scious of one s apparel. 
 
 It was not more than seven o clock when one 
 of Mrs. Jarvis s servants called her down to the 
 parlor. She said there was a lady there. 
 
 Rowena s heart began to beat as it always did
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 211 
 
 when she thought that Miss Phillipps was near. 
 She hurried down. 
 
 But it was not Miss Phillipps. A very differ 
 ent person rose from the horse-hair couch beneath 
 the " spirit friend." A small person in gray gown 
 and gray spring jacket, very neatly and yet cheap 
 ly dressed. Rowena hesitated. She thought 
 there had been a mistake. 
 
 "Miss Tuttle?" said the stranger. 
 
 " I am Miss Tuttle," said Rowena. 
 
 " I asked for Mrs. Jarvis," went on the girl, 
 with some shyness, " but she is out. I thought 
 it might not be so awkward if she could intro 
 duce us. I am Miss Foster, Ferdinand s sister. 
 He suggested that I make you a little call before 
 the theatre ; and I was glad to come." 
 
 Rowena now held out her hand cordially. She 
 was pleased with Miss Foster. She told her so 
 earnestly that it was kind of her to come that 
 Miss Foster felt her sincerity with a curious 
 pleasure. Rowena s voice, also, gave her almost 
 a thrill, it was so clear and sweet and honest. 
 She held her hand an instant longer than was 
 necessary. Then she dropped it and blushed. 
 She was not self-possessed like her brother. She 
 did not look like him either. 
 
 " I should have liked real well to call on you 
 before," she began, " but I ve been so out of 
 health I haven t been much of anywhere. Fer-
 
 212 ROWENV IN BOSTON. 
 
 dinand has mentioned you several times, and 
 he doesn t often mention his acquaintances ; he 
 thinks I won t be interested in em, usually. And 
 I don t think I should, either. Ferdinand is quite 
 gay." 
 
 She said the last phrase as if, while she depre 
 cated the fact of her brother s gayety, she was 
 still somewhat proud of it. She coughed, and 
 put her handkerchief to her lips bashfully. 
 
 Rowena sat down near her. 
 
 "You are not well?" she said, sympathetically. 
 
 " Oh, I m a great deal better than I was a 
 month ago. I shall go back to my work soon. 
 And I owe it all to the science. If it hadn t been 
 for the science I don t know what would have 
 become of me." 
 
 Rowena leaned forward eagerly. 
 
 " The science ?" she repeated. 
 
 Yes, indeed," was the almost feverish re 
 sponse. "Don t you know about the science? 
 You see, I ve been living in the new thought, and 
 I m so thankful to Mrs. Jones-Burt that I don t 
 know what to do. If it hadn t been for her I 
 should have been thinking now that there was 
 such a thing as disease." 
 
 " But there is disease, you know," said Rowe 
 na, with innocent conviction. 
 
 " Oh no, no ! That s the old thought ; that s 
 because you have fear. You must drop fear.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 213 
 
 Now, for instance, one cause of a cold is being 
 in the draught, but the main cause is fear. It is 
 all cured by putting yourself into the mind of 
 God. Just be borne by the current. Face the 
 light instead of the dark. You have only to hold 
 yourself still and let God, who dwells in you, do 
 the work. You know you can be all that God is. 
 If you keep yourself in that thought, all evil 
 drops. Don t you see?" 
 
 Miss Foster s eyes were sparkling, and her thin 
 face was red with excitement. 
 
 Rowena was excited, also. She sighed. She 
 must be very stupid. She said, " No, she could 
 not see." 
 
 " Oh, it s all so clear to me !" exclaimed Miss 
 Foster. " Just as clear !" 
 
 The two looked at each other a moment. 
 
 "You must hear Mrs. Jones-Burt ; you certain 
 ly must." 
 
 " I should like to hear her," responded Ro 
 wena. 
 
 Miss Foster gave a short, nervous laugh. 
 
 " Here I have been going on about Christian 
 Science just as if I had known you ever so long, 
 Miss Tuttle. I hope you ll excuse me. Ferdi 
 nand says I m about crazy on the subject. He 
 laughs at it. He laughs at a good many things. 
 But it s done just everything for me, just every 
 thing for me."
 
 214 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Miss Foster coughed, and again put her hand 
 kerchief to her lips with the same nervous mo 
 tion. Then she said, with a polite assumption of 
 interest : 
 
 " I understand you are studying art, Miss Tut- 
 tle?" 
 
 As Rowena was replying, the door-bell rang. 
 After a long time a large Irishwoman came lum 
 bering up from the kitchen and opened the door. 
 
 Madame Van Benthuysen entered, followed by 
 her nephew. She was in a plaid suit with a plaid 
 cape, and in this guise she seemed to be even 
 larger than she had been in her fur circular. The 
 nephew was in great spirits. 
 
 " So you re here, Sis," he said, after they had 
 greeted Rowena. " Told her all about the sci 
 ence, I expect. What does Miss Tuttle think of 
 it? But you are better and no mistake." 
 
 " If the science has helped her, let the science 
 have the credit," remarked Madame Van Ben 
 thuysen, largely. It was as if she had said that 
 she was willing to acknowledge that there were 
 things in this world as effectual as the spirits in 
 the other world. 
 
 Mr. Foster looked at his watch and said that 
 there was no hurry. The rest of the party, con 
 sisting of two, would be at the theatre. After 
 a short time the young man s face underwent a 
 change ; it was no longer so gay. In truth, he
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 215 
 
 did not feel so happy. He could not tell pre 
 cisely why. He had, as he would have said, 
 " reckoned " on this evening ever since the ap 
 pointment. Rowena smiled at him and talked 
 with him, but there was a certain remoteness 
 about her that had a very disastrous effect upon 
 his spirits. 
 
 This effect continued all the evening. In 
 thinking over these hours afterwards, the young 
 man could not, to quote him once more, " put 
 his finger on a thing." Rowena never had been 
 particularly kind to him, he owned, but she had 
 never been so very far away from him. 
 
 She and Miss Foster talked with an appear 
 ance almost of intimacy. At last, after the oys 
 ters and the ice-cream, and after Rowena had 
 been safely left at Mrs. Jarvis s, Ferdinand was 
 alone with his sister at Madame Van Benthuy- 
 sen s residence on Harrison Avenue. She ex 
 claimed enthusiastically that she knew " she 
 should like Miss Tuttle awfully." Ferdinand 
 only grunted inarticulately. 
 
 He did not remain. He went out and slammed 
 the door with extreme violence. He twitched 
 out the small bunch of violets from his coat and 
 flung them into the street. He swore he had 
 had a devilish poor time, and he hoped the rest 
 hadn t had any better. He was not in a good- 
 luunor.
 
 2l6 ROWENV IN BOSTON. 
 
 Rowena, on the contrary, was in a very good- 
 humor. She had liked Miss Foster, though she 
 had wished she was not quite so nervous. She 
 had been greatly interested in the way she lived 
 when she was book-keeping in Boston. She kept 
 house in a room up at the South End. 
 
 The two girls found a common ground here. 
 They told their experiences between the acts. 
 Of course, Rowena had not much time to give 
 to Mr. Foster, although she tried to attend to 
 his remarks. Miss Foster was to resume her 
 work next week, and Rowena was going up to 
 her room to visit her. 
 
 Marmaduke was very sleepy when Rowena re 
 turned ; but he waked thoroughly, and from that 
 time on until the morning he was continually 
 springing off his cushion to rush at the walls of 
 the rooms, behind which was a great scuffling 
 of rats. 
 
 Therefore his mistress slept very little. Once, 
 at about three, Marmaduke was so violent, and 
 squealed and scratched so, that Rowena almost 
 believed he had caught a rat. 
 
 She lighted her little lamp, having a dreadful 
 feeling that she was surrounded. But there was 
 nothing but Marmaduke wagging and dancing 
 on his hind-legs for joy at seeing her up. The 
 light, however, revealed a letter which she had 
 not seen when she had come in.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 217 
 
 The envelope bore Eunice Warner s handwrit 
 ing. It was a childish hand. In one corner was 
 the word " imediate," deeply underlined. The 
 lack of the usual number of letters seemed to 
 make the word stand out more urgently. 
 
 Rowena wrapped her shawl about her and 
 opened the envelope, while the terrier jumped 
 in her lap to investigate. 
 
 " Georgie s been just crazy for me to send for 
 you," the missive began abruptly, "and I m goin 
 to, anyway. She s sick. She s got a fever, I guess. 
 And she s terrible odd. Mar says she must have 
 something on her mind, but Georgie says she 
 ain t got a thing on her mind ; but she does wish 
 you d come out if you possibly can. She sets up 
 some, but she don t eat nothing scarcely; don t 
 nothing taste good. We thought mebby as you 
 was talking some of coming home fore long, you 
 could come out to-morrer with Mr. Little. He 
 said he d take this and he could bring you s 
 well s not. Mother said I was to be sure and 
 not scare you about Georgie, but she couldn t 
 help feeling kinder worried. Jim Townshend s 
 been here every day. He seems all used up 
 about Georgie. He s just s good s he can be. 
 Yours respectfully, EUNICE WARNER." 
 
 Rowena read the letter through twice. She 
 crept back to bed, with the terrier in her arms.
 
 2l8 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 "We shall have to go, Marmaduke," she said. 
 " It will only be a little earlier, anyway. I must 
 send word to Miss Phillipps that I can t go to 
 Mrs. Jones- Burt s lecture on the science. And 
 I can t finish that sketch of the brook by the 
 birches. Allestree calls that good work. Of 
 course, it isn t anything about Jim Townshend. 
 I shall go right home first." 
 
 Rowena liked to talk to the dog. It had been 
 a privation not to speak in the long hours when 
 she was alone. 
 
 She could not go to sleep again. The thought 
 of seeing her father and mother and the others 
 made her restless. Now she wondered how she 
 had stayed away all these weeks. She could 
 hardly wait for the time when she should be on 
 the way. She cried at thought of the meeting. 
 She had stuck to her work ; she was glad of that. 
 But she deserved no praise ; she loved it so well 
 she could not neglect it. 
 
 As soon as it was light she dressed. It was 
 too early to go out. Uncle Reuben would not 
 start for several hours. 
 
 Rowena put the portrait of Miss Phillipps on 
 the easel and looked at it.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 219 
 
 XV. 
 
 A HORSEMAN. 
 
 IT was a fortunate thing that Reuben Little 
 was not what is called "in liquor" the day Ro- 
 wena was to go home with him. He was very 
 melancholy and despondent. He said the girl 
 might ride with him if she thought he was good 
 enough. He said he hadn t taken the pladge yet, 
 but he should before he was twenty-four hours 
 older. This was an assertion that he was in the 
 habit of making, so it did not greatly impress his 
 companion. 
 
 The two were sitting on an uncomfortable seat 
 placed on the narrow platform which connected 
 the two pair of wheels on which the boats were 
 fastened. Now an arrangement made exclusive 
 ly for the transportation of boats is not supreme 
 ly comfortable for the human being. But Ro- 
 wena thought she should not mind it. She was 
 somewhat cramped, but she could get out and 
 walk occasionally. She was afraid Marmaduke 
 would not like his accommodations. The terrier 
 was rather particular. He had not been used to
 
 220 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 travelling by means of wheels arranged for row- 
 boats. It was not nearly as comfortable as if the 
 boat had been along and they in it. 
 
 When the horse went uphill Rowena thought 
 she should slide backward, and when he went 
 downhill she knew she should go forward be 
 tween the animal s hind-legs. There was noth 
 ing visible to prevent her doing these two things. 
 Uncle Reuben, who to-day took a black view of 
 everything, said there wasn t much chance that 
 he could see why she shouldn t slip off both ways 
 a dozen times before they got home. 
 
 And Marmaduke was seized with a desire to 
 stand upright in her lap and lurch this way and 
 that, barking ferociously at every carriage they 
 met. This peculiarity of his made the situation 
 still more complicated, for Rowena was obliged 
 to have a firm hold on the terrier s hind-legs lest 
 in his intensity he should precipitate himself on 
 the ground and be trampled on or run over. And 
 for the first few miles they were constantly meet 
 ing all kinds of teams. 
 
 When they had traversed a distance of five or 
 six miles matters in regard to Marmaduke began 
 to grow calmer. He sat down on his haunches 
 and put out his adorable little red tongue to 
 pant. 
 
 Rowena was beginning to rest somewhat when 
 all at once Marmaduke stood up in order to wag
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 221 
 
 his stub-tail, and his diminutive self vibrated as 
 it did when he saw a friend. A man on horse 
 back had cantered from a side street. This man 
 would not have looked at the equipage moving 
 at a foot-pace had he not heard the dog s sharp 
 bark of welcome. But once looking he glanced 
 again. He wheeled quickly round and raised his 
 cap, exclaiming : 
 
 "It is Miss Tuttle!" 
 
 Miss Tuttle, keeping her terrier in her lap by 
 main force, met Mr. Keats Bradford s surprised 
 eyes with a smile. 
 
 " Are you leaving Boston ?" he asked, quickly. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Does Miss Phillipps know it?" 
 
 He was prepared to be very angry with his 
 cousin if she had known and kept the knowl 
 edge from him. 
 
 " She will know it when she gets my note to 
 day." 
 
 " But you are coming back?" with more eager 
 ness than he usually displayed. 
 
 His face showed unmistakable relief when she 
 replied. He did not turn his horse towards the 
 city. Into his air and attitude there came a sud 
 den gayety. His eyes, in color and capability of 
 expression so much like those of Miss Phillipps, 
 took on a certain look which somehow Rowena 
 found it difficult, nay, almost impossible, to meet.
 
 222 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Without suspecting in the least why, she also 
 was conscious of a sense something like exhilara 
 tion. 
 
 Mr. Bradford had pity on Marmaduke s ex 
 cited condition. He leaned forward from his 
 horse, skilfully took the dog from the girl and 
 placed him in front of him, keeping gentle but 
 firm hold of one hairy hind -leg. Marmaduke 
 seemed absolutely to grin in the superlativeness 
 of his content with this arrangement. He gave 
 Rowena a glance of kindly commiseration be 
 cause she could not come also. 
 
 " He and I are old friends," said Mr. Bradford. 
 " We understand each other perfectly." 
 
 Rowena was in an exceedingly pleasant frame 
 of mind ; she even laughed at this man s inabil 
 ity to pronounce some words correctly. 
 
 She thought that to see him was something 
 like seeing his cousin, without that occasional 
 sense of insecurity which she knew when with 
 Miss Phillipps. 
 
 The suburbs of the city were left behind. 
 They were in the open country where farms 
 began to stretch out over the hills and fields. 
 It was May. People were planting. There was 
 the scent of the earth in the air. There were 
 dandelions by the road -side, where the grass 
 was growing strongly. The robins and blue 
 birds were wildly happy. The little song spar-
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 223 
 
 rows swelled their tiny throats with their deli 
 cious songs. 
 
 Mr. Reuben Little was mostly silent. This 
 gentleman had been duly introduced to him by 
 his niece, and he had looked him over very sharp 
 ly, Mr. Bradford being perfectly conscious of the 
 scrutiny, and even going so far as to wish it might 
 bring a favorable conclusion. 
 
 For the first ten miles Mr. Bradford thought 
 that in a few moments he would say " good 
 bye " and turn back. But he went on. Real 
 ly, how marvellously lovely the country was in 
 May ! It was different from the suburbs, alto 
 gether different. He said a few ardent words 
 to this effect. He did not quite know himself 
 in this ardor, which seemed to be present in 
 his most commonplace remarks. Or rather, to 
 be strictly true, perhaps he did know himself, 
 vaguely, as being under the influence of that girl 
 who sat there in that rubbishing old cart, and 
 who now and then glanced up at him for one 
 swift instant. He began to cast about in his 
 mind for subjects which should have the effect 
 of making her look at him. All other subjects 
 appeared very flat, indeed. 
 
 But I hope it is not understood that Keats 
 Bradford did not know what he was about. He 
 knew extremely well, no man better, and when 
 he said, after a dozen miles had been gone oyer,
 
 224 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 that he believed he would continue right on to 
 the end of Miss Tuttle s journey, he had most 
 thoroughly made up his mind to let himself go. 
 He knew there was a rush and a swing and an 
 intoxication about letting one s self go that was 
 comparable to nothing else in the world. 
 
 " I ve been wondering what little trip to take," 
 he remarked, in explanation, " and a fortunate 
 chance has decided me. Don t tell me it will 
 annoy you, Miss Tuttle; be kind and say you ll 
 like to have me along." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," replied Rowena, almost too 
 readily to please Mr. Bradford thoroughly, " it 
 will be pleasant." 
 
 And it was extremely pleasant. Sometimes 
 the girl alighted from the cart and walked up a 
 long hill, Mr. Bradford walking beside her with 
 the bridle over his arm, and Marmaduke career 
 ing madly everywhere. 
 
 Mr. Reuben Little did not once change his po 
 sition. He said he was used to it. He sat there 
 while the two went on ahead, for anything that 
 could move at all moved faster than Mr. Little s 
 horse when it was going uphill. 
 
 "Thunder and lightning!" remarked Reuben 
 once to himself; " I wonder what Roweny thinks 
 of him. Gals is so mortal queer you can t make 
 em out more n you can a riddle. N Roweny 
 never was in the least sut on beaux. She never
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 225 
 
 seems to perk n twist herself jest cause a man 
 speaks to her kinder pleasant. Cluck ! Git up !" 
 
 Mr. Little languidly slapped the right line on 
 the horse s back. The horse in response turned 
 his right ear backward, and he made no other re 
 sponse. 
 
 This man entertained himself by studying for 
 a long time the riding costume worn by Mr. Brad 
 ford. He made an estimate of the cost of those 
 leather leggings, leather always being " mighty 
 high ;" but he was rather baffled by some other 
 articles of the suit. Then he gave himself up to 
 stolid watching of the man and to listening to 
 every word he said. 
 
 Mr. Bradford was particularly gifted in many 
 respects, but in none more than in the ability to 
 put a great deal of meaning into words that in 
 themselves meant very little. 
 
 For instance, he could say "Thanks" with eye 
 and tongue in such a way that the most sensible 
 and reasonable girl might be pardoned for blush 
 ing and for remembering the moment with a 
 tremor. But Keats Bradford was not fully aware 
 of this power of his. It was only one of the re 
 sults of the process of " letting himself go." 
 When he spoke and looked in this kind of a 
 way it was only because he felt strongly. He 
 was not that sort of a creature who tries exper 
 iments. If he was deeply moved, the result 
 15
 
 226 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 often was that some one else became deeply 
 moved also, and generally in a way similar. 
 
 Even Reuben Little had a dim sense of some 
 thing rather out of the ordinary in this person 
 in the leather leggings. He could not, as he 
 told his wife afterwards, when he discussed the 
 matter with her, he could not make out as "that 
 feller" said a word to Rowena all the way out 
 but what he might have said himself; but he 
 vowed it was the tallest and by far the most su 
 perior kind of courtin he ever saw done in his 
 life. If he d " been a gal he should have jest 
 been pleased nough." 
 
 And praise from Reuben Little, when he was 
 not " in liquor," was praise indeed. 
 
 At last the way began to seem familiar to Ro 
 wena. There was the " third district school- 
 house ;" there was the old pine-tree which had 
 been struck by lightning and riven down the 
 middle of the trunk. Even the horse-briers by 
 the way-side had a different look to them. At 
 the top of a hill she could see the spire of the 
 Baptist Church at the Corners. In two miles 
 more she would be at home. She grew silent 
 with the sudden rising of the emotions which 
 had been kept in the background. 
 
 Mr. Bradford presently asked Mr. Little to di 
 rect him to the hotel of the nearest village. He 
 told Rowena he might be in the vicinity a couple
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 227 
 
 of days ; in that case he should call on her, if she 
 gave him permission. Then he rode down a cross 
 road. Rowena was glad he was gone. Now that 
 she was so near her home his presence confused 
 her. She drew a long breath and looked eagerly 
 at every object ; every birch-tree spoke to her in 
 the old language, but was it as sweet a language 
 as she had thought ? Was there really a hint of 
 dreariness and desolation in the rocky farms and 
 the low-browed, solemn-looking houses near which 
 she sometimes saw a man slouching and gazing 
 intently at them ? 
 
 Everybody they saw now nodded at them. 
 Rowena knew they would all tell that " they seen 
 Roweny Tuttle goin long with Little." She 
 knew also that they would wonder among each 
 other as to whether she had " come home for 
 good or not." Delegates from different direc 
 tions would appear soon at Mr. Turtle s to learn 
 whether her arrival was for good. There .was a 
 very well-defined feeling of hostility towards her 
 plan of" studyin in Borston." They did not un 
 derstand it. If she wanted to study, why not 
 have her paints and things at home? You could 
 get real good paints at Middle Village ; and one 
 of the stores there had for sale those thin brass 
 disks on which some women painted daisies and 
 pansies. Philip Barrett had long had it in his 
 mind that he would present Rowena with one of
 
 228 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 these brass objects so that she might paint what 
 she chose on it. But he had never yet resolved 
 to do it. To him there was some mystery in 
 the way she thought about painting "art," as 
 she called it. 
 
 Rowena could hardly wait for the movements 
 of Uncle Reuben s horse to take her over the 
 road. They had now climbed to the top of that 
 long hill, near the foot of which was the turn, 
 and opposite the Warner house. 
 
 Rowena felt as if she could not stop, even for 
 the time necessary to inquire about Georgie. She 
 must get home to her father and mother. But 
 she knew she would be expected to stop. She 
 had asked Uncle Reuben about Georgie. He 
 had said she was probably going into a decline, 
 or " failing," as he expressed it. But Rowena 
 knew too well what a view her uncle took of all 
 subjects when he was contemplating signing the 
 pledge. Therefore she did not greatly heed his 
 opinion. 
 
 The long cart rattled tumultuously down the 
 hill and round the corner. 
 
 Eunice was in the yard with an apron hastily 
 pinned over her head. Rowena hurriedly alight 
 ed with Marmaduke under her arm. 
 
 Eunice precipitated herself so furiously upon 
 her that the terrier deemed it incumbent upon 
 him to growl and bristle up his mustache.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 22Q 
 
 While Rowena was endeavoring to return the 
 embrace, and before she could say a word about 
 Georgie, a young man came walking slowly round 
 from the back of the house. He had his hands 
 in his pockets and his hat pushed far back on his 
 head. A thin, reddish beard covered the lower 
 part of his face, leaving fully revealed a mouth 
 which was shaped in a way that was both hand 
 some and weak. His eyes also were handsome, 
 and of that light, limpid blue which frequently 
 accompanies sandy hair and skin. His shoulders 
 were bent and very broad. He gazed with great 
 interest at Rowena, whom he had never seen be 
 fore. 
 
 Eunice turned quickly to him and seized his 
 arm. 
 
 "Oh, Jim," she cried, "she s come! I knew 
 she d come ! Now I guess Georgie 11 begin to 
 pick up, don t you ?" 
 
 " I do hope so," was the earnest response. " I 
 d know what we shall do if she don t pick up 
 soon now." 
 
 With a great deal of pride in her ability to per 
 form an introduction, the child now introduced 
 Mr. Townshend to Miss Tuttle. The two shook 
 hands. She had a decided impression that she 
 should like Jim Townshend. The troubled, drawn 
 look on his face was due, of course, to his anxie 
 ty. Rowena hastened to say that she would go
 
 230 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 home now. She must see her mother. She would 
 
 r 
 
 come right over that very afternoon and sit with 
 Georgte. 
 
 As she was about to climb back into the wag 
 on Mrs. Warner hurried out, rolling down her 
 sleeves as she came. She gave Rowena a loud 
 kiss. She said she hoped Roweny d make up 
 her mind to stay to home. She d had a real 
 good chance to learn to dror n paint now. 
 
 Rowena could not reply to this. Marmaduke 
 peered at them all from the folds of her shawl. 
 They exclaimed at him. Mrs. Warner said she 
 thought he was real cunning, but she s posed he 
 wa n t good for an earthly thing, and how much 
 had he cost? The Tifts on the pine road had 
 some kind of puppies that they sold for two dol 
 lars a-piece. 
 
 Rowena said, rather coldly, that this dog was a 
 gift to her. 
 
 Mrs. Warner said she didn t see why Georgie 
 didn t git long, only she didn t. Roweny must 
 come right straight over. 
 
 When Rowena drove on she held the terrier 
 close. She told him she supposed the Warners 
 had always been just like that, but she had for 
 gotten. 
 
 After a few rods they met Marthy S. walking. In 
 her hand she had the basr which Rowena remem- 
 
 b 
 
 bered so well, the flat, square twine bag in which
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 231 
 
 were carried a tape-measure, scissors, thimble, and 
 sometimes a roll of work to be taken home. 
 
 " Don t stop," whispered Rowena to her uncle. 
 He nodded. But when Marthy S. stepped right 
 up almost in front of the wheel he was obliged to 
 stop. 
 
 Marthy S. put up her little, hard hand, and 
 when Marmaduke reached forward she sprang 
 back, exclaiming : 
 
 " Gracious ! Does he bite ? How dy do, Rowe- 
 ny? I s pose you ve come home for good now. 
 Your mother needs ye. She ain t first-rate. Her 
 humor s ben workin some, she told me, when I 
 seen her last week. I guess you know all bout 
 paintin n dorin , now, don t ye? Mr. Lapham s 
 daughter Julie s ben takin lessons of a woman 
 that comes to the Corners. She was good enough 
 for Julie. But I guess she wouldn t do for you. 
 She s painted something on a piece of slate. 
 They say you c n paint on most anything now 
 adays. I s pose you ve had a first-rate time. 
 But your mother needs ye. She didn t say so, 
 but I knew if her humor was workin she must 
 need ye." 
 
 Rowena was growing more and more angry. 
 The old animosity this woman always roused in 
 her sprang up again. 
 
 " I ve been very busy, Miss Hancock." she said. 
 " I didn t go to have a good time."
 
 232 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Marthy S. drew back so that Uncle Reuben 
 could safely slap the lines and cluck. The horse 
 moved forward, and the dress-maker went on her 
 way. 
 
 " She s just the same stuck-up thing she always 
 was," she said, aloud. " I don t care if I did give 
 her a dab." 
 
 Over Rowena s face the heat was rising in 
 waves, each wave hotter than the last. Her eyes 
 burned so that she could not see very well. The 
 narrow white road glimmered and seemed to rise 
 up and down before her. 
 
 "I wouldn t mind that critter one grain, Ro- 
 weny," her uncle said, roughly. 
 
 The girl almost sobbed. 
 
 11 She made me feel as if she thought I was 
 careless about my mother my own mother!" 
 she cried, in a smothered voice. 
 
 Rowena put her face down on Marmaduke s 
 back. 
 
 "Dumb her!" responded Uncle Reuben; "of 
 course she made you feel bad if she could. It s 
 jest like her." 
 
 The girl was not going to yield to this emo 
 tion. In a few moments she would be at home. 
 
 She raised her head and tried to believe that 
 " things looked natural." Certainly they had 
 not changed. Everything was as it usually was 
 at this time in May. Nevertheless, there was a
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 233 
 
 sense that everything was alien. Rowena was im 
 patient with herself that it was so. She could 
 not understand it at all. 
 
 " There s somebody comin down the road." 
 
 Mr. Little s voice brought back the girl s eyes 
 from the fields where the savins were growing 
 and where the clear air so sharply defined the 
 outlines. 
 
 She looked down the road. A tall, thin figure 
 with a plaid shawl round it and a cloud on its 
 head was walking rapidly. 
 
 Rowena s face and eyes suffused. Her heart 
 gave a great bound. 
 
 " It s mother !" she cried, in a loud whisper. 
 
 She began to climb down from her seat before 
 the horse stopped. She put Marmaduke on the 
 ground and began to run, the terrier at her heels. 
 
 Almost in a moment she was in her mother s 
 arms. Those arms closed so tightly, so tightly 
 about her. 
 
 " I couldn t help comin to meet ye," said Mrs. 
 Tuttle, huskily. " My bread was almost riz, but 
 I couldn t help comin .
 
 234 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 SOMETHING ON HER MIND. 
 
 THE girl and her mother hurried towards the 
 house, while the boat-wagon rattled slowly home 
 ward. Marmaduke s progress was very deliber 
 ate, for he was obliged to smell of every shrub 
 and every tuft of grass. 
 
 Sometimes a bluebird came swooping down 
 close to the two women. 
 
 The frogs were " hollering " in all the low 
 places. 
 
 " You see, I ve got to git right back," said Mrs. 
 Tuttle, gazing in an almost famished way at her 
 daughter. " My bread was almost riz," she re 
 peated ; " but I thought you must have got round 
 Warner s Corner, and I couldn t help coming." 
 
 She put one hand over her eyes for a moment. 
 Her lips trembled. Now that Rowena had act 
 ually come, she could hardly struggle against the 
 reaction from that long waiting and longing. Her 
 other hand clutched tightly that of the girl. 
 
 " Oh, mother, it was wrong of me to go, wasn t 
 it? Have I been so wicked?"
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 235 
 
 Rowena s breath caught. Her words roused 
 Mrs. Tuttle as nothing else would have done. 
 
 " It wa n t wrong, neither not an atom," she 
 exclaimed. " You can t expect me to jest love 
 to have you gone, Roweny ; but I guess you ve 
 got a right to your life s much s I had to mine 
 when I married your father V left my home. I 
 ain t goin to be foolish another minute. The 
 children are all to school. They ve missed you 
 a lot. Your father was bliged to go to the Cor 
 ners, but he expected to be back by this time ; 
 n there he is now." 
 
 An old gray horse attached to an ancient cov 
 ered wagon, of the kind locally called " bed 
 rooms," was now seen coming from the opposite 
 direction. Mr. Tuttle bent over and whipped his 
 horse, which gave a lurch and then seemed to re 
 trace its steps. 
 
 Rowena ran forward. Mr. Tuttle hurriedly 
 stepped on top of the wheel and jumped to the 
 ground. 
 
 "Well, I am glad," he said, after he had kissed 
 her. " I declare, the days have been awful long, 
 Roweny. How s your drorin ?" 
 
 The terrier allowed himself to be greeted warm 
 ly. It was plain that he approved of this part of 
 the world ; it was much better than pavements 
 and city streets. He followed Rowena as she 
 went about to every nook and corner of the
 
 236 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 house and barns. She strolled up the lane. Ap 
 parently the same woodpecker was pounding on 
 the immense old chestnut- tree that stood by 
 the bars at the brook. Absolutely nothing had 
 changed, and yet 
 
 Rowena did not know what it was. She was 
 so glad, so very glad to be there. She knew that 
 if she had returned within a week or two after 
 she had left, her happiness would have been 
 greater. She did not understand it at all. Per 
 haps it would all come to her at last ; she was 
 waiting for absolutely the same feeling. There 
 was no one to tell her that absolutely the same 
 feeling would never come to her again. 
 
 Presently she heard her mother s voice calling 
 to her from the back door of the barn. 
 
 She ate a lunch, with her father and mother 
 sitting and looking at her. Their faces shone. 
 They tried to be staid and calm. 
 
 Rowena was "obliged to eat before supper-time, 
 because she was going directly to see Georgie 
 Warner. 
 
 " It does seem as if Georgie had something on 
 her mind," Mrs. Tuttle had just said. " Tain t 
 natural for a girl to take all the bitters she s taken 
 without havin some appetite, less there was 
 something on her mind. But she keeps sayin 
 there ain t." 
 
 " She ought to know," remarked Rowena, try-
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 237 
 
 ing to eat a seed-cake. " I m sure I should know 
 if I had anything on my mind," she laughed. 
 " Who s going to know, if you don t know your 
 self ? What is it supposed to be?" 
 
 " I guess it ain t supposed," replied Mrs. Tut- 
 tle, giving lavish morsels of very sweet ginger 
 bread to Marmaduke, who partook approvingly. 
 " She s had to git a substitoot for her school. 
 Jim Townshend s there every day. It can t be 
 no trouble about him. P raps she ll tell you 
 something." 
 
 " Oh, well," said Mr. Tuttle, in his usual opti 
 mistic way, " I guess Gcorgie 11 weather it fast 
 enough. I s pose she s got kind of er spring fe 
 ver ; n mebby her humor s workin some." 
 
 Mrs. Tuttle shook her head. 
 
 " Hiram, you know there ain t nobody equil to 
 Mis Warner for doct rin a humor. It s mor n a 
 humor." 
 
 Very soon Rowena was hurrying along the road 
 alone. She could hear Marmaduke s shrill remon 
 strance against being left behind. As she walked 
 through the pines she recalled that day she had 
 walked there before she went to Boston. How 
 long ago was that ? She had known Miss Phil- 
 lipps since then and Mr. Bradford. She walked 
 still faster. 
 
 Eunice was lurking among the pines nearest 
 her home. She had an apron pinned over her
 
 238 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 head, and the long, broad strings of it fluttered 
 like pennons as she now ran forward. 
 
 " She s expectin ye !" she shouted, when still 
 at some distance. " She s ben cryin . She cries 
 a lot. She cries if you speak to her, n if you 
 don t. Tain t very pleasant to our house now." 
 
 The latter sentences were spoken after the 
 child had reached Rowena and was walking by 
 her, holding her hand. 
 
 Although Georgie was so impatient, Eunice 
 was disposed to linger. She had a great deal 
 she wished to say ; she wished to tell Rowena, 
 among other things, what Marthy S. had been 
 saying about her. 
 
 But Rowena would not linger. She was some 
 what excited when she began to ascend the stairs 
 that led to the chamber where Georgie was. She 
 went alone. It had been Georgie s desire that 
 she come alone. 
 
 She stopped an instant at the broad, top stair. 
 Then she softly opened the door. 
 
 Georgie was dressed in a pink calico wrapper. 
 She was lying on a lounge that was drawn to the 
 window. There was a small air-tight stove in the 
 room, and the air was close and warm. 
 
 She half raised herself and eagerly held out her 
 arms, her thin, flushed face looking strange to Ro 
 wena, who had never seen it save when it was 
 plump and commonplace.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 239 
 
 The new-comer sat quickly down on the side 
 of the couch and encircled her friend in her own 
 arms, putting her cool face to the hot, weary one. 
 
 Georgie began to tremble and to sob. 
 
 " Don t cry don t cry," murmured Rowena, 
 holding the trembling form more closely. 
 
 Her presence and her voice appeared to soothe 
 the sick girl. She became more quiet. 
 
 "I shall take you out in our old bedroom, " 
 said Rowena, after a while. " You must have the 
 air." 
 
 Georgie shuddered. 
 
 " I don t want the air," she said, with her head 
 on Rowena s shoulder. She turned her face into 
 the folds of Rowena s shawl and cried out in a 
 fierce, muffled tone : 
 
 "It s her! It s her! I knew twould be, n tis ! 
 But I ain t lisped it to anybody else. I couldn t !" 
 
 The other girl remained silent a moment. She 
 was trying to recall a name. 
 
 " Do you mean Mary Jane Jewett ? The one 
 you told me about?" 
 
 A kind of convulsion shook poor Georgie as 
 she heard. 
 
 " Yes," she said. " He s all carried away with 
 her. And he wants to do right. He suffers aw 
 ful. N I love him so ! Oh, dear me !" 
 
 Georgie s shoulders heaved ; she gasped hys 
 terically.
 
 240 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 " But everybody says Mr. Townshend is per 
 fectly devoted to you, Georgie ; that he is here 
 every day. Aren t you mistaken? Isn t this a 
 notion of yours?" 
 
 Georgie lifted her head. Her eyes were dry 
 and staring. 
 
 " I wish twas a notion. But tain t. I guess I 
 know. Yes, he is here every day. He s tryin to 
 do right, I tell ye. N I ve been so silly I jest let 
 him come. I can t give him up ! I can t ! I 
 couldn t tell nobody. It s killin of me?" 
 
 Georgie put out her hot hands and shut them 
 hard. " Oh, how I hate her ! Do you think I 
 c n let her have him ? I hate her ! I d know 
 but I could try to give him up if it wasn t to 
 her. But I can t ! I can t !" 
 
 She spoke as one does who has been long de 
 nied speech on a certain subject, and now the 
 words came in torrents, incoherent, sometimes 
 ambiguous, running into each other. 
 
 " She s ben after him agin. She s made him 
 believe she loves him. He says he can t seem 
 to help himself; he says he s mad for her; he 
 says it s like bein drunk. But he s tryin to do 
 right." 
 
 Thus, after her wild talk had calmed a little, 
 there seemed nothing for Rowena to say. She 
 was bewildered. She could only hold her friend 
 closely and wait.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 241 
 
 At last the stream of words ceased entirely. 
 Georgie lay still on Rowena s shoulder. She 
 was both exhausted and relieved. She fell 
 asleep. 
 
 The afternoon was almost gone when Rowena 
 had come. Now, as she sat there motionless, the 
 sun went down and the long spring twilight be 
 gan. The robins sang their evening song. The 
 sound of the frogs was louder than ever. She 
 grew stiff, and her limbs ached. When it was 
 very dusky in the room the door opened softly, 
 and Mrs. Warner looked in. Seeing that still 
 group she noiselessly closed the door and crept 
 down the stairs. 
 
 " I do hope Georgie s goin to be better," she 
 said to her husband as she stole about her even 
 ing work. " She s fast asleep with her head on 
 Roweny s shoulder." 
 
 " I do hope so, too," was the response. " It s 
 ben mighty hard on you. Sh ll I bring home 
 some herrin from the Corners ? I m goin to 
 hitch up n see bout them seed p taters." 
 
 Eunice and her mother continued to creep 
 about the lower rooms for a half hour longer. 
 
 At the end of that time Rowena came down 
 stairs for a glass of fresh water. 
 
 Georgie had wakened. She wanted Rowena 
 to stay all night with her. Would Eunice go 
 over and tell Mrs. Tuttle, so that nobody need 
 
 16
 
 242 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 to worry ? Whereupon that child started off on 
 a run to do her errand. 
 
 Mrs. Warner drew a bucket of water from the 
 well. As she dipped a tumbler in it she looked 
 wistfully at the girl before her. 
 
 " How do you think she is, Roweny ?" she 
 asked, in a whisper. 
 
 " I m too ignorant about sickness," answered 
 Rowena, " but it doesn t seem to me she is dan 
 gerously ill and yet she suffers." 
 
 Mrs. Warner set the glass by the sink instead 
 of giving it to her companion. There was in- 
 tensest curiosity as well as concern in her face 
 as she said, in a still lower whisper, 
 
 " She s got something on her mind, ain t she ?" 
 
 The girl hesitated. She resented the ques 
 tion ; but she thought she must give some an 
 swer to Georgie s mother. 
 
 " I m afraid she has," she said. 
 
 " There !" exclaimed Mrs. Warner, but still 
 whispering, " I told um it wa n t all humor, n 
 tain t. Is what she s got on her mind bout 
 Jim?" 
 
 "You must ask Georgie, Mrs. Warner." 
 
 The woman now remarked that she didn t see 
 how under the canopy it could be about Jim. 
 Jim was the best fellow in the world, n he d 
 ben near crazed cause Georgie was sick. She 
 did hope Georgie hadn t got any other feller in
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 243 
 
 her mind, looking sharply at Rowena as she said 
 these last words. The girl was thankful it was so 
 dark. She hurried back up the steep stairs with 
 the water. She helped Georgie take off the pink 
 wrapper and prepare for bed. She found her 
 friend to be pitiably weak and full of fancies, so 
 different from the sturdy, commonplace girl she 
 was when in health. 
 
 At last Rowena lay down beside her and held 
 the feverish hands closely. She was surprised 
 that Georgie soon dropped asleep. 
 
 But it was long before she herself could sleep. 
 Strange thoughts trooped with almost painful 
 vividness through her mind. Now that she was 
 alone she could recall the face and voice and 
 manner of the man who had ridden so many 
 miles by the side of the boat-cart that day. She 
 could think of Miss Phillipps. 
 
 She must go back next week. She must not 
 lose too much time before the long summer va 
 cation, when her lessons would cease and she 
 would be at home. She almost dreaded being 
 at home so long. Where would Miss Phillipps 
 spend the Summer? 
 
 Finally, long after the clock down-stairs had 
 struck twelve, she also fell asleep. 
 
 She was awakened while it was still dark by 
 a spasmodic clutch around her neck, and by 
 Georgie whispering shrilly:
 
 244 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 " I ll tell you what you must do you must 
 see her." 
 
 Rowena thought at first that her friend was 
 dreaming. She tried to soothe her. 
 
 " You jest promise you ll see her promise !" 
 persisted Georgie, " and don t you let no mortal 
 know it." 
 
 Rowena hesitated. She could guess very well 
 what person she was to see. But how could she 
 do it? 
 
 "Ain t you goin to promise?" asked Georgie. 
 " Don t you care nothin bout me ? I ve ben de- 
 pendin on ye. I thought you wouldn t fail me." 
 
 The girl s chest began to heave, and she began 
 to tremble. 
 
 " I ll see her," said Rowena. 
 
 " I want you to see her to-day this very day." 
 
 " I ll see her to-day if I can have father s 
 horse and wagon." 1 
 
 Georgie stopped trembling. 
 
 Rowena felt herself in a very humiliating po 
 sition, but she could not retreat. 
 
 " You must give me some idea of what I am 
 to say to her. If she is what you think, she won t 
 be agreeable." 
 
 Georgie replied in rather a strong voice : 
 
 " Tell her," she began, "tell her I m dyin 
 
 " But you are not." 
 
 " I be, too ! I guess I know when I m dyin .
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 245 
 
 And I want her to stop tryin to git Jim away 
 from me. If she stops her nasty, mean tricks 
 he ll git over it. I know he will. He told me 
 solemnly that he believed I was the best girl, 
 and would make him the best wife. He said 
 he wanted to throw off her influence, but he 
 couldn t seem to. Jim s real good, but he ain t 
 got so much resolution s some folks have ; he 
 ain t to blame for that." 
 
 Rowena was silent for so long a time that her 
 companion broke forth into a long-drawn whine. 
 Georgie Warner was completely unstrung with 
 the nervous strain and the slow fever which her 
 lover s conduct had induced. She had also learn 
 ed that the more she gave way the greater be 
 came the facilities for giving way. She had dis 
 covered what others had discovered before her, 
 that there is a strange, perverted kind of enjoy 
 ment in a "fit of the nerves." She was really ill ; 
 but not nearly so ill as she believed herself to be. 
 
 "What you so still for?" she asked, in her sharp 
 ly feeble voice. 
 
 "Georgie, don t do that don t do it," ex 
 claimed Rowena, earnestly. u Let Jim go, if he 
 must. You can t furnish him with resolution. 
 You ll despise yourself if you try to keep him 
 that way." 
 
 " Oh, dear me !" cried Georgie. " You said 
 you d see her! You said you would !"
 
 246 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 " I will. But I m ashamed to do it." 
 
 Georgie did not care; if her errand were done, 
 no matter what the cost to the doer of it. 
 
 She now began to hug her friend and to weep 
 softly. Notwithstanding this, Rowena could not 
 help remaining rather cold and impassive. 
 
 She made one more attempt to bring her friend 
 to reason. She tried to persuade her to wait un 
 til she was stronger, when she might look at the 
 matter differently. At this Georgie tossed about 
 violently, and protested that she should never get 
 stronger, never, until Mary Jane Jewett had been 
 seen and made to stop her nasty, mean tricks. 
 
 Rowena rose and dressed. She wanted all the 
 time she could have to herself before she should 
 seek Miss Jewett. She had not the remotest 
 idea as to how she should state the case. 
 
 As she walked along the solitary road, now 
 flooded with the level, new rays of the sun, she 
 made a resolution which she felt was rash. She 
 would see Mary Jane Jewett ; but she would 
 see Jim Townshend first. That man s winning 
 face, with its indeterminate mouth and chin, came 
 very strongly before her. 
 
 When she came within sight of her home she 
 saw the terrier nosing about in the yard. Her 
 father walked across to the barn, a milk-pail in 
 each hand. A thick smoke was going straight 
 up from the immense mouth of the old chimney.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 247 
 
 Now Marmaduke saw her and raced furiously 
 towards her. She caught him joyfully in her 
 arms. The sight of him rested her; and his pres 
 ence also brought pictures of her Boston iife. Had 
 she really lived that life, and known Miss Phil- 
 lipps and Mr. Bradford ? How very odd it was 
 that Mr. Bradford should have happened to come 
 out with her yesterday ! She remembered now 
 that she had not mentioned this fact, even to her 
 mother. Was it because she had forgotten it? 
 Doubtless he was already starting back to Bos 
 ton. It was pleasant to know him, he was so 
 much like his cousin in many ways. 
 
 At breakfast Rowena announced that she had 
 an errand to do for Georgie. She should need 
 the horse perhaps all the forenoon. 
 
 Mrs. Tuttle inquired with the keenest curiosity 
 if Rowena thought Georgie Warner had anything 
 on her mind. She said she was sure she didn t 
 know why it had got round so that Georgie had 
 something on her mind, when Jim Townshend 
 was so attentive. It was perfectly evident that 
 it was not thought for a moment that a young 
 woman could have anything on her mind unless 
 this thing were connected with some past or 
 present or possible lover. Rowena replied that 
 she thought Georgie was rather worried about 
 some matters. Mrs. Tuttle knew her daughter s 
 face too well to press her question.
 
 248 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Rowena took her place on the narrow seat in 
 the covered wagon. She gathered up the worn 
 leather lines, and the old gray horse walked out 
 of the yard. At this moment it seemed to her 
 as if she had never been away. As she turned 
 the corner on the road that led towards Middle 
 Village, and by the Townshend farm, she won 
 dered if Mr. Bradford would really call on his 
 way to Boston. Perhaps she ought to have 
 warned her mother of the possibility of such a 
 call. Then she forgot Mr. Bradford, and, for the 
 moment, her disagreeable errand, in the beauty 
 of the hills and vales before her. Their loveli 
 ness penetrated with a subtle exhilaration. 
 
 The horse walked on unheeded. The girl s 
 eyes and soul drank in the enchanting vistas 
 where tints of green and gray, and all the colors 
 of unfolding leaves, stretched away in every di 
 rection. 
 
 " Oh !" she murmured, in a kind of ecstasy, " I 
 can paint all this ! I must ! I will !" 
 
 She forgot where she was going. When the 
 horse stopped to bite off the top leaves from a 
 scrub-oak she did not notice. She was leaning 
 forward ; she was setting up her palette ; the 
 canvas was before her. The high light should 
 come just there, then the shadows. 
 
 The horse did not care where the high light 
 would come. There were some tender leaves
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 249 
 
 just over the wall. He pulled forward to reach 
 them. The two right wheels of the " bedroom " 
 lurched and strained, and finally rose up on some 
 large stones. It was too much for the ancient 
 axle. It snapped ; so did something in the front 
 wheel. Then the front wheel collapsed, and Ro- 
 wena stopped thinking about how she would 
 paint the scene before her. She slipped down 
 from her seat onto the ground. As soon as she 
 could she hurried to the horse s head, fearing he 
 might have a fancy to go on. She had forgotten 
 that the gray never had a fancy to go on. He 
 looked round benignly at her and continued to 
 eat twigs.
 
 250 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 THE EPISODE OF MARY JANE JEWETT. 
 
 THE girl and the horse and wagon were on a 
 hill nearly two miles from any house. It was 
 not a convenient place for a wheel to collapse. 
 It was hardly a convenient place for anything, 
 save fresh air and scenery. 
 
 Having recalled the fact that the horse would 
 be the last to make any kind of a movement, 
 Rowena stopped holding his bridle and stumbled 
 back over the stones to the road. 
 
 She sat down on a rock to think for a few 
 moments. The road was not much travelled ; 
 she might wait there for half a day before any 
 one came. But it was a very lovely place. Be 
 fore she knew it her artist eyes were again ab 
 sorbed in gazing. She made an effort and roused 
 herself. She walked round the turnout. She 
 wished Marmaduke were with her. Things were 
 always so much more cheerful where Marmaduke 
 was. It was very vexatious. There was nothing 
 for it but to go back home. She had ridden 
 bareback as a child, but later she had an old
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 251 
 
 side-saddle. She must try bareback again. She 
 went up a few rods to the very summit of the 
 hill. She looked both ways along the road. It 
 wound on beneath the clear blue of the sky. 
 Nobody was in sight. 
 
 "Yes," said Rowena, aloud, "I shall have to 
 ride the old gray home." 
 
 Instead of unharnessing the animal directly, 
 however, she fell again to gazing about her. She 
 had been shut up in Boston for so long she had 
 half forgotten the vigorous, bounding sweep of 
 the country. 
 
 Finally she began to take the tugs from the 
 whiffletree. It was hard work to pull them from 
 the hooks in the position now occupied by the 
 wagon. 
 
 Rowena s hat fell off, and she began to grow 
 red and to pant. 
 
 She did not see a narrow, dingy-top buggy 
 reach the brow of the hill and then come slowly 
 towards her. The buggy stopped, and the horse 
 attached reached its head far out and tossed it 
 up and down, trying to get at the road-side grass. 
 
 " I guess something s happened to your ex. 
 ain t there ?" asked a voice. 
 
 Rowena stopped pulling on the strap so sud 
 denly that she nearly fell over. 
 
 The occupant of the buggy got lightly out of 
 it and walked to the other side of the old gray.
 
 2$2 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 "Let s get this tug out first, and then the oth 
 er 11 have a chance to give a little," she said. 
 
 This person was a young woman, rather large 
 and rather plump. She had a somewhat coarse- 
 featured, handsome face, with immense black 
 eyes under heavy brows. She spoke in a good- 
 humored voice, and she put her red, strong hands 
 very effectively upon the strap and unfastened it 
 from the whiffletree. She had judged rightly. 
 Rowena was now enabled to release the tug on 
 her side. The two girls worked together until 
 the horse was free and Rowena had led him out 
 into the middle of the road. 
 
 " I guess that wagon ain t wuth mendin , is it?" 
 asked the stranger; then she said, more quickly, 
 " Why, it s the old gray Tuttle hoss, ain t it ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Rowena. 
 
 The girl looked full at Rowena an instant now. 
 She smiled, showing white, even teeth. 
 
 " Then you must be Rovveny Tuttle." 
 
 " Yes, I am. And you are Mary Jane Jewett, 
 aren t you ?" 
 
 " Of course. But how d you come to know 
 me, I sh d like to know?" 
 
 She was evidently much interested in this girl, 
 who would go to Boston to learn to paint when 
 she might have received instruction of a woman 
 who came to Middle Village for the express pur 
 pose of giving lessons.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 253 
 
 "I ve seen you once at an evening meeting," 
 said Rowena, rather stiffly, " and I saw you at 
 a picnic last summer with James Townshend." 
 
 Miss Jewett laughed. 
 
 "Yes, I ve been round with Jim consid able. 
 I c n generally find some feller to go round with 
 me. Hadn t you better git right in n lemme 
 take you home ? You c n hitch the hoss on 
 behind. Twon t be no trouble to me; not a 
 speck." 
 
 Miss Jewett had looked Rowena over. As 
 she spoke she had decided to ask her for a pat 
 tern of her dress. She did not know what there 
 was about it, but it just suited her. She didn t 
 believe Martha S. cut it, " never in the world." 
 
 Rowena stood for a moment leaning against 
 her horse. She asked herself if Providence were 
 not aiding her to an interview with Mary Jane 
 Jewett. She must go with her. She cast a side- 
 glance at the girl as she stood there waiting. 
 There was something in that personality so thor 
 oughly antagonistic to her that Rowena s anger 
 rose high against Georgie Warner for having 
 placed her in such a position. 
 
 " You are very kind," said Rowena, even more 
 stiffly than she had yet spoken. " I shall be glad 
 to go with you." 
 
 She tied the gray horse by a rein to the axle 
 of the buggy behind. She stepped up and sat
 
 254 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 down on the seat. As Miss Jewett put her foot 
 on the step she gave a short laugh and said that 
 she had seen folks before that had swallowed 
 ramrods and had um stick in their backs. 
 
 Miss Jewett had felt very kindly and very help 
 ful when she had arrived upon the scene. She 
 had been favorably impressed also by Hiram Tut- 
 tle s daughter. She resented Rowena s manner. 
 Rowena knew it, and thought she did not have 
 it in her power to try to conciliate her com 
 panion. 
 
 The two drove on in silence. Suddenly the 
 silence was broken by Rowena s saying, desper 
 ately, 
 
 " I was on my way to see you." 
 
 Miss Jewett stared. 
 
 "The land!" she cried. "You don t mean it! 
 Well, I am beat." 
 
 "Yes," went on Rowena, hurriedly, "I wanted 
 to see you about about Georgie Warner." 
 
 Rowena blushed uncomfortably as she said 
 this. She added that Georgie was a dear friend 
 of hers. 
 
 Mary Jane Jewett had turned, and was looking 
 squarely and unblinkingly at the speaker. There 
 was a hint of a smile on the large mouth, and a 
 malicious amusement in the black eyes. 
 
 "Well," she said, " I m a listenin ." 
 
 " Mr. Townshend is engaged to Georgie," said
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 255 
 
 Rowena, now beginning to feel so actively hostile 
 that she was ready to fight. 
 
 "I want to know!" responded Miss Jewett. 
 "Is she a holdin on to him yet? I guess she 
 finds him kinder slippery, don t she?" 
 
 Rowena turned savagely upon the other. Her 
 eyes burned ; her voice trembled with fury. 
 
 " Do you think it honorable to try to get a 
 poor sick girl s lover away from her?" 
 
 " It don t take much tryin , you d better be 
 lieve," was the answer. 
 
 " But you do try. If you hadn t tried he 
 wouldn t have gone back to you again. You 
 know that. It isn t fair. It s mean ; and she ill 
 and half crazed just with this trouble about him. 
 And she loves him so !" 
 
 Rowena paused, nearly breathless. She did not 
 know why the vivid picture of Georgie lying in 
 that little, close room all at once removed all her 
 anger. With one of the sudden transitions which 
 were characteristic of her she bent near the girl 
 beside her. She put her bare hand on the bare 
 hands that were holding the lines. 
 
 " Don t do it ! Don t do it !" she said, so soft 
 ly and pleadingly that Miss Jewett, who had been 
 " real mad," as she would have said, a moment 
 ago, was now conscious of an unaccountable re 
 vulsion of feeling. 
 
 Rowena s hand pressed upon hers. Perhaps
 
 256 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Miss Phillipps could have analyzed what there 
 was in Rowena s touch, and often in her glance, 
 that so won upon people. Whatever it was it 
 had its effect now. 
 
 Miss Jewett met Rowena s eyes. Her face 
 changed. 
 
 " I declare," she cried ; " what makes you care 
 so much? I shouldn t think she d care neither 
 for a fellew that was bewitched with somebody 
 else. N Jim is jest bewitched bout me, n 
 that s a fact." 
 
 The girl laughed, but not too triumphantly. 
 
 She withdrew one hand and placed it on Ro 
 wena s with a strong pressure. 
 
 " You wouldn t want to keep a beau that way, 
 would ye, now ?" she asked. 
 
 Rowena recoiled. 
 
 " No," she said ; " but Georgie is ill and weak, 
 and so unhappy. Do you care for him ?" 
 
 " Oh, land, no ; not particular, you know. It s 
 amusin , though, to keep him on. N I like him 
 first-rate. Is she really sick?" with interest. 
 
 "Yes, really." 
 
 Miss Jewett laughed again. 
 
 " Odd, ain t it, that any one should git real 
 sick about Jim Townshend ? There ain t a man 
 on the face of the earth wuth gettin sick about." 
 
 The idea seemed to amuse Miss Jewett great 
 ly. She shook her broad shoulders and broke
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 257 
 
 into a loud laugh. Then she said, apologetically, 
 that " she was laughin at what she was thinkin 
 on." 
 
 Nothing at this juncture occurring to Rowena 
 to say, she said nothing. She knew that she 
 could do very little more. She began to wonder 
 why her companion continued to laugh. She 
 was not quite so disagreeable now as she had 
 been at first. 
 
 " I s pose Jim s hangin round there, ain t he?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I thought s likely s not. He s hangin round 
 me, too. Betwixt Miss Warner n me it s a won 
 der how he gits a chance to do his work, ain t 
 it?" 
 
 More laughter. 
 
 At last Mary Jane became somewhat com 
 posed. She turned round on the circumscribed 
 buggy seat that she might face Rowena. 
 
 " I m sure I don t know what there is about 
 you, Miss Tuttle," she began, with broad frank 
 ness, " but I was mad nough a few minutes ago 
 to throw you out of the buggy, n now I ain t 
 mad a bit. I kinder like you. N I wish I knew 
 how you git such a fit on your dress. Have you 
 got a pattern ?" 
 
 She seemed disappointed when she learned 
 there was no pattern. 
 
 Rowena was now very much depressed. She 
 17
 
 258 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 felt that she had accomplished nothing ; and still 
 there was hope lurking in her heart. 
 
 Miss Jewett spent a short time in urging the 
 horse and remonstrating with it, with no effect 
 whatever. Then she sat back. 
 
 " Now I m goin to tell ye something; it s a 
 secret. I ain t even told mar yet. It s some 
 thing Georgie Warner 11 give her ears to hear. 
 You may tell her, but you needn t lisp it to an 
 other soul. Promise me you won t." 
 
 " No, I won t." 
 
 " Well, then, I m ingaged." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 Rowena could say no more. She felt a great 
 load lifted from her heart. She already pictured 
 herself as giving the good news to Georgie. 
 
 " I s pose you don t know him. It s Charley 
 Simmons. He s got er place in a grocery store 
 in Borston, V we expect to be married in the 
 fall, V I sh ll live in Borston! Mebby it ll be 
 near you." 
 
 The glow of exultation and satisfaction on 
 Miss Jewett s face was superlative. 
 
 "Will you tell Mr. Townshend?" 
 
 "Won t he be cut up, though ?" responded Miss 
 Jewett. 
 
 "Will you tell him?" persisted Rowena, almost 
 feverishly. 
 
 " Oh yes ; of course I will."
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 259 
 
 " The first time you see him ?" 
 
 " How you go on ! Yes, I will. That s a prom 
 ise ; n I ll keep it, too. But there couldn t any 
 body else have made me do it, I tell you." 
 
 " Thank you thank you, so much !" said Ro- 
 wena, warmly. 
 
 " Mebby you ll jest kiss me for that," said Miss 
 Jewett, almost shyly, and coloring faintly as she 
 spoke. 
 
 "Now we re real friendly, ain t we?" she re 
 marked, after the kiss had been given. " You 
 jest tell Georgie Warner I wouldn t have done it 
 for anybody but you. She s a bright one to send 
 you." 
 
 Miss Jewett went on talking in the same start- 
 lingly frank manner. She was telling some pe 
 culiarities of an admirer who had threatened to 
 kill himself unless she " had him," when she in 
 terrupted her recital to exclaim : 
 
 "Mercy! Who is that, anyway? Ain t he 
 jest got up fit to kill, and no mistake ? Did you 
 ever see anything beat that little dorg he s 
 got?" 
 
 Coming slowly up the hill down which Miss 
 Jewett s horse was walking, with the old gray 
 stumbling behind, was a man on horseback. Of 
 course, it was Keats Bradford. Sitting quite 
 calmly in front of him, just as if one hind leg 
 were not held lest he might fall, was Marma-
 
 260 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 duke, surveying the landscape with approving 
 eyes. 
 
 Mr. Bradford was not looking to find Rowena 
 in this buggy with a companion. He was in pur 
 suit of the covered wagon and the gray horse. 
 He was very near the two before he looked at 
 them with any interest. Then his face lightened 
 brilliantly. He stopped his horse and, lifting his 
 cap, said : 
 
 " Miss Tuttle, Marmaduke knew you before I 
 did. Will you have him ? He was happy with 
 me until he saw you." 
 
 The terrier was wriggling with joy. With very 
 small aid he leaped from the saddle into Rowe- 
 na s arms. 
 
 Miss Jewett was staring with undisguised in 
 terest and admiration. She was absolutely sure 
 that she had never seen leather leggings like these 
 now before her. Her never-sleeping instinct of 
 coquetry became instantly active. Her opinion 
 of Rowena rose still higher. She could not help 
 respecting a girl who knew a man who had such 
 leggings, who had a glass in his eye, or rather 
 dangling from a cord, and who could take off his 
 cap with such a manner as that. This was no 
 common beau. Charley Simmons seemed, for the 
 moment, to recede very far into the background. 
 
 Bradford had turned his horse, and the animal 
 was now walking by the side of the carriage.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 261 
 
 " I called at your home, Miss Tuttle," he said. 
 " Your mother told me in which direction you 
 had gone. Marmaduke was frantic to come with 
 me. If we intrude, send us away." 
 
 The young man s face was radiant. There was 
 no more any languor on it. He had gone to sleep 
 the night before with the resolution to see Miss 
 Tuttle at every possible moment. The carrying 
 out of this resolution was already as full of en 
 joyment as he had anticipated it would be. He 
 now looked down at the girl with a reckless 
 pleasure in his eyes. He felt that he would not 
 deny himself a single glance. 
 
 Miss Jewett s shrewd observation was upon 
 him. She was fully capable of interpreting the 
 expression on the man s face. 
 
 She changed her mind about exercising any 
 of her arts upon him. She did not wish to waste 
 any ammunition. But she pushed a powerful el 
 bow against Rowena, and whispered : 
 
 " Do introduce him !" 
 
 Rowena obeyed. Bradford could be polite, 
 but he thought it was time lost to look long at 
 any other face when he might see Rowena. He 
 was gratefully aware that his cousin Vanessa was 
 a good many miles away, and that she did not 
 know where he was at this moment. 
 
 He did not know that she had the slightest 
 influence upon him, but he did know that she
 
 262 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 knew him almost as well as he knew himself. 
 And there are occasions in life when the absence 
 of such a person is desirable. 
 
 There was a bitterness in his thoughts of his 
 cousin that was very like the bitterness of jeal 
 ousy. Later, he acted under a different feeling. 
 
 Perhaps this was the first time that Mary Jane 
 Jewett had, since she was grown, been in the 
 company of a gentleman and not been first in 
 his eyes. She was one of those women who 
 seem to change in manner and looks the mo 
 ment a man appears. But now she came nearer 
 effacing herself than she had ever come before. 
 She watched the two ; she had a sharp curiosity 
 to know Rowena s attitude towards this man, and 
 she was wise in such matters. But she could 
 not decide. The girl was unaffectedly glad to 
 see Mr. Bradford ; her eyes shone at him ; some 
 times she blushed beneath his look. She laugh 
 ed gayly ; she talked with a naive freedom ; or 
 she was sometimes silent. 
 
 "Well, I am beat," said Miss Jewett more than 
 once to herself during the next quarter of an 
 hour. 
 
 When she parted from the two at a corner 
 near the Tuttle place she sat a moment watching 
 them. 
 
 Bradford was leading his horse and the old 
 gray. He was walking between the two ani-
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 263 
 
 mals. Rowena and the terrier were strolling 
 behind. 
 
 Rowena turned and waved her hand. She 
 cried out, joyously, 
 
 11 1 shall go right and tell Georgie !" 
 
 " Go ahead !" shouted Miss Jewett. " I ll keep 
 my promise." 
 
 And now she saw Rowena hurry forward. She 
 left Bradford far behind, the dog caracoling about 
 her. 
 
 Mary Jane Jewett, as she went on her way, 
 told herself that this was the first girl she had 
 ever seen that wa n t as flat as dish-water. Girls 
 was usually so uninterestin it wa n t no use 
 spendin time with um. It wa n t cause that 
 Tuttle girl had said anything bright, either ; she 
 didn t know what twas. 
 
 Keats Bradford did not know what it was, 
 either, and he was not in the mood to analyze. 
 He remained most fully in the mood to let him 
 self go. 
 
 He put up the old gray in the barn and hitched 
 his own horse, while Rowena hastened over to 
 Georgie Warner s with her good news. She 
 would not let him go with her. He went in the 
 house and sat in the kitchen, while Mrs. Tuttle 
 was frying doughnuts. He successfully concealed 
 his great surprise when he discovered that Mrs. 
 Tuttle called these fried cakes " sim-balls." He
 
 264 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 had never heard that word before, and it affected 
 him almost to the verge of hysteria. He ate a 
 sim-ball and was able to thank the giver of it. 
 When Rowena returned she also ate a doughnut. 
 While partaking of this lunch she asked Mr. 
 Bradford what her mother had called this food, 
 putting the question as simply as a child would 
 have done. 
 
 When he had gravely replied, she looked at 
 her mother fondly as she said : 
 
 " I ve been trying to teach mother not to call 
 these cakes that way. There s something so ri 
 diculous in that word, don t you think? There 
 was a piece in our old reading-book which we 
 children always thought meant doughnuts. I 
 shall never forget when Georgie Warner stood 
 up one examination day and began, Heaven 
 hung no symbol there. She said sim-ball. I ve 
 always believed that the committeemen didn t 
 know the difference. We don t know as much 
 in this deestrict as we do in Borston, Mr. Brad 
 ford." 
 
 Her eyes sparkled as she looked at Bradford. 
 He felt a most idiotic gladness that he had al 
 ready eaten two sim-balls. 
 
 Perhaps you do not believe that a man who 
 was born and reared in Boston, who has spent 
 more than a year in London, don t you know ; 
 who tries to wear a monocle, and who says " weal-
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 265 
 
 ly," could be as much in love as another man 
 without such advantages. 
 
 But Keats Bradford was capable of being ex 
 tremely in love. At this present time he is liv 
 ing most thoroughly up to his capabilities. He 
 has reached that stage when he acknowledges 
 this to be the truth.
 
 266 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 ON LOVE. 
 
 WHEN a Boston Brahmin falls in love the 
 spectacle presented to the outer world must be 
 very impressive. 
 
 Keats Bradford, however, was not thinking at 
 all of the spectacle he presented. It did not 
 seem to him that he was thinking anything ; he 
 was only feeling. But he was man of the world 
 enough to be able to offer a sane front to people 
 whom he met. 
 
 He had to go back to Boston on the third day 
 after his arrival in Middle Village. He was now 
 capable of the bravado of calling upon his cousin 
 Vanessa. She was not alone. There was with 
 her a gentleman of imposing appearance, and 
 large, clean-shaven face. He was introduced as 
 Professor Vacci, the great hypnotist. He seemed 
 hardly to sec Mr. Bradford, save in the general, 
 comprehensive view which took him in as a speck 
 in the field of vision. 
 
 Incidentally, there was present also Madame 
 Vacci, the professor s wife, and she appeared to
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 267 
 
 be a still smaller speck in the outlook taken by 
 her husband. 
 
 The two guests were standing, and apparently 
 about to go. Miss Phillipps was greatly inter 
 ested in what had been said. Her face was vivid 
 ly animated. 
 
 When her guests had departed she turned to 
 her cousin. 
 
 " Keats, you ought to have been here. The 
 professor was superb. You should have seen the 
 sudden and wonderfully complete way in which 
 he gained control of his wife." 
 
 " Oh, I can believe that easily enough." 
 
 " Don t scoff. I do hate to have any one scoff 
 in the presence of science." 
 
 "I came not here to scoff," said the young 
 man, sitting down and taking up a book. " Nev 
 ertheless, I would challenge that man to hypno 
 tize me or you." 
 
 Miss Phillipps was walking back and forth in 
 the room. She was absorbed. Mr. Bradford 
 presently looked at his watch. 
 
 He had an hour to spare before he need go to 
 his rooms preparatory to returning to Middle 
 Village that afternoon. 
 
 He laid down his book. 
 
 " I am going to wait here sixty minutes, Va 
 nessa," he said. " If you come to before the 
 end of that time I shall be very glad."
 
 268 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 He crossed his legs. His attitude was very 
 calm. Nevertheless there was a life and excite 
 ment in his face that made it possible that he 
 might say some very strange things. 
 
 Miss Phillipps continued to walk. 
 
 "You know I ve never really looked into this ; 
 it is a vast subject. This and telepathy appear 
 to me kindred ; I have an idea but I cannot 
 give the thing real attention until after the the- 
 osophy session. You know Mrs. Besant is com 
 ing. I am going to preside at one of the meet 
 ings; I want to make a little speech. I want 
 that bold spirit to be welcomed properly. We 
 Boston women owe her a great deal. You heard 
 her in London, didn t you, Keats?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Miss Phillipps casually looked at her cousin as 
 she asked this question. The casual look was ar 
 rested and changed from vagueness to keenness. 
 She stood still in front of him. 
 
 " Where have you been ? What has happened 
 to you ?" she asked, imperatively. 
 
 " So glad you have come to, " said Bradford. 
 
 He rose also. He stood up before her. He 
 was smiling absently. 
 
 She took him by the arm and turned him more 
 towards the light, scrutinizing him in silence. 
 
 " Does any one of your sciences tell what has 
 happened to me?" he inquired.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 269 
 
 " I know you rather well, Keats," she said, still 
 keeping her hand on his arm, and her eyes upon 
 him. " I think, yes, I am almost positive, that 
 you are in love. Are you ?" Now looking at 
 him in a wondering way, as if he were under the 
 dominion of some miraculous power which she 
 had not yet thorougly studied and classified. 
 
 The man moved suddenly away, and in his 
 turn began walking back and forth. 
 
 " I want you to do me a great favor, Vanessa/ 
 he said, earnestly. 
 
 " Haven t I always been willing to do you fa 
 vors ? 
 
 "Yes, yes. I don t think you ll find this very 
 difficult." 
 
 Still he hesitated. He could not quite define 
 the expression in his cousin s face. 
 
 "I am waiting." 
 
 " Do you think Miss Tuttle ought to live in that 
 Hudson Street place?" suddenly asked Bradford. 
 
 "Miss Tuttle? Oh!" 
 
 There was so much meaning in that exclama 
 tion that the young man reddened slightly. 
 
 " I cannot prevent her living there," remarked 
 Miss Phillipps. " She is a proud girl. I cannot 
 say to her, Let me support you in some more 
 fitting locality. " 
 
 There was an accuracy about this utterance 
 that almost made it sound cold.
 
 270 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 " I don t expect you to say that," said the man. 
 " I only wanted to suggest that you invite her 
 here for a visit. I dislike to think of her on Hud 
 son Street. She is coming back. She is going to 
 keep on with her work until summer. You will 
 not leave here at present you said " 
 
 Here that indefinable something in the wom 
 an s face became so marked that Bradford stop 
 ped abruptly. 
 
 " It will be pleasanter for you to visit Miss 
 Tuttle here, you think?" Miss Phillipps said. 
 
 "Pleasanter for me? I was not thinking of 
 myself. I can stand Hudson Street. Pardon 
 me, Vanessa. I ought not to ask so much of 
 you. I suppose you have wecovered from what 
 fancy you had for Miss Tuttle. Perhaps the 
 fancy is transferred to Pwofessor Vacci, or is 
 awaiting the pwesence of Mrs. Besant. I only 
 hope Miss Tuttle will not be too much wounded. 
 She loves you." 
 
 There was something in the speaker s voice as 
 he pronounced those last words, or in the words 
 themselves, that made Miss Phillipps s face trem 
 ulous for an instant. She turned away. Thus 
 removed from her companion s eyes she asked, 
 quite steadily, 
 
 " Does she love you ?" 
 
 " I don t know." 
 
 Bradford made a movement towards the door.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 271 
 
 In spite of all his knowledge of his cousin, he 
 was puzzled and indignant. 
 
 " I will ask her here. I will write to her to 
 day." 
 
 Miss Phillipps came forward now to her cous 
 in s side. She held out her hand. 
 
 " It is too early to congratulate you," she said, 
 cordially. 
 
 " You are weally kind, Vanessa," exclaimed 
 Bradford, eagerly. " But don t do this if it in 
 terferes with any plans. You see, I was hoping 
 you still cared for her. Oh, don t hurt her by 
 coldness when you see her !" 
 
 " Indeed, Keats, what kind of a wild beast do 
 you think I am ? Now go ; tell her no, I will 
 write. Good-bye. I am due at the Christian 
 Science in a quarter of an hour." 
 
 Bradford left the room. Miss Phillipps heard 
 him leave the house. She lingered a moment. 
 She looked at some tablets she drew from her 
 pocket. She wrote a few words on them, then 
 gazed at the words as if she could not see them. 
 
 That afternoon when Bradford went out to 
 Middle Village he went again on horseback. He 
 was not going to tell Rowena that he had been 
 to Boston and had seen Miss Phillipps. 
 
 He was a good walker. He could travel easi 
 ly the miles which separated the hotel from the 
 Tuttle farm, and still reach that place by twi-
 
 272 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 light. He laughed at his own impatience, while 
 he greatly enjoyed it. He swung rapidly for 
 ward. He wondered if the girl would be out-of- 
 doors would she be standing or sitting when he 
 first saw her? Would her eyes become radiant 
 in that enchanting way they had ? Would she 
 smile? or have that serious look which, per 
 haps, was sweeter than a smile ? Was it sweet 
 er, after all ? Her very simplicity perplexed him. 
 What did she think when she met his glance with 
 those clear eyes ? and when she flushed 
 
 You perceive that Mr. Bradford s mind was 
 very much occupied as he walked over from 
 Middle Village. 
 
 He hoped the Tuttles would have had their 
 supper. He wondered if they had "Johnny cake " 
 and milk and herring every night in the year. 
 He had survived seeing Rowena partake of that 
 fare. He had even partaken of it with her and 
 found it delicious. But when removed from her 
 presence he could not honestly say he liked the 
 odor of herring. He did not know that this 
 fish was only eaten for a certain time in the 
 spring. 
 
 It was not a lover s fancy that made it seem as 
 if Rowena were possessed of a simple and entirely 
 unconscious dignity that enabled her to do what 
 others could not do in the same way. 
 
 Bradford was within a couple of miles of the
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 273 
 
 Tuttle farm. He was thinking of trying a cut 
 across a pasture, when he saw a pair of horses 
 attached to a light wagon coming briskly along 
 the road. 
 
 He thought he heard a shrill bark proceed from 
 the carriage. He hesitated, leaning on the fence 
 he had been going to jump. 
 
 Now he saw that the occupants of the wagon 
 were Rowena, with Marmaduke standing on her 
 lap and barking at him in great excitement, and 
 a young man whom Bradford recognized as the 
 one whom he had seen at the theatre with Miss 
 Tuttle. It was Philip Barrett, who now stared at 
 him as he went by. Rowena returned Bradford s 
 greeting in a manner that he could not dislike. 
 The dust flew round him from the turnout. He 
 felt ignored and slighted. It had not once oc 
 curred to him that Rowena might have some 
 other employment than that of being ready to 
 receive him when he came. He was furious. His 
 imagination had not gone so far as this. He 
 struck his stick violently against the post. I am 
 almost afraid he swore. He felt as if a bucket of 
 cold water had been flung in his face. He could 
 not tell himself at first that it might be only a 
 natural thing that Miss Tuttle should go out 
 driving with an old acquaintance. 
 
 But Bradford was possessed of perception 
 enough to discover that Barrett was not a mere 
 
 18
 
 274 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 acquaintance. He remembered the fellow s face 
 at the theatre. 
 
 " Here s Philup, Roweny," Mrs. Tuttle had 
 said while the family were at the supper-table. 
 " I guess he s come to take you out. There ain t 
 no better feller n Philup. Of course you ll go." 
 
 And Rowena went. But she took Marmaduke. 
 The terrier had a way of barking or of suddenly 
 rising to lick her face that might be very exas 
 perating to her companion, but that she found 
 to be protective and comforting. Marmaduke 
 generally desired to caress her at the most inop 
 portune moment, in the eyes of some one else. 
 
 Young Barrett, well as he liked dogs, could 
 have found it in his heart to fling this small spec 
 imen over the wheel before the first mile had 
 been passed over. But he tried to control him 
 self. He had come over filled with a desperate 
 resolution. Everybody was talking about that 
 " city feller " that had come out " from Borston " 
 and who was hanging round Roweny Tuttle. Of 
 course she would take up with him ; and who 
 knew anything about him, anyway? He might 
 be a gambler. 
 
 That very morning Philip s mother had talked 
 all breakfast-time on the subject. She said "Ro 
 weny was actin shameful. She guessed Philip 
 wouldn t write any more letters to a girl like that, 
 she wa n t deservin of such letters."
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 275 
 
 At last the long-suffering Philip had risen from 
 the table. He stood a moment looking fiercely 
 at his mother. 
 
 " If you ever speak like that agin bout Ro- 
 weny, I ll clear out. She couldn t do anything 
 shameful. I mean what I say." 
 
 He had then gone to the barn, leaving his 
 mother cowering. She was sickeningly subser 
 vient all the rest of the day. She made no re 
 mark when her son appeared towards night in 
 that suit he had bought before he went to Bos 
 ton. Yes, it is true that he arrayed himself in 
 those garments, and that no intuition told him 
 not to do so. 
 
 When the horses were hitched to the carriage 
 he walked into the kitchen where his mother was 
 just taking the herring from the oven. 
 
 " I sha n t want any supper," he said. He 
 stood with the door in his hand. " I m goin 
 over to ask Roweny to marry me," he continued, 
 "and I want you to understand that if she don t, 
 tain t no fault of hern. Tain t no crime not to 
 want to marry me." 
 
 Mrs. Barrett opened her lips to speak, but she 
 did not quite dare to say the words that came to 
 her. 
 
 It was in this resolved condition of mind that 
 Philip drove over to the Tuttle house. His mood 
 was such that really it did seem a pity that Ro-
 
 276 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 wena should assume that Marmaduke was in 
 cluded in the invitation. But there sat the ter 
 rier perched on the girl s knee, and he kept such 
 a very sharp watch that Philip almost began to 
 think that the dog knew the whole state of 
 affairs. 
 
 Every time the young man turned particularly 
 towards his companion he met the terrier s bright 
 eyes, or the terrier would give a lurch and a bark, 
 and immediately absorb Rowena s entire atten 
 tion. 
 
 This party had not driven many rods before 
 the girl had divined Philip s intention. Indeed, 
 it required no particular power to divine this, for 
 in some inexplicable way Philip s present deter 
 mination was written boldly all over him, even 
 in the creases of those dreadful clothes. 
 
 Rowena tried to converse on topics quite for 
 eign to anything in her companion s mind. Each 
 attempt was very much like throwing a stone 
 into an extremely deep well ; you suppose the 
 stone reaches the water, but you cannot see nor 
 hear anything to hint that it does. 
 
 Finally, in despair, Rowena became silent. She 
 was now convinced that she could do nothing 
 towards averting the inevitable. 
 
 With all his will and nerve, poor Philip from 
 moment to moment put off the fatal question. 
 He grew more and more depressed and silent.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 277 
 
 With the cruelty with which fate seems to like 
 to afflict a man, never had he thought Rowena 
 so entirely what he longed for as now. 
 
 He had been a blind fool to think of her. Use 
 less to tell himself that. He had thought of her 
 and loved her ever since he was a boy. If he 
 could not drag Rowena Tuttle home from school 
 on his sled on winter afternoons he would not 
 have anybody. But he usually could take her. 
 She had always liked him ; surely she had always 
 liked him. And in those days there had been 
 few competitors. He had almost considered it a 
 settled thing. 
 
 But now, now her life appeared to branch out 
 far away from his. 
 
 Philip took a long, deep breath. He turned 
 towards Rowena. 
 
 Marmaduke immediately was seized with an 
 irresistible desire to caress his mistress. 
 
 Philip grew red, then nearly purple. 
 
 " I do almost wish that terrier hadn t come," 
 he said. 
 
 " But I can t go anywhere without Marma 
 duke," responded the girl, effusively. 
 
 "I was going to say," continued Philip, "that 
 it s a mighty pity you ever went to Borston, I 
 think. You can t live in a thick-settled place n 
 be jest the same ; you can t do it." 
 
 He returned thus to this old conclusion of his.
 
 278 ROVVENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 " I m just the same," said Rowena, with quiet 
 emphasis. 
 
 " No you ain t, either," he cried. " You ain t. 
 You re all taken up with that paintin notion of 
 your n ; you re " 
 
 "Yes," interrupted Rowena, "I am all taken up 
 with it ; I shall always be taken up with it ; I 
 love it beyond words. I don t know as I should 
 want to live if I thought I couldn t work at paint 
 ing, and try to do better and better work. Do 
 you understand me, Philip ?" 
 
 She turned to him with beseeching eyes. 
 
 But if he understood, he would not own that 
 he did so. He would rush to his fate. He 
 thought that a fellow never was exactly sure how 
 to know what a woman meant. He believed that 
 the only manly way to put things beyond a doubt 
 was to ask her. 
 
 But his heart sank very low. The terrier con 
 siderately remained quiet for an instant. But 
 one never knows precisely how long a Yorkshire 
 may continue to be considerate. 
 
 Philip met Rowena s eyes with such a look 
 that her own dropped, and she had a wild feeling 
 that perhaps she pitied him almost enough to 
 love him. 
 
 But she did not love him. She would certainly 
 know it if she did. Miss Phillipps s assertion 
 that we know nothing positively in these days
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 279 
 
 came back to her, and with that memory came 
 the recollection of Miss Phillipps s presence. A 
 curious glow and thrill went through the girl s 
 heart. 
 
 " You know what I m going to ask ye, Ro- 
 weny," now said Philip, visibly bracing himself. 
 
 His voice trembled pitiably. It was really ter 
 rible that Marmaduke should have chosen this 
 instant to make a furious attempt to fling him 
 self from Rowena s arms upon a stray hound 
 which had just emerged from the woods at the 
 right. 
 
 Philip shut his teeth hard, while his companion 
 reasoned with Marmaduke, and at last quiet 
 ed him. 
 
 When peace was restored, and the terrier had 
 nobly offered to kiss Philip himself but had been 
 restrained, the young man repeated his words. 
 
 " I s pose you know what I m goin to ask you, 
 Roweny ?" 
 
 She did not reply. Probably he did not expect 
 a reply. 
 
 There was a somewhat long and painful si 
 lence. 
 
 Philip cut his horses with a whip. They were 
 so surprised that they sprang forward furiously. 
 As they sprang their driver turned to the girl. 
 
 " Will you have me, Roweny ? I love you with 
 all my heart. I ll take awful good care of you.
 
 280 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 You sh ll paint all you want to. You sh ll do 
 whatever you please." 
 
 It was said now. Rowena s lips appeared stiff 
 to her as she spoke. 
 
 " I can t marry you, Philip." 
 
 She wondered if it hurt him any more to hear 
 those words than it hurt her to speak them. It 
 was dreadful to her to seem cruel to Philip 
 Barrett. 
 
 He sat without moving, with his eyes fixed 
 straight ahead. He had got his blow. He had 
 been almost sure it would be like this. Now 
 there was no more doubt, and no more hope. 
 
 He was to live without Rowena Tuttle. How 
 was he going to do it ? He hoped no one would 
 tell him he would get over it and marry some 
 one else. He should want to kill any one who 
 said that. 
 
 His mind went groping dully among various 
 probabilities. What did Rowena think of that 
 "city feller" who was staying at that hotel in 
 Middle Village? And there was that person, 
 and his aunt who was a medium that person 
 who was so " dressy." What did she think of 
 him ? 
 
 He could not ask her. He did not think it 
 would be exactly " the thing " to put such ques 
 tions. 
 
 The twilight was now fast merging into even-
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 281 
 
 ing. It was half a dozen miles to Rovvena s 
 home. 
 
 " I guess we ll go round by the Corners," at 
 last Philip said, and turned his horse into a well- 
 travelled road. 
 
 It was useless to try to talk. Marmaduke was 
 the only one who was quite himself. 
 
 They drew up at the post-office, where the late 
 mail had just arrived. The two sat there in the 
 mild, sweet air of the spring gloaming until the 
 mail was distributed. Then Philip brought out 
 all the papers and letters for his neighbors. They 
 made but a small package. 
 
 There was one letter for Rowena. She could 
 not see the writing plainly enough to guess the 
 author of it. Who would write to her now she 
 was at home ? She had very few letters. She 
 was interested and excited about this one. 
 
 Philip had involuntarily glanced at the enve 
 lope as it had been handed to him. It was a 
 large, flowing superscription. He was sure that 
 no one but a man would write in that way. He 
 thought, with a heavy bitternesss of spirit, that 
 this epistle was from that man who had the aunt 
 who was a medium.
 
 282 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 XIX. 
 FERDINAND IN TROUBLE. 
 
 As soon as she reached home Rowena took 
 her little hand-lamp and went up to her room 
 where the one window looked over the wide 
 stretch of pasture-land. The moon lighted up 
 the pasture now. 
 
 The girl sat down a moment with the letter 
 in her hand. Philip had gone. He had not lin 
 gered a moment, save to take her hand and say 
 in an unsteady voice that "he didn t know when 
 he should see her again. He should try not to 
 see her; he didn t think he could stan it to 
 keep meetin her." 
 
 Mrs. Tuttle was standing in the open door 
 when her daughter walked slowly up to the house. 
 
 "Oh, Roweny!" she exclaimed. "I do hope 
 you ain t done nothin you ll be sorry for." 
 
 " I hope so, too," returned Rowena. " I ve 
 done what I had to do. Don t stop me, mother, 
 I can t talk about it." 
 
 Then she had taken her lamp and gone up 
 stairs. Her sisters looked at her wonderingly.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 283 
 
 Mrs. Tuttle stepped out to the barn, where her 
 husband was looking after a sick cow. 
 
 "I guess it s all over, Hiram," she said, stop 
 ping in the yard, where she found him cutting 
 up fodder. 
 
 "What s over?" in an alarmed tone. 
 
 " All our plans bout Roweny n Philup. She s 
 jest come home." 
 
 "Oh, well," returned Mr. Tuttle, "we can t 
 manage them things, you know. The young 
 folks have their own notions. I hope it ll all 
 come out right, n I guess twill. Do you think" 
 pausing in pushing the fodder through the 
 cutter, "do you think she s got a fancy for this 
 feller that s round, n that can t say r only once 
 n a while ?" 
 
 " I ve ben tryin to make up my mind, but I 
 can t. Well s I know her, I can t seem to tell. 
 What do you think of him ?" 
 
 " I like him first-rate. He ain t no fool, I tell 
 ye. I ve been watchin him. He s in love with 
 her." 
 
 Mr. Tuttle spoke rather proudly. He had 
 taken to Bradford more than his wife had done. 
 It was a recommendation for the young man that 
 he had fallen in love with Rowcna. 
 
 At last the girl detached her thoughts from 
 Philip sufficiently to recall her interest in the 
 letter she had just received.
 
 284 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 It was not from the young man whose aunt 
 was a medium. It was from Miss Phillipps. 
 She had lost no time in keeping her promise to 
 her cousin Keats. Her note to Rowena had 
 gone out the same day on which he had gone. 
 There were not many lines. The girl s eyes 
 flashed eagerly down the page, then back again 
 for a second reading. Surely there was more 
 than that. No, there was not. 
 
 The letter seemed to be cordial. It asked Ro 
 wena to come to Charles Street for a visit of a 
 week or two on her return to Boston. The writer 
 would not leave town quite as early as she had 
 once intended. 
 
 It was in vain for Rowena to read the words 
 again. She was chilled. But she did not know 
 why. Her very fingers grew cold as they held 
 the paper and felt the message from her heart. 
 And yet it seemed a cordial, sincere invitation. 
 
 She \vould not go to Miss Phillipps s house. 
 Even if she had felt differently she would not go, 
 because she was in Boston to work. She was to 
 leave home the following Monday. She could 
 spare no more time before the long summer 
 when she would be in the country, and would 
 feel as if everybody were looking at her and con 
 demning her because, if she must take lessons, 
 she did not take them of that woman who came 
 out from some place it was not known where
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 285 
 
 only " she came out." She made a person an 
 artist in six easy lessons. 
 
 Rowena was very much depressed when at 
 last she lay down for the night. In the back 
 ground of all her reflections was the face of Phil 
 ip Barrett when he had bidden her good-bye. 
 There was also a feeling that she might not have 
 money enough. She supposed people always 
 spent more than they intended to spend. She 
 felt that she had been saving of her pennies 
 to the verge of meanness. And they were 
 getting so low. She must decide whether she 
 would apply for the school Georgie Warner 
 would give up in the fall. She should dislike it; 
 but she might be obliged to teach a term or 
 two so that she might still go to Allestree for 
 lessons. She could not conceive any stress of 
 circumstances beyond an interference by Provi 
 dence that would make her give up her learning 
 to paint. It had been a dear triumph for her 
 to know that, since her study, she had far more 
 control of her hand when she made sketches from 
 nature. There was a something she could catch 
 and hold now which had always eluded her be 
 fore. 
 
 Mr. Bradford praised while he criticised. He 
 had many ways like his cousin. Rowena had al 
 most fallen into a habit of watching for those 
 ways. When they came she would suddenly
 
 286 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 look up at the young man and smile. On such 
 occasions the responsive smile upon his face was 
 becoming so ardently warm that Rowena was 
 vaguely moved by it. 
 
 The next day was Saturday. On the Monday, 
 early, she would go back to Boston in a boat 
 with Uncle Reuben. To ride thus would not be 
 tedious now that the days were sweet and warm 
 with the near presence of summer. Besides, she 
 saved a car fare by going this way. She would 
 send Miss Phillipps a note from Hudson Street. 
 
 Lying there, close to the roof of the old house, 
 she began to compose the note to Miss Phillipps. 
 But her mind wandered ; she no longer heard the 
 frogs. She was asleep. 
 
 Georgie Warner was already mending rapidly. 
 The news that Mary Jane Jewett was really going 
 to marry Charlie Simmons and " live in Borston," 
 was now widely disseminated. Miss Jewett had 
 kept her promise. She had told Jim Townshend. 
 He had struggled manfully under the blow, and 
 he was resolved that Georgie should comfort 
 him as resolved as he could be with his kind of 
 a mouth and chin. 
 
 Miss Jewett, to facilitate further the distribu 
 tion of the news, had imparted it to Marthy S. 
 
 When Rowena walked over to see Georgie, late 
 Saturday afternoon, she had found that invalid 
 sitting in a rocker, with a pillow at her back,
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 287 
 
 looking over strips of patchwork. She even had 
 visions of a new kind of pattern of a bedquilt 
 that should outdo anything ever yet made. 
 
 Georgie was still weak, however. She was 
 melted to tears at sight of her friend, who had 
 not been afraid to speak to that Jewett girl. 
 
 She hugged Rowena with hysterical fervor. She 
 asserted that if it had not been for her she "should 
 have ben in her grave fore the Fourth of July." 
 
 Rowena could not dispute this assertion. She 
 sat down and put her arm round Georgie. She 
 listened, a little absently, to a great deal of talk 
 of Jim and Jim s goodness, now he was "really 
 red of that awful Jewett girl." Georgie almost 
 hinted that Jim would probably have taken 
 measures himself to be "red of her," if things 
 hadn t turned out exactly as they had. 
 
 It was not many days since this change of cir 
 cumstances had occurred, but it seemed rather 
 long ago. Georgie s intensity of interest in bed- 
 quilts at last wearied even Rowena. She must 
 go back. She rose. She skilfully parried or 
 ignored any references to the city feller, also to 
 Philip Barrett. She thought she could not hear 
 Philip s name mentioned. She was in terror lest 
 Georgie might speak it. 
 
 She caught up Marmaduke under her arm and 
 hurried away. She would stop and say good 
 bye on Monday.
 
 288 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 She walked through the small pine wood, the 
 odorous dusk soothing her. She was almost 
 ashamed and wholly astonished that she was 
 eager to get away from home again. 
 
 She believed her home and its surroundings 
 must have changed. Only her mother and father 
 were the same always. At thought of them, all 
 that she feared must be a wicked hardness in her 
 nature melted suddenly and flooded her eyes. 
 
 It was full of black shadows among the pines 
 there, though the moonlight was bright beyond 
 the trees. Rowena could hear the terrier rus 
 tling about in the sweet-smelling pine-needles, 
 sniffing and sometimes growling under his breath. 
 He was as protective as if he were a very large 
 dog. 
 
 Suddenly he ran forward and barked in such a 
 tumultuous way that each explosion raised his 
 fore-feet from the ground. 
 
 Rowena stood still, hidden in the shadows. 
 It was a lonely place, but the girl had traversed 
 it many a dark night and never thought of fear. 
 It was a part of her home to her. But she was 
 startled. 
 
 She could not see Marmaduke at all, but he 
 kept up his clamor as he never did save at some 
 kind of an intruder. 
 
 After waiting a moment, Rowena walked for 
 ward towards the dog. Now she saw in the moon-
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 289 
 
 light the figure of a woman, hesitating, and look 
 ing about her doubtfully. 
 
 " Come here, Marmaduke ! Be still, sir !" 
 
 Rowena advanced as she spoke, and so did the 
 stranger. 
 
 "Is it Miss Tuttle?" inquired a voice which 
 Rowena had heard before, but which she could 
 not really recognize. 
 
 She went swiftly forward. 
 
 " Did you want me?" she asked, alarmed and 
 surprised. 
 
 The stranger, who wore a long, gray cloak and 
 a close bonnet, clasped her hands nervously to 
 gether. 
 
 "Oh, I m so thankful to find you!" she cried, 
 in a subdued voice. " It seems as if I d been 
 looking for you for ages, though I only left Bos 
 ton this afternoon. You know me, don t you, 
 Miss Tuttle?" 
 
 Rowena held out her hand. 
 
 "Why, it s Miss Foster!" she said, in strong 
 surprise. 
 
 Miss Foster moved a few steps until she came 
 to a tree ; she leaned heavily against it. 
 
 " I m just as nervous s I can be," she said, dis 
 tressfully. " We drove over from the next town. 
 Ferdinand would have it so. He said he didn t 
 care what did happen ; he would see you before 
 he went ; and he made me come with him. He 
 19
 
 290 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 said he shouldn t dare to come without me. He 
 took a notion that you seemed to like me. You 
 know we said we d go to see each other in Bors- 
 ton." 
 
 " Yes," said Rowena. She was becoming ex 
 cited herself now. She wanted to question the 
 girl, but she hardly knew how to do so. She 
 tried to be quiet, and wait. Meanwhile the moon 
 light revealed Miss Foster s face to be more pal 
 lid than usual, and full of the keenest suffering. 
 Her eyes were wild and dilated. She was contin 
 ually looking behind her, and often she stopped 
 in the middle of a sentence and seemed to listen. 
 
 She left the tree and came close to Rowena. 
 
 "You see," she said, almost whispering, and 
 speaking so rapidly it was difficult for her listen 
 er to follow her, " Ferdinand s got into trouble. 
 He made me promise to tell you. He s so gener 
 ous and so good-hearted, you know, that he s been 
 spending too much money. He s the most gen 
 erous fellow in the world ; money just slips out 
 of his hands. Oh, Miss Tuttle, don t you go and 
 think he s bad! I d know what I should have 
 done if it hadn t been for him since I ve been 
 sick, him and the Science. He s got into debt. 
 Oh, I mustn t stop to tell you all about it. You 
 know he s head book-keeper for Nichols Brothers. 
 He s been taking money, now and then, for some 
 time. He was going to pay it back, you know.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 29 1 
 
 He fixed up the books so it didn t show. He 
 says in a few months more, he thinks, he should 
 have had a chance to pay it all back. But they ve 
 found it out, or Ferd is almost sure they suspect. 
 He says he s got to skip ; he says he ll go out of 
 the country ; he says he sh ll find some way to 
 pay urn ; he s sure he shall. He s out there, 
 round the turn, the other side of those savins. 
 Will you come ? He s waiting." 
 
 Rowena could not, for the moment, reply. She 
 gazed in silence at the girl, who kept twisting 
 her hands together. 
 
 "We can t waste time," said Miss Foster. 
 "We ve got to be over to Hibbard s Station to 
 catch the midnight train, and our horse s been 
 getting lame for the last mile or two. It s a 
 stable horse from the town here, and I ve got to 
 drive it back. You see he might have gone 
 right on in the train, but he was bound to see 
 you. He said he d risk it. Oh, do come ! How 
 can it harm you ?" 
 
 Rowena did not hesitate any longer. Miss 
 Foster took her hand eagerly, and together the 
 two girls ran along the dusty, moonlit road. 
 
 Not far, however. The terrier, racing on ahead, 
 came to a place where he began to bark again. 
 A form detached itself from the darkness under 
 the savins. There was a horse and buggy stand 
 ing near.
 
 292 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Rowena had not a single word at her com 
 mand as young Foster came out into the moon 
 light. She held fast to her companion s hand 
 lest she might try to leave her. 
 
 Ferdinand Foster took off his hat without any 
 of his old flourish. He had no display of neck 
 tie and no flower in his button-hole. He fixed 
 his eyes eagerly on Rowena. She held out her 
 hand. There was something so desolate and ap 
 pealing in Foster s face and attitude, something 
 so entirely different from the way she had re 
 membered him, that she obeyed her kindly im 
 pulse and put out her hand. 
 
 " It is awfully good of you," he stammered. 
 " You see, I had to see you. I " 
 
 He stopped suddenly. He turned and walked 
 away a few steps, his hat still in his hand, his 
 head bent. 
 
 Rowena hardly knew him. She was so sorry 
 that her face was almost tender. 
 
 He returned and stood in front of her, his back 
 to the light, which was upon her in full radiance. 
 
 "Since I ve seen you, Miss Tuttle, ; he began 
 again, " I ve meant to be a better fellow. I d got 
 into kind of bad ways, you know. But from the 
 minute I saw you I felt different. I ve left off 
 doing a lot of things that I knew you wouldn t 
 like. I meant to tell you all about it some time, 
 when I knew you better. But I couldn t see you
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 293 
 
 much, somehow. I wish I could have seen you 
 more. I don t see how a fellow could be very 
 bad that saw you often. Yes, I do wish I could 
 have seen you more." 
 
 Rowena was silent. She was trying to recog 
 nize the man before her. Even his voice seemed 
 unfamiliar. She could not quite realize that these 
 words were spoken by Mr. Foster and to her. 
 It was all unreal. The moonlight, the two peo 
 ple, the shadowy carriage and horse ; even the 
 terrier, now sitting silently close to her feet, might 
 have been some other terrier. 
 
 " You ain t going to be angry with me, are 
 you ?" asked Foster, coming still nearer. " I know 
 I was cheeky in tryin to see ypu ; but you ll over 
 look it, won t you ? I guess you don t know how 
 I ve been thinkin of you. To tell you the truth, 
 if you were a friend to a fellow I don t see how 
 he could help being good. I wish I d known you 
 a good while ago." 
 
 Still Rowena did not speak. But she was 
 touched. She did not understand very well how 
 he could really mean that a man would be better 
 if she were his friend. She thought it was only 
 a way of speaking. 
 
 Foster was looking at her intently, longingly. 
 His commonplace face received a little dignity 
 from his earnestness. 
 
 His sister drew out her watch and looked at it.
 
 294 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 " There ain t much more time, Ferd," she said. 
 
 He turned almost savagely upon her. 
 
 "I can t help it," he cried. "I don t see; 
 how I m going to get that train, anyway. Look 
 at that horse. He can t put that foot to the 
 ground now. I m just up a tree that s what I 
 am." 
 
 Miss Foster began to wring her hands. 
 
 " Don t do that," he went on. " What s the 
 use of it? If I can get away I shall. If I don t 
 they ll nab me, that s all." 
 
 He seemed ashamed of this outburst, for he 
 went on directly, looking at Rowena and then 
 back to his sister : 
 
 "You see, I ain t slept much lately. I m a 
 regular brute, Miss Tuttle " 
 
 Here he appeared unable to control his voice 
 directly. He put his hand to his necktie, as if 
 he must loosen it. All the time he was gazing 
 intently at Rowena, whose feelings were a mixt 
 ure of pity and a desire to turn and run away. 
 
 " I don t suppose I shall ever see you again," 
 he said. " I can t ever tell you you wouldn t 
 want me to tell you how I 
 
 " Oh no, no !" cried Rowena, in a kind of 
 fright, suddenly feeling that the expression in 
 the man s eyes had all at once become unendur 
 able. She could not be looked at in that way 
 by Ferdinand Foster.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 295 
 
 She retreated a few steps. Perhaps uncon 
 sciously, Foster followed her. 
 
 " I tell you I shall never see you again," he re 
 peated, passionately. " Haven t you any pity to 
 throw to me ?" 
 
 The pleading in his voice touched her now. 
 She put out both her hands. 
 
 " Oh, I am sorry ! I am sorry !" she said, with 
 pathetic earne-stness. 
 
 He seized her hands and held them despair 
 ingly. 
 
 He could not say any different words from 
 those he had already used. 
 
 " I do wish I could have seen you oftener !" 
 
 " Ferdinand !" 
 
 His sister called his name. She was trying to 
 lead the horse forward ; but the animal could not 
 step ; he could not put his foot to the ground. 
 
 "What shall we do? What shall we do?" 
 moaned Miss Foster. 
 
 Her brother stamped furiously. He ran to the 
 horse and looked down at the leg which was held 
 from the ground, the toe just resting. 
 
 " What will become of you ? You must catch 
 that train !" 
 
 Miss Foster seemed beside herself. Rowena 
 tried not to be too excited to think clearly. There 
 was no neighbor who had a horse that could go 
 beyond a slow trot. Useless to think of them.
 
 296 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 She knew that Mr. Bradford s horse was fleet. 
 She had thought he would come over this even 
 ing, because it had been his habit to come over. 
 Perhaps he was at her house now. But could 
 they have all the time necessary to walk that dis 
 tance ? 
 
 It is true that things sometimes happen oppor 
 tunely. One of these things happened now. The 
 sound of a quick gallop came down the road. Ro- 
 wena knew that gallop very well. She ran along 
 to meet the coming horseman. He saw her and 
 came yet more rapidly. He sprang to the ground. 
 She hardly looked at him. She seized the horse s 
 bridle. 
 
 "Come, Mr. Foster! Quick! This horse 11 
 take you !" 
 
 Foster ran forward. He caught Rowena s oth 
 er hand and kissed it. He jumped into the sad 
 dle and rode away. 
 
 Rowena now turned to Keats Bradford. 
 
 " You ll lend your horse for a few hours, won t 
 you, Mr. Bradford ? The case is very urgent." 
 
 Bradford s face was rather black. He was think 
 ing of the kiss upon Rowena s hand. 
 
 "I think I shall lend him," he answered, "since 
 you ask me, and since he is already gone."
 
 ROWKNY IN BOSTON. 297 
 
 XX. 
 
 MARMADUKE AND MARTHY S. MAKE THEM 
 SELVES USEFUL. 
 
 THE two stood in the middle of the dusty road 
 just where Foster had left them. 
 
 " Were you alone here with that man ?" 
 
 Mr. Bradford put the question with so much 
 asperity that Rowena s eyes flashed. 
 
 "I have^been alone here with you," she said. 
 Then she seemed to think it not worth while to 
 be angry, and added, quickly, "Do you consider 
 it being alone if you have a buggy and a terrier 
 and a girl and a horse with you ? But the horse 
 is so lame that perhaps he doesn t count. Do 
 you think we can get him anywhere, Mr. Brad 
 ford? Please look at him. Perhaps you can lead 
 him. This is Mr. Bradford, Miss Foster," as the 
 two came to the place where Foster s sister was 
 standing desolately by the buggy, hardly taking 
 it in that her brother had really gone. 
 
 Mr. Keats Bradford needed all his self-posses 
 sion to enable him to be as nonchalantly calm as 
 he was now. He greeted this new young lady as
 
 29& ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 if he were meeting her in a drawing-room. He 
 asked if he could help her in any way. In five 
 minutes he found himself first in a procession 
 which consisted of himself, leading that other 
 young man s lame horse, while two young wom 
 en and a dog followed on behind. 
 
 Bradford was not wearing his eye-glass so much 
 in these days, but he was still as helpless con 
 cerning his pronunciation. 
 
 He was swearing occasionally now with a great 
 deal of earnestness. He had ridden over this 
 evening with the intention of having a short time 
 alone with Miss Tuttle. He did not know when 
 he should have another opportunity. It would 
 not be so easy to meet her in Boston. He felt that 
 it was an absolute necessity for him to see her. 
 
 He glanced back at her now. She was walk 
 ing somewhat by herself. Her hat was pushed 
 back. He saw the outline of her face and that 
 her lips were close shut, as if she were thinking 
 steadily. Was she thinking of that man who had 
 just ridden away ? It was all very odd. How did 
 the fellow come here? And were the police af 
 ter him? It seemed to Bradford as if there was 
 a flavor of the police in the way the escape had 
 been made; for it must be an escape. He would 
 have it out with Rowena at the first possible mo 
 ment. He looked back again. This time Rowe 
 na looked at him ; she smiled. He could not
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 299 
 
 comprehend why this country girl should have a 
 smile that might mean nothing or everything. 
 He had spent a great many hours of late think 
 ing of that smile. Just at this moment he asked 
 himself if it were likely she had ever bestowed it 
 upon that person to whom he had just now lent 
 his horse. 
 
 It was a great trial to Keats Bradford that a 
 stranger should ride his horse. He winced now 
 as he thought of it. He had not an acquaint 
 ance whom he would willingly have mount that 
 intimate equine friend of his. What if that fel 
 low should strike him ? What if he should make 
 him go too far and too fast ? And when and 
 where was the owner to have him again ? 
 
 Having asked these questions irritatedly of 
 himself, Bradford fell to planning precisely what 
 he should do if he ever succeeded in leading this 
 atrociously lame beast as far as Mr. Tuttle s. He 
 made his plans very distinctly, and he adhered to 
 them. 
 
 At last the company had entered the yard of 
 the Tuttle house. Rowena ran forward and soon 
 returned with her father. What explanation she 
 had given him was not known. Mrs. Tuttle ap 
 peared on the porch with an apron over her head. 
 She invited Miss Foster to come in and rest. Ro 
 wena was following her. There could be no ques 
 tion about the farther travel of the lame horse.
 
 300 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Bradford s face was set to a resolution. 
 
 Rowena heard a voice close behind her say, 
 
 " Miss Tuttle." 
 
 She paused, and half turned her head. The 
 others went on. 
 
 " I am devoured by curiosity," said Bradford. 
 
 " Oh," said the girl. 
 
 " I am also devoured by anxiety lest some 
 thing happen to my horse. I love my horse." 
 
 She turned fully round towards him. 
 
 " If you are devoured by two such feelings, 
 there will soon be nothing left of you," she re 
 sponded. Then she added, quickly and earnest 
 ly, " I know what it was for you to lend your 
 horse thus. It was so good of you." 
 
 "Are you weally very grateful?" 
 
 "Indeed I am." 
 
 " Prove it." 
 
 She blushed and hesitated. He tried to speak 
 calmly. 
 
 " Must I prove it," she asked. 
 
 "Yes; you must. I hope it won t cost you 
 much to walk down the road with me." 
 
 " But if I meet some one who asks, Are you 
 alone with that man ? " 
 
 " I will answer such a person. Come." 
 
 Rowena again hesitated. Something whisper 
 ed to her not to go. She was afraid. 
 
 " But Miss Foster"
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 301 
 
 x 
 
 " She can wait." 
 
 Why should she not go ? There really was no 
 reason. 
 
 She turned and whistled for Marmaduke, who 
 had followed Miss Foster into the house, and 
 who was now deeply engaged in smelling of her 
 skirts. He felt that there was something of 
 which he did not fully approve about this new 
 comer, and he was trying to decide precisely 
 what it was. 
 
 He galloped out at the door, however, when 
 he heard his mistress whistle. 
 
 " Are you going to take him ?" asked Brad 
 ford. 
 
 " You would not separate me from Marma 
 duke?" 
 
 She glanced up at him as she lifted the terrier 
 and put him under her arm. 
 
 Bradford groaned aloud. He would perhaps 
 learn, as Philip Barrett had learned, that a small 
 dog is not always a source of unmixed pleasure 
 to all parties concerned. There was an especial 
 ly strong desire on Rowena s part to have Mar 
 maduke with her. He was a third person, a 
 shield, a protection. He was usually discrimi 
 nating as to the times when he ought to assert 
 himself; but it must be owned that he some 
 times asserted himself when he ought not, thus 
 resembling many human beings. He never erred
 
 302 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 on the side of self-suppression ; again resembling 
 many human beings. 
 
 Bradford and his companions walked slowly 
 out of the yard and down the road in a different 
 direction from that in which they had just come. 
 The young man was still thinking of the fact 
 that another man had kissed Rowena s hand a 
 short time ago, and that he might have been in 
 the habit of doing so. 
 
 He broke out in a startling manner. 
 
 " Was that person your lover?" 
 
 Rowena reddened furiously. She did not like 
 to think of that kiss. It made her shudder to 
 remember it. 
 
 " No," she answered. 
 
 " Did you want him to kiss your hand?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 Bradford straightened himself and opened his 
 lips to speak. He was conscious of an ecstatic 
 gratitude. But he hesitated to say what had 
 rushed from his heart to be said. 
 
 Instead, he remarked that he supposed his 
 companion had not been expecting those people. 
 
 But Rowena did not choose to be catechized 
 any more on the subject. She did not reply at 
 all. 
 
 Bradford bent his head towards her. 
 
 " Pardon me," he murmured. " I know I have 
 no right. I "
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 303 
 
 Here Marmaduke made a furious leap out of 
 his mistress s arm at a squirrel that ran across 
 the way. She started after him. 
 
 " I would not have him catch a squirrel for 
 worlds !" she cried. 
 
 Bradford stood still. His eyes glittered with 
 something like ferocity. At that instant the 
 terrier could not have confided in him as a 
 friend. 
 
 After a delay of rather a long time, and after 
 a wrestle in the underbrush, Rowena captured 
 Marmaduke and again put him under her arm. 
 
 " I believe you took that dog purposely," re 
 marked Bradford, with no amiability in his voice. 
 
 " Of course I took him purposely," she replied. 
 " You did not think it was accidental, did you ? 
 And when you speak of Marmaduke as that 
 dog I feel as if you did not respect him, and as 
 if you were not friendly to us." 
 
 Bradford now offered to prove his respect and 
 friendship by carrying the terrier, if he were not 
 going to run ; " but why not let him run ?" look 
 ing with ill-subdued eagerness at Rowena. 
 
 The girl answered that she could not tell ex 
 actly why she did not want him to run : he might 
 catch a squirrel, or frighten one, and he was so 
 small that if a horse and carriage came along he 
 might be run over; and she should never get 
 over it if
 
 304 ROWENY. IN BOSTON. 
 
 Here Bradford mutely held out his arms, and 
 Marmaduke was transferred to them. It oc 
 curred to the young man that Mrs. Sears might 
 better have presented this animal to some one 
 else ; or have waited before giving him to Miss 
 Tuttle until Bradford did not formulate this 
 thought very clearly in his mind. 
 
 The two walked on. Bradford had a sense that 
 he could not adequately say what he wished to 
 say while he was carrying a dog ; and since the 
 dog was not to run, he had believed that he 
 would prefer to have him rather than to allow 
 his companion to have him. But now he was not 
 sure that he did prefer this alternative. He 
 frowned as he walked. Marmaduke appeared 
 to be perfectly contented. There was not the 
 slightest excuse to change his position. 
 
 " I almost believe he likes you as well as he 
 likes me," remarked Rowena, after a while. 
 
 " Then he is not the discriminating dog I 
 thought him. I could dispense with his com 
 pany just now." 
 
 " Can you say that when you look at that dis 
 tracting fluff of sweet hair on his head?" 
 
 " Miss Tuttle, I am not here to talk of Marma 
 duke." 
 
 " But Marmaduke being here, how can you 
 help talking about him ? Qh, Mr. Bradford, are 
 you hurting him ?"
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 305 
 
 " Good heavens ! Don t you suppose he would 
 cry out if I injured him?" 
 
 " He looked as if he were just going to cry 
 out," said Rowena. " Perhaps his little feelings 
 were hurt by something you were thinking about 
 him." 
 
 " Perhaps they were." 
 
 At this point in the conversation the two 
 looked at each other. There was a mischievous 
 shining in the girl s eyes. They both burst out 
 laughing. In the midst of the laughter the ter 
 rier made a dexterous struggle and jumped to the 
 ground. 
 
 "You did not mean to carry him, and he felt 
 it." 
 
 For answer Bradford turned rather triumph 
 antly towards his companion. 
 
 He put out his hand, and with the tips of his 
 fingers touched her arm. These fingers were not 
 quite steady. She shrank involuntarily. She felt 
 the fire of his eyes on her face. A tumultuous 
 rebellion rose in her heart. Why could she not 
 have warded off this moment? In her mind she 
 groped wildly for some means, even now, of avert 
 ing what seemed inevitable. 
 
 Where was Marmaduke ? His shrill voice re 
 sponded to her mental question. 
 
 She stopped suddenly and looked back. A 
 woman was coming rapidly behind them. In an-
 
 306 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 other moment Rowena saw that the woman was 
 Marthy S. with her hemp bag in her hand. 
 
 "I ve ben hurryin s fast s I could to git up 
 to ye fore I got to that strip er woods between 
 here n old Mr. Gray s," she said, panting as she 
 spoke and peering sharply at both the faces near 
 her. " I thought I shouldn t be afraid, twas so 
 mooney, but I am kind er fraid after all. I s pose 
 you re goin right along. You d better intro- 
 dooce me, Roweny. I ain t acquainted with the 
 gentleman." 
 
 Rowena introduced Mr. Bradford, who found 
 it very difficult to be civil. If he had done pre 
 cisely what he was tempted to do he would have 
 lifted Marthy S. and thrown her over the wall 
 among the brakes that were growing there. He 
 now thought of Marmaduke s presence with some 
 thing like pleasure. 
 
 Rowena was walking with great demureness 
 the other side of Marthy S. The terrier was 
 pacing deliberately just ahead of her. Bradford 
 thrust his hands deep in his pockets and clinched 
 them there. 
 
 Martha S. gave them a minute account of the 
 reason why Mary Jane Jewett had given her own 
 dress-maker the slip and had decided to employ 
 Martha S. while she (Miss Jewett) was "fixin 1 ." 
 She told how many dress-makers there were to 
 be, and that one of the waists was to be shirred
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 307 
 
 all up and down the front, and that the effect 
 was beyond anything she had ever dreamed of. 
 
 "But then Mary Jane was one of them as could 
 carry most anything off." 
 
 The dress-maker expressed the conviction that 
 that shirred waist would be very much liked in 
 Borston, where the bride was going to reside. 
 Marthy S. said " reside " for the first time in her 
 life. She said it out of deference to the city fel 
 ler, and she was conscious of a certain feeling of 
 respect towards herself as a woman capable of 
 using such a word. 
 
 Her spirits rose. She thought Rowena had 
 never been so pleasant, and her usual estimate of 
 Hiram Tuttle s daughter was that she was " too 
 stuck up for anything." 
 
 She had a strong sense of exultation in the 
 prospect of relating, the particulars of this in 
 terview at the place where she was going to 
 dress -make Monday morning. It was a trial 
 to her that a Sunday must intervene. But she 
 would go to meeting. There were many ways 
 in which a woman like Marthy S. could utilize 
 going to meeting. And the dress-maker was 
 one who never wasted an opportunity in her 
 line. 
 
 This party had not walked more than a quar 
 ter of a mile when Rowena paused. She began 
 to think of Miss Foster with compunction. She
 
 308 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 must return. That piece of wood was now visi 
 ble ahead of them. 
 
 " I think I will go back," said the girl, steadily 
 ignoring the imploring look which Bradford fixed 
 upon her. She glanced superficially at him as 
 she went on to say that perhaps Mr. Bradford 
 would be so kind as to walk with Miss Hancock 
 through the wood. 
 
 Then she said good -night, and hurried away 
 from them. 
 
 Bradford, in spite of his social training, was for 
 the moment absolutely inarticulate with disap 
 pointment and rage. He raised his hat in silence 
 and was left alone with Marthy S., who involun 
 tarily began to bridle somewhat in acknowledg 
 ment on her part of being left alone with " a gen- 
 tlemun." 
 
 This gentleman was thinking that to-morrow 
 would be Sunday, and that he had been let to 
 know unmistakably by Mrs. Tuttle that she did 
 not approve of having visitors on Sunday. 
 
 He supposed an exception would be made in 
 favor of a regular accredited admirer who came 
 for Sunday evenings. But he was not occupy 
 ing that enviable position in regard to Rowena 
 Tuttle. 
 
 No ; he could not call the next day. And here 
 he was, stranded as it were, on a lonely road in 
 the moonlight with a woman who had a hemp
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 309 
 
 bag, and who kept smirking and appearing as if 
 she were going to make a remark, but who had 
 not yet made one. 
 
 Of course, on Monday he meant to ride his 
 horse to Boston beside the boat-cart. But there 
 were a great many drawbacks to be anticipated 
 in that journey. It is true that Bradford had 
 been only too thankful for the opportunity to 
 ride beside the boat-cart some days ago. But he 
 had got beyond that period now. He demanded 
 a great deal more than that at this stage of his 
 malady. 
 
 Mr. Reuben Little would be present. It was 
 uncertain whether Mr. Little would be in liquor 
 or not ; probably not, as it would be the day after 
 Sunday. There was, however, the chance of a 
 stroll on foot along some lovely bit of road with 
 Rowena. 
 
 All these thoughts went flashing through Brad 
 ford s mind as he stood therewith the dress-maker. 
 
 He wondered why she did not walk on. He 
 offered to carry her bag. She was confused at 
 his offer, but did eventually relinquish the bag, 
 telling him it had the lining of Mary Jane Jew- 
 ett s wedding basque in it. 
 
 She appeared to be uncertain whether it was 
 proper for her, under the circumstances, to con 
 tinue her walk or to wait for "the gentlemun " 
 to propose it.
 
 3IO ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Bradford, after a few moments of doubt as to 
 her intentions, asked if they should not go on. 
 So they went on. 
 
 He did not try to talk. He was too deeply 
 irritated. But he was kind ; he could not be 
 otherwise. 
 
 Marthy S. made a few confused observations, 
 to which he replied as well as he could. 
 
 He accompanied her to her destination. He 
 delivered up the bag and left her with deferential 
 respect. 
 
 From that time on the dress-maker was abso 
 lutely sure that " that Tuttle girl would ketch 
 that feller if she possibly could do it. It 
 wouldn t be no fault of her n if she didn t ketch 
 him." 
 
 Among all the people for whom she worked 
 that season Marthy S. held the proud position 
 of one who was acquainted with the man that 
 was hanging round Roweny Tuttle. She came 
 to be rather an authority concerning him. She 
 told what she thought he would be likely to do, 
 and what he would not be likely to do. 
 
 The Monday morning was clear and beautiful 
 and full of the scents of late spring. Rowena 
 had a companion in the boat with her besides 
 her Uncle Reuben. See invited Miss Foster to 
 stay over Sunday and go to Boston with her. 
 She thought such an unusual trip would do the
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 311 
 
 girl good. The lame horse was left in charge of 
 Mr. Tuttle, who was to go to the stable and re 
 port. 
 
 " It s only a very few weeks now before I shall 
 be home for a couple of months, mother," Ro- 
 wena had said. 
 
 She spoke with apparent gayety, and her moth 
 er replied with apparent cheerfulness. 
 
 So she went back for the second time. She 
 felt a score of years older. 
 
 In her thoughts there was constantly the let 
 ter from Miss Phillipps. The memory of it was 
 like a sore place in her consciousness. 
 
 You can imagine the sensation which Keats 
 Bradford experienced when he cantered up along 
 side the boat and saw Rowena s companion. He 
 was obliged immediately to give up all thought 
 of the strolls along solitary bits of road. This 
 renunciation made him very silent and very un 
 responsive when both girls eagerly inquired how 
 he found his horse, and if it had been injured in 
 any way. 
 
 When Rowena at last encountered Bradford s 
 eyes she felt sorry for him. Without looking at 
 him, without speaking to him, how did she yet 
 console him somewhat? It must have been by 
 a process in connection with some science kin 
 dred to thought transference. Was there a subtle 
 brain-wave set in motion?
 
 312 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 As she came nearer and nearer to Boston, 
 Rowena s resolution to write to Miss Phillipps 
 an answer to her letter of invitation gradually 
 changed to a resolution to call on that lady. She 
 had never been to that house on Charles Street 
 save by special invitation. She would go there. 
 She must know if Miss Phillipps herself would 
 now repel her as her written words or, rather, 
 the words she had not written had done.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 313 
 
 XXI. 
 
 ON CHARLES STREET. 
 
 THE girl returned to her work with an enthu 
 siasm which sustained and animated her. While 
 she sat at her easel in Allestree s studio on Tre- 
 mont Street she found that she could think with 
 more calmness of Miss Phillipps s fancied cold 
 ness. 
 
 " If I may only work," she whispered to her 
 self. " It must be true that a woman may be 
 happy that way. Miss Phillipps says it is true. 
 I wonder how much she really knows about it. 
 She makes you feel as if she knew, and that is 
 something." 
 
 Rowena was surprised at the warmth of Alles 
 tree s greeting. 
 
 "It is worth while to teach a pupil like you," 
 he had remarked, after shaking hands with her. 
 " It makes a master s life endurable. You made 
 some sketches out there in the country? Ah! 
 Let me see them." 
 
 He instantly selected one from the three she 
 gave him. His face lighted. He seized his beard 
 after his manner when interested.
 
 314 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 After a long glance at the sketch of some 
 birches standing beside a narrow brook, he put 
 the paper down and held out both his hands. 
 
 " You ll do, Miss Tuttle ; you ll do, if you only 
 keep on. Take courage. How good your draw 
 ing is getting! I didn t dare to praise you too 
 much before. Girls are such very strange beings 
 they can t take praise or blame they fly off at 
 the strangest tangents. I ve been watching you. 
 You mean business. Painting is not merely a 
 means with you tis an end. You really love 
 it." 
 
 Rowena looked up at the man with a glowing 
 face. She could hardly speak for pride and joy. 
 
 " Oh, indeed, I love it !" she exclaimed, in an 
 uneven voice. 
 
 " I know I know. Now if you were a young 
 man, I should have no hesitation in predicting 
 your future. Being a girl " 
 
 Rowena glanced indignantly at him. He smiled 
 indulgently. He was in a pleasant frame of mind. 
 
 " Don t you know what it is to be a girl? It 
 is to love some man and marry him, and put your 
 easel up in the attic." 
 
 " I shall not put my easel in the attic," she re 
 plied, angrily. 
 
 "We shall see. I hope not. If you do, I shall 
 want to choke the man. You have no business 
 to marry."
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 315 
 
 Rowena worked in a state of exaltation much 
 of that day. It was the first after her return 
 from her home. 
 
 In the afternoon she walked out across the 
 Common. She lingered there, longing, and yet 
 afraid, to seek Miss Phillipps. 
 
 The reaction from that exalted condition was 
 now beginning. As she went aimlessly down a 
 mall she felt desolate and depressed. If it were 
 not that she rarely failed to adhere to a resolu 
 tion she would have gone back to Hudson Street. 
 
 She had also to contend against the wish 
 which was now almost intolerable, to see Miss 
 Phillipps, and to have her the same as she had 
 been. What if she should not be ? What if that 
 note was like what the writer of it now was ? 
 
 When she could bear these thoughts no longer 
 Rowena started rapidly for Charles Street. She 
 kept up her pace until she reached the very door 
 of the house. 
 
 When she had rung, it occurred to her for the 
 first time that it was very probable that Miss 
 Phillipps would not be at home. She was inter 
 ested in so many things : she attended so many 
 meetings. 
 
 The servant who opened the door conducted 
 Rowena to a room which was strange to her. On 
 the wall of this room the girl immediately saw a 
 portrait of the mistress of the house. This must
 
 316 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 be Senour s portrait, which Miss Phillipps had 
 mentioned. Rovvena was held fast before it. It 
 was just as the original of that portrait had said : 
 it was the face without the disdain and the sug 
 gestion of cruelty in it ; a refined countenance, 
 aristocratic, but somehow lacking in a certain 
 incisive power which was characteristic of the 
 woman herself. 
 
 Rowena was standing thus absorbed when 
 Miss Phillipps appeared at the open door, com 
 ing noiselessly over the thick carpet. She paused 
 on the threshold and gazed at the girlish figure. 
 As she gazed a slight contraction stirred her feat 
 ures. Then she walked forward and held out her 
 hand. 
 
 " I am glad to see you, Miss Tuttle," she said. 
 " Did you have a pleasant visit in the country?" 
 
 Rowena turned. She could hardly extend 
 her hand in response. She needed no more than 
 the inflection of that voice. She could not look 
 at the speaker. But the girl was not without 
 something in her character which came to her 
 aid now. With the knife-thrust in her heart, she 
 held herself upright. 
 
 "Thank you," she answered. " I enjoyed my 
 visit. But I am glad to be at work again." 
 
 Miss Phillipps motioned her guest to a seat. 
 She sat down near. 
 
 "Yes, work is a great thing, 1 she said. "I
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 317 
 
 sometimes wish I were compelled to labor in 
 some way for my bread. It would at least be a 
 new sensation, and I like new sensations." 
 
 " I received a note from you," said Rowena, 
 after a little pause. " As I was coming directly 
 to Boston, I waited to see you to tell you that I 
 shall not be able to accept your kind invitation 
 to spend a week or two with you." 
 
 She uttered these commonplace words in a 
 steady voice. She could not imagine why that 
 invitation had been given. 
 
 She rose. 
 
 " You think you will not come ?" remarked 
 Miss Phillipps. " Don t go yet. It seems to me 
 that there was something I wished to say to you. 
 Please sit down." 
 
 Rowena obeyed, and waited silently. 
 
 Miss Phillipps was not leaning back in her 
 chair as usual, but was sitting erect. The young 
 girl glanced at her. The lady was always pale, 
 but she was very pale now. Rowena looked 
 quickly away. She hoped she would not be kept 
 there long. She felt a wild, sharp feeling of 
 thankfulness that she had her work. 
 
 There came a knock on the door which Miss 
 Phillipps had closed when she entered. A serv 
 ant announced that Professor Vacci was in the 
 reception-room. 
 
 " Tell him I cannot see him," peremptorily.
 
 318 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Again Rowena rose. Her hostess put out her 
 hand. 
 
 " Stay," she said. 
 
 "Professor Vacci says he came by appoint 
 ment," remarked the servant. 
 
 "Tell him I cannot see him," repeated Miss 
 Phillipps, and the door was closed again. 
 
 Rowena had not resumed her seat. Now the 
 lady rose also and stood gazing at the girl whose 
 eyes were lowered, for she needed all her forces 
 to aid in the struggle of this moment. 
 
 " I asked you to visit me now, because it was 
 Mr. Bradford s wish that I do so." 
 
 Miss Phillipps spoke in her clearest voice. 
 
 A color rose over Rowena s tense face. She 
 did not think it necessary to reply. 
 
 The woman watching her saw the color, and it 
 had a curious effect upon her. She seemed to 
 throw away, with a sudden gesture of both 
 hands, the somewhat icy calmness which had 
 been hers. 
 
 "When a man," she exclaimed, "chooses to 
 assert himself, he is always the victor. See! 
 Because my cousin Keats fancies this or that, I 
 must yield. It were indeed a waste of strength 
 for a woman to contend with a man, and that 
 man Keats Bradford. I thought it must be my 
 duty to retreat ; but I have changed my mind ; 
 I won t retreat."
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 319 
 
 Miss Phillipps s eyes were flaming. 
 
 " I am used to having what I want," she said, 
 "but I thought it was for your good not to try 
 to place a straw in the way of his love. I won t 
 now, if you return it. I distrusted myself. I tried 
 to make myself believe I was really like your por 
 trait of me. Perhaps I am. Yes, I think I am. 
 But I never saw any one like you before. It 
 may be I have seen better people, but never one 
 who was to me what you are. It is not what a 
 person is, but what he is to you, that tells. You 
 may read a thousand hearts, but if you cannot 
 read mine, if I cannot read yours, what is it all 
 worth? Do you know he told me not to hurt 
 you ? Not to hurt you !" 
 
 Gradually Rowena s face had been changing. 
 The terrible grip upon her had been relaxing 
 and giving place to something which she was 
 afraid could not be real. 
 
 At the moment when Miss Phillipps had spo 
 ken the last words some one entered and paused 
 just within the room. 
 
 "They said I should find you here, Vanessa," 
 said Bradford. 
 
 He stopped abruptly. 
 
 " You need not go," said his cousin, as the 
 young man now turned, with a murmured apol 
 ogy- 
 
 But he could not stay. The jealousy, he could
 
 320 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 not call the feeling anything else, which Vanessa 
 had awakened in him became just now very 
 powerful. He had wished to ignore that emo 
 tion as something unworthy of him. He had 
 resolutely acted up to that resolve and confided 
 in his cousin. 
 
 As well as any man could understand, he be 
 lieved that he understood the charm which acted 
 and reacted between these two women. But 
 how long would it last? At what time would 
 his moment arrive ? Surely it must arrive. Was 
 it not right and just to believe that, with a 
 woman, it is the masculine element which at last 
 prevails ? 
 
 And there was the art which so dominated the 
 woman he loved. 
 
 Bradford walked rather blindly down the 
 street. He wanted to get away from every 
 body. He realized that he had a great deal to 
 contend with. He was conscious that he should 
 have an opportunity to test his waiting powers 
 to their fullest capabilities. And the end of it? 
 
 He could still see Rowena s face as she had 
 been looking at his cousin when he had entered 
 the room just now. When would she look at 
 him like that ? There must come a time when 
 she would do it. He also was used to having 
 what he wanted. Yes, there must come a time. 
 
 Vanessa must have been thoroughly in ear-
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 321 
 
 nest in what she had said to him on the Common 
 of her interest in that girl. But Vanessa could 
 not change her nature. Had he misunderstood 
 his cousin all these years? Impossible, he told 
 himself. Still one never knows precisely when 
 something latent will suddenly start into life and 
 rule one ; had Rowena s touch roused in her 
 friend something which should modify what 
 she had once been ? 
 
 Bradford s thoughts ran on with a miserable, 
 confused haste. 
 
 Within the room the two stood in silence. 
 The younger woman almost feared that she 
 could not bear this swift change from misery to 
 happiness. She clasped her hands tightly to 
 gether. She was looking at her friend, who re 
 turned her gaze. 
 
 Miss Phillipps came nearer. She put her hand 
 on Rowena s shoulder. 
 
 " I almost thought you loved him," she said. 
 
 " I was greatly attracted to him," Rowena an 
 swered, " because 
 
 Here she paused, again absorbed in the eyes 
 meeting hers. 
 
 "Because " repeated Miss Phillipps. 
 
 " Because he reminded me so much of you." 
 
 The girl s lips trembled under the stress of her 
 feeling. 
 
 "Ah !" said Miss Phillipps, in her softest tone.
 
 322 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Late that evening a messenger boy brought a 
 note from Bradford to his cousin. 
 
 " I am leaving town for an indefinite time," 
 he wrote. " But I give nothing up. I can wait. 
 Do you remember what the French say : 
 
 " To-day to thee. 
 To-morrow to me? "
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 323 
 
 XXII. 
 
 ALLESTREE S PROPOSITION. 
 
 PERHAPS it was simply because human nature, 
 particularly feminine human nature, has so many 
 phases, that Rowena,when at last she left Charles 
 Street that afternoon, was conscious of some feel 
 ing besides that of supreme happiness. 
 
 Still she was so happy that she was almost 
 successful in ignoring that emotion to which she 
 gave no name. 
 
 Miss Phillipps had never been more tenderly 
 charming. She may also have been a trifle tri 
 umphant. 
 
 Rowena had never more entirely surrendered 
 her fancy, and perhaps her heart, to the woman 
 whose wish it was to enthrall her. 
 
 The girl had listened eagerly as she sat at the 
 lady s feet in that half -lighted, elegant room. 
 The portrait by Senour had looked down upon 
 them. 
 
 Miss Phillipps had talked of many plans, and 
 in all of them Rowena filled a part. The voice 
 was at its softest, the face at its gentlest and
 
 324 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 best. But with that caution which is so often 
 a characteristic of New England rural nature, 
 Rowcna could not give an unreserved affirma 
 tive to the words she heard. But they charmed 
 her. 
 
 The long June twilight was gone, and a dusk, 
 odorous even here in the city, was coming among 
 the trees on the Common when Rowena rose to 
 go back to her shabby little room and to the 
 Yorkshire. This latter individual had been try 
 ing to beguile his ennui by a complete destruc 
 tion of a pin-cushion which Georgie Warner had 
 made and presented to the friend who had gone 
 to Boston to learn to paint. 
 
 This article was constructed of infinitesimal 
 fragments of silk, laboriously sewed together and 
 stuffed with bran. It was in the midst of this 
 bran that Marmaduke was lying in peaceful slum 
 ber, awaiting the return of his mistress. 
 
 It was not until Rowena had strolled some 
 what vaguely two or three times up and down 
 the Beacon Street Mall, and not until she had 
 been some time out of Miss Phillipps s presence, 
 that she suddenly became aware that she was 
 thinking of Bradford s face as it had been at 
 that moment when he had stood within the door 
 of the room and looked at the two women. Ro 
 wena had not known she had seen him so plain 
 ly, but now he came before her with a vividness
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 325 
 
 which made a red color rise even to her fore 
 head. 
 
 The love and the disappointment in the man s 
 eyes were working an effect. It is a curious truth 
 that pity really has so much to do with that feel 
 ing which is said to be akin to it. 
 
 And now Rowena was sorry for Bradford. It 
 cannot be expected that a girl can imagine that 
 a man may possibly find some consolations, or 
 that he may occasionally think on subjects un 
 connected with her. 
 
 She began to walk very fast. She crossed 
 Tremont Street and almost ran down Winter 
 Street. Her mind was hurrying like her feet, 
 but, unlike them, that was hurrying blindly. 
 
 How unspeakably shabby Hudson Street look 
 ed under the light of the lamps! And how out 
 of place the sweet June sky seemed, bending 
 above that thoroughfare. 
 
 When she drew nearer the house, Rowena be 
 gan to walk more slowly. She attempted to ar 
 range and classify the tumult in her mind. She 
 found, as is generally the case, that tumult will 
 not be arranged and classified. 
 
 Three girls who were very late were just giv 
 ing their supper tickets to Mrs. Jarvis at her 
 small table. It made Rowena sick to see the 
 girls and the tickets and the table. 
 
 She hastened up the stairs and entered her room.
 
 326 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Marmaduke rose from the bureau and from 
 the bran which had once been a pin-cushion. He 
 stretched himself, yawned, and then frantically 
 vibrated his short tail and his little body. 
 
 His mistress caught him up to her neck. 
 
 " Oh, my sweetheart ! My darling ! My only 
 Yorkshire love !" she exclaimed. 
 
 He enthusiastically licked her face. He knew 
 very well that he was her only Yorkshire love. 
 He would have been very dull indeed if he had 
 not known, having been told a great many times 
 since his residence with her. He was doubtless 
 conscious that there was now an extraordinary 
 fervor in this assurance, for his response was pro 
 portionately ardent. 
 
 Rovvcna spent a feverish night, in which she 
 was not able to distinguish between her waking 
 and sleeping visions. 
 
 She was very glad when the time came for her 
 to go to the studio. Whatever confusion there 
 might be in her thoughts about other matters, 
 there was no confusion about her work. Her 
 devotion to that was clear as ever. 
 
 After some of the drudgery of learning has 
 been gone through there are days when one 
 seems to work as if by inspiration. Ideas are 
 lucid, and the hand unerringly follows their guid 
 ance. It was so with Rowena for the next few 
 days. And she was so young and had had so
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 327 
 
 little experience that she almost believed that 
 she could continue to work thus. There was no 
 outward occurrence to intrude itself. She did 
 not see Miss Phillipps, who had been called out 
 of town, and who would remain a week. 
 
 Allestree, walking about -among the few stu 
 dents that the early summer had left with him, 
 was continually stopping by Rowena s easel. His 
 glance was warm with approval, but he refrained 
 from speaking until just as the hour had expired. 
 He saw the girl linger, loath to leave her canvas. 
 
 " Stay a moment, Miss Tuttle," he said, " I 
 have something to say to you." 
 
 She began cleaning her brushes, trying not to 
 be too eager to know what he would speak about. 
 There was a deep flush on her cheeks, but her 
 hands, as an artist s hands should be, were per 
 fectly steady. 
 
 When the two were alone the master said, 
 abruptly, 
 
 " I suppose you would like to study in Paris?" 
 
 The girl looked at him. She grew pale. Then 
 she said : 
 
 "Yes. But I cannot do it. I don t wish to 
 talk about it." 
 
 " But we will talk about it," was the autocrat 
 ic response. " I have decided. A pupil whom I 
 recommend, as I shall recommend you, is to be 
 sent abroad by a fund which was placed in my
 
 328 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 hands for the purpose of furthering worthy art 
 study. Mind you, it is an impersonal affair. It 
 is for art. The thing is often done. Recall the 
 scholarships in colleges. You need not look so 
 proud, Miss Tuttle. This is no charity. And 
 you would have to live as economically as you 
 do now possibly more so. But think of the op 
 portunities !" 
 
 " Is all this just as you tell me, about the 
 fund?" 
 
 The voice was, by a great effort, made steady 
 as it put this question. 
 
 "Just as I tell you. If you care, if you really 
 care, young woman, you may be an artist. But 
 to be one you must work, work, work. Do you 
 care?" 
 
 Allestree seized his beard firmly in his left 
 hand, and the diamond on his finger sent a spark 
 right into Rowena s eyes. She stood up very 
 straight. Her head was flung back. Her eyes 
 were a great deal brighter than the diamond. 
 
 " Do I care?" she cried out, sharply. 
 
 Allestree gave a short laugh, and walked half 
 down the studio and back again. 
 
 " When will you go ?" he questioned. 
 
 " To-morrow to-day," was the answer. 
 
 All at once her brilliant glance softened. Her 
 face quivered. 
 
 " What is the matter?" he asked.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 329 
 
 " I was thinking of my mother my father," she 
 said, brokenly. " It is very far away that Paris." 
 
 She put a hand over her eyes. 
 
 " Now don t be womanish !" he said, angrily. 
 
 "Yes, I will be womanish, too !" she answered. 
 " But I will go all the same." 
 
 The man laughed again, well pleased. 
 
 It was all she could do not to begin to weep 
 tempestuously. But she did not weep. 
 
 " We will talk about this to-morrow," remarked 
 Allestree, with more consideration. " You will 
 not go till the early fall. There will be time to 
 arrange everything." 
 
 There was time to arrange everything time 
 even for Marthy S. to call on the Tuttle family, 
 ostensibly as a delegate from the entire respect 
 able portion of the neighborhood, and remon 
 strate with Mrs. Tuttle for letting her daughter 
 go into foreign parts. They had all heard of 
 Paris, Marthy S. said. It was a place where ev 
 ery woman was bad and every man worse. She 
 suggested for the hundredth time that if Rowe- 
 ny must still continue to learn to paint, though 
 if she had common faculties she must know how 
 by this time, then, that she take lessons of that 
 woman who came out to the Corners " on pur 
 pose to teach girls like Roweny." And this 
 woman was known to paint hollyhocks beyond 
 everything.
 
 330 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Mrs. Tuttle listened with a pale and patient 
 face to all this talk. But her cheeks burned when 
 Marthy S. incidentally remarked that everybody 
 thought that "if Roweny could have caught that 
 Borston feller that pretended to want her, there 
 never d ben no talk bout goin to Paris to learn 
 to paint." 
 
 Thus the dress -maker kindly related to the 
 Tuttles the prevailing gossip, and the Tuttles 
 suffered therefrom. 
 
 When Rowena informed Miss Phillipps of the 
 good -fortune which had befallen her through 
 Allestree s commendation, she looked with un 
 controllable suspicion at that lady. But Miss 
 Phillipps bore her look with a perfectly innocent 
 air. She did not seem to see it. And it was not 
 until midsummer that she wrote that she had 
 made up her mind to go abroad with Rowena. 
 She had long been thinking of going again, and 
 when could she hope to be so happy as in making 
 the journey in such company? 
 
 Mrs. Tuttle felt a load lifted from her heart at 
 this news. It had been dreadful to her that her 
 daughter should go ; still more dreadful that she 
 should go alone, or in the care of some stranger. 
 
 Before this proposition of Allestree s, Miss Phil 
 lipps had asked that the girl might spend part of 
 the summer with her, but now she said it was no 
 more than just that the mother should have her.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 331 
 
 Frequent letters, brief but telling, came hurry 
 ing out to the remote hamlet from the mount 
 ains and the sea-side. Rowena read them eager 
 ly. Everything seemed unreal to her now. She 
 used to ask the terrier if he were her own terrier, 
 or if he would suddenly vanish. He replied by 
 not vanishing. 
 
 The girl and the dog would walk down that 
 road where they had walked with Keats Brad 
 ford when that gentleman had been so irritating- 
 ly treated by both the girl and the dog. In these 
 walks the girl would recall that the gentleman 
 had been very forbearing. She would also recall 
 some of the glances which had come from his 
 eyes. Whether Marmaduke also thought of Brad 
 ford it was impossible to tell ; if he did so, the 
 memory -did not in the least interfere with his 
 brisk cheerfulness of demeanor. A terrier may 
 be brimful of love, but he is never sentimental. 
 
 But do not let it be understood that Rowena 
 spent much time in yielding to sentiment in these 
 days. She had too many other occupations. By 
 Allestree s advice she did not touch her brushes 
 and paints. But she began a struggle with the 
 French language, and as this struggle was begun 
 and carried on alone during those quickly-flying 
 weeks of summer, it was bewildering to an ex 
 tent that terrified her. She had heard some 
 French words spoken by Miss Phillipps ; they
 
 332 ROWENY IN DOSTON. 
 
 had rolled so glibly off that lady s facile tongue 
 that Rowena had been pleased with them. 
 
 As the girl had a quick mind and an enviable 
 share of resolution, she soon acquired a good idea 
 of the forms of verbs and genders when she saw 
 the words written down. But afterwards she 
 hardly knew if this arduous effort was of much 
 benefit. 
 
 It became noised through Middle Village, and 
 even beyond the Corners, that Hiram Tuttle s 
 daughter was not only going to some outlandish 
 place about that painting notion of hers, but that 
 she was actually trying to learn to talk in some 
 outlandish tongue; "just as if our own talk wa n t 
 good enough for her!" 
 
 " Be you really learnin to talk foreign ?" in 
 quired Georgie Warner with some awe one even 
 ing when the two girls were walking arm in arm 
 on the road between their two homes. Georgie 
 had entirely recovered from the illness caused by 
 her lover s disposition to yield to the blandish 
 ments of Mary Jane Jewett. She was now in 
 the full tide of the production of marvellous 
 wedding bedquilts. She rarely conversed upon 
 any topic not connected with her " things," or 
 with the goodness of Jim Townshend. 
 
 This question concerning Rowena s studies was 
 put as a concession to Gcorgie s interest in one 
 who was not even engaged, and who was only
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 333 
 
 going to Paris. Georgia felt that her friend was 
 getting very odd, but her love for her did not 
 abate. She always made it a point to " stand 
 up " loyally for Rowena if any one spoke the 
 slightest derogatory word. She had even gone 
 so far as to refuse to have Marthy S. " put a sin 
 gle stitch into a single one of her things." The 
 result of this decision was that the story of Jim 
 Townshend s infatuation with Miss Jewett was 
 disseminated over a frightful extent of country, 
 and many people were led to believe that this 
 infatuation was even now at its height, and that 
 the Warner girl insisted upon holding on to Mr. 
 Townshend, notwithstanding that gentleman s 
 pronounced desire not to be held on to. 
 
 In answer to Georgie s question, Rowena re 
 plied that she had begun to try to learn French, 
 but she found she could not do much without a 
 teacher. 
 
 Georgie had about the same horror of French 
 as a language that she felt towards champagne 
 as a wine. They both expressed to her the height 
 of dissolute wickedness. 
 
 She could not help shuddering somewhat at 
 her friend s reply. Then it was true. 
 
 " I hope you know best," she remarked. And 
 she began to describe the pattern of some " cro 
 chet edgin " which was to be the crowning glory 
 of a white morning-dress.
 
 334 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 Rowena did not know what became of the 
 days. As the summer advanced, the girl s feel 
 ing of shrinking and of regret became stronger 
 and stronger. It seemed to her that she sat for 
 whole hours looking at her mother as she went 
 back and forth in the house about her work. She 
 helped in the work with an eager desire to do all 
 she could. 
 
 She now was continually thinking of that mo 
 ment when she should put her arms around her 
 mother s neck for the last time before she began 
 the journey. She almost came to believe that 
 that last moment would kill her. But she did 
 not think of retreating. She must go. It was 
 her destiny, her life-work. She must go where 
 she could learn what she so longed to know. 
 
 Mrs. Tuttle felt her child s gaze like a knife 
 in her heart. She could not meet it, or only mo 
 mentarily. She was afraid that, if she looked full 
 in those young, stainless eyes, she should break 
 down and beg the girl not to go so far from her. 
 And she wanted her to go. It was Rowena s 
 chance. She must not throw it away. It was 
 not a matter of much surprise to the mother that 
 Rowena should have such an opportunity, Ro 
 wena being what she was. 
 
 The two carefully avoided any talk on the sub 
 ject. Their conversation was what one might al 
 most have called deliriously cheerful. Mr. Tut-
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 335 
 
 tie, when he came into the porch for a drink of 
 water, would sometimes hear them laughing 
 loudly. As he drew the back of his brown hand 
 across his dripping lips after his draught, he 
 would mutter that women were the strangest 
 beings the Lord ever created. He did not laugh. 
 It was only by a distinct effort that he could 
 smile in those days. He supposed it was a great 
 thing for his daughter to be able to go to Paris, 
 but he could not help wishing that she did not 
 want to go, that she was more like some other 
 girls. Still, if she were more like them he would 
 not be so proud of her. He used to won 
 der what had become of that Bradford fellow. 
 And what had Rowcna thought of him? He 
 knew of no way of rinding out. There was no 
 way of finding out much of anything about 
 women. 
 
 Immersed in these gloomy thoughts, he was 
 walking slowly along through his potato field 
 one August day, with meditations concerning 
 potato-bugs mingled with everything else in his 
 mind, when he saw some one coming quickly 
 across the pasture beyond. 
 
 In a moment more he recognized Philip Bar 
 rett. That young man strode along as if pos 
 sessed by a very strong propelling idea. He 
 paused suddenly when he saw Mr. Tuttle. 
 
 "Is Roweny to home?" he asked, in that ag-
 
 336 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 gressive tone which a definite resolution will 
 sometimes give to one s voice. 
 
 " I guess she is. I heard she V her mother 
 laughin jest now when I was to the house for a 
 drink." 
 
 That they should laugh struck Philip in much 
 the same way as the fact had affected Mr. Tuttle. 
 
 Philip continued his walk for a few rods. Then 
 he returned quickly. His face had been tanned 
 the color of bronze, and his honest eyes looked 
 out from it with a strange intentness that re 
 vealed his excitement. 
 
 He struck his hand on top of a post. 
 
 " I ain t thought of nothin else," he said. " Mr. 
 Tuttle, why don t you stop her goin ? Why don t 
 you put your foot down ? It s for her good." 
 
 Mr. Tuttle shuffled uneasily. He picked off 
 a potato-bug and carefully ground it under his 
 heel. 
 
 " I know tain t my business," went on the 
 young man. " But I ve loved her all my life 
 I can t stop lovin her." 
 
 He paused and clinched his hand on top of the 
 post. 
 
 After a silence he asked, " Don t you know 
 what Paris is, Mr. Tuttle ? Ain t you never 
 heard ? I ve ben readin a lot about it sence I 
 knew Rowcny was goin ."
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 337 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 HIRAM TUTTLE looked anxiously at the man 
 the other side of the fence. 
 
 " I s pose it s jest like other big places," he 
 said. " Of course there s a good deal of wick 
 edness there, but Roweny won t be in that part 
 of it." 
 
 " She can t help it," returned young Barrett. 
 " You don t seem to realize ; you " He stopped 
 from inability to find words powerful enough. 
 He could not endure this feeling of helplessness. 
 He was sure that there were words that would 
 express what he wanted to say if he could only 
 find them. 
 
 From the first he had had that vague, but 
 strong, distrust of all outlandish things, particu 
 larly of French things, which is ingrained in the 
 ignorant and suspicious countryman. But he 
 had a desire to be just. A few weeks before he 
 had ridden ten miles to a town where there was 
 a book- store; He had asked the clerk for a 
 "book about Paris." 1 He could not tell what he
 
 338 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 wanted clearer than that the volume should be 
 concerning that city. The store was not very 
 large and its stock was mostly of a certain kind. 
 The clerk suggested The Mysteries of Paris as 
 being about what his customer desired. Philip 
 bought the book, and since then he had been 
 slowly poring over Sue s lurid pages. His worst 
 apprehensions were more than confirmed. He 
 was driven over to the Tuttle homestead by a 
 terror for Rowena s future. What were they 
 thinking? Rowena ! Philip Barrett was frantic. 
 And when a slow, somewhat phlegmatic nature 
 is wrought up to this stage the result is pitiable. 
 
 He gazed at Mr. Tuttle, who looked back at 
 him and then picked another potato-beetle and 
 destroyed it, this time with two stones. 
 
 Philip actually gasped. Could not he make 
 even the girl s own father know what a place 
 Paris was ? He had not the power of gesticula 
 tion, and he had not the power of words. He 
 thrust his hands deep into his pockets and shut 
 them furiously there. 
 
 " D it !" he cried out. Then he walked 
 
 quickly down towards the house, leaving Mr. 
 Tuttle strongly impressed by words which he 
 had never before heard the young man use. 
 
 Philip saw Rowena standing on a ladder, which 
 was placed against a tree of late cherries at the 
 back of the house. She had a two-quart " rind "
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 339 
 
 tied to her waist, and was putting cherries into 
 it. Marmaduke was leisurely nosing every cher 
 ry that fell to the ground. He looked up and 
 barked when he was aware of Philip s ap 
 proach. 
 
 Rowena quickly descended and advanced to 
 meet her visitor. She had hoped to see him be 
 fore she left home. But she paused and almost 
 shrank when she noticed his face. 
 
 " Is anything the matter?" she asked. 
 
 Philip seized her by the arm. 
 
 " You can t go," he said. " It s a horrible place 
 a Sodom. I ve ben readin all about it. I 
 Oh, you can t go !" 
 
 He had hoped he should be given some words. 
 It was all so clear to him ; why could not he make 
 it clear to those who ought to understand? 
 
 " I don t know what you mean," said the girl, 
 slowly. 
 
 " I mean Paris. YOU can t go." 
 
 " Please don t talk like that," sajd Rowena, 
 " because I shall go if I live. I am to learn all 
 about painting there." 
 
 The man felt his strength leaving him. He 
 was powerless then. He had not seen Rowena 
 for many months ; now to stand near her and 
 hear her voice, to be indefinitely and hopelessly 
 aware that to him she was more charming than 
 ever, and to l<no\v that he could not prevent her
 
 340 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 from going to Paris how was he to endure all 
 this? And he could not possibly find words to 
 tell all he knew about Paris. He was sure if he 
 could only tell he should be able to convince 
 even Rowena. 
 
 Neither of them noticed that a carriage had 
 driven quickly up to the front of the house. Nei 
 ther noticed that Marmaduke had dashed round 
 and was now barking a welcome. The terrier 
 immediately returned, conducting a lady, whose 
 glance directly saw the group under the cherry- 
 tree. 
 
 She paused slightly in her walk. The two by 
 the tree were very much in earnest ; they did not 
 yet know of her approach. 
 
 It was Rowena who turned and uttered a 
 quick exclamation of relief and joy. 
 
 Barrett also turned, and he immediately knew 
 the stranger as the woman whom he had seen at 
 the play in Boston, Rowena s friend. 
 
 He stepped forward and reached Miss Phil- 
 lipps with one long stride, as it seemed. He did 
 not wait for any greetings from anybody, but the 
 lady silently put forth her hand, with its exqui 
 site gray glove, and took the girl s cherry-stained 
 fingers closely. 
 
 "You are the one that can stop it," said Bar 
 rett, with heavy emphasis. " If you don t know 
 about that place, and that tain t fit for a girl to
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 341 
 
 go to, I c n tell you. I ve read a whole book 
 about it. It s worse n Sodom." 
 
 The young man paused. The pale, high face 
 and incisive glance were not affected by his 
 words, save that the glance softened in a kind 
 of pity, touched with contempt. 
 
 "Do you mean Paris?" asked Miss Phillipps. 
 
 "Yes." Philip raised his voice, " I tell you it s 
 worse n 
 
 "But I shall be with her," interrupted Miss 
 Phillipps, calmly, "and I know my Sodom veiy 
 well." She turned to Rowena, now ignoring Bar 
 rett completely. " I came for you, dear. It is 
 better to go sooner. We will take a Cunard 
 from Boston to-morrow." 
 
 Barrett did not know what a Cunard was, but 
 he knew Rowena would go to-morrow. His head 
 sunk. He did not try to speak. Of what use 
 was it trying to speak ? 
 
 With his head still down he walked towards the 
 road. At the gate a slight figure came to his side. 
 Two hands caught his hand, which hung inertly. 
 
 " Good-bye, dear Philip," said Rowena. " Don t 
 worry. Paris shall not hurt me. Good-bye." 
 
 Sitting with the Tuttle family that evening, 
 Miss Phillipps explained how some friends of 
 hers had given up going on the next steamer, 
 and that she and Rowena could have their rooms, 
 changing boats with them ; it was a better boat ;
 
 342 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 it was every way better than the one in which 
 they had expected to go, and it was only two 
 weeks earlier. 
 
 Mrs. Tuttle was somewhat bewildered by this 
 stranger. She could not think of disputing what 
 was wished. She only said, with a quiver in her 
 voice, not daring to look at her daughter, 
 
 "We could have had her two weeks longer." 
 
 Miss Phillipps leaned towards the mother in 
 that way Rowena knew so well. 
 
 " I know," she said, with penetrating gentle 
 ness, " but I will take care of her." 
 
 Mrs. Tuttle breathed heavily. Her toughened 
 hands gripped together tightly as they lay on 
 the faded gingham apron. But she said nothing 
 more. 
 
 And so Rowena went early the next morning. 
 Her father could only tell her, as he had told her 
 when she had gone to Boston for the first time, 
 that she must "keep straight. The Tuttles al 
 ways had kept straight." 
 
 During the journey to the city Miss Phillipps 
 hardly spoke. She sat back in her seat, glancing 
 sometimes from under half -closed lids at her 
 companion, who did not lean back, but who sat 
 rigid. 
 
 When the train had reached its destination, 
 Rowena roused and asked if there were time for 
 her to see Mr. Allestree. She seemed greatly
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 343 
 
 disappointed to learn that her master was out of 
 town. 
 
 " I wanted to ask him before I start if he knew 
 who gave the fund." 
 
 " He told me he did not know," replied Miss 
 Phillipps. " I hope you are not fighting against 
 good-fortune." 
 
 " No, no. But if it were not just as he says, it 
 would be wrong for me to incur such a debt," 
 the girl answered, in a troubled tone. 
 
 Miss Phillipps smiled. 
 
 " I advise you to believe him," she said. "And 
 let me tell you that good-fortune sometimes 
 comes to one as well as evil." 
 
 The steamer sailed out of the harbor. Rowe- 
 na stood on deck looking rather blindly back at 
 the receding city. She kept asking herself when 
 she would stop dreaming and become herself 
 again. She was aware of her friend standing 
 near, and it seemed to her that this conscious 
 ness was what enabled her to maintain any de 
 gree of self-control. 
 
 She was fully roused when the harbor had 
 been left behind by the approach of Miss Phil- 
 lipps s maid, who had been arranging their be 
 longings in their rooms. 
 
 This person came to inform them that Mar- 
 maduke absolutely refused to stay in his basket 
 another instant.
 
 344 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 " He is so furious that he ll rouse the whole 
 ship. And the steward says he ll have to go 
 where the dogs belong." 
 
 " He sha n t." 
 
 As Rowena made this declaration, she felt that 
 she had come to realities again. She looked at 
 her new friend. 
 
 " I don t know where dogs belong on a ship," 
 she said, " but I belong with Marmaduke." 
 
 The maid had retreated immediately. As the 
 two followed her and neared their rooms, they 
 heard a muffled sound, and they found the ter 
 rier struggling beneath the folds of a shawl in 
 the maid s arms. 
 
 " He s just like a tiger," exclaimed the woman. 
 
 The individual who was just like a tiger now 
 succeeded in making a rent in the shawl and in 
 putting his ferocious head through the aperture 
 thus made. He trembled with delight at sight 
 of his mistress, who immediately sat down with 
 him held up to her face. 
 
 Miss Phillipps assured the girl that a judicious 
 placing of fees would modify laws regarding indi 
 viduals like Marmaduke. And she proved to be 
 right. Marmaduke made the voyage without 
 being entirely banished from his friends. But he 
 was glad when the travelling was over and he 
 was settled, though in very small quarters, in 
 Paris.
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 345 
 
 He immediately began to take walks with his 
 mistress, and was soon as knowing as any " dog 
 of the boulevards " of them all. He accompanied 
 her to the studio of the great master, and as she 
 sat at her easel, he reposed himself on a fold of 
 her skirt. Both calmly ignored the edict that 
 young girls should not go out alone. 
 
 It was enough, Rowena felt, that this teacher 
 also told her, as Allestree had done, that "she 
 had the touch." 
 
 And how was Miss Phillipps employing her 
 self? Was it that she was too absorbed, or that 
 Rowena was too absorbed ? Certain it was that, 
 after some months, the two saw less of each oth 
 er than Rowena had expected. But if anything 
 were occupying Miss Phillipps s mind, she never 
 relaxed her care and oversight over the girl. She 
 was never less than kind. It could not be helped 
 that, because she was not more than kind, Ro 
 wena should suffer. But she was too proud to 
 show by the slightest sign that she suffered. 
 Many times as she sat alone with brush in hand 
 she recalled with a keen bitterness some of her 
 old fears and thoughts of her friend. She re 
 membered the face she had painted. But she 
 could complain of nothing. Could she ask for 
 the glance and the touch she missed? 
 
 More and more she realized the blessing of 
 work. She applied herself with a sustained and
 
 346 ROWENV IN BOSTON. 
 
 healthy energy. Youth quickly adapted itself. 
 Rovvena felt for her work, not a fancy, but 
 a saturating love. Nothing, she believed, could 
 come into her life that could make her give 
 that up. 
 
 She was thinking of this one day, of how her 
 master had praised her drawing that morning; of 
 how it was almost a week since she had seen 
 Miss Phillipps ; of how quickly a year was near 
 ly gone, and that she could really see her prog 
 ress, when Marmaduke, who was sedately walk 
 ing at her heels across the park they frequented, 
 suddenly darted forward, apparently for the pur 
 pose of effusive greeting. 
 
 Rowena saw a man stoop and pick up the ter 
 rier, who was wriggling and barking. The next 
 moment she was shaking hands with Keats Brad 
 ford. 
 
 I wish this were a love-story, and this were the 
 beginning of it. In that case, I should have the 
 privilege of describing all the interviews which 
 followed between these two I beg Marmaduke s 
 pardon between these three, during the next 
 few months. 
 
 Bradford had known for a long while that he 
 was in earnest. It may have been previously 
 stated in these chronicles that when he was in 
 earnest he behaved precisely like a young man 
 who did not wear a monocle, who could pro-
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 347 
 
 nounce the letter r, and who did not belong to 
 "the very best set in Borston." 
 
 As, however, this is not a love-story, I cannot 
 tell of all which led up to the utterance of the 
 following remarks, to which a small but extreme 
 ly intelligent dog was a listener. 
 
 " Allestree says, everybody says, that a woman 
 virtually gives up her work if she marries. Now, 
 I will never give up my work." 
 
 It was Rowena who spoke, apparently in re 
 ply to something not here set down. 
 
 " I would not ask it ; I would not wish it," was 
 the fervent response from Bradford. "Besides, 
 there are always exceptions. Only think of the 
 Brownings. Do you believe they loved their 
 art any less because they loved each other?" 
 
 "They are, indeed, exceptions," said Rowena. 
 
 "And so might we be," said Bradford, ar 
 dently. 
 
 Rowena looked up at him for an instant. 
 
 " It is too dangerous an experiment to try," 
 she answered, with a touch of asperity. " I am 
 going right on with my study," with an air of 
 finality. " I seem now to have got a hold, to 
 have really begun. I am even contemplating the 
 Salon in the future," blushing now with a beau 
 tiful warmth. 
 
 "You shall go right on with your study just 
 the same, if you will only "
 
 348 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 
 The young man almost paused there in the 
 public park where the three were walking. Some 
 passers-by glanced at them and smiled. 
 
 "If you will only give me the opportunity to 
 try to persuade you 
 
 Again Rowena looked up at him. 
 
 It is possible that it was something in her eyes 
 which made Bradford s heart give that sudden, 
 delightful leap. He was quite content to believe 
 her eyes rather than her words. 
 
 Nevertheless, the girl had spoken truth when 
 she had spoken of a dangerous experiment 
 
 THE END.
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
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